my perfect guy would be tall, dark-haired (whether long, short or shaved) and have deep eyes (dark brown is nice, but so are dark blue). i wouldn’t even mind if his lashes were longer than mine. he’d have clean, well-organized teeth (no tartar build-up or gums showing when he smiles, please) and a five o’clock shadow at noon. he would take off his shirt the hot way, wear only boxers or boxer briefs and never, ever wear his socks to bed. he’d smell like leather, calvin klein’s obsession for men and a little, tiny bit of tobacco.
my perfect guy would put his hand on the small of my back when he ushered me though a door before him. he would watch hockey and csi and help me through the hard bits in video games. he would laugh at my jokes and i would laugh at his. he’d be content to kiss me for three hours, with all our clothes still on. he’d be outwardly aloof, but would surprise me with tokens and gestures of affection so poignant i’d want to melt completely away. he wouldn’t mock me for being a scaredy cat in new situations, but praise me when i finally went through with what had me worried.
my perfect guy would kill the spiders and never, ever pretend to chase me around with one in his hand. he’d know that while flowers are nice, i’d be more excited by something techy or a new pen. he’d let me hold the popcorn. he’d pretend he didn’t hear me snoring. he’d come up behind me and kiss my neck or the top of my head just because he could. he’d answer all my stupid car questions. he’d reach the tall things. he’d know how i take my coffee. he’d spoon me until i fell asleep.
my perfect guy would think i’m beautiful, smart, witty and interesting. he would love my touch, my taste and my smell. he would find me challenging and liberating. he would miss me when i’m gone and treasure me while i’m with him. he would love me yet not need to smother me. he would be mine and i would be his.
damn heather! you’re making me mushy now
your perfect guy shouldn’t have to be burdened with an accumulating karmic debt from arachnicide just to satisfy your disturbing squish-lust.
in all other regards it sounds reasonable to me; i’m sure there are men like that out there wanting to meet someone like you.
oh, and please describe “the hot way” of taking off a shirt. that sounds like a skill worth perfecting.
The hot way of taking off your shirt, boys, is by grabbing the shirt behind your neck and lifting it over your head and off your body that way. None of this grabbing at the waist and then inverting it to pull it over your head. As Darren put it, “the way you remove a hockey jersey”.
i’m so glad i’m not the only one who knows about the hot way. =)
Hmm. Do girls have to abide by this “hot way” crap, too? Or am I allowed to still pull off from the waist?
Hmm. Probably for heterosexual women at least, either way will do, because the average male is just thinking “yay, boobies coming!”
Personally, I don’t care HOW the guy takes off his shirt, so long as once it’s off, there’s no possible misinterpretting all the chest and back hair for a second layer. :)