Butterflies Fulfilled: WARNING 18+ [X Rated]

Thursday.  2 o'clock.  And he texts.  Can I take you out for a coffee before I come see your apartment?  And I swoon a bit.  Like someone just poked the butterflies.  I mean sure.  They're not buzzing about like bees.  Because the truth is I haven't seen him in months.  Heard his actual voice in months.  And I need that stuff.  The physical.  The tangible.  To be fall off my chair swoony.  But it's a start.  Because whether he sensed it.  Or knows me.  Or just thinks it's a good idea.  I need a warm-up.  A moment to get used to each other.  A moment to check in and see if there's still a spark.  And ya know.  I heart coffee.  I'm a sober writer.  What else is there?

I picked a Starbucks on campus.  I don't know if I mentioned this before.  But in one of our recent text-convos he'd sent a photo of himself.  No doubt in an attempt to get me to send a photo.  Which I don't do (more on this another time).  But the point of me bringing this up was to tell you that after months of romanticizing his image in my head.  The photo was a little.  Meh.  So you can understand my apprehension as I parked and walked inside.  But there he was.  And he smiled.  And the moment I heard his voice.  I don't know what it is about his voice.  But I just like it.  It was good.  We ordered drinks.  Chatted about life.  School.  Work.  His daughter.  Hockey.  I can't lie though, there were definitely some awkward moments.  But I think awkward more in the sense of like when you just kind of look at the other person.  Absorb them.  And nobody is saying anything.  And then there's blushing and the conversation starts again.  Nervous laughter.


It doesn't take long to finish our coffees.  I order mine at kids temp so I'm pretty used to downing it right quick.  And then we go to leave.  He opens the door.  We go to our cars.  My place is only a couple of blocks away so we're there before I can take a deep breath.  I'm nervous.  I'm excited.  I still don't know what I'm going to do.  He says something about how nice it is here and I say something like yeah.  I've never been more eloquent.  Inside we wait for the elevator.  It seems to take forever.  He's standing really close.  And though I know his cologne is something super 90s like joop! or something ridiculous.  It smells amazing.  The doors open.  His hand on the small of my back.  And we walk inside.  I press 14.  Stand in the corner.  My breathing sounds like a grizzly bear hovering over my shoulder.  He seems not to notice.  And then he does it.  Like he knew.  Like someone had told him.  I mean it was just too cute.  Grabs my hand.  Just a finger or two.  Like a baby.  Sweet.  Adorable.  Exactly what I wanted.

It feels like it's been 20 minutes.  I look at the buttons.  We're only at the 7th floor.  I look at him.  He looks back.  He's standing so close.  And then he kisses me.  Short.  Sweet.  Quick.  Nervous.  Kind of like at Christmas when he just wanted to get that out of the way wink.  He seems pleased with himself.  Or me.  Either or.  ding.  14.  We get to my door.  And go inside.  I'm nervous.  I try not to justify the smallness of my apartment.  I'm getting a second BA.  I'm working hard.  I have a big career ahead of me.  This is just a stepping stone.  I don't need to justify myself.  Least of all to him.  So I say nothing.  Just let him look around.  Which takes about 10 seconds.  Joking.  He goes to the window.  Checks out the view.  It is a pretty rad view.  14 floors up.  Overlooking Wreck Beach.  Lucky Duck.

I asks if he wants a glass of water or something.  And by something I mean all I have is water I say.  We laugh.  My apartment is completely empty.  Except for 2 glasses, a folded up quilt, a fan and an iPod dock.  The few things that either couldn't fit in my car on the way home the day before or I thought might be useful today.  I'm so creepy lol.  Sure he says.  And I go to get the glasses down off the shelf.  He comes up behind me.  My hips against the counter.  His hips behind mine.  His arms go around my waist.  And he pulls my hair to the side.  A handful of curls and he brushes them away.  Exposes my neck.  Kisses me.  Soft.  Smooth.  Good.

