She was absolutely gorgeous. Painfully beautiful. And she was talking to me.
Touching my arm as she laughed. Whispering silly anecdotes in my ear.
I couldn't believe that this was happening.
When I reluctantly signed up for the dating app last week, I had no hope that I'd match with anyone. Especially not a woman like Amelia.
When she sent me a message yesterday, I thought for sure I was being catfished.
But here we stood, in a dimly lit bar, and she was fucking flirting with me.
I brought my beer bottle to my lips, listening intently to Amelia talk about the vacation she took last summer to Europe.
Her wavy blonde hair swept slowly across her smooth tan shoulders as she spoke.
She was animated, waving long toned arms around as she told her story.
Her bright green eyes were locked into me, as if I were the only woman in the room.
And her body.
The way her body curved, her white linen sundress hugging her hips, accentuating all the right places.
Well that kind of beauty should be criminal.
Amelia hadn't chosen a gay bar. This made me even more anxious about meeting her. But after a few thousand scrolls through her profile pictures, I figured the possibly of meeting her was worth the risk of being humiliated.
I'm sure the other patrons of the bar were trying to dissect our connection.
Perfect Amelia. And me.
I was barely five feet tall, and covered in a series of regretful tattoos. I wore my brown hair cut short, shaved in the back. I was wearing ripped jeans and a clingy white t-shirt. My body didn't wind and bend like Amelia's. I was flat chested and slender.
Amelia and I couldn't have presented more differently.
Yet here we were. And I was soaking up every word.
