He looked kind of ordinary although no more ordinary than me. He was introduced to me and he shook my hand and squeezed it hard.
I hate that. I hate the need for someone to show that they are manlier than you are because they have a little strength in their right hand. I mean what does that really mean that the only way that you can impress someone is by flexing your muscles. We might as well had both whipped our dicks to see who the real man was. I have some size that I’m not ashamed of, but I’ve also been with a few pageant queens who had penises the size of a policeman’s nightstick and knew just as well how to use it. What does it all prove? Nothing!
I looked him straight in the eye and squeezed his hand back giving as good as got if not better and hoped that he didn’t notice the split second delay in pressure. He probably didn’t because he had that air of disinterest about him. Or was it dislike feigned by disinterest? I would have told him not to worry; the Ex was standing next to him and not me. I was a threat to no one.
How similar we must be. But then again I like to think that there is a certain flavor about me and that if I’m going to be replaced by someone, it’s going to be someone with similar attributes to mine. He however was a weak imitation.
Introductions were over and the Ex said something about moving on, probably because he was thinking that I was developing my own story of which nothing good would be said. He and his new friend turned and walked. I turned and realized that even though there were no butterflies in my stomach there was no animosity either. In fact there was no feeling at all. Nothing.
I hate that too.