The Story of French Fitch

Wednesday, Mar. 03, 2004 @ 4:24 p.m.

So it was Summer of 2003, and I was doing things that single people do... out clubbing and drinking almost every night, dancing and partying the days away... and most of all, looking, gawking and drooling after people who generally wouldn't give me the time of their lives.

Now, I've always had a major thing for what is typically considered (and quite aptly termed) the "West Hollywood Clones": Just imagine a male model on an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Now, imagine a city that's full of them. And they're all gay. That's basically the city of West Hollywood, the city of tight tank tops, gym memberships, fake tans, but irresistably beautiful men. One thing though: the Clones generally go for each other. Thus, not being a Clone myself, gawking/ogling/drooling is the closest I get.

So I was hanging out this one night at this popular bar/lounge called "The Abbey", and of course, the place was full of yummy Clones. But there was this one that stood out among them all... his face was so beautifully chiselled, he had these gorgeous deep-set brown eyes, and he had a great (but not overly-musclebound) physique. He was perfection, lying beneath one hell of a lucky Abercrombie t-shirt. But of course, I didn't wanna seem creepy, stalky, and pathetic (no matter how true that was), so I didn't dare to stare at him much. Which was very hard to do.

So an uneventful week passed, and I was sick and tired of being alone. Tarzan told me about this website/chatroom that he'd been going to, and well... I decided to check it out. I tried to get into decent conversations with a few people, but as soon as I told them I didn't want to sleep with them, I was on their ignore list. (I was desperate, but I still had standards, dammit!)

I was about to give up when this message popped up: "Were you at The Abbey last week?"

Astounded that my mere presence actually left an impression on someone, I wrote back and said "Yes, I was", and asked him who he was. He said that he saw me out the week before, and we talked (and flirted) for a few hours. I looked at his picture, but it was too small to really see his face. However, he still looked pretty damn hot in that picture, and we made plans to meet at The Abbey that night.

So before that "date", I was at another bar, hanging out with Louis. I was very convinced that I was going to be stood up, because that's how the beautiful people in Los Angeles behave: they dangle the bait, but once they get a bite, they run away. It's a cruel, inhuman "sport".

But that didn't happen... my mystery "date" actually showed up. He called me, saying that he was outside The Abbey, so I said goodbye to Louis and headed over.

And there he was.

The gorgeous guy that I was secretly ogling at the previous week. IT WAS HIM!!

We talked so much that night... hit it off right away. He's French, and it's true what they say... they are such romantic conversationalists. After The Abbey closed, we went to a diner and talked even more. At around 5:30 a.m., he drove me back to my parked car. And unlike other sleaze-bags around, he gave me a very gentlemanly good-night kiss (well, quite a few kisses actually), and left things at that. This guy was too good to be true! We made plans to see "Finding Nemo" the next day... and well, we've been together ever since.

*Sigh* :)

Crazy how things work out in this world. It's hard enough to have someone you're interested in feel the same way about you... but meeting on the internet is beyond that. There were hundreds of people from all over the world in that chatroom on that particular day, at that particular time, at that particular room... what are the chances of running into someone you actually know, much less to say a dream guy/girl you want to meet AND who wants to meet you?

Whatever those chances are, I'm just glad I got mine!

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The Story of French Fitch