*As with some of my better stories, this happened during my later years in undergrad. My current relationship is approaching /r/deadbedroom status and I find myself waxing nostalgic. I’m 5’11”, have a decent runner’s build (with an Adonis belt, to boot!), and wear glasses for you fellow dorks out there. Names have been changed. I’ll do a page break or whatever if you just want to read the sexy bits. I like textual foreplay.*
It was the week after Valentine’s Day, 2014. Celia and I had just broken up, in a very, very mutual way. In reality, she dumped me. Grad school, in combination with an LDR is tough on most relationships… and I wasn’t nearly as good of a partner then as I am now. We both made our share of mistakes. No cheating, though she *had* recently started talking with her ex; I was overly neurotic. She was my first **real** girlfriend, and I loved her in spite of myself.
In short, I was fucking miserable and my friends knew it.
Snapped from my reverie. *”Get in, dickhead, we’re going to get food.”*