Welcome to Midweek Missed Connections! Optional setting this week: on the trail
What is MMC? Finish anytime Wednesday and post the link here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). Spread the word and have fun!
w4m – 40 – Gotham
I was working on my laptop at the SS Cafe this morning. You remarked on my handwriting. Sorry I was uncommunicative; I was caught unawares. Was there a trace of an accent in your voice? You had a friendly smile. Fancy a do-over? Tell me what you said exactly…?
This is what I posted yesterday, the “clean” version. In what way, you might wonder, was I caught unawares? Well, when a girl is writing up her kinky blog and a man asks her What It Is – all that manuscript in her Clairefontaine – you should know that her Uh, it’s whatever means It’s Top Secret. Don’t get me wrong. I love people to read my blog. But, when confronted about my writing in the flesh a few blocks from home, it’s hard to summon the sangfroid to say: As it happens, today I am writing a post about the history of my kink. How, for instance, would I have introduced myself if we got to the point of exchanging names? As Casey Morgan, blogger extraordinaire? Or as the person whose name is on my mailbox?
But enough about me. You, perhaps, were just being friendly. I was too distracted to get a look at your ring-finger. Why did you sit at the table so long, drinking your coffee and staring into space? Thinking your thoughts… What thoughts were they? Did they have anything to do with the manic email I received this morning from a woman claiming I had described her husband, who was working in the neighborhood yesterday and who possessed an accent? If so, I pity you. She freaked, demanding I describe your attire and reveal my age. I don’t remember your attire. I only remember your smile, the silly fluff on your chin, and your absurd characterization of my handwriting as “neat.”
Come write your own missed connection – real or fantasy, who will know? Post the link today (Wednesday) here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). What is Midweek Missed Connections?
Read other missed connections this week:
Welcome to Midweek Missed Connections! Optional setting this week: cafe
What is MMC? Finish anytime Wednesday and post the link here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). Spread the word and have fun!
You surprised me in the stacks last night. I was the freshman wearing a yellow blouse, navy blue jumper, and knee-socks – you know, the girl with glasses sitting cross-legged in Victorian literature, the one so absorbed she didn’t hear you approach, the one who screamed and then blushed furiously when you asked what she was reading?
You wore khakis, white shirt under gray v-neck sweater, and a tie loose at the neck. A leather satchel weighed across your chest. You looked old, maybe even a grad student. Who wears a tie to the stacks on a Thursday night?
I know I was unfriendly, but you should know I was embarrassed. I wish I hadn’t acted like such a glacier. You may remember my vocabulary: fuck off, pervert, asshole, weirdo. I can only say, Sorry.
Did you know the shelf I’d emptied and the volume over which I pored? Swinburne, A.C. and an astonishing piece of prose called Love’s Cross Currents? I think, from the glint in your eye, that you did. Then you probably knew my heart was beating somewhere other than my chest, and my thighs were tingling against the marble floor.
Meet me there again, any night this week before closing. I’ve heard people spend the night in the stacks. I’ve heard there are ghosts. We could take some volumes down to D-level. Or maybe you’ve got a carol somewhere? Perhaps you could tutor me in Swinburne’s oeuvre, or thereabouts.
Check out other missed connections this week:
Welcome to Midweek Missed Connections! Optional setting this week: the library
What is MMC? Finish anytime Wednesday and post the link here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). Spread the word and have fun!
I saw you every morning at the track last week. You taught at the soccer camp installed on the AstroTurf. I was the girl with the dogs – yes, those dogs.
Your accent struck me as Glasgow softened by a proper education. Fit, brown hair, six two and change, you commanded those six-year-olds with the most charming sense of fun.
“Fishy-fishy-fishy come and play in our sea. Sharky-sharky-sharky, you can’t catch me!” How did you lead them and never patronize, encourage without sing-song? You had the touch, the reflexes to hold them in your thrall without ever revealing the extent of your power. I’m like that, too, in the classroom. It takes nerve, concentration, and a kind of love.
I rather fancy that pirate ship game: “Climb the ropes! Spyglasses out! Climb back down! Captain on deck!” See, that’s where it could get interesting, if a stowaway were discovered. Too young for the Cat, you’d have to find other methods of correction, and instruction.
Or maybe something closer to home: you a gifted Captain of Games, me a weedy 4th former who’s never played proper football. You’d make me love it, and never let me slack – somehow.
So few people know how to play, from instinct, with generosity and conviction. So few people are a natural, with a crowd of kids, or a recalcitrant project. Don’t go back to Scotland yet. Let me make you pizza while you play with my dogs. Let’s see what other games eventuate.
Check out other missed connections this week:
Welcome to Midweek Missed Connections! Optional setting this week: the track
What is MMC? Finish anytime Wednesday and post the link here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). Spread the word and have fun!
I saw you reading a magazine, your sleeves rolled up, waiting for the allergy shots to take, or whatever it is that they do. You wore black, your hair held off your face with sunglasses, cross visible when I looked too far down your top. You almost scowled at your reading, as is your fashion, even for glossy girl mags. Your skirt came just below the knee. I wanted to lift it, expose those legs of yours, and touch that bottom. Allergy jabs in the arm are tosh, as I’ve always said. A girl Casey’s age ought to have them in her bottom, and when it was time to have it looked at, the nurse would lift her skirt right there in the waiting room, and only return her knickers when everything was clear.
I saw you waiting at that Japanese massage place. Is that spot in your lower back still putting off enough heat to fry an egg? Oh, I know, you’re not tense; you’ve been carrying a heavy bag. 
Those girls can walk on your back all day long, but we both know something different is required to correct the holding in.
I saw you in the waiting room on that day you want to forget, waiting for that tosser of a social worker to stop diddling you about. I saw you even then. I see you even now. Don’t worry, Sweetheart, really…truly… Has anyone ever mentioned that you have the most beautiful nose?
Come write your own missed connection – real or fantasy, who will know? Post the link today (Wednesday) here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). What is Midweek Missed Connections?
Check out other missed connections this week:
Welcome to Midweek Missed Connections! The (optional) setting this week: the waiting room
What is MMC? Finish anytime Wednesday and post the link here or on Twitter (@caseydamnmorgan). Spread the word and have fun!
You helped us just in time yesterday, tossing us a line, yelling at my bickering crew to shut up and untangle the spinnaker, towing us out of the channel before those great lake freighters got too close. I was at the tiller, the one you called Pippi.
I’m not as young as I look. I’m starting 10th grade in September; most of my classes are with Juniors. I liked your boat, your beat-up polo shirt, your dimples, your accent, and your confident command when you told the jokers at the bow of my flying junior: “sort yourselves out!” My cousins are from England. Nicholas looks your age and goes to a school where they still get the cane.
I didn’t pick my crew; we get assigned. I hate those guys. I’m a better sailor than that. I think I’m too scared to be a great sailor, though, like my dad. I’m too scared to kiss a boy, and anyway my mother would kill me.
I haven’t seen your boat around, but if you’re ever at the Pier, stop by the snack bar and let me get you a milkshake. Maybe you could give me bravery lessons, like they give boys in England. You could teach me how to run a fast beat rail down, how to punch someone in the jaw, how to sneak out after dark and take the cane without yelping. I’m scared of capsizing, but if I was in your boat, I’d do it.
Check out other missed connections this week:
