The following Missed Connection originally appeared on Craigslist.
Fresh Jordans and Tired Eyes – m4w – Chelsea
First thing’s first: I was not staring at you like some weird perverted lonely boy. Not really, or at least not intentionally, anyway.
I was actually staring out into space because my eyes were tired after a long day of work, and I find that doing so is a great way to achieve a brief reprieve from the perpetually taxing nature of being alive.
But I didn’t want to close my eyes altogether, since I was with a friend and figured he may take exception to me carrying on a conversation with him while my eyes were closed. But if they were open and staring into space, he was more likely to get the impression that I wasn’t making eye contact because I was instead giving serious thought to the topic at hand. (Which was how it’s a sort of rite of passage re: manhood for a boy to grow a beard to a length that eclipses the bearded stage, and how I have not yet reached that specific apex of manhood.)
Initially, the space I was staring into was occupied by a taller-than-average Hasidic Jewish woman whose brand new black Skecher Shape Ups sneakers were a contrast to the remainder of her outfit. When she stood up to de-train, I didn’t take my eyes off of the space. I just kept staring in the area of the bench that had formerly been hers.
It barely registered when a new occupant (you) sat down. It’s not that I was uninterested. Far from it. (If I were uninterested, I wouldn’t be writing this right now, right?) It’s just that I had achieved that glorious status where, when you’re resting your eyes and everything becomes all blurry. Not in a disconcerting way, but in more of a relaxing and regenerative way that reduces the world around you to a faint hum of white noise. I really zoned out after my friend stopped talking, presumably to ask himself inwardly whether a beard really makes a man, or vice-versa.
I am unsure how much time passed. A stop or two may have even passed before I finally took notice of you, your curly red hair, extremely pretty face, and Michael Jordan kicks.
What made me notice you?
“Careless Whisper.” That’s what it was. Unbeknownst to me, a man had boarded our train – saxophone in tow – during one of the stops that passed while I was inadvertently staring at your chestal region.
It’s impossible to hear somebody cover that classic George Michaels jam in a slightly less than mediocre fashion and not smile at least a little bit. You know this as well as anybody, because when I heard the opening notes of the song I snapped out of my reverie, began to grin, and shifted my gaze upward…to find that you were smiling, too. A beautiful, close-lipped smile, which can be hard to pull off, I’m told.
We locked eyes.
You continued to smile.
Then you looked downward, at your breasts / where I had been gazing.
And smiled wide.
Of course, I didn’t take this opportunity to engage you in conversation, to explain to you that I had been resting my eyes, not knocker stocking. I shyly looked away, turning a dark shade of red and breaking a sweat. Then I quickly glanced at you several times before the next stop, when I had to get off.
Maybe I should not judge my manhood on when my facial hair passes a certain length, but rather when my confidence reaches a point where I will not blow making an introduction that could potentially change my life.
If you would like to give me a second chance at making a first introduction, please message me and tell me the style of retro Jordans you were wearing.