Morning wood rises again

Please don't write in the comments telling me how cheesy this is. I'm fully aware but a guy's gotta try new things right? This is not about to become a sex blog don't worry, more whining about my inability to have a relationship is undoubtedly on it's way.

We'd slept apart most of the night, two blankets on the bed and a full night of rest because we weren't jostling arms trying to get comfortable. With morning approaching, I rolled over to where she lay sleeping on her side, facing the wall. I put an arm around her and she moved to let the other one slide under her neck. I kissed her bare shoulder and then settled my head on the pillow, trying to fall back asleep. She had different plans though, pulling my hand up to her face, first to kiss my fingers and then to suck them. Sleep is overrated anyway.

She sucked each finger in turn, lingering and going back when she reached the last one. It doesn't take much of this to get me good and frustrated, so I pulled her hand to my face, kissed her fingers and then took my hand back. She still had her back to me, so I sneaked my hand down to between her legs to feel her. I slid my pinkie, the most conveniently available finger in our position, into her pussy, eliciting a groan of pleasure and making her grind back against me. I can play in her for days. For some reason, she responds well to my fingers. But not this morning. There'd be little foreplay involved. She was flooded and I was horny. I took my hand back pressing her legs back together to let her know not to move as a I reached for a condom. With one arm still trapped under her, it took a little maneuvering to get it on. Once sheathed though, I back towards her, sliding in from behind her with an uninvited but not unpleasant vision of a scene in Munich where Eric Bana takes his seven months pregnant wife in the same manner. Interesting sex scenes in a Spielberg movie, unbelievable! Still not as a interesting as what was going on in my bed at that moment. Thrusting from the position we were in was awkward, so my hand, the same one she'd teased to get this started, the same one that'd put on the condom, slid under her arms, pausing to tweak her breasts before hooking behind her beck, giving me some leverage to better slide in and out of her. Now we were in business. A little rough sure, but I don't think she minded.

Sex with the blonde involves constantly jostling for control of the action. With a smaller woman, it's all me. With the blonde's temperament and Rubenesque figure though, it's always a matter of who wants it more in whatever position we're in. As it was, my will definitely took precedence. I'm nothing if not generous though. I eased into her, settled on the bed and then pulled her back and onto me. Leaning on her elbow above me, she ground down on me, matching my thrusts with hers. I could hear her whimper, and every once in a while she did something that made me let loose a gasp to join her sounds. A moment later she'd give an even sharper and louder gasp as I made her sit up, coming fully and suddenly in contact with my very hard and very erect penis.

It was all her now, leaning backwards, resting on her wrists, she alternated between grinding her pussy down on my pelvis and sliding up and down my shaft. She likes to grind her orgasms out, her pussy rubbing against my pelvis in some prehistoric ritual like using flint sticks to make fire. It wasn't that time yet though. She needed more stimulation and when she took her hands off the bed to rest them on my chest, I took the chance to give it to her (because, you know, this was all about her, I'm a total ascetic who wasn't getting anything from these proceedings). I nudged her forward, then grabbed her wrists, effectively taking control of things. She hung forward bouncing back into me as I fucked her, thrusting upwards from the bed. She looked magnificent, her shoulders overly tan from the bare shouldered dresses she's favored all Summer, her pale back streaked with flushes of blood from scratches, both fresh and from the night before. The previous tenant of my apartment left a mirror hanging on the door of my bedroom and though I think it somewhat cheesy, I've left it in place. I glanced into it and then stared transfixed at the vision of us together. Her back muscles rippled as she pulled away from me, her ass rising and falling, flexing and settling. In a (to me) hilarious play on the reverse cowboy, she looked like some amazing creature straining against me, her arms the reins by which I held her in place. Sex should always be so glorious.

