Ficly

In the Zone

I’m high centered, stuck, in what some call the “friend zone”. I know that zone all too well, the one where you become her lap dog. She calls you when she needs her ego stroked. She calls you when she needs a confidant, a shoulder to cry on. She calls you when she’s bored and wants to have fun, but not the kind of fun that you had in mind from the very outset.

Every now and then you find yourself in the other zone. You read the plays right and head to splendors in the night. I swear it must be encoded in our DNA. There are times when even the most awkward of us win out due to this “Darwinesque” mechanism. It’s like some other character steps into the psyche, takes over and tells the usual insecure self “Let me handle this, so you don’t fuck it up." The character proceeds to turn on the wit, the flirtation, the charm. The other party responds in kind, or takes it to another level entirely. That, my friends, is when an atmosphere is created, one that is electric, animalistic, erotically charged!

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