He started saying that women to him were great to have sex with, he has had over 100 FB's (Or Fuck Buddies as he calls them). Women who, like him, just want a night of hard sex before leaving the next day. I've never had a FB nor do I ever want one.

The conversation continued until he turned to me and said "But what about you, you a fool in love aren't you?", that kind of stopped me in my tracks. He then carried on that this was the 21st century and women no longer liked being surprised with presents of flowers (something which I like to do a lot). He called me a 'helpless romantic' which is not the first time.

But the way I see it and this is purely open for discussion with anyone who reads this, is are his words true? Maybe the mists of time have clouded my judgement a little? Just like everyone else I too have a 'naughty and dark side' to my lovelife but I would rather keep that between the woman I love and myself, not share it as my friend does with 100 'FBs'.

I have a very unique imagination and the love life is never dull! Far from it!!! I look at my friend and think that in 60 years from now what will he be left with? A lifetime full of memories of all the wonderful FB's he had (and quite possibly a few STD's along the way), as for me I want to look at the person whom I love in the eyes and say "Happy 50th Anniversary darling" and yes the flowers and poems will continue.

Is the art of being romantic dead? What would you ladies have in life a romantic guy with a heart of gold or a man who treats you like dirt?

Over to you....

It came to me through a text message, not surprising at all considering we have talked on the phone all of three times. Maybe?

It was Friday night and I was texting Doorman. My phone predictably vibrated and I assumed it was Doorman getting back to me on our random Jew conversation, but I was wrong. I picked my phone off my bed, flipped it open and there was a text from - - - - - Asshole, aka Baseball Player.

What the?

His text lit up my screen with an apology. He said he wasn't trying to make up for anything, he just knew he was a dick. I nodded in agreement and hesitated. I can be a bitch and give him the same treatment he gave me so many times before and not respond, or I could continue to be the bigger person and accept his apology. I went for the latter. I responded with, "I appreciate that, but what took you so long to realize [that he was being a dick]?" He said something about respecting my wishes (the "don't ever fucking talk to me again" wishes). I told him he couldn't very well apologize for something when he didn't know what he did (he was blacked out when this incident happened). We went back and forth for ten minutes or so and he eventually asked if I would come over in the morning before the game and we could talk about it.

I was reluctant. I mean, if I think about it, this boy has caused me more drama than it's been worth. I thought back to all the times he bailed with no forewarning. All the times he didn't respond. All the times we said condescending things to each other. All the times I felt like shit. That time I left a last minute date early because he and I made plans and then he flaked. How that same scenario in slight variation occurred multiple times. And then this whole thing happened. And the fact is, if you took out the sex, we weren't even friends. Yet one of his text messages insisted, "I can't lose you as a friend." I asked him if we ever really were friends. He ignored it and said he was sorry and mentioned again that I should come over. I gave in.

I couldn't tell my friends, they would give me endless hell for it. I was just going to listen to his apology, not let him stuff my turkey, but it wouldn't matter, they hate him. The next morning luckily one roommate was at work and the other went home for the weekend, so no need to secretly escape. I parked in his gravel driveway and knocked on the door. He immediately opened it and for a second almost looked intimidated. I couldn't help but laugh. I followed him to his room, away from the listening ears of his random friends. He complimented me on my badass pirate shirt and I said his room was a mess.

We sat at the edge of his bed and he didn't say anything for a minute. I fumbled with my purple headscarf and eye patch holding it on (it's game day, yo, gotta dress as a pirate). I turned to him and said "Look, you can't keep apologizing when you don't know what you said, so I'm just going to tell you." I rolled out the story, every shitty phrase of his temper tantrum. He looked more and more mortified as I went on. When I finished, he just sat there looking shocked and said, "How do I make this up to you?" "Just buy me a lot of drinks next time you see me downtown," I insisted. "Well, I know one way I can make it up to you...," he offered. I knew exactly what he meant and instantly said "No, thanks." "I mean, not now. Just sometime in the future," he explained. I kept telling him I was good. Finally, I said, "No, look, I'm interested in someone, so I'm good."

I changed the subject and we talked about school and how he has been getting drunk six days a week. I told him that was cute and responsible. I stood up to leave, turned to him and said, "You know what made me the maddest about the whole situation? The fact that I wasn't going to be able to use your driveway to park in when I wanted to go to the gym." He laughed and said, "You know you can park anywhere on this street right? You don't need my driveway." "Are you fucking kidding me, I've been spending five dollars a week in quarters to use the metered parking."

We walked back out to his living room, where his friends were setting up the beer pong table to pre-game on before they went and tailgated. They were standing near the door, so I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood awkwardly next to them. I asked silly questions and walked out before I really got answers. I haven't talked to him since.

It's almost Halloween, making it almost a year since Baseball Player made his way back into my life. But it's the bottom of the ninth, my bases are fully loaded and Baseball Player has struck out. (I know nothing about baseball, that analogy is probably wrong!) And when he reaches his celibacy plan date, which is on his birthday (the day after Halloween), I won't be the one making out with him on his bed with a bunny head on. Long story...

Goodbye Baseball Player.

And as for him wanting to be my friend, I guess we shall see.  I'm not sure if it was the guilt that made him apologize or because he genuinely felt bad and still wanted to be my friend.  He has to prove it to me.

i like fuck buddies too~~and you are now an author here

i like fuck buddies

it makes it easy to fuck

and with none of the fucking crap

i have had some of the same fuck buddys

since i lost my virginity

only 2 people know my fuck buddies

me and my fuck buddy

unless i kiss and tell

but i never do if it matters

Some of these may become stories, some not.

-I bought my plane ticket for NYC to see Doorman and to try to meet prospective employers. What originally felt like a long time away has now turned into only 2 and a half weeks of waiting.  I'll be glavanting down the city streets by 9 a.m. October 9th.  I can't wait.

-I gave my annual speech on Fuck Buddies to a Courtship and Marriage class at ECU.  It's a class of 120 students that are predominately freshmen.  Hilarity and crudeness ensue.

-Baseball player and I called it quits. Rather, I yelled at him, "Don't ever fucking call me again."  I don't know if I want to tell this story. Just know he is rude, inconsiderate, childish and now deserving of the nickname "blister dick." But no, it's not necessarily how it sounds.  He did not give me a STD and that is not why he is to "never fucking call me again."

-I finally got back into working out. I kept saying over the summer it would happen and it didn't.  But I've successfully worked out 4-6 days a week the past three weeks and I'm back to hobbling down the stairs like I've been ass raped.  I've missed that pain.

-I offended and scared a 21 year old virgin.  He is my friend's new boyfriend and she told me to just talk to him about whatever. And by whatever she really did mean for me to slightly scare him because she is not a virgin. So I took this as a time to mention my desire to have a threesome, that I needed to get to Priscilas before they closed so I could buy bondage tape, that "rape night" does sound awesome to me (I am in no way, shape or form condoning rape or insinuating that it is not something that should be taken seriously.) After homeboy twitched in his seat for awhile and kept saying "I don't know that we should be talking about this," I  decided to end on a positive note.  I merely mentioned how I was considering buying a  Coach collar because dogs aren't the only ones who need stylish ones.  He looked confused, so I put my beer down, looked at him straight faced and said, "You know, a girl just wants to get slapped around every once and awhile." He was officially scared. I gave him a wicked smile and chugged the rest of my Honey Brown.