She slowed to a grind again, catching her breath, urging her orgasm on, but denied again as she extended too far and my dick flopped out of her, itself at half mast. She giggled, leaning forward, breathing heavily. The room reeked of sex, womanly goodness, the latexy scent of the Trojan, tang and musk, sweat in the air. She turned around, still resting on my pelvis and leaned in for a kiss, our first that morning. Those lips... would raise sleeping beauties and dead men from their rest. They certainly raised my nodding little soldier and once again, almost painfully hard, I pushed into her. Again she began to rise and fall. I grabbed her hips, forcing myself deeper into her. She giggled and said, "it hurts my liver when you do that." Actually I think the near toxic punch from the barbecue and the bourbon that followed were what hurt her liver. Whatever it was my dick was supposed to be hurting didn't seem to mind that much as she matched me for ferocity, thrust for thrust, push for push. And then onto her orgasm, slowing back to that grind that is so instinctive to her and so learned to me, rolling and rocking (and not a beer in sight!) with noises far too obscene and loud for that time of the day as if the late night dalliances that rattled the building as we tested the strength of my glass desk had not already ensured that my neighbors completely abhor me. And onto the brilliant sunset of her orgasm the cowgirl rode, in a scene not scripted by Sergio Leone, but just as glorious. And then she collapsed on me, heavy breathing, bright pink nails flashing past my face as she went to hug me.

We stayed in much the same position, her hips lazily swinging around my dick as she recovered. "Fuck Tony the Tiger, I want Frosted Flint (my real name unfortunately does not provide for this lovely alliteration) for breakfast everyday," she said. How sweet.

I can't get no satisfaction

This is my 100th post and it's taken almost a year to get here. I guess I write slow. Anyway...

The blonde is scarring me, physically I mean. Her nails have become rather too involved in bed of late and I really must warn her to tone that down. A little physical scarring isn't too bad though. I doubt she could scar me emotionally. I'm beginning to think she's all shiny surface and too little depth below. Now some would say that this ought to have been evident, but I've never been one to write people off based on a first impression. Lately though, my appreciation of her movie looks has begun to give in to the conviction that she is like most movie stars in more than just looks. And being the malcontent that I am, this of course is starting to get on my nerves. Having traded veggies (quietly pretty lady in a sedate but more intellectually compatibile relationship) for candy (red hot sexpot who I can't get a serious conversation in with), I find my stomach twisted in knots and my heart racing faster than I'd like it to.

The blonde is interesting. She gets really excited about the simple things in life (I mean really, really excited, about things like bulldogs and balloons) and she admires the fact that I read for fun but we don't seem to do anything more than drink, fuck and express adoration for one another while we're together. Even I don't want to discuss Godelier when I'm recovering from a hangover or setting one up so it's entirely possible that she's got a ton of deep thoughts but the time is never right to examine them. Whatever, I'm not satisfied.

And then there is the complication that I'm not quite over Opera girl, or she over me. We had the most confusing conversation on Friday afternoon and it just about left my head spinning. I can barely even remember the reasons I broke up with her so I can figure out if it was the right thing to do. What is obvious though is that if I wanted to get things between us going again, she'd be open to it.

This is going to sound a little cartoonish and probably fat headed to boot, but here goes. At least a part of my problem lies in the fact that I finally realized that girls like me. This was not always so, in fact was so much the opposite that I'm still a bit like a kid in a candy store these days. Oh I can have her if I put a little effort into it? Okay, great! But what about her? And her? And her? And of course, I don't really want a bunch of girls, just one that I'm compatible with who understands me and so ridiculously hot that I'm unwilling to consider being with anyone else.

Actually, I remember some of the reasons I broke up with Opera girl. She doesn't blow me away. Things felt far too comfortable, too unexciting. I documented my initial reticience about her looks, and I never completely got over them. She's a very pretty girl, but not in any manner that particularly drives my heart rate up. She's a little too sweet and young looking for someone who wants maturity and more than a bit of wickedness in the women he's with. Nevertheless I'm coming to the understanding that looks may not be as important as I previously supposed. And she is a VERY pretty girl, in whatever incarnation that pretty comes.

