Bad reputation nets good results?

Like most posts, this one springs from some daydreaming I’m doing while getting ready to leave my house to do some work.  It’s snowing hard outside (even though it’s like 45 degrees), and I’m looking for excuses to not leave the house.  I really should though.

So, in my mind I’m thinking about this girl I met for the second time this weekend.  She’s the classic “butterface.”  I feel a little bad saying it, except for the fact that her body is so incredibly slammin’–as the kids say–that it 100% completely obliterates whatever social disadvantages she might suffer in situations where a nice face is appreciated (it’s kind of fun washing the stink out of the really awful parts of looks-based bigotry using flowery diplomatic language… I feel so terrible right now).  Like this sexual heat aura washes outward from her body and engulfs your perceptions in its warm stimulating glow, and you don’t care at all about her hooked beak and squinty eyes.

She’s even got enough sexy-as-fuck leftover that you find yourself laughing shrilly at every unfunny attempt she makes at a joke.  Kinda like girls do to me when I’m trying to be funny.  The “please think I like you enough to become interested in me” laugh.


So, she’s neck deep in this group of girls who like to trash-talk men from a social correctness stance.  Loud men who have active sex lives especially.  Lately I’ve been having more and more trouble accepting the East Coast norms for acceptable sexual attitudes for one’s gender roles, and I’ve gotten lax in my lip service to said norms.  I like sex.  I like female bodies.  I talk about what I like.  I get in trouble.  I am fully aware of the potential power dynamics involved and all of the reasons I should be ashamed for thinking what I’m thinking and saying what I’m saying objectifymalegazeblahblahblahmisogynismblahblah.

Wellsir! Back down southwest everyone I know, be it lady or gent or neither/both, gets to be crass about genitals and longings and hilarious shit that happened in bed.  I suppose that means that, like our racism, we wear our sexism on our sleeves.  I like to think it’s healthy.

But I digress (although, give me a girl who openly admits to forgetting the dude she fucked’s name over one who gets pissy when I open a door for her any day).  My daydreaming: This girl, let’s call her Chelsea (omg Freudslip, how DARE you dig up another butterface you want to bang from your subconscious and use her name?!?!).  Chelsea isn’t giving super good signals that she’s interested… and in my mind her friends have all told her to stay away from that HIE, because he’s only after one thing.

And then, in my fantasy scenario, this “warning” works just like the dad in the 80’s movie telling his daughter to stay away from the bad boy.  I. e., oppositively (I made that word, I own that word, love that word).  She comes over and says something to the effect of, “My friends told me you’re bad news,” in a low voice that’s got an electric undercurrent of promise.

And then I remembered an incident that happened in real life about 6 years ago.  I had been dumped for cheating on my girlfriend of 6 years.  Yes, I know I’m not making much of a case for believing I’m a good person here… but that’s why this is anonymous-ish.  If you’re a good person, you’ll assume that I am one too and let me get on with it!

So, I told all my friends what had happened, came clean to everyone and everything.  I didn’t think something like that could be swept away casually, and I kind of felt the need to do penance.  But that group of friends was actually a terribly bitter, petty, jealous group of shitbags… and we’re at this party.  And a super hot girl comes up to me and murmurs in a low voice, “Your friends have been saying some bad things about you.  They say you’re no good and I should stay away from you.”

“Oh yeah? Well it’s true.  I’m a little shocked they would share that with someone I’ve never met, but it’s true.”

We went back to her place in Greenpoint and had crazy hot clothing-on and cigarettes-lit sex THAT NIGHT.  I’d skipped the whole long-winded explanation that the relationship had been dead for years and we were both too scared to make a move until I let a girl grab my dick under the bar at Union Pool (curse you Union Poooooool!).  I skipped the part where I confess to knowing how cowardly that kind of thing is and that I’m so deeply ashamed I don’t trust myself to form solid relationships anymore.

Instead I got her a drink, we went back to her place.  The end.

So I really hope my friends are talking shit to their little hearts’ content to this chick.  Because oh my god.  The 80s were right.  And this woman. Is she being facetious? Oh who knows:


Best line: “all that advice from people who are supposedly experts, is bullshit”

Wow internet, there’s a lot of stuff I’m missing isn’t there?