I slowly turn around.  Brush my body against his.  He's ready to go in a heartbeat.  But I need more.  Longer. Slower.  And so he takes his time.  We kiss like teenagers.  Kiss like danger.  Kiss like hot.  Kiss like everything.  His hands grab my ass and with strength I never saw coming.  He lifts me up onto the counter.  My face now up to his height.  Fold my legs around his body.  I cannot express how important good kissing is, boys.  MAJOR.  And we've got it going on.  His tongue.  My tongue.  Play.  Swirl.  Lower lip.  Upper lip.  Together.  Big kiss.  Passion Passion Passion.  Small kiss small kiss.  I slowly drag my tongue across the middle of his lower lip.  Gentle.  Barely touching.  Make him beg for it.  Deep breath.  Playful.  Sexy.

He feels my body like it's the first time.  Which for some areas it is.  When my bra comes off I hear him moan a bit.  My ego soars through the roof.  I lift off his shirt and throw it somewhere.  Slide down off the counter.  His hands in my hair and he tugs a little.  In the exact right way.  Tugs some more.  He's been listening.  He knows.  It's flawless.  It's seamless.  It's perfection.  He turns be back towards the counter.  Lifts my skirt just a bit and pulls the Red Lacies slowly down my legs.  He goes to undo my skirt.  Leave it on I say.  And he gets it.  Smiles.  His hands glide over my ass across my hips and come together over my lady bits.  He leaves one hand there and uses the other to undo his jeans.  The first hand disappears for only a heart beat (safety first kids) and he's back.  One hand reaches around to my lady bits.  The other across my chest.  Strong he holds me.  Soft he holds them.  I arch my back.  Lean just a little bit forward.  And he slides in.

I'm a writer but I'm not sure how to write the rest.  Because when I think back it's all in pictures and sounds.  There's onomatopoeia I don't know the words for.  Sounds that I can't describe with ooohs and ahhhs because that's just in bad pornos and not real sex.  But it's strong and good.  It's part bears in the woods and part swan lake or something equally as graceful.  There are smiles and eyes open.  Panting and eyes closed.  His right arm, the one across my chest.  Slides up to my neck.  Gently at first.  Then stronger.  Holding me.  Controlling me.  Because he knows thats what I want.  At one point I turn my neck.  Lean back a bit.  And his face is right there.  Lips brushing against lips.  Tongues stretch.  Kisses that strain to hold.  He works his magic until I'm done.  And then I work mine until his is too.  We're all smiles.  I lay the quilt across my bed.  My studio apartment dorm bed.  And we lay there.  Exhausted.  Exhilarated.  Satisfied.  The what if being answered.  Butterflies fulfilled.



























Only....

That's not exactly what happens.  Because this is me after all and shit is just never straight forward laid out awesome like that.  And this is TheNickName.  A man who I would characterize with epic retardation except for the fact that if he's retarded what does that make me for playing along?  I'd rather not think about it.  See the thing of the thing is.  I read all the comments.  From blog readers.  From close personal friends.  And you all had valid points.  (I'd be more alarmed that a great majority of you were sending me into the Lion's Den if it wasn't for the fact that I know you're doing it because you know I could handle whatever the Den had in store for me).  That being said.  I have a gut.  I often don't listen to it.  I blame my eternal optimism and the faith I have to have that people are A. not all retarded and B. not all total shit.  But regardless I do have a gut.  That tells me things.  And on Wednesday night.  My gut was telling me.  It was not a good sign that when I texted TheNickName during the Canucks game and there was no response.  Even though us hanging out on Thursday had been his idea.  So I sent a text.  Because I sure as fuck wasn't going to wake up on Thursday and get all gussied up and drive out to UBC only to get bailed on or something.

Fuck.  You.  Silver Lining.  Well actually there's a couple things.

1.  I didn't reply.  Everybody loves Nonchalant Nancy.  Nobody loves Angry Angie or Bitter Betty.  Messages deleted.  Number deleted.  I will not be engaging in any further contact.