And the blonde? She has a brusque and unsubtle beauty to her, like a full figured Rebecca Romnjin-Stamos with none of that woman's elegance and a wide eyed enthusiasm for life and people that she bowls you (sometimes literally) with. I could probably not have begun to date her if not for the fact that her looks have obviously caused her some pain and made her somewhat hard. I find a few emotional scars appealing. Does that make me a sadist? Or perhaps a masochist as those scars inevitably manifest themselves in ugliness that affects me.

And then there is the Complication, who I once mentioned but never got around to writing about, a pretty English/Italian NYU grad student I met just before things took off with Opera girl. I asked her out but she put me off so long that by the time she called, I was well into things with Opera girl and couldn't date her. I know she was interested though, because I went with Opera girl to a party she was attending and I caught her staring daggers across the room at Opera girl. The Complication is perhaps a combination of the things I most want from a girl. She charmed me immediately I met her (no initial reticience like there was with Opera girl) and she's obviously intellectually inclined, moreso than either of the other girls. She's not drop dead gorgeous like the blonde but she's ridiculously cute, has mischief in her eyes and has a razor sharp wit.

See this is the problem. I don't know what to do about the girl in my life and for clarity, I think what I need to do is call up another girl. I'm not certain how you all read this stuff. I'm all but insane.

Tea with Perverts, blogger parties, sex with a blonde goddess and other adventures in a New York weekend

Just got in and took off the clothes I've been wearing for the last two days. I'm hot and sticky, worn out and a little wired. I've had sex, lots of it. It started yesterday. The actress/blonde had stopped by after her evening of partying Friday night. I don't remember if we had sex then, but we definitely did Saturday morning and it was a very wonderful beginning to the day. Then we did brunch before I went off to have tea with a merry bunch of perverts. This was fun, nothing like conversing with a group of completely sexually liberated people. It was by far the most civilized gathering of such filthy minds imaginable though, other than the gentleman who disappeared and then reappeared wearing leather chaps and acted the part of maid for the rest of the gathering before getting spanked with a range of floggers. I said civilized. Selina may also have sparked a run on corset shops statewide by changing into a very beautiful one towards the end of the afternoon. It was good talking though and one of my favorite moments came in the aftermath of the tea, when speaking with Lex and Les on the subway, we managed to broach the topics of naked parties, swinging and numerous other deviances on a crowded subway train. That'd have made a tasty addition to the Overheard in New York pages if any of our neighbors was so inclined.

I went home after that and contemplated staying in, but after a great writing session, I felt fired up enough to fly and decided that even though it was past midnight, staying home was not an option. And so I headed over to Fauxy's birthday celebration all the way at the bottom of Manhattan. It was probably 2am before I got there and it appeared I'd missed the party. I'd planned to meet the blonde, who was out partying (did I mention that she parties a bit?) anyway and was going to head over to meet her, but she was tired of being where she was and wanted to come over. I tried to explain that the people I hoped to meet weren't there, but she was fairly drunk and after calling for the location about four times, she made it to me.

I've mentioned that the blonde is fond of me, haven't I? Well, the blonde was drunk when she met me, and partially because of this and partially because she is a very excitable and possibly obssessive character, she proceeded to inform me, about three hundred times in a row, how fond of me she was. I nearly broke things off with her right there and then, convinced that she was insane. Let me explain, she would not stop saying that she liked me! She'd say, "I adore you, no I really, really adore you. No, wait, I've got to let you know of how fond of you I am. I really can't say enough how much I adore you. Really, really, really," and then start again, making minor modifications, but sticking to the same general theme. I couldn't get a word in, or get her to stop. It was pretty damn ridiculous. I'm telling you, I've not been so perplexed in a long fucking time. It would have been the strangest thing in the world to break up with a girl because she insisted that you know in no uncertain terms how much she liked you, but then spoiled it by repeating it so much that you thought perhaps she was a malfunctioning robot programmed to entice and then destroy you.

