Borneo “So what kind of girls do you like?"  The question had been stumbling

Borneo “So what kind of girls do you like?"  The question had been stumbling around his head for days, never quite going away, the drunk who stays past closing. It was innocuous enough, perhaps even banal, but something about it wouldn’t leave him alone. Perhaps because it had gone unanswered. He’d shrugged it off, something along the lines of:  "Oh, anyone who piques my curiosity.” He enjoyed using that word, there was a pleasant sharpness to it, so he’d seized the opportunity, before smiling, taking his drinks, and returning to the group.  Maybe she’d been hoping for a different kind of answer. A vague allusion to herself, hidden in general words. If that was the case, she was getting her revenge; in the quiet moments between immediate thoughts, he was getting distracted by that single question. It felt like something he should have an answer to.  And he would have an answer to it, if his tastes would stop being so restless, and changeable. Head lost in some Flann O'Brien dreamscape he’d looked up and across the tube carriage and been completely, utterly struck by the perfect makeup of the leather and studded punkster opposite him. She looked like a porcelain doll in a tornado.  Or the hint of a swimmer’s thighs flowing out of some delightful bodycon of the girl at the bar the next day. The way someone would laugh in the middle of a conversation, completely out of synch with everyone else.  Two weeks later, the question resurfaced like a body in the canal.  “So, what kind of girls are you into?” He sidestepped the obvious innuendo.  “The ones who don’t sit comfortably when I try to slot them into a category.” He stated, taking a sip of his drink.  She was pretty. Freckles, lace, mary janes. He knew what she was going for, and even the studded bracelet on her wrist fitted neatly into the look she was going for. At his answer he saw her eyes flicker, as if they were doing a run up before rolling the whole way.  “Ah, one of those.” She said, sounding suddenly tired. “I think you’re going to have to explain that one."  "Oh, don’t worry, it’s not a death sentence. It just means you’re not done exploring yet. Like.. you ask someone where they want to go in the world, and they start listing off this huge, long list of places. That’s not really what you wanted to know. What you wanted to know, when you asked that question, is where they wanted to go next.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You haven’t really travelled, darling."  He laughed.  "So what kind of guys are you into?"  She didn’t miss a beat. "Tall ones.” -- source link

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