moral outrage

There is this guy I hook up with every so often. I shouldn’t even phrase it like that; I should say, “There is this guy I’ve hooked up a few times over the years.” The amount of contact makes it seem as if it is this ongoing thing; he texts me regularly late at night (let’s say every other week), I text him almost as much, and we gchat sometimes. But I’ve actually gotten very little out of it. So little that I wondered if it was even worth the effort, because suggestion breeds anticipation and anticipation breeds frustration, and it seems like a whole lot of getting my hopes up for one hook up many years ago and two this year. Such infrequency that it took me a while to discern whether we had hooked up twice or three times this year. But the first time this year was so good and his penis so beautiful and his semen so plentiful. And he so cooperative. Once I showed up.

Friday night he gchattted me, asking why I was at home and I said I had had a late night the night before and decided to stay in, but that I would probably go out the next night and would call him if I wasn’t otherwise occupied. He seemed enthusiastic about that prospect. Then the next night, I thought, why bother going out when I can get laid without going out. So I started my text message inquiry and encouragement early.

10ish-11ish

G: Are you visiting me later tonight?

D: Should I be?

G: Yes, please!

I figured that barring interfering events, he was mine; it was just a matter of waiting. When he texted me at the end of the evening, I figured the deal was sealed. I was ready to go. Had been for hours. Got off earlier in the day as basic maintenance but still desperately horny. The kind of horniness that was incurable without another physical body for relief.

2ish-2:45ish

D: I’m heading home

G: No come here

D: Not happening

G: ugh I hate you

D: Come to me

G: fuck you im not a call girl

D: ok, sorry

G: I go there every time

G: ?

D: [his address]

G: No, i told you that you should come here. im not going to keep traveling for you. it isn’t fair.

G: Do other girls just show up at your door on command?

D: No they don’t

G: So why are you unable to make any effort ever?

D: come here

G: Stop wasting my time. i was pretty excited about the prospect of your penis earlier and now im just annoyed and frustrated.

D: Come here

G: Goodnight

D: Ok. Sweet. Goodnight.

What the fuck!?! The sex is always worth the trip. I might have even come over forty-five minutes ago had I realized he really was not going to make the trip, but I figured if I refused he would suck it up and change his mind, and after forty-five minutes of his nonsense I was so exacerbated and mystified that anyone would turn down such easy sex that I didn’t know if I wanted to fuck him or fucking punch him. Like, seriously, we didn’t even talk before we fucked. All he had to do was throw himself in a cab—and it isn’t like his yuppie ass couldn’t afford a cab—and throw his dick in me ten minutes later. Maybe a little post-sex chat, although I wouldn’t have shaken him if he passed out afterwards. Last time he was even surprised by my abrupt departure, the fact that I didn’t want a round two or a sleep-over. And he joked, “Oh, I get it: I’m being used.” I had actually stopped by on the way home from a party; his place is literally on the corner of an uptown 6 stop and my place three blocks away from the main entrance to a 6 stop. You wouldn’t even have to exit underground for more than half a block if you didn’t want to. That’s pretty direct. Besides the issue of reciprocation of effort, it is way more annoying for me to go there because I can’t stay over; he is an absurdly loud snorer. The whole bed shakes. If he came to my place, he could sleep in my bed and I could sneak out and sleep on my couch or spare mattress. Frustration with his obstinacy aside, I really needed to get fucked; he coulda fucked the anger and despair right out of me. I was convinced of it. So in a last ditch effort—really I was shocked that he replied with “goodnight,” when I was just fronting—I made my final offer, effectively attempting to expose his lack of logic more than offering him anything useful. Emphasizing how fucking easy I was making it for him. After all, I’m nothing if not easy.

G: A ten minute cab ride isn’t worth the sex to you? you’re impossible.

G: Cant I just pay for you to take a cab here? It will be cute like im paying for sex.

D: Missed your shot. Shoulda come here.

At that point I didn’t realize what he meant, but I held my tongue (fingers?) and didn’t respond because I was furious. What does a girl gotta do to get laid in this town? I was sort of at all loss as to what to do with myself because I was in that ‘want to fucking punch things and don’t really care about getting off’ state, and if I got off it could only be violent and miserable.

I would have gone out with somebody else if I had known this was going to happen. I would have gotten my shit together and dragged my ass out of my apartment to alleviate the tension of a night spent indoors and restless. I would have put in the effort and called my friend who texted me the night before, whom I’ve been wanting to hook up with forever. But it was too fucking late.

I so wanted to punch holes in a wall that I decided to text my friend whom I recently sort of broke up with by fighting with him and ceasing to contact him. I thought he would be the perfect companion for an angry fuck. The last time we had sex it was angry, bad sex but that seemed like a better option than any at this moment. An hour and a half later—after beginning to drug myself to sleep—I got a text back and I assumed it was him. He is sort of a cokehead, goes to psytrance shows, is a high-functioning drug addict, so it wouldn’t have been outrageous for him to be get back to me at that late hour. But, no.

