Well, after a long weekend filled with Foxy Forearms, I broke it up before something serious was to begin.
I freaked out. Ran for the hills.
I pulled the whole “it's not you, it's me” line.
Smooth, Peas, for Pete's sake – why didn't I just read it to him straight out of the textbook?
It was almost like that time I broke it off with someone by saying, “I think we should start dating other people.”
I bought these men a one way ticket to ItsNotGonnaHappenVille, using a complimentary cliché voucher.
After a night spent at mine, I turned over and told him I probably wasn't going to see him again.
Hot bod, hot pecs, smoking hot forearms.
A gentleman to end all gentlemen.
A genuine biscuit.
But I cannot be in a “thing” right now.
I'd only hurt him more down the line.
I still miss Dick sometimes. Don't know why.