As much as I love and adore my boyfriend, he is not the only man on my mind. I don’t mean this in a sexual way, at least I don’t think I do, but I miss my afore mentioned buddy. After the sexual curiosity dissipated from our relationship, we settled into the most comfortable of friendships. We were like Bonnie and Clyde, tearing around town causing mischief. He’s the guy that I turn to for everything, much to the chagrin of the bf sometimes. But because the three of us are all friends, it was a closeness that was encouraged and then later, tolerated. My buddy went home to spend the summer with his family and we have stayed in near constant contact since he’s been gone. In fact, we are going to be moving in together when the fall season arrives. My bf met this news with VERY LITTLE enthusiasm and stupidly, even threatened to move in with one of his floosy female friends. The problem is I’m buoyed by the idea of my new roommate. I’m looking forward to the inevitable movie nights and dinners in, strolls through the neighborhood and falling asleep on the couch. I’m looking forward to playing host and hostess to our group of friends and -gasp- having my boyfriend over as a guest. I’m looking forward to having one of my best friends and companions back.

But why do I feel so guilty?

why is it that when you finally get a boy in exactly the position you want him he fucks things up and runs away?

I made a conquest. It was a conquest that I totally didn’t mean to make but once I had him, I decided to keep him. We made that “connection” twice: once in a blur of drunken hormones and the second time, well, the second time was a test.

He isn’t what I would consider to be my usual type. He’s young, for starters. Like barely legal young. He’s a cute kid; tall, blonde haired, blue eyed- my exact physical opposite. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with a fair haired cutie. I’ve dealt with one or two white boys in my day. It’s the youth that’s my source of fascination. In all of my 22 years, I have never before done an 18 year old. Not once. Not ever. Seriously.

I’m familiar with men’s obsession with youth when it comes to the female of the species. Literature talks about it. (Lolita, anyone?) The porn industry makes a meal of it. (We’re talking millions, people.) And we internalize all of this and treat it as gospel. I’ve always taken age and experience to be virtues when it came to picking a partner, but I think that the world might be on to something when they rave about this youth thing.

There is definitely something to be said for the sexual stylings of the 18 year old boy. There is a certain eagerness laced in their seduction style and when the seduction is through, that “eager to get in your beaver” attitude morphs into eager to please. The stamina. Has anyone ever let you know that 18 year olds are at their sexual peak?

Ok, back to the test. I just wanted to know if the drunk sexiness would translate into sobriety. It was done and it was GOOD. He was good to go as soon as I told him to drop his pants; he even lasted through my fit of anxiety giggles. Come on, the man got me to the proverbial finish line, if you know what I’m sayin’…

Afterwards, we gave each other a post-coital high five and when we asked each other the standard, “So how was it?” the boy said, “Magical.” So why, why, WHY, am I still getting no regular action?!

Absolutely frickin’ RiDICKulous!

I can’t fault men for this behavior, though. Not entirely. I too succumb to the urge to be spurned on by my hormones, at times. Ok, so I succumb more times then I would care to admit.

But I digress.

This blog is dedicated to airing out the general fuckwittage that is committed against me and my sisters every day.

Don’t be scared though. Only the things that you actually say and do will be used against you. And, of course, gentlewoman that I am, confidentiality is 85% guaranteed. )

Come again! Happy reading.