4:30ish

D: You’re lame

G: Ew youre still awake that makes me extra super hate you

D: Well I have other friends that are willing to make the trip

G: Um, were not friends

D: Um you’re lazy

What a fucking piece of shit. Are you fucking kidding me? Who texts to tell me that they fucked someone else? To rub in that they got laid and I didn’t. Well, fine, I hope you had fun with your fucking call girl. I’m not going to travel for some asshole who won’t pay me the respect of doing the same. I’m not lazy, you fucking hypocrite. It’s the principle. Do you think you are some kind of prize and I should feel sorry for not fawning over you because you have a queue of girls who recognize that you are worth the effort and degradation? In my long and lucrative career of being a slut, never have I ever gotten a text from a guy saying he had fucked someone else. It would be like if he texted me while I was with someone else and instead of just saying I was busy or was with a friend, I replied, “Sorry, with someone I’d rather fuck than you.” His text was tasteless, obnoxious, and uncalled-for. It screamed, “You’re replaceable, interchangeable with other women; if you don’t do what I require in order for you to fuck me, I don’t care because I’ll find someone else who will.” And you know what, I would have found someone else earlier in the evening had he made it clear that I wasn’t worth a trip. It isn’t the sentiment of being replaceable that bothers me; what we had was practically a cordial, mutually beneficial business agreement. It is the fact that he would unnecessarily throw it in my face that is unforgivable. Like, there are guys with whom I’ve ended things on really bad terms and when I fuck other people I don’t announce it to them as a bragging right; I think privately to myself, “Hooray, I got fucked and now I don’t need that asshole anymore. Good thing I’m cute and people want me!” There are tactful ways to deal with these sort of things early in the ‘where do I put my penis tonight?’ decision process. Like, I wouldn’t have been upset if he’d sent me a text message being like, “I’d love to fuck you, but I’m lazy and don’t want to leave my place. I need to get laid tonight, so if you aren’t going to come over, I’m going to call someone else. Let me know what you want to do.” Not only would I not have been offended by this, but my entire relationship with Allister was founded on a transparent interaction much like this one and subsisted on such transparency for quite a while, and that is why I like and respect him.

The sad, sad thing about the present situation is that before that single, definitive text it was a really good situation. In fact, I was thinking mentioning how good it was. Not because the sex was really good or because I really liked him, but because previously he had been so easy to deal with. In fact, 75% of the reason I had hooked up with him was because he was easy to deal with and nice so it seemed like why not. Also, the first time we hooked up I did possibly the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done with a guy and he was cool with it. As my personal slogan goes, once you embarrass yourself, everything is subsequently less embarrassing in comparison. Much freer. No self-consciousness necessary. He was generally sexually chill, easy-going, and unfazed by preferences and instructions. Not judgy. No sexual double standard. Let me ask for and do whatever I wanted. Eager to please. Attentive. And our interactions were all very polite. Not fake or anything. But there was never any reason to be anything but nice. I mean, we were essentially doing each other a service. And I actually sort of liked talking to him. He is smart, funny, and reasonable, although not distinctive in any way. We couldn’t actually be friends in real life. He is one of those yuppie, grown-up, fratboy bankers who socializes in a different scene and might as well live in Murray Hill. But he has a good balance of qualities and we got along well. Mostly he was just easy to be around and when I hooked up I felt like we were equals.

With one text, 75% of the reason I wanted to hook up with him vanished into thin air. Easy to deal with? Um, no. Stubborn, inflexible, and selfish surely preclude him from meeting that qualification. Nice? Fuck no. All we are left with is his body and the quality of the sex. I’ve never really been attracted to him, and the sex isn’t special. In fact, years ago when he expressed interest in me, before we ever hooked up, I explained my lack of attraction to him. Objectively he’s attractive and other people find him attractive, but I’ve never really understood it. I knew him as an adolescent and wasn’t into him then, either. And he’s one of those grown-up fratboys who is past his prime: He has a beer belly and could stand to lose a good thirty pounds. You can see it in his face, too. But the sex is fine and once you get naked with someone it isn’t like you don’t get aroused. And there was the first time we hooked up this year which was so fucking good that suddenly I became interested in him because I got off to the cum scene like 500 times because there was just so much cum and I guess the amount that I get off to a sexual experience is directly proportional to the amount of semen. This was before I even told him how into cum I am. When I finally told him, he said I shouldn’t have been embarrassed, it made no difference to him, and I should have brought it up before if that’s what I wanted. But then I lost interest in him because, like I said, he texts me so much but never delivers. He does have a really nice cock. Oh well. My mom always told me “there are many fish in the sea,” but she should have substituted for the prevailing proverb “there are many pretty penises lurking in pants;” that would have been much more reassuring. And the alliteration is enticing.

I woke up to an apology text from him.

10amish

D: Sorry. Didn’t need to be so mean

Too late. The damage had been done. Maybe if he has any decency, he will pass me on to a friend. That’s what I’ve sort of always wanted anyway considering I’ve never been attracted to him. Of course, part of the appeal was that he was familiar, which made me more comfortable with him and made him lack grossness. After knowing someone even casually for a certain amount of time I feel like they have passed a screening process.

This afternoon I got a text from a former friend whose attention I tried to solicit out of frustration and desperation and the desire to throw bad at bad and generally fuck shit up so I had something real to blame for feeling awful, not just sexual frustration. He wrote, “Hey, I was asleep and am sick.” I instantly felt horrible because maybe he didn’t realize things were over between us and actually wanted to or was willing to repair things. I sent him a sort-of apology text back, “Im sorry. I shouldnt have texted you. i dont want to be friends. I was having a shity night and hoped to use you to take out my frustrations. feel better.” This brought me back to reality and now I feel bad for real because I actually cared about my friendship with this guy, unlike the immediate sexual situation which I will obviously get over cause it’s just like, great, now I have to find someone who produces an amount of semen comparable to that of Peter North. I just wonder if this whole friendship breakup was a big mistake or if being friends with him was the mistake. I suspect the later, partially because if I hadn’t contacted him I suspect he wouldn’t have contacted me. Mistake or no mistake I guess at this point there is really no way I can get anything out of the shambles of our friendship and it could only end in more disappointment so I might as well quit while I’m down. Now I have to replenish the men in my life. Sigh.

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