But eventually, I escaped this little bit of the twilight zone, calming her down and settling for my first drink of the night and her hundredth or so. At some point, Fauxy's party appeared and I realized that the party had not departed, but taken place on the other floor of the bar, one I'd not even noticed. Nice. I hung around for a while, making conversation while a female blogger I've never met tried to make out with the blonde. When the DJ cranked things up a bit and the blonde and I got to scandalous grinding, it occured to me that it was simply time to cash in my chips and head on out. I said my goodbyes, took my ribbing for such unabashed PDA and headed for her place, where she promptly passed out of course.

I spent all of today in Brooklyn. The day began with sex and pretty much revolved around sex. At some point when our blood sugar was sufficiently depleted, we headed out to brunch. We came back and attempted to watch the movie, Serenity. With frequent breaks for sex, it probably only took us six hours to complete it. The problem is this. Ordinary signs of affection between the blonde and I are dangerous, as they often lead a lot further a lot faster than I'm used to. If I hold her hand on the street, she catches my eye and a minute later I realize we're stopped in the sidewalk full on making out. If she leans over for a kiss at a restaurant, we're shortly making the most disgusting display possible. And when in the safety of her apartment, every kiss inevitably led to me taking off her dress, a wonderful Summer dress in the style of that famous Marilyn Monroe picture with her skirt flying. Actually, with her freshly bleached gold and white hair, hourglass figure and sunny disposition, she was channeling a whole lot of Marilyn today. It can be strange hanging out with the blonde. I've never been with anyone who draws so much attention. As if her naturally astonishing looks not enough, she pairs them with a penchant for extremely sexy dresses and pushes things over the top with a really bold, outgoing personality. Restaurant patrons turn and watch, drivers linger at the lights to stare, men, women and little kids all pause. It's not all friendly . Walking around Harlem with her drew the most evil of stares and at least one overly loud nasty comment. This is not stuff that makes me happy or suggests longetivity in this relationship.

Either way though, today was great and filled with the kind of ridiculous sex you only have at the totally unrestrained beginning of a relationship. Sex on the couch, sex in the shower, standing, with her head hanging off the edge of the futon and mine above the side arm of the futon. Okay now I'm just showing off. I had a great weekend. Tomorrow I've got to return to the real world and I ain't happy about it. Good night.

More about the women

Just broke up with Opera girl. I tried to do it two days ago, but it was the first time I'd seen her since she got back, and I'd forgotten how much I actually liked her so that didn't go so well. Plus with a wicked touch of female deviance, she looked pretty much as good as I'd ever seen her. She looked just as good tonight too actually. You know a girl is trying when you go see her at her apartment where she's supposed to be wrestling with Ikea furniture but she still meets you at the door in heels, with the nice earrings and her tightest jeans on. So it was not without some wistfulness that I called things off and headed out without the breakup sex.

Two days ago, when I was being as flaky as only I know how to be, she'd suggested that I date both her and the blonde, who I'd told her about. Her basic position was unchanged from our conversations before out return, but now I actually had to take her seriously. So I took two days to think things over and seriously contemplate the idea of dating two women at the same time, and came to the illogical conclusion that I simply couldn't do it. Why illogical? Because gaddammit, how often does a women actually say to you, "you should date her and date me" with her sanity completely intact. Couldn't do it though. Just trying to figure out what girl to call and hang out with the next day almost caused me to short circuit.

