Mr. Big

Every single gal in Manhattan or gay man everywhere has a proverbial Mr. Big. He’s that handsome guy who turned anti-aging cream and self-help books into billion-dollar businesses.

I am no exception. I met my Mr. Big at a coffee shop. He was cute, but most importantly, he responded to my blatant stare with a big pepsodent smile. So I came to him and initiated conversation.

He turned out to be a technologist at one of the local Fortune 100 companies. As he talked about himself, one by one I checked my short list of "must haves."

Have a job, check!

cute smile, check!

Speak without dangling modifiers, check!

With drinks in our hands (his: black coffee, mine: green tea he bought for me), we left the cafe and took a long walk by the lake. We talked about diverse topics; from Sartre to quantum physics to gag-free beejers. We ended our unofficial first date with a respectable handshake and an agreement to see each other again. I felt confident that we’d move to the suburb to raise our adopted Chinese babies.

He came to my house for a second date and yet another round of great conversation. I playfully touched the mango-sized bicep that popped out everytime he flexed his arm. Whenever appropriate, I did the nonchalant hair tosses. Barring humping his hot legs, I essentially used all mating calls known to homo sapiens.

Eventually the time to say good night arrived. At the door he leaned forward and we kissed…

And it felt awkward!

I felt like I was kissing my finance professor. I ghastly pulled back while he did the same thing. He looked confused, mumbled something and left.

Apparently there's a saturation point to cerebral flirting. Thomas Dolby in his one-hit wonder song "She Blinded Me with Science" might talk about his weird infatuation with a cerebral girl. But then again, look at Thomas Dolby. I think he'd just be lucky if anyone would go out with him

It was official. We were not destined to be lovers... maybe friends. The images of raising Xiu Xiu, our imaginary adopted Chinese baby, was slowly replaced by images of Beavis and Butthead saying “Duuuude heeh hehheeh heehheh” to each other.

We were incommunicado for a month. Until one day... I received a phone call from him.

“Hey (GiantSquid), this is (Mr. Big). How are ya?”

Just like that, great conversation ensued. But this time around, we knew that we were destined to be friends.

A couple of years forward, I can proudly claim that I have a healthy platonic relationship with Mr. Big. We continued to amaze each other with our quirks. We took cooking classes together. I, the ESL guy, kicked his white ass in Scrabble all the time. Just the other day, he begged me to write about him on my blog.

Other than my constant nagging to see his allegedly 10” endowment, we have never gotten physical with each other. Even I have to admit that my nagging was driven by a clinical curiosity and not a sexual one.

For Mr. Big… friends forever :-)