  

2.  Those "what if" butterflies that I had been wondering about (and The Hel had been hoping for in the comments section).  Done.  And not like angry-I'm-going-to-pretend-I-don't-give-a-shit-even-though-I-actually-do kind of done.  But actual done.  Like actual butterflies-dead-fantasy-over-reality-trumped-turns-out-he-really-was-just-your-average-retard kind of done.  And I tell ya it actually feels pretty grand.

3.  And the most practical one of all.  I didn't waste my Thursday waiting for a boy who wasn't worth his salt in theory let alone in practice.

Now the truth is.  I do have a couple more thoughts sparked by this situation.  About boys.  And time wasting.  And general jack-assery retardation.  But this post is long enough so I'm saving it for another.  You're welcome.  

So in closing.  Hope the post was...er...stimulating.  If sadly it ends in disappointment.  Is it wrong that I think this post by far exceeds anything he would have actually been able to offer if we had hung out?  Hope it wasn't too racy.  Love ya,  SSDated.

A Room with a View: Butterflies of Epic Proportions

BTW...My Actual View.  Till Friday.

You know when you want something.  Lust after it.  Crave it.  Fantasize about how amazing it will be.  How those little butterflies can be found aflutter in your stomach every time you think about it.  Palms sweating glee and you can almost taste it.  You know that feeling?

Only what if life got in the way.  And when it actually happens.  Or is it about to happen.  The butterflies which had stood on guard.  Waiting.  WAITING.  waiting.  Finally gave up.  And now instead of excitement.  You only feel irritation.  Irritated because it's not exactly what you wanted.  Irritated that it seems your theory (that you had, in fact, stirred up those butterflies all on your own) seems quite likely to be true.  Irritated that not only do you feel you have to but pissed that you're even considering cleaning your apartment for a boy that's not.  Butterflies.  For a boy that's.  What.  For what?  A booty call?  A one-off?

I'm not a phone talker.  I'd much prefer to just wait to hang out in person.  But when we talked.  It was magic.  At least for me.  And I think for him too.  At the beginning.  After our first conversation he already thought I was a genius.  But more than the ego boost of him thinking I was quite intelligent.  Was the fact that he wanted to hear about it.  My papers.  My essays.  My words.  Written academically.  He wanted to hear about it talk about it know about it.  My face was flushed with lust.  Even now.  Months and months later.  He asks.  About school.  About my grades.  How did you do?

I always see an ending.  With Trucker Joe, even if it had survived past the summer it would never have made it past Christmas.  With all the other "somethings" I always felt a sort of 3 month max. kind of just looming in the distance.  Not negative or positive.  Just obvious.  But with him it seemed.  A little different.  I actually.  Er.  Um.  Kind of liked him.  And maybe it was all just chemistry and pheromones and the way I amped it up by fantasizing about it on cold nights of studying and stress.  But the truth is.  I once sat in a restaurant.  And held a friends hand.  In the cutest way.  Just to show her how I felt about him.  Which in and of itself (revealing mushy feelings to a third party) was pretty apocalyptic.  But it was true.  At the time.

I'm the queen of booty calls.  Okay well sort of.  But I'm definitely the queen of being able to separate sex from feelings when the case benefits from it.  But there I was a  couple months ago.  Asking TheHel a question that I've never asked before.  Because I've never had a doubt.  Do you think I could handle it, with him, just a booty call?  And her answer.  Point blank.  No.  Real talk, she didn't even fucking hesitate. It was that clear.  Whether the feelings were real or fabricated.  They were present.  And I liked him.  Wanted to hold hands kind of liked him.  Gross.