So anyway, I'm down to one girl again. The blonde and I. Ever heard the Jay-Z song, "Girls, girls, girls?" One of my favorite lines from an overall excellent song is, "damn she's fine, but she parties all the time." He could have been talking about the blonde. After I hung out with some bloggers (more on this below), I met up with her and we managed to hit two clubs and a bar before the night was over. Methinks I got to remind her that I'm a student, a poor, poor student and one who has been unable to get a bartending job at that (say, you don't know anyone who needs a bartender do you? Let me know yo). Despite the expensive nature of hanging out with her and her hard partying friends, I like the blonde. She sends me texts that read, "I adore you" and "kisses to your face" and that's kinda cool. Actually it's not kinda cool, it's really cool to have like the hottest girl ever say she adores you. One of these days her face is gonna be on a billboard, and I will say with pride, "I used to sleep with that woman."

So I hung out with a few bloggers yesterday and can I just say, holy blogger hotness! I'm not going to say anything beyond that cause, as Alice keeps saying, blog on blog crime just ain't cool. Besides if things don't work with the blonde, I'm taking a break from dating and doing some self improvement or something, so no sending hang out requests to anybody. But it was cool hanging out and I've a whole bunch of blogs from some cool, funny people to check out now, like I don't already spend enough time on that kind of thing. That is all.

About women...

I have said the words "I like you," thoughtfully and sincerely, twice this year. I've cooked for three women, an act, which considering my talent in the kitchen or lack thereof, is usually an indication that I want intimacy even more than I want sex. There have been no breaks in my search for love or something like it. My relationships overlap, the demise of one barely registering before I'm halfway into the next one.

So there are three women I've really got into this year. But I've been with others. There was the Brazilian, in a relationship that served its purpose, sex, and got me to see that I really needed to get away from dating people that were wrong for me, a truth I'd closed my eyes to for a very long time. There was a very brief and ill advised dalliance very early in the year with another blogger, something I've not written about here out of respect for her. I fucked things up there. It shouldn't have happened and didn't need to happen. If I got anything from that, it was a sharp dose of humility and the knowledge that I needed a little more integrity in this process. From these and all of last year's relationships, I learned very clearly what it was I didn't want. Now I've got two very different and individually interesting women who are interested in me, and I've got very little idea as to what it is I actually want.

The blonde is rowdy, passionate and worldly. Being with her would be expensive, dramatic and tons, absolutely tons of fun. She wants to be a movie star. Note that I wrote movie star rather than actress. Based on looks alone, I'd say she has a better than fair chance. The women is sex in heels, with a body made for a fetishist to love, sashimi pink lips with a slight upturn that's suggestive of a sneer, Shirley Manson platinum blonde hair and what a Nigerian man calls a coca cola figure (think Marilyn Monroe). And she's 5'11. I'll be competing with half of Manhattan for her attention. In fact I already had my most possesive moment ever at a party on Saturday where a gentleman took far too much interest in her the moment she walked in. Like I said, there'll be no shortage of drama here.

Things with opera girl, dramatic as they've been with her away would likely be far more sedate. There wasn't much to report before she left because there wasn't much really exciting happening. She and I see the world in similar ways, although I might be slightly more demented and she slightly more timid (but not much). She's probably as rowdy as the blonde, but her small frame makes it far less noticeable. I think her cute rather than ravishing and quite frankly, if I were making this decision on looks alone, she wouldn't even be in the competition.

To some extent, this decision is already made. The blonde is in, for better or worse and for as long as that lasts. Things got really weird with Opera Girl and I, but I think going on a date with the blonde definitely killed it. Being wanted is hot, and the blonde wants me, no ifs, ands or maybes. Add that to Opera girl's maybe and my own maybes about things between us and I guess it is what it is. If anything makes me sad now, it's having to tell Opera girl this. We had a really long and honest conversation a couple of days ago, and despite it all, she did want things to work out some way. That's not going to happen now I guess and I've got to figure a way to break it to her without making it seem like she's been replaced (Lord knows, she's not meeting the blonde for a long time, if ever). I also wonder what happens. Do you stay friends when your relationship imploded before it ever began?

