D called to say that he could arrange sex with Paul Henry - that super hot guy dressed just in jeans from the last party. D was business like, no problem. Straightforward proposition. Easy. Paul will be into it.
Who? What? Oh. I’d ogled Paul at the party. I’d forgotten until D’s call. I mean… huh...? I was just commenting to D, afterwards. Perving. Really, I was. I can do such things myself, if need be.
D’s intentions are nearly always from the purest of places, but now and again he throws me. He said that I had to do something for him in return for the hook up.
“What?” I said.
“You have to give me Manny.”
“Manny? Manny? My Manny?” I said. I was completely taken aback, not expecting that for a minute. I was lost for words.
Manny had said that he has been smiling at the wog-boy who opens D’s salon in the morning when Manny is passing on his way to work. I thought it sounded like the other guy who works there. But D said that it was him and that he knew who Manny was.
I said that he has slicked-back hair.
D said he looks like an Italian Stallion, and not Greek at all.
I said, Maybe that’s him.
“Well, that would be up to Manny and not up to me,” I feebly said, still trying to find the words to use.
But, now I have had some time to think about it and my answer should have been, No! No way! Manny is mine. Sorry! And even if I split up with him, D, you can keep the hell away from him anyway.
I think I'm pissed off about it now.
I will say this to D, at an appropriate moment.
For fucks sake!
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