-I applied for graduation. In eight months, this bitch gets to walk across the stage, shake someone's hand that I don't know and scream something obscene.  And then I'm destined to be poor for several years.

-I saw the ex boyfriend today at the State/ECU game.  I will refrain from being a poor loser and saying something bad about State. Even though many State fans, some close to the age of 50, accosted me. But it was interesting. I hadn't seen him in nine months and before that it was when we were breaking up last August.  Even though we don't really have anything in common anymore and maybe we never really did, it still makes me sad that we can't really be friends.  I've always lived by the idea that you can be friends with your ex, not GOOD friends, but friends, and he's the opposite.  I don't say that in a way that I would want to hang out every weekend, but even if we could get coffee every few months or so and catch up that would be nice.  We were friends for thirteen years--the friendship far outweighed the relationship, but it is what it is.  As my mother so cutely asked when I got home from the game and said I saw him, "did your heart go pitter patter?" I laughed and said "no, definitely not. "

-And lastly, I did something I didn't plan on doing.  I broke the one rule I kind of made for myself for my senior year: I didn't want to date anyone.  Doorman and I are not dating, but I kind of, really, fell for him. A lot. So here I am, one month into my senior year and although I don't know what we are, other people or being a rampant slut no longer really matter.  It's always when you least expect it.

Hopefully, some of you loyal readers are still around.  Check back later for a post on my encounters with Mormons and possibly a recap of the Fuck Buddy speech.

"Hey, let me ask you a simple question."

I knew this was definitely not going to be a simple question.

"When do you think is the right time to introduce a person you're dating to your friends?"  Oh boy... I definitely do not like questions like this, because I can tell already we're going to head down a road that most people aren't prepared to handle.

I respond, "are you fucking or dating?"

She says, "I think we're doing both."

I ask back, "which do you WANT, cause you can't be doing both?"

She says, "I really want nothing, but I guess we're dating now."

I was sort of taken back by that answer.  I ask back, "wait, I don't understand, I thought you said just said you want nothing?"

She says, "well, yeah, but you know, things have just gone there.  I'm not really sure how."

It seems so backwards to me.  How can a person allow themselves to get into that sort of situation?  She maintains that she isn't ready to be invovled with anyone but keeps saying that she can't not have a guy with her.  Typical chicklogic, but I also know a lot of guy friends it happens to, and it is also the same situation that I found myself in last time I was in a relationship.

We knew each other through friends and I went over to her place to hang out.  We both got really stoned and drunk and ended up having sex.  Afterwards we maintained that we didn't want to get involved with anyone - she was in school and moving away in 4 or 5 months and I was enjoying being single.  We both agreed that we should only be fuck buddies.

But after a couple of months, things started getting tough, not for me but for her.  I was perfectly content how things were going.  I was seeing her three times a week, so you could consider her my "main girl".  She knew I was dating other girls but then one day she found out from some friends in our social circle that I had slept with another girl and she went BALLISTIC on me (which actually became the nature of our relationship later - her going crazy all the time), and afterwards told me she didn't want me seeing other people.

I fell into a relationship.  A year and a half later (now) I can barely talk to the girl without getting pissed off; she drives me crazy, and the time that I lost from us being together ended up costing me money, peace, friends, and countless other things.

The problem was that I didn't stick by my morals and standards.  If it were today I definitely would have never found myself in that kind of situation.

You gotta lay down the law.  Establish a boundary to yourself and stand by it... it's one of the measures of being a man.

The reason I called this post "The First Step" is because the first step of getting a woman is knowing what kind of woman you want around you. 

A terrible and gross myth of pickup and seduction is that you can sleep with every woman you want.

It just doesn't work like that.

Actually, what's interesting is that if you go back to Mystery's original posts on ASF, the first step was FIND, before Attract.  I think he's dropped it off now, I suppose because it is inherent, but looking back I can see how it should play a major role.

The thing is, as I am constantly preaching, this is ALL about what I want now.  You see, I don't go out just searching for whatever woman will accept me.  I have particular expectations for what kind of woman I will spend my time around.

Positive, happy, laid back, "cool" personality (David Deida), athletic, artistic, etc., and of course willing to be in a casual/sex-only situation.

Now that I'm armed with that expectation, then I know what to go after and I know that I won't "fall into" a situation that I don't want to be in.

One week.

One week since I saw your face.
One week ago I felt your arms around me.
One week my lips have missed yours.
One week your tongue denied mine.
One week I did not get any.

One week.
One week was long enough.

One week over tonight. Thank god.

But tonight that familiar contact did not satisfy.
Too short a time to make up for one week.
Who cares about confusion and road to nowhere. 

Friend-a-calling. We should get that drink with her.
Ok. Let's stop.

Dirty weekend ahead. Hurrah.
Because I dont think. 
I. Can. Wait. Another week.

I picked him up when the sky was at the tip of turning, from grey to blue.
A peck on the lips greeted me hello. Good morning.

Last night we went for post-dinner ice cream and bought smokes at the nearby sundry store. I tasted like berries he said. From the new Oreo McFlurry.

I didn’t shave my legs. Didn’t feel the need to.
And as he pulled on the drawstrings of my green linen pants, I heave a contented sigh, let him do his thing.

Our sex is becoming comfortable. And almost routine.
What the hell are we doing to each other? I don’t know where this is going.
More than friends. Less than a couple.

We fuck. But it doesn’t end there.
My body becoming addicted to his. I leave his place late and then in my lonely bed, I wish he was in me again. Over and over.

I know this can never be. His mother probably thinks I’m the original slut since catching me running naked to his bathroom. Don’t worry aunty. Your baby ain’t my baby.

Dropped him off at Departures with a five minute snog. The airport guard staring.
Not a care in the world. We’ve got our shades on.

Call me when you’re back. I said.

Driving home to the memory of his hands between my thighs the night before, I don’t know where this is going. I really don’t know.

I poured the tea and cupped my shivering fingers to the shape of the hot hot mug. What a relief. As I got out from the kitchen, stumbling my way across the living room, I spilled some on my bare thighs. I was ready to flinch, anticipating pain. The tea, at boiling point two minutes ago, did not seem to have an effect on my nerves, for my legs were cold, like ice.

I hate being sick. I know. Who doesn’t right? When I was younger, I loved it. It was an excuse for me to act like a princess and skip school. Now I don’t need to be ill to be all that.

I laid my throbbing head against the throw cushion of the sofa and thought, if anyone had a fetish for the frazzled and unwell, I’d be real sexy to them. Heh.

Hahahaha.
Serves you right.
Itu la, gatal lagi!
Woman, I thought you learned your lesson?
You’re joking!

Some of the reaction I received. And yes, I went back for more after last week’s eventful incident. On Monday. We locked the door this time though. In case of unexpected visitors again.

A simple cough had turned into a full-blown fever and other annoying penalties. The germs probably mutated.

I don’t regret. It was worth it. Not only because he was a satisfying lover and a good kisser. Also, for the reason that now the drought was over, momentum has to be kept.