It also really bothers me that something I was so excited about three weeks ago imploded so quickly and completely. Doesn't bode well for my future relationships I think. I've really enjoyed the time I've spent with the blonde and things between us definitely burn brighter than they ever did between Opera girl and I. Still I'm left with few illusions and if things don't work out with the blonde and I, I'm taking a break from women for a while.

About greatness...

There is a decent amount of pressure on me to be successful in life. The saying, "to whom much is given, much is expected" applies in no uncertain terms to me. And success for me is defined very differently from the way it would be for many people. Making a hundred thousand dollars a year at some finance job, with a beautiful wife and family would probably be failure for me. Whatever I do in life, it will have to have an impact on a large number of people, earn me respect beyond the realm of my immediate peers and hopefully, also make me immensely wealthy.

Why such expectations? Like I said, to whom much is given... I'm probably among the luckiest five percent of the planet. I've had the opportunity to study at a great schools and I'm finishing my education at an Ivy League in the United States, arguably the most anyone could ask for in terms of education. I come from a good family, comprised of people who have supported me in almost everything I've ever tried to do. I've had very few hungry days in my life, never had to worry about being homeless or being truly unemployed. Add to all of this the pressure of having an immensely succesful father. After his dad died when he was about 10, my father hustled his way through the educational system, doing everything from selling coconuts to driving a cab and being a bus conductor to pay his way. Along the way he won the respect of extended family members who appreciated his drive and helped get through school. He started his company a few days after he left college. carrying his entire future in one briefcase while living with my mum and I in a dingy studio apartment that he couldn't even afford. From these humble beginnings, it's fair to say the man did alright for himself. He built his company from scratch and does more work with his sixty employees than American companies do with 3000. Some of the projects he envisions and carries out boggle the mind in their ambition and although he's been screaming retirement for five years now, the projects he's launched in that time have become even more outrageous.

Giving all this, you might understand if I have a bit of a father complex. Nigerians, the Yoruba particularly believe that it is essential that the son surpass the father. Seeing as I don't even have a difficult past to overcome, my work is definitely cut for me. Part of the reason I've stayed and will possibly remain in the West is to escape that immediate pressure. It's not that I don't want to do what I need to, or I'm trying to escape it by hiding here. It's so I can do things on my own, my own way without being hounded every step of the way for not doing it the way he did. Being here allows me to consider things that would be unthinkable in my home environment and try life my way rather than the mold that worked for someone else. It also allows me to take credit for what I do. If I don't have a difficult past to overcome, at least no one will say that all I acheive is acheived only with my father's help. If I find a job, it's based on my own merits and work, not because someone wanted to patronize my dad, or repay a favor. Here I can be my own man.

To be quite honest, I'm scared. There is little in my history to suggest that I have greatness in me. I'm pretty mediocre at just about everything. I have a wonderful imagination and lots of ideas, but precious little history of making those ideas reality. And that's what I wanted to get over this year. Less dreaming and more doing. Putting my ideas to paper and committing them to production. It's difficult though. I've been trying to drum up enthusiasm the ideas that need other people and fighting my own slackerdom at the things that I need to do by myself. Can't say I'm doing that great thus far, but I do know that the way I think about things has definitely changed.

I'm hoping to succeed by being me. There isn't much else I really want from life but to find something I like to do and do it really well. I want very few of the other things that people get so hung up about. I could sum up my goals for my life in three easy points:

1. Enjoy life. I don't believe in an afterlife, so I definitely don't want to be miserable in this one.
2. Find something that I can do and do it so well that I'll be remembered (positively) for it. Leave the world a better place than I found it or make some positive impact on people beyond my immediate circle.
3. Have some good relationships so my grave isn't lonely; lovers, friends, family (the one I was born with and any I adopt along the way)

I don't need to get married. I don't need to have a Volkswagen and a suburban lot to park it in. I don't need to live in any particular city or be anything specifically to anyone. I just want to be happy, productive and loved.

