I haven't actually seen the Ice Man since I moved out of the igloo, but he does keep in touch by email and text message from time to time. So, a while back, in an email about a camera cable that he found under his bed, he added:
"I've taken up kissing again... on the streets, in the trams... I might even try sex one of these days."
Now, you'd have to know the Ice Man to catch the irony of this comment and the anti-gravitational effect that it had on my eyebrow. The Ice Man is this drop-dead-gorgeous Brazilian with long, wild, curly black hair who flirts with everything that moves and can be found with a new girl every couple of days. As he once put it to Ms. L... "I like to take a girl and rent a hotel room... get a bottle of wine.. and disappear for a couple of days..." And that's pretty much been his lifestyle, as far as I could ever tell. So, naturally, I had to check it out. Here's the correspondence that ensued:
Kruu: Are you trying to tell me that you're a virgin? I'm finding that one a little hard to swallow.
Ice Man: Virgin, haha.... no, I just gave it up for a while, because I had lost the joy. But I think I'm ready to take it up again.
Kruu: Hmmm... I have just the opposite problem. I couldn't get laid in this town if my life depended on it. What am I doing wrong?
Ice Man: Just get drunk and go.
Kruu: Yeah, yeah, but go where?
Ice Man: Go for it. Usually, with alcohol, "it" comes for you.
(a couple of weeks later)
Kruu: Okay, so I took your advice. I've been lying around my flat drinking everything I could get my hands on, and I have to admit, the sex has been fabulous. The only problem is, I 've had to do all the work myself. There's got to be a better way.
Ice Man: Hahahha!
A couple of weeks later, I had an early night. I was feeling really exhausted and had to get up early for work, so I turned in around 9 p.m. and turned my mobile phone off, because I'd recently sent my number to my boyfriend in Mexico, and I didn't trust him to be aware enough of time differences not to call me late at night and disturb my sleep. On the way to work the next day, I turned my phone on and read this text message from the Ice Man, sent at 11:30 the night before:
"How's it? Did you get... drunk?"
I texted back about having had a fly in my web (Sinbad), but no meal for the black widow. That's been a couple of weeks ago, now, and I haven't had a reply. It was only later that day that it occurred to me that Ice Man's text may have been a booty call. You see what happens when you turn your phone off?
So, what do you think? If I'd gotten the message when it was sent.... would I have gone?