Okay, always the passionate optimist, I assumed I was strong enough. Of course, believing my immunity was tough like a brick wall doesn’t make it so.

Maybe I needed this. Some alone time. Constantly surrounded by people can wear you down at several points or rather. I am not complaining to having a wide circle of friends, I feel blessed. Except being under the weather forces me to stay still and mull over thoughts I abandoned in pursuit of excitement.

A proper (dare I say it?) boyfriend would come in best during times like these. It’d be nice to be looked after by a significant other. Mothers make chicken soup and are brilliant in pampering the inner child. But that special person would indulge the vulnerable whims and makes you feel beautiful even when you look like a dying cow.  It’s a different feeling altogether I’m sure.

Not that I would know. I’ve never been in a relationship. Not really. I’m talking about the serious, long term, stable kind. The kind that might lead somewhere. 

All my previous ones didn’t last more than six months. And while I call them my exes (is there another title?), they felt more like extended flings.

My god sister and a throng of friends label me commitment phobic.

Maybe it is because at the curve of each relationship, something happens. Someone cheats. Boredom. Religious differences. Family objections. Long distance. Things that are beyond my control, too close for comfort, I feel smothered. And so I run. This is what I do.
 
Deem me a coward or picky, demanding, hard to please, or anything else within that category of vocab.  But I don’t see the point of staying simply for the sake of watching the prophecy unravel. 

I am not scarred. Not angry, not bitter. Not apologetic either. They were just not meant to be. But with every failed one, I grew more exhausted not passing that peak from play to domestic. Drained from the heartbreaks, the trying, the unnecessary ache, I stopped bothering.

Hence I jump from mattress to mattress, momentarily satisfied in my quest for 24 hour loving (sometimes less), leaving strands of my hair (both forms) on their plush pillows. 

However, trust me when I say, I have not lost hope in finding love – that’s a whole post by itself.

At present, I guess I am commitment phobic. Sort of.
Now where the hell is my group hug so I can feel someone up?

In an odd optimistic way, Friday was an edifying evening for her.

She had the usual packed itinerary lined up for the night – karaoke, fashion show, a friend’s birthday at some club. And she just got out of the shower, feeling fresh and energized, her body scented of green tea shower foam.

That was when her phone rang. It was him. The sick-I-don’t-want-to-see-people-cause-I’m-grouchy him. He’s been ill for three days, and in all those three days he resisted her assistance, her company and her compassion. She missed him, but she understood all the same. She sent porridge once. After that she decided best to let it be.  She called occasionally; trying to sound as casually as she could outside, even though she was staggering inside.

She wondered if subconsciously she was looking for an opportunity to play the silly lil worried girlfriend. But girlfriend was far from what she was trying to be. She really was concerned. She just wanted to be near.

So when he finally reached out that night, she relented. He was bored of the four walls of his room. Needed some fresh air, he said, let’s do dinner. Okay, dinner it is. She offered to drive. Be there in an hour, she said.

She hung up and dialed some numbers. Her plans? Cancelled!

When dinner was done, she was back in his room – pretending she knew what she was doing as she massaged him. Does that feel good? More pressure?  No?

She knew the friction from the skin of her palm against the texture of his back marks the inevitable beginning of yet another ardent encounter.

She had a feeling something startling was bound to happen. That was just how her luck usually pans out. But he was sweet. And tender. And promising. Like he was that first night they kissed.

Before she knew it their clothes were off. He felt so good. She didn’t want to let go.

This is it. The turning point of their friendship to godknowswhat. There’d be consequences. But she didn’t care. And she didn’t want to think about it. Let’s just seize the fucking moment.

Literally.

Then she heard someone hovering. Her reflex told her to run to the bathroom.
And thank heavens she did. Because his mom, visiting, walked in. (say OMFG)

Garments were strewn all over the floor. Messy bed, and used condoms by the side post. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening in there.

She spent the next three days cringing in embarrassment and reiterating her mortification to laughing friends in an infected coarse voice that made her sound like a transsexual.

Two lessons learned over the long Independence Day weekend.
Never have sex with a sick man.
Lock the fucking door.

Barry bailed; worn-out from an article deadline and going to bed, according to his text. So there goes my ride to a dose of Lychee Martinis and flamboyant men by the balcony of Frangipani when it is their weekly anticipated “Boys’ Nite Out”.

Too lazy to drive to town myself, but already in a blue belted dress, shaved legs and leopard print shoes. All dressed up and nowhere to go. The thought of staying home alone with a rouged face and purple eyelids was making me feel like a ridiculous lonely clown as minutes go by.

I headed to ____’s place nearby, a casserole dish in hand. Supper? Sure he said. Love to. I figured, men never say No to free food and glossy lips do they?

I felt different when I walked in.
Different how?
Like a date.

Maybe it was just the sex-me-up undergarments. I don’t know what it is about black lace that makes women instantaneously hot to the touch and start to imagine they are inclined to perform slinky stunts against a metal pole.

Wine? He asked.
I thought, more alcohol, yummy.
Yes, please.

Conversation was slow and steady while he ate and I took swigs of my Merlot like it was the Devil’s delicious intoxicating syrup. No I’m not an alcoholic, was just soothing the drought. Yes. That drought. It’s been three weeks.

Four glasses later we were in his bedroom. Dust-free, cotton sheets and clean white walls covered by movie posters from yesteryears. The kind of space that shows he is a hygienic male in the house (ya’ll). He scanned the playlist on his laptop and apologized – Sorry babe, I don’t have Justin Timberlake here.

Sitting on his bed, I laughed at the insinuated reference to an FB note of a previous sexual encounter (what else right?).

Do I really want to cross that line? A thin brittle one which separates friends from lovers, fuck buddies, or whatever. Is it truly possible for two single heterosexual members of the opposite sex to be simply that? Friends I mean. And not the kinds with benefits, under inverted commas, or sleepovers either.

I used to believe so. Not anymore.

Another male friend once said to me that a woman using a man for friendship is just as bad, as a man using a woman for sex. He was not the first, probably won’t be the last, to tell me the same thing. And to a certain extent, I agree.

There is a Ladder Theory which suggests when people initially meet; they immediately size up the other as possible sexual partners, based on criterion they possess. (This is true, I do this all the time).

They then proceed to place the other on their “ladders” in terms of desirability. The theory claims that men only have one ladder (cause they want to boink everything), and women, have two – the “potential” and “never” ladders. Of course that’s not the end of it, but without going into anymore details, it essentially affirms my suspicions that the sex thing? Always there.

We are just too shy/frigid/forward thinking to admit it.

The sexual tension between me and this dude, its there alright. Accidental hand brushes, evocative innuendos. Every so often curiosity surges through my blood to kiss him full, on the mouth, and with force. See if he would like that. But I didn’t. Too chicken to do it. *cluck*

Nothing earth-shattering happened. We watched a DVD and he walked me to my car.
Our goodbye was awkward. At least I thought. The supposedly kiss on the cheek ending at the corner of the lips made it such.

Can we really be friends? Or is the sexual vibe meddling?
Either way, I went home horny. Damnit.

