Handsy [F/M] | 2016

Oh, Charlie.

36 years old.

I remember the first time he approached me, I thought he looked like Charlie Day. Soon, I would realize how suiting this association was, as he had a habit of lurking awkwardly around me, with sudden episodes of erratic and inappropriate behavior.

He’s long since shaved the beard, but the Charlieness remains. I fancy myself as Waitress, as he would often hang around in bars with me in his field of vision and watch me for hours. Pretty soon, he began suspiciously popping up places I would be at during the daytime. And so a new stalker was born.

The Charlie that makes terrible passes on curvy redheads is not the same Charlie that plays guitar and sings in his band. When that little fucker gets on stage, he becomes this ultra smooth, deep voiced ladykiller.

It’s a little excessive, actually, the ladykiller side of Charlie. When I describe his band to others, I like to say “It’s the kind of music that would make a cougar swoon.” You know the type. Saxaphone solos, Spanish guitar, cheesy and overly romanticized lyrics about his “traveling, gypsy soul”, “run away with me, honey” , sunglasses at night.

He owns a women’s shoe store, so there’s that. He also likes fashion and manly accessorizing.

Despite his poor one-on-one communication skills, this guy is totally full of himself. When you get him talking, he just talks about himself.

I kind of liked him, in this weird, curious sort of way. He was cheesy and fascinating to me, but probably not in a way he would actually appreciate himself.

I obviously could tell that this was not something that would ever logically work out. I mean, the guy smelled better than me.

Moving on. He developed a habit of greeting me with a surprise ass grab. It was completely inappropriate, and I told him so every time. It didn’t stop.

I realize now that the ass grabbing wasn’t just a way to grope me, but also a familiar icebreaker for this socially awkward man. By talking to him after, I rewarded his bad behavior and encouraged the grabs by letting it be a way for him to communicate with me.

I would tell him to stop. I was stern about it, too. But because I actually did kind of like the guy, I would converse with him after each scolding. I didn’t get him to stop until I took more aggressive action against his behavior.

I had it all planned out.

I saw him approach me one night out of the corner of my eye. I was in a crowded hallway near the bathrooms talking to another guy and it was clear that he thought I didn’t notice him and was using this to his advantage.

Soon, I felt a hand firmly cup my cheeks, giving me a hard squeeze. I turned around, looked him in the eyes, pointing my finger in his face, and said, “No, Charlie.”

I turned back to the guy I was talking to, to act like I was not encouraging Charlie, but really baiting him for my next move. A few minutes passed, the crowd thickened, and I felt two hands grasp my ass, harder this time.

I turned around and in one gloriously swift motion, put my right hand to his neck, my left hand threateningly cupped his junk, and I backed him up against the wall. I leaned in and whispered in his left ear, “Do you like it when people grab you?” he didn’t say anything as my hand squeezed a bit around his balls. His eyes were wide with fear and arousal. “No? Neither do I.”

I let him go. The ass grabbing promptly ended after that, and we developed a more respectful relationship.

I still liked the guy, although he seemed to act differently around me after that. (Wincy, maybe. He winced a bit more).

The stalking persisted, possibly with greater intensity than before.

In fact, one night, I was making eyes with him from across the bar, hoping to invite him to make a move. I walked off to the bathroom to see if he would follow me into the hall. There was a girl taking way too long in the women’s one stall bathroom, so I ducked into the empty men’s. The lock on the door was broken, and just as I sat down to pee, he walked in after me. I snapped by legs closed but continued to smirk at him on the toilet.

Despite his sudden burst of confidence, he had nothing to back it up, after my confident, unalarmed reaction to his intrusion. He stood right over me while I sat on the toilet and smiled like something magical was going to happen. Instead of helping him achieve his dreams of felatio, I continued to look up at him with amusement and started to pee into the bowl with my knees shut.

It felt like the right thing to do. It was pretty cocky, a bit gross (if you’re not into that), and shocking enough to throw an awkward guy off. He then just went over to the urinal to try and relieve himself.

