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When a Normal Job is a Hindrance
Looking for a lover that doesn’t work a 9–5
“So, what do you do?” “Like for a living?” This guy adds.
“Oh, I own a small business. Design related.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Full time?”
“No, part-time. That’s how I fit in adultery into my schedule,” I texted.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“My job? Or fucking around?” I laugh. This guy is either clever or an idiot. I don’t know which one yet.
“Either, LOL.”
“Yes, to one. Maybe you can guess which.” Or, maybe not. I haven’t been exactly lucky to find lovers who were bright. And the endless lol’s were a clue.
I usually try to steer the conversation away from my job onto his.
“What do you do?”
I could care less, of course. This doesn’t relate to my interest in him whatsoever. The only parameter I have is how free are you to meet and fuck. I don’t care how much money you make or don’t make, your career track, your title, your meaning in your job. None of it.
What I don’t need to hear is that you work a 9–5. That blows this potential affair out of the water.
