I got a rather surprising call yesterday from — of all people — McQuickie. We hadn't fucked around in a hot minute, primarily because his internship had him busy and he still has the cell phone number he gave me which I can't call or leave a message at for fear that his mother, brother or anyone at MetroPCS finds out he's gay.

I know, I know…why am I messing around with this kid? Technically, I'm not, which explains the hiatus. He always had some excuse or reason he couldn't get together, and after a while, I just got tired of them. Add to that he has the personality of a can of garbanzo beans and you can see why the only thing I'd want out of him is sex.

Which was why I thought he was calling. Turns out, it wasn't.

"Hey, I have a question for you," he asked.

"What is it?"

"How old are you again?" The emphasis on old being his, not mine. Great.

"25."

"And you know I'm…"

"19. I know." I'm dying a little inside right now.

"I'm about to turn 20 in August."

"Well…you'll be 21 before you know it." God, I'm grasping at straws here.

"Yeah…so I was wondering if I could possibly pursue you for a romantic relationship."

A part of me is flattered. Young, sexually virile cute 19-year-old interested in me for more than a good fuck. We should all be so lucky. But then reason kicks in. I am kinda sorta maybe talking to Apollo. Well, as much talking as two people can do from over 500 miles away without getting sick of each other. And I'll admit, while Apollo is cute, he's not here, which is McQuickie's advantage.

"We'll see," I said. "Let's meet up next week and talk — with no sex — and see if there's at least some common interest there."

"OK. Bye." And he hung up the phone before I could reply.

I didn't say yes to his proposition, but I'm not exactly saying no at this point either. Stay tuned.