----------------------------------

This back and forth with Doorman has picked up--substantially. It has almost consumed me entirely. We're both on the fritz anxiously waiting for the weekend to come. It's been a painfully drawn out waiting game building in anticipation that will surely explode the second I step out of my car at midnight in Virginia.

The strange thing is how this whole thing started. There had been no previous flirting, no looks or passes that would even hint at something. We had simply been conversing as we had all been drinking. Now with drinking, I realize there never has to be much for something to start, but usually I build off someone's joking sexual innuendos, to a point where I know it is no longer a joke. This was not the case.

There had been a lot of us, spread thin throughout couches, floors and a bed, drunkenly falling wherever we saw fit. As the early morning sun was beginning to break through the cracks of the window, he and I found ourselves as the only ones left awake. I put down my drink and proceeded to crawl into bed. He followed in shortly after me. He looked down on me as I laid there and all of a sudden I wanted him. It hadn't struck me all night, not for any reason besides that I wasn't thinking about it. He didn't say a word, just crawled in, grabbed my face, held it in his hands and kissed me hard. And there among the sea of quiet snoring, in the disappearing darkness we were wildly making out. We both wanted more, we needed it, but it couldn't happen. I kept saying so, because one leg was touching his and my other was brushing up against the other person sleeping in the bed. That's really not my style.

I looked at him and said, "bathroom?" and he nodded. I grabbed his hand and he eagerly ran after me into the bathroom. As soon as he closed the door behind us, he looked at me and said, "you're a dirty girl aren't you?" I nodded. This pleased him and he said, "Good, so I can pull your hair." Before I was able to finish saying, "Yes, please!" he had me up against the wall with a firm grip on my hair and I was loving every minute of it.

Maybe because it was all so spur of the moment, maybe it was the abundance of vodka running through our veins, or maybe it was because in the other room people were fast asleep totally unaware of our bathroom sexcapades, but it was so ridiculously hot. What he did was simple, but enough for me to have to stop and ask him where he learned how to do that. And what was to follow were quite possibly the three greatest words anyone has ever said to me and it doesn't start with "I" and end with "you"

The three words were also simple, but had a ridiculous effect. I need those three words to be mine, so I'm not saying what they were, because even if he just texts me them I go crazy. They're that good and I always remember the way he said it to me--deliciously sinful in my ear against the tile.

We found our way around the bathroom, making use of different surfaces, completely uninhibited. But don't be fooled, readers, I haven't done him yet. That is why the anticipation is great.

After an hour of bathroom bliss, we tip-toed back into the room that was now totally consumed in the morning light and found our spots back in the bed. And as my legs found their respective places touching one of his and the other person's next me, we heard a sound that startled us all...

What are fuck buddies rules?  How does this relationship differ from a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship (besides being exclusive and commited)?  Where do you draw the line at just fucking to more?  With feelings?

I hardly ever hear of people who have had successful friends-with-benefits deals.  Like someone always develops feelings and it just gets bad.  Should we avoid hanging out and going out?  Cuddling?  Calling each other sweetie? But then how do you establish the friend part if you don't hang out?

Now as mentioned previously, Doorman doesn't live anywhere near me and that's frustrating. One: for the obvious reasons and two: because he's a really cool guy that I have a ridiculous amount of things in common with. I look forward to the day that he and I can go eat Greek food in the city and make all the same snide remarks about people walking by as we wear our fedoras. Life will be good. Until that day, as mentioned before we text each other. A lot. I've never been one to talk on the phone, never will be, but texting...well, I think I've sent over 2,000 this month. But no worries, until I graduate Papa Shro pays for me to have unlimited.

But so Doorman and I text. While I've been visiting family this week everyone keeps asking me who I'm texting, but I just smile until someone interrupts with something else and they forget the question they asked. I don't want to have to explain to them the situation or what's exactly being said (but hey, Sister Shro sometimes reads this, now you know!). It's to Mr. Doorman and it's dirty.

At the end of August, Doorman is coming to Greenville to visit for a week. He has lots of friends here, which he can surely spend some time with while I'm in class or working, but ya know...then its business time. However, he informed me one day during one of our hours long textfests that he would be stopping in to see his family before getting to Greenville. He lives on 200 acres of land and when he's visiting, he and his friend are going to be shooting guns and skeet (har har) and riding four-wheelers. He asked if I would like to come. Yes, please. I haven't shot a gun since my days of going to camp when I was 12. I kind of want to do it in my four and half inch red high heels, because you know how I feel about shoes. I can stand there teetering from the weight of the shotgun on the skinny points of my heels as I blast bullets into the Virginia air. I'm excited.

I was reluctant at first because it's going to be a decent drive and it will be the first weekend after school starts--those weekends are always crazy. I needed some persuading and asked him how he would make it worth my while. He knew exactly what to say.

He told me we could ride a four-wheeler out onto his land, which he apparently has fields of open space, at night when it is hopefully raining and we can have all the fun we want out there.

Hi, welcome to my dream come true.

I've never been on a four-wheeler, never had sex outside and definitely haven't had it in the rain.

I agreed immediately. I'll be there.

(Can anyone name what awesome/ridiculous song that title came from?)

Last night, I came home from a long day of shopping with Morgan and game night at the Badders' house. It was 2:30 and I was catching up with doorman as I was trying to get tired, when I received a text from BP. "I can't exactly have sex..." I assumed this meant he was dating someone now. So I responded with "What happened" then immediately panicked, thinking wait a second, what exactly does that mean? Shit, do I need penicillin? Maybe this happened since last time we saw each other...as I'm having a mini break down thinking of all the horrible things it could possibly be he responds with "I'm just trying to take it easy for awhile and see if something like a relationship happens."

So I was right. Phew! So I told him that's awesome, good luck, still want to see your new place and if in the end it doesn't work out there's still a girl down the street who wants to get ravaged.

Then my phone rang. BP doesn't call me, so this was strange.

Shro: Yes, dear?

BP: Look, I can still get you off if you want, we just can't have sex.

Shro: Okay? That's fine, but I'm not in Greenville.

BP: You're in Raleigh!? (I can tell now that he is drunk)

Shro: Yeah, I told you this. You didn't respond in time, I went home.

BP: What are you talking about?

I explained to him the text messages and he said he never got them. Hmm?

Shro: But, so who is the lucky lady?

BP: Oh, there isn't. I'm just taking a break right now, I feel like it's holding me back.

Shro: Oh you mean from like meeting other people and stuff.

BP: No, not really. I just want to see if I can do it.

Shro: Wait, what? Why?

BP: As a challenge. It will be really hard. (Insert obvious joke here)

He went a little more on about it and I saw my senior year ravaging plans crumbling. Shro think fast.

Shro: Well, that's great. That's really ambitious of you and if that's what you want to do I totally respect it. But sweetheart wait...aren't you graduating this coming May too? (he said yes) Okay, so really we only have a year left here to be completely irresponsible, wreckless and stupid. Ya know, so this seems more like a goal to achieve when you move away and get a real job and don't know anyone. I just don't want you to regret your senior year because you decided to be celibate. There's a lot of fun to still be had.

BP: Yeah, I see your point that kind of makes sense.