You make me want to use adjectives

Some people just bring out the wit cheese in you. As I struggled with the impulse to say in a thousand different ways that the woman with me afffected me, I came upon and delivered immediately the sentence above. For some people, it'd have been a sacharine overload, but it was honestly delivered and she's vain enough to have been charmed by it, and so I got permission, nay encouragement to deliver all the adjectives I wanted as the night went on. I didn't stint out on them. Attentive readers may remember that I was not immediately impressed with Opera girl's looks. Here it is the opposite. My date, who we will call the Actress until I'm able to stop naming my partners by simplistic monikers referencing a single aspect of their lives, is simply exquisite, a 5'11, big boned, honey lipped and fine featured Scandanavian creature with a short mane of platinum blonde hair to attract unwitting Nigerian men. In the words of one of my current favorite bands, she "chews my mind up." I sent her a text at the end of our date informing her that she made my heart sing cheesy movie themes and that she does.

As always though, there is a but. I wonder if there is an element of self sabotage to my relationships. It would explain how I'm able to find fault over and over with the most apparently perfect women in the city. Here, I worry that I'm too attracted to her physically and that there is not enough behind that. This despite the fact that we actually had quite a few engaging conversations over the course of the evening, allowing me to break into my impassioned orator spiel (guaranteed to come out when I've met someone I'm trying to impress with the depth of my feelings for life and specific aspects of it - tonigh? cooperative creativity). Anyway, I think I ought to stop worrying so much about what is going to happen with all these ladies. I need to relax that edict of mine from earlier in the year that I would find a woman who wanted to be in a relationship with me and settle into a happy one before the end of the year. I think it'd be much better if I just waddled in with no expectations and we could both let things develop as they will. One problem though is still societal expectation and conditioning. My problems with Opera girl wouldn't be such problems if not for the fact that society expects and demands that when you find someone you like, you treat them like a captured bird and insist that they see no one else but you. I would be fine flaunting that particular edict and enjoying the time we have together without worrying about the time we have apart but I feel pretty ridiculous even suggesting such a thing. However, considering where things are now, I don't suppose it'd hurt very much to put that out there. Hmm, we'll see about that.

Anyway, that's what's going on on the girl front. In other news I'm trying to bartend. I don't remember if I've written that here before but if you do know a New York bar that needs a bartender, please let me know about them and let them know I'm the man they're looking for. Mucho gracias. By the way, I think the Scandanavian blonde likes me too. Her final text of the evening was "you're supercute, I have a crush on you." Here that Flint's high school class of 1999? Insanely gorgeous girls think I'm supercute. How do you like me now? Yeah, I'm going to sleep off some of the booze.

My relationship - the uncensored version

This post should be read in the completely stream of thought tone of voice in which it was written (I'm not even sure that makes any sense, but bear with me, or you know skip this post. The main point of it is that the girl and I are now non-exclusive. Non-cliff notes version below)

Well just in case you were wondering, the three weeks apart have pretty much destroyed the relationship between the girl and I. Whether this is a good or a bad thing I'm not certain just yet, but I do have the sneaky feeling it actually is good. Life's weird, then you die and that must be even weirder. I don't know anything about the afterlife, but I have concluded one or three things in this one.

1. I am apparently unable to write a blog about anything other than whoring and boozing. In the timeframe in which I had a girlfriend, I did not become any less of an interesting person. I've been reading lots of world history that I never knew anything about before, watching tons of movies and hanging out with cool people left and right. I've started projects, been to the beach and done lots and lots of stuff. I just didn't really feel about writing about much of it. I did try to write more about my thoughts on people and the world, but I figured it didn't make any sense to subject my readers to half digested, stream of consciousness thoughts on my first thoughts about world and American history and what it says about the people on the whole. That one unfortunate rant below is the obvious exception. I've started many similar posts but never thought enough of them to finish or post them. If you have any ideas as to what you'd like me to blog about, please let me know. I'd be happy to follow instructions where I obviously have no ideas. Please note, I don't do funny so no requests for that stuff.

