At 52 years of age, I didn’t expect to be an alcoholic. A recovering one, that is. I expected to be very comfortable financially and happily settled with a romantic partner for the rest of my life. The only problem with this is that while I mostly nailed that first one with my job as the relatively successful founder of an AI chatbot companion app, I was still as single as a box of Cheerios.
But here I sit in my AA meeting this warm night, in which the only thing I look forward to is seeing Sophie.
Ah, Sophie. The object of my affection, but over a decade too young and probably too straight as well. I don’t really know much about my sponsor. I only just began coming to this location in the Tampa Bay area because I recently moved down from Philadelphia after a relationship gone bad.
But there’s just something about Sophie. Where I’m tall and as white as a snowman with light eyes and hair that’s a cross between dark blonde and light brown, Sophie is a petite stunner wrapped in warm chocolate. Dark from head to toe. I overheard her tell someone that she was mulatto, but I would think she was all-black if I didn’t know any better.
It doesn’t matter. She’s very attractive and seems to have an interesting personality as well. She seems a bit reserved yet polite, friendly, and outgoing at the same time. I don’t know her well enough to know how she scores in the intelligence department. I’ve only seen the exterior of the package so far.
While I’m definitely ready to settle down, I don’t know if Sophie is ready for that. She could be taken, even if she’s at least bisexual if not lesbian. I would assume sponsors didn’t typically date those they were sponsoring anyway, so I was out of luck.
But maybe not, I think, as an idea comes to me that makes me smile inwardly.
ns216.73.216.146da2