I didn’t want to give up, but I didn’t exactly know what my intentions were. As he tried to pee in the urinal next to the sink, I went over and sat on the counter. I kicked my heels against the cabinet like a giddy little girl and leaned over to look down at his half-erect cock. Still smirking.

“Pee shy?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” not really.

Soon, the bouncer came through the broken door, thinking the bathroom was empty. I know they guy pretty well, so he just chuckled and shut the door. Crazy fuckin L. Weeks.

Charlie still hadn’t achieved his new goal. I jumped off the counter and made my way towards the door, aware that Charlie was watching me in the mirror. Before opening the door, I turned to the mirror and flashed my boobs. With his hand still around his cock, I saw Charlie’s eyes roll up, and his head tip back as he inhaled deeply. I know that look, very well. He didn’t leave the bathroom for another several minutes.

I had a good friend visit for a weekend. I was excited for her and I to go out, potentially solve my Charlie predicament.

“Just give me your honest opinion.” I said on Friday, before going out. We ran into him several times throughout the weekend. We chatted a bit, he bragged way too much, and he did his weird lurking thing.

He also, annoyingly, sent my buddy a friend request on facebook and proceeded to like all of her old pictures. She has a habit of posting about everything we plan on doing, so it became very clear that he was using her facebook to “accidentally” bump into us. It became intentional on our part when we started a game called “Charlie bait”. All in all, nothing too out of the ordinary, I thought, but I guess I needed things put into perspective.

Sunday morning brunch was more like and intervention than anything.

“Bro, you gotta forget about this one. He’s a fucking weirdo.”

“I mean, yeah, he is odd. I’d think it’s mostly just social anxiety.” Just then, we looked out the window of the corner cafe and across the street, spotted Charlie, pushing a fucking stroller.

“Umm, you forgot to mention that he had AN INFANT!”

Panic stirred in my gut. “No. He doesn’t! He told me about his 6 year old son. Why would he lie about a baby?”

“It makes sense. Babies are a huge responsibility.” I knew she was right, but I still wasn’t sure. I tried to rationalize it.

“I didn’t see a baby.” I stated, as if an empty stroller was likely.

“Right, like that wouldn’t be totally psychotic.”

“Maybe it’s a dog bassinet? I mean, he does like accessories. Admit it. He would be the type of dude to buy a ton of shit for a dog.”

She mulled it over, and eventually had to admit that it was totally plausible. Obviously, we still believed it was a baby in the back of our heads, but we didn’t want to face that reality.

I was driving us back home, she had her nose to her phone, when I heard, “OH MY GOD! PUPPIES! YOU WERE RIGHT.”

He had facebooked a picture of a litter of Chihuahua puppies in the dog bassinet. She continued to shame me for my excellent taste in men for rest of the car ride. I deserved it.

As the months passed, I continued to see him “pop up” places. I am probably a bit paranoid from bad experiences with past lurkers, but his behavior was quite suspicious.

I soon learned to stop facebooking my plans (dumb idea, anyways) and to stop virtually checking in places. He would still pop up. Often, it would happen after I would be texting with that same friend. I think what was really going on was that he knew where and when to expect me from past patterns, and was downtown enough to notice my car parked nearby.

I was quickly losing any serious interest in dating or screwing the guy, as it wasn’t heading anywhere, and the attraction wasn’t strong without the alcohol. I did secretly loved the attention, though, despite the appropriate concern from my friend. It was an enjoyable rush because I didn’t feel physically threatened by him, despite his disturbing behavior.

I went through a period of not seeing or hearing from him. I was wrapped up in school (and other men’s legs) that I didn’t really notice his absence. One night, however, I was at a cafe listening to some great live music when I saw this nice gal I chat with on occasion. Her name is Starla.

She sat down next to me and ordered red wine.

“I’m so nervous!” she whispered, after placing her order.

“Why is that?”

“I’m on a date with this new guy, over there.” Starla subtly tipped her head behind us to a group of guys and Charlie.