And it wasn't all perfect and swoony because after all he wasn't able to give me what I wanted.  And so when dating didn't work.  To the contrary advice of TheHel, we attempted a booty call.  And maybe it was life.  First he was busy.  Than I was busy.  Or maybe there just wasn't enough interest.  It's hard to tell when the boy isn't a sex-crazed 19 year old willing to sell his best friend into domestic slavery for the sake of a good bang.  But either way it didn't happen.  And yet.  We never lost touch.  Kept in contact.  Sporadic certainly.  A lengthy text conversation every 2-3 weeks.  And I'm not retarded.  I know the lack of phone calling speaks volumes.  But in my defense I'm used to being able to portion out the emotions and just ya know...put them over there.  For the sake of a purpose.

Detour.  Unfortunately I have to write this blog post out of order (because I need advice now!) and I don't have time to write all the details of the past weeks but just know that there are no other boys.  Right now.  In the last few months.  Besides him.  That have given me butterflies.  And turns out.  Sex.  Not as mind-blowing (for me) without the butterflies.

6 weeks till school/exams are over.  He tries to hangout.  There's flirting.  Sexy innuendo.  I have butterflies.  I would if I could.  But I can't.  School trumps boys.  No question.

5 weeks till done.  He tries to hangout.  Flirting.  Innuendo.  Butterflies.  Can't.  School.

4 weeks till done.  I'm back on PlentyOfFish in preparation of pending freedom.  I notice his profile is gone.  Recently.  Not that I occasional check to see.  Whaaatt!?!?!  Shut up I'm human. lol.  And he was right.  I'm a smart cookie.  He's dating someone.  I don't know really why I assume this rather than he's taking a break from dating or something.  But I do.  And then we're texting.  I ask if he's met any cute girls lately?  He says yeah...asks about me.  I congratulate him That's awesome :) and tell him no but I just put up a POF profile again.  He responds I'm sure you'll get tons of hits :) and I smirk to myself.  Damn straight.  Though of quality...and I can hear myself sigh lol.  You're too smart for most guys he quips the sexy is obvious.  And I feel a bit swoony.  Because I know he believes it.  Though I wonder if he includes himself in the "most guys" category?  I ask about the new girl (I assume we're going to be buddies...one of the many options on the table for awhile now).  He says She's pretty cool, maybe too sweet, but we are both making efforts.  And I think to myself.  I bet they`re a perfect match.  Or at least a lot better of one than we are.  Good for him.  And I actually mean it.  Only.  While I`m trying to be buddies.  The conversation keeps taking a turn (driven by him) to sexy and flirting and whatnot.  At first I feel guilty.  I don't DO interference.  If you've got a girl.  I don't run temptation.  That being said.  Is it even my responsibility.  I mean 100% yes if he's married.  85% yes if they're committed.  But a dude who just started dating a chick?  Not sure.  He still wants to see my new apartment.  I bet his does.  I suggest we go play pool somewhere or something lol.  But either way.  Right now I'm studying.  School.  First.  Boys.  Second.  Or Eighth.

3 weeks till done.  He texts.  I don't partake in the flirting.  I have no time.  School is burying me.  I text back.  No time for hanging out/flirting I'll text when school is over.  He responds.  Ok.


And then I'm done.  And almost a week goes by.  I think about texting.  Like I said I would.  But I pause.  Because it suddenly feels like we had an expiry date.  The butterflies took off.  They just got tired of waiting.  For him.  For me.  For life.  But I'm an optimist.  And a single girl who hasn't had the kind of hot sex I've wanted as of late.  And I've got an apartment all to myself.  For only 4 more days.  Sure I'll have one again in September.  But that's 4 fucking months.  Privacy is a bitch, no?  I digress.  So although the butterflies have faded, their memory is still impressed into my body.  And so I text.  I'm done.  I survived.  He asks about my grades.  I ask about his work.  We talk about school.  And hockey.  It feels like we're talking about the weather.  But the truth is every time we do text.  There's always a bit of a butterfly resurrection.  It might not be butterfly Armageddon but there's a definite resurgence.  He asks how long do you have your place till?  I tell him Friday.  But I'm mostly all moved out.  Just have to clean it.  And then I ask Do you still want to hang out or was my prime real-estate the real draw ;)?


