The Boys


For those of you who know me IRL, this will not be a surprise. For those of you who know me mostly via the computer, this will probably… not come as a surprise.

I have a harem.

It started out in high school, when I made up a “boyfriend”. Now, before you go, “Oh, you poor dear,” I want to assure you it wasn’t as sad and pathetic as it sounds (and I admit, it really does sound pathetic). See, I was sharing my exploits (or rather, lack thereof. I am, admittedly, kinda geeky) in Europe with a friend of mine (the same friend from the “Points game” blog), and was telling her about the man I’d seen in Monaco. A man so seriously gorgeous that almost twenty years later, I still think of him as the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He was a guard in Monte Carlo, and rather than admiring the scenery, which I remember very little of, I spent two hours admiring him. Yeah, go ahead, call me a creepy stalker. It’s probably true.

Anyway, me and my stalkerish ways are not the point. At some point during this conversation, my friend, Red, says to me, “You should have brought him home with you.”

“Right. Because he’s my boyfriend.”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t know his name, Red.”

“Armando. He speaks very little English.”

“Riiight. We speak the language of love. Or lust. Or whatever.”

“Fabulous! When do I get to meet him?”

And thus, my harem began. With Armando, a man who speaks very little English but, as I once joked, is so much cuter with his pants down and his mouth shut, anyway.

* As an aside, I once used that line with M. It didn’t go over quite as well as I thought it would. Apparently, he sometimes likes to talk to me, and doesn’t want me to think of him strictly as “man meat.” And to think, I thought he’d be flattered. Go figure. *

Anyway, Armando was swiftly followed by the Swedish bikini team, Sven, Bjorn, Thor.

For four years, my harem “lived in my basement.” Didn’t matter that I didn’t have a basement. That’s where I said I kept them. Long before M and I began dating, I’d told him about  my harem, Sven, Bjorn, Thor and Armando. Alcohol may have been involved, but that’s beside the point. The point is, he knew about them going in. So he was either so desperate he simply accepted my weirdness as his last chance to go steady, or he liked it. I like to think it’s the latter. Especially since he gets hit on by 22-year-old badge bunnies and I get hit on by meth heads on bicycles outside of Dairy Queen.

Don’t tell me I’m not awesome.

Anyway, I know for certain he knew about the harem, because he gave me the final member (no, not him, and get your mind out of the sewer! That’s where mine is!). He gave me Enrique after he’d failed to teach his brother’s parrot to say, “[R] loves Enrique.”

Mostly because my response was, “Oh, Enrique! That would go so well with my harem!”

M bequeathed me Enrique. So, Sven, Bjorn, Thor, Armando and Enrique. The Swedes, the man who speaks very little English (but doesn’t need to), and my latin lover.

Ah, the boys. Still living in my basement.

Yep, the one I don’t have.

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