I didn’t remember his name. I don’t think he remembered mine. He said I looked like Adrian from Rocky, so he called me Adrian throughout the night. I had never seen the movie Rocky, but I assumed he was simultaneously putting me down while hitting on me. Wasn’t Adrian suppose to be like a dweeb or something? Whatever. I’ll take it. I called him Rocky to validate his flirtations. He didn’t resemble anything like Sylvester Stallone. He was 5’7, blonde, fit with small biceps. He was probably in his late twenties although he had an older vibe to him.  An older vibe or even old age was a necessary trait that I needed in men in order for me to trust them. And not just with my vagina, but even with a smile. Because with that, came my imagination and my heart.  Rocky had large, captivating hazel eyes that when locked with mine, triggered a longing. A longing for an exquisite fuck? Or was it more than that? His eyes told me he was sad…like me. He, too, had been hurt by life. I could tell he had been through some shit. Or maybe it was just the druggy glow in his eyes from lack of sleep that I was reading into? Either way, Rocky seemed like a real find at the after-hours Thai restaurant I frequented.