Ernesto

There’s a guy I’ve dated off and on for the past few years. Every once in a while, I’ll get a message from him out of the blue, asking if I’m free for dinner. It usually works out that I am, in fact, free for dinner.

His name is Ernesto. He’s not from this country, and has the sexy latino accent to prove it. His voice would be sexy even without the accent, and it’s one of the things I like most about him. He’s great over the phone. The sound of a man’s voice has always mattered to me, when deciding whether or not to date someone. Ernesto has a smooth as velvet speaking voice, and he’s a talented singer. When we first met, he told me all about his youtube channel, which is full of videos of him performing cover songs. Mostly romantic, mostly in Spanish.

Is. I should say was. Turns out, he had hundreds of thousands of followers, but got flagged for not having copyright permission to sing any of those songs. Youtube was cracking down on that sort of thing at the time, and he got caught and they suspended his account.

He also told me he used to be overweight, and when I didn’t believe him, he showed me some photos of himself thirty pounds heavier. Thirty pounds might not sound like much, but he’s only about five foot six, with a small build. So it really did make a difference. He was still handsome in those photos, but nowhere near as cute as the guy standing in front of me.

We had a nice first date. I remember it was raining, and he was without a jacket, and was shivering as we walked to our cars. I’d wanted to put my arms around him all night, and was glad for the goodnight kiss, which gave me the chance to do that. Each of our dates was fun, we talked easily, and laughed often, and would agree to meet again. Then months would go by.

The last time he called out of the blue to ask me to dinner, he was re-entering the dating pool after some time away. Apparently, he had put a little weight back on, but was now on a grueling workout regimen and was in seriously good shape.

We’re friends on facebook, so I’d seen him posting weekly progress photos. He was jogging seven miles a day, and lifting weights, and the effort showed. Each photo was the same exact pose: back to the camera, arms raised in a bicep flex. In photo number one, he had some love handles, and okay, he did look like he could lose a few pounds.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with photo number three. He looked fine. By photo number seven, he was ripped. Shredded. Buff shoulders, muscular arms, lean torso, tight round butt. He was at photo seven when he called me.

To be honest, I believe he just wanted to show off his hot body. Can’t blame the guy. He’d worked hard for it, and wanted some appreciation. I was happy to oblige.

He’d gotten a new hair cut, and was dressed in a tee-shirt with a cool print, and a pair of tan colored jeans, both of which fit snug. I asked him to make a muscle, and placed my hands on his biceps. Rock hard. When he was discussing his ab routine, I slid the palm of my hand over his washboard in a gesture of approval.

Then he talked about how much he disliked doing squats, but couldn’t argue with the results. I told him to turn around, which he was happy to do, then he laughed when I gave his butt a couple of playful swats.

We walked to dinner, and talked about how hot he looked. He was drinking up the compliments. After dinner, we lingered in the restaurant for hours, enjoying the conversation and each other’s company. Then we walked to a dessert place, which was closed by the time we got there. No problem, it was beautiful out that night, so we just kept walking.

The date ended as all of our dates do. Goodnight kiss, warm embrace, but nothing more. No sex. Perhaps he has simply friend zoned me from the start. Perhaps he never felt sexually attracted to me. Perhaps I’m just not his type. Whatever the case, we agreed not to wait as long to see each other again.

That was almost two years ago. Tonight, I noticed a post he put up on Instagram. A before and after photo. The before was the hot cutie I saw on our last date. The after was a heavy-set guy with longish hair.

Guess he’d put the weight back on again, and is starting his workout routine once more. So I’ll be expecting a phone call in a few weeks, when he is ready to start dating again and needs a confidence boost. A practice run with an admiring pal.

Yep, that would be me.

 

 

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