Shro: It totally makes sense.

After a few more wise Shro points, I broke him down and he decided to go against this plan and asked if I would come over.

Shro: I'm not there, dear. In two weeks when you come back though...okay.

He agreed and we hung up. I sent him a few text messages that would ensure the fact that he would stick to the new plan and fell asleep. As I was getting ready to meet Randomgirlfor lunch today, he responded to one I had sent him. I sent him a few back and he responded with "Not having sex, but there are other ways, yes." Damnit--Sober BP wasn't falling for last night's infinite Shro Wisdom, so I told him, you know I'll break you right? He said, Iron Wall. So I left it with "This will be my challenge and need I remind you, I don't fail at anything."

So now, dear readers, I have to find the perfect balance between persistence and stealthness to convince him his plan is a foolish one. But this baseball player has a thing for boyshorts and secretaries, so maybe I just found the perfect excuse to buy a high waisted pencil skirt and show up at his house unexpected. Now I just need to find some sexy glasses...

And at least I can always rely on Doorman to get the job done. ;)

I went back to my FB (to read more on that subject, read FBing: how it began and the rules part 1 and 2).

Actually, I went back and picked up another one along the way. Why have one, when you can have two? (But kids, do have safe sex. No one needs another little you running around.) As mentioned in polyamory post below, I have no interest in monogamy at the moment. I don't have time for that and I certainly have less time to put up with anyone's bullshit, so I'm leaving that all behind for what should be the best way to end my college career in a wall-pounding style.

Not too long ago, on a whim, I decided I would send FB a text. He and I hadn't spoken in awhile and with his return to Greenville approaching, I decided what better time to test the waters and see if he was up for it. As I mentioned in the past, I had called it off, but the last time we had spoken to each other wasn't on a great subject, so I had left it at that. However, he eagerly responded to my recent scandalous text. Neither of us explained anything to each other, we don't have to, we just fell back into what we know: late night, x-rated, sexting, all in the name of exploiting what exactly it is we want from each other when we finally see each other again--which is very soon I might add. I'm fairly certain at one point he told me he played baseball, so we shall call him the Baseball Player from here on out (but don't you fear, dear readers, he's not that kind of baseball player--ya know the really stupid, cocky, asshole kind. He's intelligent, funny, sexy and completely not my type).

The second one. Well, he's new. Actually, I haven't known him long at all. He reads this from time to time--hello dear--so that should be interesting. But he told me he liked how I'm so honest and open about sex, so this shouldn't be a problem. We will call him Doorman, because he works the door at a bar. Coincidentally, they both work at bars, but that is not how I met either of them. I don't just go around hitting on bouncers. He doesn't live here though, or even in Raleigh, he lives far away. So for now, we will be long distance FWB's, living effortlessly through dirty text messages as well and awaiting for the random visits when we do see each other. However in the fairly near future, we will find each other living in the same city. He's more my type; he's kind of nerdy, is well-traveled, sexy in the non-conventional way (which is how I like it) and he pulls my hair. I knew I liked him when pulled me into a room, said, "you're a dirty girl, aren't you?" and then slammed me against the wall and told me what to do.

They both have beards, which have completely become my weakness. There's something about that rugged appearance I love. Baseball player has a tidy one, that very much matches his entire disposition and Doorman has a scruffy one, which also very much matches his lifestyle. I equally enjoy both.

They both have lots to offer me, all of which comes with the ability to be free to do what I want, which is completely ideal. There will surely be some fun updates on this topic. I anxiously await all of them. These boys teach me new things about myself every day. :)

Na stronie internetowej Dziennika pojawił się dziś taki oto artykuł na temat niezobowiązującego seksu i Fuck Buddies.

Nie wiem czy opisywany tu stan rzeczy to rzeczywistość czy tylko emanacja pragnień autorów artykułu.

Niezobowiązujący seks znakiem naszych czasów
Jeśli masz znajomego, z którym umawiasz się na niezobowiązujący seks, to znaczy, że jesteś reprezentantką współczesnego trendu. Ludzie o podobnych upodobaniach nazywają się wzajemnie Fuck Buddies. Buddie w języku angielskim oznacza kumpel, a w omawianym kontekście kogoś, kogo co prawda się nie kocha, ale z kim chętnie pójdzie się do kina, a potem do łóżka. I na tym koniec.
Wystarczy rzucić okiem na artykuły dotyczące życia intymnego i porady udzielane w magazynach dla kobiet i mężczyzn, by odnieść wrażenie, że numerek na jedną noc stał się znakiem naszych czasów.
Przypada on w udziale nie tylko zdeklarowanym singlom, czy nieszczęśliwym małżonkom. Ochota na szybki seks to konsekwencja dobrobytu, znudzenia codziennością, swobody obyczajów oraz dyspozycyjności i stałej gotowości, którą zapewniają zdobycze technologiczne (sms-, mms-y i maile). Do tego dochodzą gigantyczny stres w pracy, który trzeba jakoś odreagować oraz częste podróże służbowe, noce w hotelach i wolne wieczory, których nikt przecież nie lubi spędzać w samotności.
Jak wynika z doświadczeń wielu kobiet żyjących w dużych miastach, po ciężkim dniu wystarczy wybrać się do baru, by znaleźć tam chętnego prawnika, managera czy bankiera. Słodziutkiego chłopaka, którego można zabrać do domu na kilka godzin namiętnego seksu. A zaraz potem wyprosić, bo niezależna kobieta jada śniadanie solo.
Scenariusz może wyglądać również tak: młody przystojny biznesmen stoi na lotnisku. W jednym ręku trzyma walizkę, w drugiej telefon komórkowy. Przed chwilą dowiedział się, że odwołano jego samolot. Mężczyzna nie zamierza tracić czasu i spędzić samotnej nocy w obcym mieście. Z listy kontaktów wybiera adres kobiety, która z pewnością mu nie odmówi.
Czy powyższe przykłady wydają się nam obce, nierealne? Dla wielu z nas (na szczęście) tak, ale powoli takie zachowania stają się normą. W ostatnich latach bowiem zasady zawierania znajomości mocno się przeobraziły. W wyniku nieograniczonego dostępu do internetu i telefonu komórkowego, które umożliwiają znalezienie partnera seksualnego w błyskawicznym tempie, stajemy się coraz otwarci na ekscytujące przygody.
Czy oznacza to, że mając nieograniczoną możliwość wyboru, ciągle pragniemy coś zmieniać, ale jednocześnie podejmujemy decyzje na zasadzie chybił trafił? Przecież strony internetowe, które pośredniczą w niezobowiązujących kontaktach seksualnych, odnotowują stały dopływ chętnych. Jednocześnie rośnie udział kobiet-użytkowników. Czy więc żyjemy w czasach, w których seks obejdzie się bez miłości?
Eksperci i seksuolodzy, którzy zjawisko to nazywają nową miejską kulturą, próbują nas uspokoić. Ostatecznie zmianom uległy tylko możliwości, a nie ludzkie tęsknoty i pragnienia - tłumaczą. Niezobowiązujący seks nie jest faktycznie niczym nowym. Mamy z nim do czynienia zarówno wtedy, gdy nie możemy być z kimś, kogo kochamy, jak i wtedy, gdy jesteśmy w szczęśliwym związku. I chociaż przyjaźni w stylu Fuck Buddie jest w dzisiejszych czasach coraz więcej, nadal należą one do mniejszości. 95 proc. wszystkich kontaktów seksualnych ma bowiem miejsce w stałych związkach. Możliwości technologiczne ułatwiają nam wprawdzie zawieranie przygodnych znajomości, ale większość ludzi, aby móc delektować się seksem, potrzebuje intymności, odpowiedniej atmosfery i emocjonalnego bezpieczeństwa.