And to be clear I don't think I'm totally retarded in thinking he wants to be buddies.  Who flirt.  Because a. He's said so before.  b. he's now dating someone (and however, committed or not they are, it's enough that he took down his profile).  c. Apparently some of you folk out there in the real world think men and women can be just friends.  However, that is until this last bit of conversation.  Because no joke he seems really disappointed I won't have my own place.  Which I would understand more if he didn't have one either, but he's a grown man with his own place.  So it's not like there wouldn't be a place to bone?

Detour.  In writing this last bit I figured out a bit more about his disappointment.  He once told me that after our first date, he was kind of bragging about how I was only 29 to his friends, being just on the verge of 40 himself.  Which btw I was hugely flattered by.  Say what you what about superficiality but who doesn't love being a hot young thing.  Just Sayin'.  And since my apartment is in a dorm after all.  I'm guessing someone has a little fantasy about banging some hot young co-ed.  It all becomes a little clearer.


His response to the text about real-estate?  LOL.  Yeah [I still want to hang out] that would be nice.  But having your own place was hot :)

1.  Ouch.
2.  I agree.
3.  Okay no way to rationalize now.  He does not want to be buddies who flirt.

Haha.  Part of me feels my ego just took a hit...but the other part completely agrees...having my own place is hot...guess I'll just have to be extra adorable to make up for it ;).  And here is where I should quite possibly have stopped typing.  But I didn't.  Because I'm a flirty bitch who's got all kinds of pent up energy from months of studying and sex that wasn't-hair-pulling-body-slamming-tell-your-friends-too-much-information-later-while-you-regale-them-with-hot-stories-to-vicariously-live-through-your-SLUTmazing-ways type sex.  And ya know.  I'm feeling a bit butterfly-ey.  Technically I have it [the apartment] till Friday ;)  Just Sayin'.  And thus he responds I could come by Thursday before or after my meetings in Vancouver.  Just Sayin'.  I ask something about whether or not it'll dampen the hotness by the fact that none of my stuff is there anymore?  And then I ask what time his meetings are.

11am and 1pm.  Butterflys stop moving.  What is it with dudes and daytime.  Daytime is NOT sexy.

I respond.  lol definitely after :).  And thus the conversation ends.  Butterflies are at a minimum at this point. But still ya know...present.  Albeit laying dormant.  But still.

Detour.  Here's a random aside for you to ponder.  A thought just occurred to me.  He wouldn't know that since my apartment was technically part of UBC residence, the bed comes with etc.  Aka that it's still there.  What does he think...doing it on the floor? lol not that I'm opposed to that.  But just saying.

So this kind of brings us to now.  Like right now.  2pm on Wednesday April 27, 2011.  And tomorrow is D-Day.  Or not.  We'll see.  Because the truth is.  Right now.  With him.  I'm being a fickle bitch.  All term I would've been gung ho to get it on with him.  Monday I was all butterflies.  Little fewer with the talk of hanging out in the daytime.  And then last night I texted him.  How are you doing??? I can barely breathe lol (for those not local or...not being local is the only excuse for not knowing...but last night was Game 7 of the Canucks vs. Blackhawks round one - Stanley Cup - Game) and so yeah that's how the text makes sense. But that being said.  no response.  Now sure I'll admit maybe he was too into the game to answer a text even on a commercial break.  Plus maybe he was...er...with someone.  But this morning rolls around and no response.  Which for him is actually a little bit unusual.  And thus.  All butterflies disappear.

And now I've just got dread.  And irritation.  And I keep flip flopping between what to do.  Options:

1.  Forget about it.  If he texts tomorrow...ignore it.  And honestly never talk to him again.  He doesn't like me.  And since he can't give me exactly what I want in a booty call...is there really any point?  No.  Drop him.  Leave him.  Ignore him.  Become a lesbian.  Whatever.