“Charlie?” this shit-eating Grinch grin crept slowly across my face. Soon I saw him look over at us chatting.

“You know him? Is he cool?”

“Oh, he is wonderful. I think you guys are really cute!”

“Are you sure? I keep thinking that he isn’t really interested. He talks about himself, a lot. Is that normal?”

“That’s typical. He’s an awkward dude. He gets nervous and does that.”

“Oh good. Are you sure?” Starla was still a bit insecure.

The bartender returned and said her card was declined. She was quite embarrassed and I offered to cover the charge. It was my pleasure, honestly. I had this slight arrogant and unwarranted feeling of superiority, while also thankful for her and her potential to occupy Charlie, or so I thought.

“You are my hero! I would’ve been mortified if that had happened in front of Charlie.”

“No problem! Us ladies gotta look out for eachother.”

He came over, without acknowledging me. I stared forward and eavesdropped. He really was talking about himself the entire time.

She was turned around in her chair and he had his hand on the back of mine. Every so often, I would feel knuckles brush up against my back as he shifted. She excused herself to the restroom.

I continued to stare dead ahead, until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and greeted him. “Charlie.”

“I haven’t seen you around.”

“I haven’t been around.” I sassed.

Starla was walking back up when he mouthed the words, “I miss you.”

Later that week, I was exiting the saloon, quite tipsy. I nearly bumped into Charlie, who looked at me with those crazy, terrified, longing eyes. He asked me what I was doing at the moment, also tipsy.

“Fucking drinking. Not doing homework, that's for sure!”

“Let’s elope.” he looked horrifyingly serious.

“What?”

“Let’s drive to Vegas.”

“No I’m . . . underdressed.” I looked down and around for an out.

“Whatever, you look beautiful. I’ll buy you new clothes, if you want.”

“I don’t want to take my car.”

“Let’s steal one.” He walked up to an empty cab and hopped in the driver’s seat. The driver had ran in to scoop up a patron from the floor. I laughed sloppily and uncontrollably, while climbing in the passenger’s seat. This was too fun to miss.

“I just want to get out of this town, but I want you to come with me.” I rolled my eyes, expecting him to ramble on about his “gypsy spirit”.

“Okay, but I'm not gonna marry you.” I slurred.

“No?”

“Not unless Elvis marries us.”

After a long scolding from a cab driver and a stumble on back to his place, I found myself in his apartment having my lips mouthed sloppily.

I took the initiative and pushed him on his bed, unbuttoning his pants. We soon had gross, unsatisfactory sex. He was determined, though, I’ll give him that. He wasn’t gonna stop until I came. It was an unrealistic goal, at this point, and I asked him several times to give it up.

“I’ve had too much to drink. I’m just all numb and dry down there. Please don’t worry about it.” No no no! You MUST FUCKING COME, L. He continued to finger me aggressively and without skill. It was getting raw down there.

“Seriously, cut it out.”

“Just let me keep trying. You’ll like it.”

Motherfucker. I worked up to my best fake orgasm. Mmm. MMMM. Incoherent words, incomplete phrases. Gaspy, as if losing control. As if overtaken by pleasure.

“Oh, Charl- pleeeeaase! I can’t . . . I can’t take it- AUUUGHHHH!”

“Oh, L! You came for me, baby!”

And I peed on his hand a little, for effect.

______Epilogue______

The following weekend, I ran into Starla at the farmer’s market. She appeared to be displaying a bit of hostile and insecure body language towards me, though I’m sure most of that was just in my head.

“Hey girl! How did things turn out with Charlie?’ “We decided to see other people.” Starla spat, as she shot me daggers.

Charlie went on to date a woman closer to his age. She has red hair and a supple, full feminine figure. Sound familiar?

I’M STILL PRETTIER!

After that, he would occasionally come into my bar and loiter for hours, before I was fired. Haven’t seen him, since.

-L. Weeks read more real awkward sex stories.