Fuck Buddie ktoś kiedyś przetłumaczył jako przyjaciele z opcją na łóżko - tak to już jest z tłumaczeniami na polski: pewne słówka przekłada się jako terefere... Karolina uważa, że od tego zaczyna się co trzecie małżeństwo - najpierw oboje się po prostu przyjaźnią, a po kilku latach okazuje się, że nie chce im się szukać nikogo innego. Lenistwo, przyzwyczajenie, czasami dzieci... Dla porządku są zaręczyny, wyznania miłości, oboje udają, że w to wierzą. Czasami nawet wierzą w to, że wierzą. Potem jest ślub i wszyscy znajomi są święcie przekonani, że taka udana z nich para i jest to prawdziwa wielka miłość. A to tylko wygoda i przyzwyczajenie.

The lesson I learned over the last few weeks creates that truth for me. Holly has helped me through it enough to write about it, appreciating moments of real contact [not just physically], and where I needed to learn where the line is/was. XOXO Holly sweet.

It is marvelous to have Holly back in Vancouver. Hanging out is good. Wreck Beach is just what I need. And the booze and pot and sex and movies and pot luck dinners and picnics with vodka coolers make me know that Holly is a core part of my life for a long time. Amen amen amen.

And now that Holly is going to my/our church quite regularly now we have become a social item. Not a dating item. We aren't dating [technically, just the benefits].

But people know us. And they know us as a pair.

And Holly likes some of the boys. Not enough to date, but enough to enjoy the view and flirting.

And then there's Randy. He is new to town, doing his Masters of Divinity and has spent the last several weeks at our evening service. I think he has a training gig lined up for mornings somewhere. Somewhere where no one puts their arms in the air when they feel moved. :)

Randy is sweet, has awesome wavy flowing hair, is 29, 1/4 Korean, and not too tall. Not that height is a dealbreaker. :)

Holly got to him first one evening after the "show" as she calls it when it's a bit shlocky. And we went for coffee with him and a few other folks. Coffee meant martinis for a few of us. Slippy in the throat. Yes.

Lotsa talk. Lotsa fun. Phone numbers and last names for Facebook friendship go around.

And the next day I phone him from work and arrange a light dinner for that night.

Open relationships have their benefits. Gordon is a dream, but we both appreciate the fun of variety. I should really go into some of that all in that last several months. But that's that.

Over the course of 4 times over the next 2 weeks or so before it all crashed to the ground, to put it simply, I tried to get Randy to have sex with me.

I liked him splendidly. He was richly interesting. He had a deep soul.

And he had been, in a previous life, a married furniture assembler with a gambling problem who found a good 12-step program, Jesus and a calling to go into social work and the chaplaincy. Totally respectable. And fascinating.

His marriage ended before his gambling did. Her call. I get that. He had overcome quite a bit, but the broken marriage was the heaviest as it all happened before he knew God and so his frame of dealing with a divorce was after the events. An awkward thing.

And he told me about the times he and his ex met for coffee to work on their shit ["stuff"]. Really endearing.

But he is also a born-again virgin, which i find out on our 3rd date. Which I totally respect. Except I didn't really. And that's on me. I'll accept that.

So when we first went out for dinner, it was casual and fun and we both had a good time. I kissed him goodnight. He was into it. And enjoyed his warmth.

So we plan a post-dinner drink the next night. He had a family thing for dinner.

So I wore a light jumper and cami and no bra. I felt amazing.

Drinks and chatting were nice. I was warm and casual and tipsy and we held hands lots. I knew he was taking in my breasts. BAV, but not dead. I felt good.

We ended the night kissing and hugging. I got in some good glancing nipple rubbing on his chest. Very nice. But the night ended without anything more. I bide time.

Then on the Saturday we walk the seawall a bit. Light, purple skirt past the knee, no panty. Going commando. And the whole braless thing again with a lose scoop T and cami again.

And when we make it around to Lumberman's Arch we find some nice shady grass aside some bushes and lie down to nibble the baguette and drink some cool beverages.

My goal was to green light him, not for there then, but in general. Such a whore, I know. I've come to terms with that.

I arranged myself so that I was lying somewhat under him with his back facing away from the bushes. Under cover of his legs on mine, I slid my skirt up a bit and flowed my hand to my pussy for some comfort. Hoping he'd follow my lead. He did eventually. And he showed slight startle at what he found in there. :) Yay!

He was enjoying the heat and wet and hair and slippy skin. I liked him there greatly!

And after a bit of time there I rolled over onto him. His shorts were not thick. Spreading my skirt up so it was pussy on shorts I/we had a nice time. No bouncing or monster grinding. Just pleasure. Some cleavage leaning. And I spent a good amount of time with my eyes closed, moving my hips oh so gently. Luscious.

And after a time I lied back down to spoon. Felt his cock on my ass. Very nice.

And we walk back and he drives me home and kissing goodbye, I touch his cock and ask him if he'd like me and his friend to get to know each other better. And then he starts telling me about his BAVity. And I feel in part like an ass, but far moreso frustrated. That is me being selfish. I own that too.

And we part well. And I go in and rub off an O.

So the next Friday night we have coffee. And we talk. And do the getting to you know more deeply thing. But the whole time I live a deep sadness that we're on different pages.

And I know it's going nowhere because though I like him a lot, I don't like him enough [or is that even the issue? Holly?] to stay celibate with him.

And towards the end of that night we both start talking about the elephant in the Starbucks. And we just agree that that's that. Still friends, or is it "friends".

And as much as I replay it all in my mind, I don't come up with ways of being different. If he had mentioned BAV before our 3rd date it just would have ended earlier.

Holly says I'm swimming in whore guilt. That he will think I'm the slut I'd be seen as by most in the church. In part true. Mostly something different though.

Mostly sad that his circumstance were/becomes different.

Mourning what would otherwise have been. And it's sad.

But the lesson is important. To respect people's choices. Because in the end, you can build nothing casual or serious when one person does not sincerely accept where the other person is.

Dreamily,

Tina

First off, being a fuck buddy and being friends with benefits are two different things.

In the beginning, I thought we were friends with benefits.  It became clear by spring semester we were fuck buddies.  The difference is: FWB--you hang out, have good conversations, inquire about parts of their life that are more than surface details, and also have good sex.  FB--you're purely using each other.  It's all it is. Maybe in the downtime you discuss details of life, but not much.  He and I were friends, I wouldn't say he wasn't my friend, but we weren't FWBs.

