Ikey is short, fit, and comfortable with flirting while using his Jewish mom impersonation. He knows how to dance and hasn’t in a year and a half.

Within a few hours of knowing him I want to be a part of his life. I know he’s recruiting because I was there when he told Arlo “I think I’m looking for wifey.”

I don’t want to be wifey; I do want to be around: a face at a party, a recent name on his phone’s screen, a commonly revisited memory. Those all work.

He’s nine years older than I am, owns a vintage clothing store, makes light sculptures, knows a little about vintage furniture and could benefit from knowing more given how much vintage furniture he owns, has a forest for a backyard, is affected by rejection in a way where he needs to talk about it before he can laugh it off, gets scared easily (screams at the top of his lungs scared), knows how and when to say ‘no’, is empathetic, appreciative, and struggles with being both a boss and friend.

He knows how to kiss me, touch me, and taste me.

He’s the first person I’ve been excited about in years.

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