I stared -- there’s just no more efficacious word to describe what I was doing -- transfixed, my eyes wide as they could be, at the picture he’d sent of himself.
Yeah, I couldn’t see his face.
Yeah, he had an admirable derrière.
But...
Was... he... seriously... rock-climbing?!
A finer first photograph of himself he could not have sent me.
You have to understand. For years I’ve said I want a man who’s intellectual and adventurous. It’s been my experience that men who are mentally bright enough to carry on a prehensile conversation are not fun in any other areas; and men that are fun everywhere else are about as brainy as a lug nut.
Within the last few months, prior to receiving this bomb of a snapshot from Tony, I’d told at least two confidants “What I’m looking for is a high-IQed guy who can not only carry on an intelligent conversation, but who also does things. I need a guy who’s... I dunno… I need a guy who, like, rock-climbs!”
And there, on the computer screen before me, he was, perched on a wall of coalesced mineral matter, mindfully tethered to a safety harness. Exactly what I’d articulated to be the ideal male.
No longer was he just merely a cop for me to analyze like particulate under a microscope; he was perchance an interesting person who could end up genuinely meaning something to me.
From that realization on, it was often I felt as if I was playing with two different males.
Especially after we met.
Time and time again, Tony would validate my already-instilled impression of many police officers -- he’d lie to gain personally, cheat on his long-term girlfriend in whose house he resided, partake in intimate encounters during his working hours, have sex in his state-government-issued vehicle while on-duty, blah, blah, blah. As far as my inquisitive research purposes go, that part was terrific. He is a leopard; those are his spots.
When I wasn’t appraising his badged behavior, I found him as an individual to be highly endearing -- he had ideas and the talents to pull them off, he honestly wanted to help people, plus, when it came to me, he was extraordinarily romantic. I’d grow to simply adore him.
However, for now, all I had in visual range was a mug-obscured posterior-modeled picture he’d sent of himself. How could he possibly have known the effect it would have on me?