2.  Text something.  (for this option I'd really need some advice).  Text something that gets you out of this predicament but keeps future sexy predicaments a possibility.  For reference, I'm not sure what that text would say...so advice would be mucho requireo.  That's right.  I make Spanish words by adding an O.


3.  Text him something about just being friends.  Real talk.  He's got a girl.  It makes me feel weird.  Or at the very least it's a good guise to get out of this situation and possibly become friends.  Is that even possible?  Do I even want to?


4.  Hurry the fuck out to UBC, clean my damn apartment, go to ball practice at 6pm, come back to suburbs to sleep.  And tomorrow morning/afternoonish head get dolled up...go out to UBC.  Throw some sheets on the bed.  Hang out with him.  Bang his brains out.  Have disappointing sex?  Have amazing sex?  Have super awkward situation?  Have amazing story to tell?  You'll never know unless you do it.


5.  Don't bother cleaning apartment.  Go to practice.  Go out to UBC tomorrow.  Fuck in the filth.  THIS IS A JOKE....all my OCD and need to be smokin' hot when hanging out with boys I do smokin' hot things with would totally prevent this from even being a possibility.  Do you know me at all?!?!? lol


6.  Some option I haven't considered.

So there you have it.  Fuck.  I rarely ask.  So you know that means I'm seriously torn about what to do.  Help me!!!!!!! lol.  Seriously.  And be quick about it lol.

Oh and BTW.  I'm talking about TheNickName.  Oh shut up lol you saw this coming.

Nothing Like Work.

I want to just stand there kissing you forever.  Or at least until you no longer look like sex and happiness.  You break us apart only for a second.  Offer whispers cross cheeks fall into my ears...something about how do you want me...to touch you?  And so I tell you.  Soft and slow.  Work me up.  Work me down.  Work me over.  Work me out.  And you say this is nothing like work.  And you've sold me.  Sold like houses without escrow.  Houses bought with cash.  Houses bought with sweat.  You sold me without a sign.  Your hand.  Big like safety and potential.  Big like control and freedom.  Your hand that pulses with testosterone holds mine like baby fingers.  Excited, clasping, soft and you push it behind me.  Palm across the back pocket of my jeans and you manage to hold my ass and my hand at the same time.  Like popcorn snacks salty and sweet you make butter taste like chocolate and honey taste like lemons.  Everything you do sweeps me off my feet but your hand holds strong to support me.  Clings without crushing.  Grasps without breaking.  You stand there and you've got me.  Like really got me.  Another hand pulls me closer arm up and through mine round the back like a dance step and you twirl me.  We don't move but my head is spinning butterflies swirling and you twirl me.  Kiss me again you say like somehow my kisses are favors.  Like you're the luckiest boy in the world to be breathing upon my soft lips that you swear taste like cotton candy though you want to eat me like steak.  You make meat talk sexy.  You woo me with jokes.  You make laughter burn.  Hotter than Vegas.  You light me up like fireworks and hotel room sex in the middle of the night and then later again that night and than again in the morning just before the sun rises.  And afterwards.  You play with my hair just long enough to keep me awake.  Watch it arrive through our window.  Because you just knew how it would flicker off my eyes and spread apart my heart.  Like somehow my rise, my sway, my lift was all you needed to feel a beat in your chest.  You swoon for me.  I'm man enough to say swoon you tell me.  And as I watch the hair on your chest curl like wood shavings from a carpenter's plane I wholeheartedly believe you.  You rock me.  Like world championship fights.  Like quotes repeated 50 years later.  Sting like a bee.  And you move me.  Push me pull me make me want to break into two just so you could put me back together again.  Glue me with your hopes, ply me with your dreams and smoosh us together with questions that have answers we can only get to if we work together.  Nothing like work you say again and kiss me.  Those lips you say and I blush because I can't explain what you mean but I know that you mean it.  Absorb you in their softness cool you in their breeze and then burn you up whole.  You pull back again.  Only for a second but this time you don't say anything.  I hear everything.  In your panting.  In your smile.  In the way you look into my eyes with the kind of confident hope that swears the blue pools might just save you if you let them but you don't need it.  Like somehow your eyes and your grasp give me the freedom to love you as much or as little as I need and that exact amount will be all you ever wanted.  Like our love would never be a burden I would buckle under.  Like every moment would be like this one.  This very moment.  Where your kisses only ever give more.  More more more.  And Nothing feels like work.