But anyway, besides learning the difference I also learned:

• I learned that I can't separate sex and emotion as much as I tried. It just doesn't work for me.
• How to say exactly what I want in that regard.  I used to be kind of afraid to admit all the awesome things I wanted to do, now its easy peasy.
• The Dirty Text Message Game.  He taught it to me and now I'm trying to teach it to someone else.  It's a fantastic game, I promise you. Just do it!
• I learned other delicious facts, but they are not suitable for this blog.  Only those who are really lucky will ever find them out ;).

But more importantly the rules of fuck buddying:

• You're not allowed to get jealous.  At all. Either of you are free to do whatever you want.
• You don't really cuddle afterwards. Maybe for a second, tops.
• Kissing, it isn't guaranteed
• You don't hang around the next morning
• You don't get to know their roommates or friends
• Alcohol should be involved
• It is not a relationship
• Wrap it up, bitches!
• The questions you ask, don't have to have answers
• You don't say "I love you" (that one is for all those girls who asked me that when I went and spoke about it to a class)
• It is absolutely going no where (that one is for them too)
• Do not fall in love with your FWB or FB (that one too)

A good friend of mine recently found herself in this situation.  She called me and asked my advice. To which I said:

Do it.  We all have to (be sluts sometimes or another) make mistakes sometime or another.  So make them while you're young.  You won't regret it, you'll just realize it probably isn't for you.  Just remember the rules and look for someone to date while you do it and then move on. It's good while it lasts. And, he's hot right? Ok, good, because if not, what's the point? ;)

Good luck to any of you FB-ing out there.  But don't be a fool and wrap your tool :).

I've wanted to write on the subject for a long time. A really long time. I wrote a really anger filled rant about them six months ago, but I never posted it. Since then, I've started ones, or planned one out in my head, but they were always at times where what would come out would have been far more negative then I intended.

Now that the FB and I have officially called it quits for quite some time now, I feel like I can write on it. It's going to be a two parter.  First is the FB story and the second is what I learned from FB's and the rules of FB-ing.

And hell, maybe one day, he and I will find ourselves sitting next to each other in a psychology class again and I can turn and whisper to him, "what are you doing after this class?" But until then...this is my ode to fuck buddies. (it's going to be long and maybe far too detailed for your taste )

----------------

I had been single for two months, when I ran into him. We had run into each other again under strange circumstances.  We had met a year before in a class when I wasn't single, but never kept in touch afterwards. He told me he had seen me at a football game earlier in the semester and that he had told the guy he was with that I would drive him crazy by telling him all sorts of dirty things I liked to do in the year prior.  Dirty things he couldn't do anything about. (keep in mind people, I was talking about the things I liked to do with the BF at the time, I wasn't hitting on him while I was taken. tsk tsk.) I laughed and said I didn't recall, I really didn't. I showed him my halloween costume choices. He told me to be the dreidel instead of the slutty Indian, I said I had my reasons. He left for work and the roommates and I proceeded to throw an awesome Halloween party. He returned to the party late after work.  We talked and discovered commonalities about each other.  He tried to hook up with me but I told him I wasn't the kind of girl to hook up with someone the first time I hung out with them. Oh if only I had stuck to that ideal, but those are other stories for other days. He insisted we hang out again then.

He invited me to his birthday party and I went because at this point I thought I might like the kid.  I walked into his room to say happy birthday when I got there and he yelled for everyone to get out.  The orange soda and vodka was catching up to me as he pulled me onto his bed and tried to hook up with me again.  I smiled and said, "Oh that requires a dinner, dear."  He looked confused and said, "I thought you didn't want a boyfriend." I said, "I don't."  I was too drunk to realize my hypocrisy. He asked about being friends with benefits and I said they didn't work.  Shortly thereafter we got up and rejoined the party.

In the coming weeks, I received late night texts in the very dirty variety.  I didn't know what to make of it, never had I received such texts.  They were cool, but I didn't know how to respond. Eventually through said texts we planned a Tequila Tuesday, where we would just see what happened.  It never happened.  Finally the weekend before Thanksgiving break, we caught up with each other.  We were pregaming over at Burch's apartment, chasing tequila with white grape juice and dancing to Britney Spears (we're so cool).  My phone went off and Ellis grabbed it. "What are you doing tonight,from _____," she said.  "No it's not, give me that." But it was.  I tried to get him to come out with us, but he was too tired.  Once downtown, I downed tequila sunrises and danced (oh lord.) with some girl that came with us, that I didn't know.  I texted the FB a demanding text about coming to pick me up.  By 12:30, I was jumping in his car at the Stop Shop.  And that is where it began.  Details don't matter, just know that I fell off his bed at some point in the night, he "jokingly" tried to get me to catch a cab home (classy) and we hooked up the next morning.

From there started the onset of more late night text messages, "what are you doing tonight?" or ones saying, "my Sunday afternoon is open."  We planned ahead of time, with it only working out fifty percent of the time.  We were always drunk and if we weren't when we got to each other, we made sure we drank till we were.

We both fruitlessly tried to get the other to come to our home towns for New Years Eve, but instead hooked up with someone else.  We would discuss in detail online all the things we wanted to do and it sounded delicious.  We never seemed to get to them though.  Spring semester lent itself to some very interesting evenings.  Like the night I had to rescue him from his acid tripping friends at 2 am, or the time he passed out outside and never made it to my house, or the time I passed out, his phone died and left him knocking at my door for 15 minutes at 4am before giving up. Eventually we called it quits in March and I was angry.  Livid.  I don't know why. I just was.  Although I didn't "like" him, I guess somewhere in my head, I needed to, to make it all okay.

So we stopped texting (sexting as we called it), I didn't see him around downtown at all and we both moved along. A month passed and he IM'd me saying we should hang out, I told him not in the 2 am kind of way.  He agreed.  We were going to, but we didn't.  But then I ran into him at the end of the month, right before exams.  It was a Tuesday and we were both downtown celebrating five dollar all you can drink night. I knew before I even left for downtown that I would see him, he always went there on Tuesdays.  I didn't care.  I didn't even put on the cute boyshorts he liked.  I knew nothing was happening. I was wrong.

I saw him the second I walked in the door.  I gave him a hug, grabbed a Blue Moon and found an empty booth in the back with my friends.  I caught up with him two hours later, as the familiar beer haze set in.  We talked for bit and I said hello to his friends, the ones I had seen from time to time in passing. We quickly discovered that we both hadn't gotten laid since each other, which had been quite awhile ago.  He ordered more beer for us and we chugged it.  We exchanged glances, threw out our cups and ran out to the street.  It was too easy not to.  I woke up the next morning, threw on my smoky clothes and ran off class at 9am.  But summer was approaching, we assumed that was the end. I was wrong, again.
We planned for a coming weekend that he would come back and we would just do whatever for a whole weekend.  In the days up to that weekend, we sent each other all sorts of extremely dirty text messages, planning out everything.  It was going to be good.  Once he got back to his house after being gone for a little while, he realized his roommate had shut off the electricity, since they had both left.  That meant no air, no lights, no water and no working dryer.  We decided we would reconvene at 730 the next morning and see what could happen before the heat became unbearable.  The next morning at 8am, we found ourselves once again downing glasses of tequila and white grape juice.  Before things could even start, we heard something in the kitchen.  I ran to find out what it was.  (Mind you, his roommate had left the house ransacked. It was gross.  Mice, roaches, anything was a possibility) I found nothing.  But the heat was already too much, none it resembled any of those late night text messages.  We passed out for a few hours, woke up and called it a day only 6 hours into our "weekend."  As I was leaving, he said something about a possible upcoming weekend, I said maybe, knowing it wasn't going to happen. It ended there, I texted him in the coming days saying it was done.

