Pride and Prejudice Abroad

I have this terrible habit of thinking any boy who's mean to me and also even a little bit posh is actually just Mr. Darcy. And, studying abroad in Oxford, where self-absorbed assholes (or, excuse me, arseholes) who ignore me for their much more important lives while sounding like the Queen are just about around every corner, the habit's gotten harder to shake. Which is how I ended up blowing Alfred Pinkerlilly the third, even despite his silly name, in the back room of the Jolly Farmers. Alfred had made a weird comment about my hair, said my art major was a bad investment in education, totally ignored me all night, and then been like "Wanna go?"

So of course I wanted to go. And did go, with gusto, down on him. Perhaps a bit too much gusto in hindsight, because it was during this particular romp in the pub bathroom that Alfred took a couple of, um, erotic photographs of me. Seeing as I wasn't prepared for this to happen nor was I quite aware of my surroundings enough to notice it occuring while it was, I feel like the photos were in poor taste. As was posting them on Facebook. Total dick move. Maybe not worse than keeping my sister from marrying the man of her dreams by not letting them ever run in the same social circles and basically snubbing her the whole time she was trying to befriend her one true loves' sisters, but, like, tacky. Lacking class. Unsubtle.

Which is why, after I became aware of said pictures, or rather after all my friends and acquaintances felt the need to make sure I was quite up to date with Alfred's latest on his Facebook wall, I stormed over to his office building. Well, not like, his, but his Dad's and he had some kind of internship training thingy going on. Which seems kind of like nepotism to me. Anywho, I was all romance heroine mad about the whole situation and did a justifiably huffy walk up like two flights of stairs because apparently there's no elevator in Mr. Pinkerlilly's company's headquarters and demanded to see Alfred Pinkerlilly the third at once. The secretary, a kind of nerdy-cute, mousy looking guy with baby-blue painted fingernails, asked if I had an appointment. Like a dude in a t-shirt that says One Cannot Have Too Large A Party in flowery lettering would actually have an appointment at a fancy place like this. So I was like "no" and he was like "sorry" and he seemed actually apologetic, but right then I heard Alfred's voice and of course like the deranged or just adorably unhinged romcom protagonist I know I'm meant to be I followed the sound. Right to where he was like doing some kind of presentation thingy. And then the next bit is kind of a blur but I definitely yelled at him and he was real pissed since I was like at his office or whatever and then suddenly he was walking toward me as if he was going to personally escort me out of the room and maybe into another room where he'd like chastise me or something and I just sorta flipped out.

And bolted.

Like bunny suddenly aware of a water hose ran the fuck out of there. I was high-tailing it out down that same hallway where the cute probably-gay secretary's desk was and suddenly he was standing up being like "What're you doing?" and I was like "Running away," and he was like "Not very well," and then dragged me into some kind of broom closet thing and left me there. And before he left I was trying to ask him why he was helping me but he kinda shushed me and was like "stay here and be quiet" and I should maybe be pissed that I'm an adult man being shushed like a child or perhaps embarrassed that I'm hiding in a broom closet or like maybe grateful that he might have just saved me from being caught by Alfred but I was mostly just kinda feeling tingly-sexy. Which is ridiculous because being grabbed and shushed is supposed to make a person pissed off, not sporting a half-boner in the broom closet. But something about boys being kinda mean to me, even when being nice, just ticks my Mr. Darcy sense and makes my knees wobbly and my dick kinda take interest. Plus mousy blue fingernail boy smelled like lavender and you know I'm a slut for a man with good hygiene. Nothing says 'please put your dick inside me' quite like a nice shower.

When the danger of being caught by Alfred seemed to have passed, his body having passed my closet both going after me the first time and kind of retreating back to his office the second, I slid out of the closet and tried to sneak out of the building. Secretary boy caught me outside, though, and was like "I can't believe you slept with him," and I was all like "What's it to you?" and he was like "Nothing, he's just such a wanker," and then since I was sorta high off of escaping unscathed I was just kinda like "Wanna go get a drink or something," and he was like "Whatever, sure," and I'm pretty sure just up and left work randomly in the middle of the day to get a pint with me and it was such a nice thing I kinda wanted to make it worth something to him. So I drew a little picture of him on a napkin he gave me his number, which makes me feel like my art major isn't a bad investment at all, since it got me this cute boy's digits. So maybe I'll call him tomorrow and it'll be nice and yeah he's maybe more of a Bingly than a Darcy, but actually maybe I'm more of a Lydia than an Elizabeth. And maybe that's okay.