Catching You Up OR Girls Do It Better

It seems to always be like this.  After having not written for awhile.  I get stumped.  And not because I have nothing to say.  But the complete opposite, in fact.  I have too much to say.  Months of stuff to say.  Because though I've written a post or two since then.  I still have stuff to tell you.  From December, and January, and Febraury, and March, and April.  Things like...

how I went on a date once. Something like 8 years in the making.  And it was amazing.  There was laughter.  And tears.  Princess crowns and sex chatter.  See the thing is.  I'd been waiting to meet this chick.  For ages.  We'd been in contact since before there was a MegaLove.  Since before there was Facebook and Twitter, way back before there was MySpace and Fotki, way back in the days of Blackplanet.  And so over Christmas break, I went to visit her.  Drove hours and hours for a date.  And it was amazing.  Because afterall, girls do it better.

I thought I might need a pass to her heart.  Turns out I just needed one to get onto the base.  Are you Hispanic, the desk clerk asked.  Like that was somehow relevant.  Are you allowed to ask me that, is that even legal?  Shit like that doesn't happen in Canada I said.  No I'm not, I told her.  And I thought dating was bad, I stood there in judgment, of a country that holds borders like desperation.

But alas, they let me in.  McChord Airforce Base.  Turns out I'm not quite the criminal/trouble maker I like to think myself.  So off we went on our date.  Met the kids.  Met the hubs.  And that's when it happened.  I knew it was meant to be.  Real true love shit.  Perfect first date magic.  Signifying of soul mate connection.  She asked if I wanted something to drink.  And then offered me a Diet Coke.  That she had bought.  A whole pack.  Extra special.  Just for me.  In preparation of my arrival.  Because she had listened.  To all those dates before.  All those before.  All those "somethings" before.  And she knew what I wanted.  A crisp.  Sparkly.  Diet Coke.  WeatherGirl hit it out of the park.  ;)  And then suddenly our date was a threesome.  And the hilarity continued.  Dinner and cupcakes.  Boy chatter and reminicing.  Babies and kidlets.  Love.  Love.  Love.  And that's why girls do it better.  Because after I left.  I knew.  Exactly where I stood with everybody. And they with me.  WeatherGirl.  JennyHustle.  RainNJenn together in their hilarity.  And me.  Together something like awesome.  On a girl-date something like a lasting friendship.

And for those on Facebook.  Well MY facebook I mean.  The best part are the pictures.  Me in my princess crown.  EVERYBODY doing my signature pose.  And then of course the tagline.  Wondering if there would be any trouble getting me on the base.  WeatherGirl asked the hubs.  And his answer.  I don't know...I've never smuggled a foreigner on post before. Awesome.

They Blew My Mind. Twice.

There we were.  Having ladies night.  A night filled with boy chatter.  My boys.  Their boys.  Boys in general.  Boys in specific.  Boys doing stupid boy things.  Boys and their special boy ways.  Boys we were swooning over.  Boys making us want to tear our hair out.  Boys to laugh with.  Laugh at.  Loathe.  Love.  Boys Boys Boys.

And I can't even tell you exactly how we got there.  To that point in the conversation.  But there it was.  Dropped like a bomb.  This thing I couldn't comprehend.  Not in the sense I didn't believe it to be true.  But that I couldn't...Empathize?  Associate?  Relate?  I literally couldn't imagine life as such.  No judgment.  And it really was like dropping bombs.  They fucking blew my mind.  The first one.

I've only slept with 2 people.  In my life.

Kaapppuuussshhhhhkkkk!  Mind blown.  And then the other.