On the surface the are a good idea, but in the end you're just fucking yourself. Next post: What I learned from FB-ing and the rules of it.

(And sir, if you're reading this, highly doubt it, no one knows who are you, so no worries.)

A pós está me torrando a paciência, não vejo a hora de acabar. Menos de um mês; os dias estão sendo contados e riscados do calendário como se fossem os últimos cem passos da Björk em Dançando No Escuro. Eu nem quero parar e pensar se realmente valeu a pena fazer essa especialização. Se não valeu também, f***-se, o diploma é o mais importante no meio de tanta concorrência e de tantas faculdades que fizeram de seus cursos commodities baratas e sem qualidade. O dia em que começar a ganhar mais e puder pagar um curso decente - que ao mesmo tempo tenha nome no mercado acadêmico -, eu pago e começo a fazer sem dor na consciência e remorso no bolso. Resumindo, ainda não sei por que estou deprê. Talvez seja a frustração de não trabalhar com o que eu realmente quero, mas por outro lado não posso reclamar de nada. Saí de uma empresa multinacional que resolveu dar o fora, ganhei razoavelmente bem nas verbas rescisórias e automaticamente fui para outra empresa com um cargo superior e um aumento de salário - que na verdade foi a equiparação com a faixa salarial da área em que atuo.

Tentei me animar com o novo disco do The Herbaliser e suas músicas de jazz, funk e hip-hop, adorei o piano tocado pelos obscenos dos Fuck Buddies (me fez lembrar das músicas lindas e sem fim dos irmãos Montgolfier) e achei a voz da Caroline um doce. Srta. Bia me apresentou o electropop da Sally Shapiro e eu não tenho do que reclamar, só tenho a agradecer.

Esse é o ponto: não tenho do que reclamar. Não estou desempregado, tenho um cargo melhor, meu salário é maior, meu chefe é legal, o ambiente de trabalho é pacífico. Mas é o que eu quero para mim mesmo? Então, não sei...

We aren't friends anymore and both of us know it, but neither of us publicly announce it. We are both just going to on pretending that it isn't true. I'd like to believe that she misses me, but I don't have enough confidence to do it.

Lonely Girl went away for a weekend trip to the lake with some mutual friends, friends that she wouldn't have known if she didn't know me, and met someone there. She went out to the clubs last night and apparently the someone she met is here in [insert college town name here] and met her at the clubs. Well, they hooked up last night and she seemed less enthusiastic about it than a normal red-blooded woman who just got some good cock would. And we used to be best friends so, I know what her uncomfortable-not-wanting-to-talk-about-it sounds/looks like. She was like that when she got together with her last one time fuck buddy. They had been pussy footing around the fact that they both wanted to do each other. So when they actually did hook up and she had the attitude of 'Yeah, we did it', I knew it wasn't because the sex was bad, or maybe it was, like I said she didn't elaborate.

Some background would probably help here; 6 months ago Lonely Girl accused me of using people for sex. I am going to try to make this sound unbiased or defensive or like she was totally in the wrong; but I have only had 2 partners and with both of them I waited to have sex for at least 4 months and we were in a monogamous, official relationship. I have never had a one night stand, and I am in love with the second of my two partners. I know that I said I was going to be as unbiased as possible and I am trying, but what I write next might not come across as that way. Lonely Girl has had at least 8 and maybe 10 partners in the last year and a half and has not been in a relationship with any of them. She has in fact never been in a relationship. And three days after accusing me of using people for sex she fucked the second previously mentioned one night fuck buddy.

I wonder how it feels to have empty, meaningless, multiple one night stands. I feel sorry for her because she is over 21 and doesn't know anything about men. I once asked a very good friend of mine, who I tried to set her up with, what it was about her that he found unattractive. Because she is cute, and a very fun girl. And I always had a blast with her, but she just repulses men when it comes to actually dating them. They of course want to fuck her brains out because, they are men and she offers them one time sex with no strings attached. He said that it was ineffable, something that couldn't be described. It was the awkward moments where there would be that silence, the ones that you don't know how to fill properly. The ones where most people go 'So, how 'bout those Yankees?' type comments. Not that I am a Yankee fan. He said that it was they way that she handled those silences, it was they way that she approached conversations, it was the way that she just plain interacted with him. He said that it was everything. And since I have tried to set her up with at least 10 different guys and albeit a good 3 of those guys did turn out to be complete fuckwits and douchebags that leaves 7 guys that were genuine, nice, date worthy people. To digress: the same night that she hooked up with the second stated guy, Guy A, there was another man that I tried yet again to set her up with and she said that with Guy A she could get screwed. So instead of choosing to go talk to and get to know a date worthy guy, she decided to have sex instead. Again 3 days after telling me that I used people for sex. Back on the right train of thought, what did those 7 guys have in common? Guess. That is correct: her. It isn't them, it's her. There is something about her that men aren't attracted to. And as long and as many times as I have discussed it with my good friend, I still am totally mystified about what it is that men don't find attractive about her personality.

Deep down, whether she is willing to admit it or doesn't even know it herself, a part of her knows that she is a big, fat hypocrite for accusing me of what she does herself. And if I felt pity, I would give it to her.

Whisper

Did the people spouting all this righteous outrage, genuine shock and knee-jerk concern over hooking up go to high school? Did they go to high school in the day when you wore your guys leather jacket and went steady or something? Did they go to high school when you went on dates chaperoned by Aunt Bittie? Or were they, most likely, not really part of the crowd that went to the fun parties, smuggled in booze and made out in the bushes?

Sure, it may have been the 90s when I was doing it but it was the same shit with a different name. We called it making out instead of hooking up but we didn't expect Jimmie, Johnny or Rahid to be our one and only because, hey it was a party. It's not like we were all about having sex with everyone all the time but a little touchy feely (or "heavy petting" as the concerned parents of America would understand it) has gone on among friends at parties probably since Adam and Eve had their first bender. Get over it.

The only difference today is that kids tell their parents this stuff. Or maybe 20/20 does an 'expose' and parents go crazy wondering if their kid is getting fingured. She's in high school. It's most likely. In fact, it's most likely that's just the appetizer.

But really, these teens who go around broadcasting their hookups like they are so much more badass then us nineties chicks. Come on. Neither of us could keep it in our pants but at least we didn't go wagging our tongues all over town to journalists, parents and really anyone who would listen. You have bracelets, we had bed posts notches. Same diff.   

The details are a bit hazy but I was not getting anywhere near an orgasm. This is when I decided to take matters into my own hands. Quite literally in fact. I reached into my "goodie drawer" and pulled out Old Faithful (aka O.F.). Some men love this. I guess they only love it when they know they've satisfied you in the past. This man did not. To him I say, "Perhaps you should step up your game, homie."