Let me tell you about the greatest sex I ever had in my life...
Years ago when I was in undergrad, I met this study coordinator who was about 5 years older than me. She was smoking hot. Every time I had to meet up with her to review the project I was working on, the entire time I was thinking about every which way that I would violate her. She was very happily married, though. Finally, after we got to know each other for a while, she asks me if I'm seeing anyone special. I asked her why, kind of getting a little aroused, and she says that she's got this younger sister who's really nice and really cool, but has a hard time meeting guys.
Now, you can imagine me. I'm thinking if she's 1/10th as hot as this coordinator, I'm golden. I'm imagining this phenomenal chick who's so hot that guys are intimidated of her and won't ask her out (etc.). So, I say, "Sure. Give me her email."
So, we trade a few emails and finally decide to meet up. After mulling over ideas about how to be casual about it and not make it all date-like, I agree to meet her one afternoon at this downtown bar. I show up like a half-hour late (unintentionally... separate story) and I see this one girl sitting at the bar. Pretty average looking girl. She's wearing a fanny pack. And, I think, "Oh, ****. Hope that isn't her." I've described myself to her, and I'm sure her sister has described her to me. We didn't trade pics via email because this was before everyone had a digital camera laying around. She sees me. She smiles. I'm immediately starting to plan my exit.
I learn quickly that genetics is a cruel mistress. Whatever Royal Flush was dealt by her parents to her older sister gave her a non-suited 2, 3, 8, ten and Queen. We get to talking. She's into SCA (anyone know what SCA is? Google it) and goes on to tell me how she just bought this almost $1,000 chainmail top and never misses the Renaissance Fair whenever it comes to town. She's studying accounting. I'm (needless to say) pre-med. You get the picture.
So, I have the obligatory and "polite" beer. It's late afternoon, and I'm starting to mull over the excuses for leaving the bar such as my buddy's in the hospital or my dog tends to **** the carpet if I don't walk him every four hours as I'm swallowing the last few drops from the pint glass. When she asks, "Are you hungry? Let's have some dinner."
Now, remember. I've developed sort of a working relationship with this study coordinator who I'm going to have to see again. This is the part of my brain that decides to speak up and say, "Okay, sure. Let's get a table and get some food." The other part of my brain starts ordering beers and saying f*ck it, at least you can get a good drunk on.
Hours go by. I'm regaled by stories of collecting stuffed animals. I hear about her childhood dream of being an astronaut. I get stories about how good she always was at math. But, as the beer starts to flow through my veins, somehow she's looking better and better. Face was still average, but now I'm starting to notice, as Fergie puts it, her lady lumps.
At the end of dinner, I'm fully buzzed - but still entirely gentlemanly - and ready to excuse myself. We stand up from the table, and she grabs my hand in hers. Now, my guard all down and whatnot, I'm starting to think, "Oh crap. How do I get outta this one??" yet still strangely aroused. She's still got the fanny pack on. She says, "How 'bout another drink?" I can't refuse.
We walk to another pub close by... fanny pack still on her... and sit at the bar. Next thing I know, it's 1:00 AM. I probably haven't listened to a word she's said in the preceeding three hours. She's drunk. I'm probably drunk. I tell her that she can't drive her car home, and that we can take a taxi back to my apartment and she can sleep on the couch.
What ensued after that can best be described as quadruple-X porn flick. This young lady, fanny pack in tow, literally blew my mind (among other things). She ended-up spending the rest of the weekend at my place. At the end it, she told me, "I'm pretty busy with school. I'm not really looking for a boyfriend. But, if you want to hang out from time to time, it's cool with me."
I've spent years after that trying to comprehend what happened. Then, I finally realized it. She didn't care. The same genetic flaw that compelled her to think it was okay to wear a fanny pack on a date must have been the same one that made her totally disinhibited. She had no "social censor". She didn't care what I thought. She wasn't at all concerned about what her outward impressiom showed to the world. Her lack of a filter allowed her to actually just truly enjoy being herself without a care about what I or anyone else thought about her. Her "dorkiness" translated into an experience for me where "anything goes" because she was focusing on enjoying herself and not what I thought about her.
It was utterly amazing. It happened a few times. And, while I was probably too superficial and shallow at the time (maybe still am) to get over the fact that she was a complete nerd, I have never since had such an experience between the sheets.
So, each time I see a fanny pack, I think about the fact that the person wearing it probably doesn't give a crap what you think... because they don't even know enough to consider it. To them, they're perfectly comfortable in their own self-indulgence and practicality. And, although the female fanny pack is rare, if I see a chick wearing one I'm compelled to talk to her.
Wear your fanny packs proudly, my friends. But, if you're a dude, I'm probably still going to laugh at you behind your back.
-coprp
