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On the surface, I’m the quintessential 40-odd-year-old suburban dad, reigning supreme on garbage night—a ritual that’s somehow become an unspoken competition among men who should know better. The truth is, that by any other standard, I might be considered rather dull, and you know what? I'm perfectly fine with that.
I’m tall, scruffy, lean and ready to connect. My 3-point OA checklist is: Sparks. Butterflies. Slow burn.
Granted, these have become non-surpringly, obligatory statements, but these are not just mere words. Maybe it’s clearer to state what I don’t want. No, not just nudes and sexting, but also, not just friend who happens to be woman. Connection in a grey space which you can help me define. Simply put, I want to feel that jolt that keeps me alive for as long as possible.
I want to know you, the real you. You don't need to be extraordinary; being wonderfully ordinary is just as captivating. Let's know each other in ways our spouses don't, unencumbered by the constraints of our mundane lives.
If you’re in your late 20s to early 30s dwelling in the heartland of America, that’s a nice touch—but it’s not the point. The point is you: your quirks, your chaos, your baggage that doesn’t fit neatly into polite conversation. The stories that define you the unapologetic self that you are.
Let’s see where this goes.
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