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How can something so good be wrong?

I placed my fingers under her chin and raised her head to look in her eyes. "I think you're beautiful."

She tried to find the honesty in my face. I wasn't sure if it showed. "I think you're stunning." I meant to say 'gorgeous' but stunning just fell out.

She kept her eyes on me an uncomfortably long time. She grabbed my hand and held it for a moment, squeezing it with thanks and kindness. She pushed her glasses further up on her nose. "Thank you," she said. I worried she thought I was talking in a condescending tone.


It would be impossible now, for me to ask my little question. There would be no leaning over, no whispering in her ear, no posing my selfish, potentially objectifying remark. She was plain - aside from that smile, aside from that bosom. My 'beautiful' remark felt manipulative. She needed a friend more than anything. Maybe a lover at some point to adore her, but I imagined there was more going on inside her than I could figure out.

She had opened some part of herself. And if I opened that little part of myself, which was dying to get out, she would look at me in disgust: Another guy, with one thing on his mind. The only thing he cares about are my huge tits. My question would suddenly be more than inappropriate.

We talked. Somehow, I became interesting now that I knew there was nowhere to go with her but 'friends'. Still, I kept my hand on her leg. It was now a semi-unconscious gesture; some part of the male ego that refuses to give up hard-won ground in the quest for a girl.

She asked me about El Paso. I told her stories, omitting the gory details and concentrating on the personalities. I exaggerated sometimes, just to get her to smile.

She asked me what the girls were like on dates down there: "What do you think, would I fit in?"

Now I was the one smiling.

She read my face perfectly. "What? What's so funny about that?"

"They don't sell ruffled shirts at the El Paso mall, for one thing. We'd have to outfit you a little differently - 'If you got it, flaunt it' - that's the attitude." I made her self-conscious. It was a stupid comment. The Rum and Cokes were to blame. My eyes stayed fixed on her face, but she knew I knew.

"I can't wear tight tops. I show too much. Too many curves. Too big of curves."

"I know. You don't want to look cheap. It attracts the wrong kind of attention."

"Believe me, you'd be buying ruffled front shirts if you were me."

"If I were a girl, I'd be down by docks, waiting for the fleet to come in." I quoted Seinfeld, but neglected to tell her. She laughed anyway.


We were saying good night. I had driven her back home. I had refrained from asking my question all night. I had been a good guy, aside from the lecherous squeezing of her leg. I had grabbed a few quick glances, but otherwise my eyes had stayed in a safe zone around her face. I didn't want to ruin guys for her again. I guessed that had been done plenty of times before.

She probably thought I was a decent guy - despite the monologue running in my head. Maybe she thought there was potential for us. All I had to do was make it through the next few seconds without letting my insides spill all over, and she would go on thinking that.

"We should go on an El Paso date. What do you think?" I blurted it out, half as a joke, and half as a crazy idea she would never go for.

She smiled. It was like she was doing math in her head. She was figuring out the answer to a problem that really needed a calculator, but somehow she knew the answer.

"You mean a Mariachi Band? The Dr Pepper and the Combination Number Twenty Three with Tamales? The whole deal - I mean enchilada?"

"Absolutely. I'll even wear my big belt buckle that says 'Dodge' and find us a tattered seat and a wobbly table."

"No stickiness, though."

"Okay, I promise, no leftover Margaritas on the seat cushion."

"What about me? What do I wear?"

I laughed. "Too much eyeshadow. Big hair. And if you have them, earrings in the shape of Texas."

"Those, I doubt I can find.

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