2. Relationships sure are strange things and I may or may not be ready for one yet. Although I've managed (by which I mean 'managed with great difficulty') to keep it in my pants for the past couple of weeks while the girl is away (despite an impromptu visit to NYC by the Brazilian and a couple of really flirtatious women on my recent outings with the best friend, who must be delighted to have me available to troll the town with him again as he has not grown any more confident with women in the time I've been attached and he hasn't), I've definitely not found that being in a relationship, even with a girl that on paper fits all of my requirements (artsy, independent, thoughtful, etc.), has definitely not caused to stop noticing or lusting after all the other women in Manhattan. That of course has me wondering what it is that led to desire a relationship anyway. Well, I always wanted that closeness and comfort of being involved with someone who knows you very well and likes you despite that knowledge. That there'd be a physical closeness from lots of wonderful sex would only be an added bonus. The problem with Opera girl and I is that we were seperated before we came to know each other very well. Thus for the past two weeks, I've been enduring conversations that didn't feel particularly intimate and weren't even that interesting (lots of reciting our activities for the day, talking about the weather and driving conditions on Charleston and the like). Being the anxious little bunny that I am, I of course began to worry about the health of our relationship (on a side note, I'm not that much of a worrier, at least not aloud, but I am really introspective, so like I've said before, this blog really is a little trip into the head of a fella whose real name is not Flint. I'm far too image conscious to ever allow my friends to hear the majority of my neurotic worrying, so if you ask them about me, they're likely to tell you I'm the most easy going and carefree fella on the planet. Yeah, that's me, Mr. Don't Worry, Be Happy. NOT!)

Anyway, as I was saying. The conversations weren't going very well and I had to ask (over long instant messenger conversations) a couple of my female friends about this and detail all my worries to them. They quite reasonably suggested that instead of talking to them about it, I talk to her about it. Communicating about the problems with your communication as a way to save a relationship? Who'd have thunk it? So I got all set to discuss it, but instead we actually had a really nice and not superficial conversation that day. So I was like "cool! Maybe things will be different now," but then she called me that evening and said that, oops, she'd kissed another boy when she was drunk and stuff and felt really bad about it. Damn.

Now some people would get really upset about this and throw a complete hissy fit and say all sorts of mean things as they end the relationship, but that's not really me. I guess I am a little bit Mr. Don't Worry, Be Happy because I immediately see that the silver lining in this is that maybe we can talk a little more honestly about things. So we kind of do. She's all feeling guilty about it and thinking about why she kissed another guy and basically thinks she's still got some baggage from her last relationship. And I guess that's understandable because she had told me before that her last relationship kind of fucked her up, but apparently she hadn't realized just how much. So I said fine, why don't we go back to being non-exclusive and that'll take the pressure off you while you figure things out, but we'll still be dating each other so it's not like we've written things off at the first problem. Although my friend did say to me that she thought you couldn't really have these kind of problems at the beginning of the relationship because you should be so in love that all you really want to do is be around each other. Of course this isn't the case as she kissed a boy and I've been flirting all over Manhattan and was actually contemplating going on a date to make sure that I wasn't about to settle into a relationship that wasn't right.

So the girl and I are sorta broken up. We're still talking everyday, sometimes up to three times each day, but the conversations have gone back to mundane after all the excitement of figuring out what was happening to us. I do feel like I've not been completely honest because when she kissed a boy, it became all about her doubts about things and I never really took the chance to make my reservations known because I was trying not to be an asshole about her thing and also she was going on about how much she liked me and I didn't know if that meant that she really did want things to work out with us. As for me, I hope it's not premature but I have pretty much decided that things probably won't work out with us. I'm not sure what will happen when she returns, because we did seem to be doing okay when she was around. Maybe there is something there and maybe there isn't. We'll find out when she returns but before then, I'm going on a date sometime this week. Maybe interacting with a new face will give me some perspective. Hmm...