Rejection

"Sex is bad for my libido."

The randy guy in denim jeans, denim vest, and no shirt loses his leer, stares at me for a moment and then flips me the finger, stalking off.

When I go to the bar to get another drink, a set of blonde twins come up on either side of me. As they both snuggle up to me on either side, one of them asks coyly, "How'd you like to play 'Library'?"

"I lost my card," I tell him, as I squeeze out from between them. I walk away.

Later, on the patio, a guy straight out of GQ holds out a lighter to light my cigarette. He gives me a warm look and says, "You look like you need a back rub."

"What would I do if it rubbed off?" I tell him.

I go into the bathroom later. The hairy guy in flannel and jeans at the next stall checks me out. "Need a hand?" he grins.

"If I had three hands, I'd get really confused," I told him, zipping my fly.

The friends who brought me to the Toledo bar give me the "high sign." They're ready to leave.

As we walk towards the car, John turns to me and asks me, "See anything you can't live without?"

My body screams to ride a motorcycle, naked, down dark dirt roads with the randy guy in denim jeans and vest and no shirt. My soul hungers for a night tangled together with the set of blonde twins. My spirit thirsts for a romantic evening, sipping wine on a bearskin rug, with the guy straight out of GQ. My heart bleeds to spend a night protected in the warm furry embrace of the hairy guy in flannel and jeans.

"No," I tell him as I climb into the car.

I hate rejection.