I've only slept with 3.  Ever.

Kaapppuuussshhhhhkkkk!  Mind blown.  I was speechless.  

Okay that's not totally true.  There were a lot of Oh My Gods and I can't...how...I can't...how is that even possible...I can't even fathom.  And then Seriously?!?!?!  Seriously?  And then of course the statement that characterized the night.  You two just blew my mind.  My mind is fucking blown.  *hand gestures to indicate head being blown*  BLOWN!  And for reference yes.  I believe the table of 10 guys sitting right next to us.  May have gotten a kick out of this whole scenario.  BLOWN!!!!


Because the thing of the thing is.  It's not something I can even imagine.  I can't even fathom what life is like having slept with less than a handful of people.  And there's no judgment on them.  And no judgment back at me.  But I will admit that it made a ton more sense now.  You see I had spent the evening advising one of them on her booty-callesque situation.  And now it all made sense.  For christsakes.  It all made sense now.  Because throughout the night I had been undecided.  I'd been trying to suss it out.  Figure out whether or not she was the kind of chick who could separate from the sex.  A girl who could have sex with a boy and have that be just it.  See...we've known each other less than a year.  A year in which there haven't been any drunken nights at the bar.  I haven't seen her work magic on the boys.  She hasn't seen me work mine (well the magic I used to have when drunk).

And while I had an inkling that she was a cutie pie who could not handle it.  A sweetheart who would get crushed by this dude (who btw probably also didn't know this valuable info).  Because it had never even occurred to me that this was the situation.  I'd been leaning towards go ahead.  Do it.  Sure I'd tried to arm her with advice.  What to expect from him.  Very little.  From the sex.  Better be good.  When to call.  Only late at night.  What to talk about.  Nothing really, the less chatter the better, he's not trying to be your friend.  The dude, truthfully, was a bit of a dick.  And as we all know, I'm experienced with those.  Well technically I think it's becoming clear I'm experience with a lot of things.  But I digress.  So when they hit me with the bombs.  When she hit me with the bomb.  I knew the right answer.  Right away.

You can't do it.  I said.  Nope.  Not at all.  Don't do it.  Get out.  Get out now.  Delete his number.  Out Out Out.  Because see the thing is.  I had been uncertain whether or not she could handle the situation as he was offering it when I assumed she'd slept with at least half the amount of people I had.  But 3.  Just 3.  Ever?!?!  No fucking way.  She was not the kind of girl that could handle the terms his actions made clear.  So that was that.  Case closed.  Answer given.  The Guru has spoken.

But that night got me thinking.  Were they the aberration?  Or was I?  There isn't really a clear answer.  I've read the average number of guys a chick has slept with by the age of 30 is 9.  I've also read 11.  There was this survey by YourTango.  And the Kinsey Institute had some numbers based on lifetime partners that frankly, I just can't believe.  Plus there's the old adage that men lie-up and women lie-down.  Haha just realized my inadvertent pun there.  Awesome Sauce.  So basically what I'm saying is I have no idea.  But if I had to guess.  If I really had to guess.


I'd say it's a little less sparse out here on Sluts Island.  The Gen. Pop. is a bit smaller in Slutstown, West Slutterton.  Mighty Casey doesn't strike out in Slutsville.  But then again, I've heard that the chicks living there make Slutmazing neighbors.  It's a veritable Slutopia of awesomeness.  You wish you were this slutterrific.

But no.  I'm not going to tell you my number.  Because frankly your math skills have been slipping.  And I think you could use the practice.  So get out your pencil and paper.  An abacus maybe?  Or a calculator for you cheaters.  And get ready to crunch some numbers.  So let's see.  What's half of Vancouver.  Plus the majority of Washington.  Plus that one guy in New Orleans.  Oh well.  I'm sure you can figure it out.  Get back to me when  you do.  And I'll consult my list.  And see if you got the statistics right.  Though I'm going to have to check your work either way.  It's not just about the answer.  It's how you got there.