July 9th, 2005


And we'll have fun fun fun till she realizes I'm a tool.

Some of you, the more observant and meticulous among you, may have noticed a sharp drop off in my journaling lately. Perhaps you thought it was due to burnout, or some lengthy brilliant piece I was working on, or that I'd been abducted by super duper sexpot avung1 during his NYC adventure. Most likely you did not care. Nonetheless I feel compelled to inform all of you, my disloyal readers, that none of the above is true. In point of fact I have spent the last week or so being waylaid. Waylaid by a woman.

For the past month or so I had been chatting online with lipstickboi, whose true name will remain shrouded in mystery but whom we will call "Kenny." After awhile chatting turned to telephone calls, and telephone calls turned to headboard rattling phone sex, "Oh yeah, baby, I'm touching it...hold on...Kenny? Shit. I think my battery's dying. Wait can you hear me? Hello? Hello? I'm rubbing your breasts. Hello?"

A few more late night sessions of such burning hot telephony and we decided to meet. Or rather she decided and I reluctantly agreed, proclaiming that our late night voice trysts when she saw the sad reality of my hideous visage.

We met at Columbus circle, where I was shocked to see that not only was she not a 49 year old 300 pound man named Freddy with a high girlish voice, but she was actually a real live woman and a cute one at that. After I got over my profound disappointment we went on a romantic walk through the park where we engaged in such time honored date activities as cruising for gay sex in the ramble, violent allergic sneezing near some handsome cabs, and of course a tasteful moonlit spanking by the reservoir. She asked me to take her back to my place and I complied. We kissed, petted, engaged in activities that, if you did them with a goat, would get you kicked out of any non-Scottish petting zoo*, and fell asleep in one another's arms. When we awoke in the morning we trysted once more, I offered her breakfast, she spurned me and left with my mother's antique silver serving spoon, which was really a small price to pay for the package deal that most prostitutes refer to as "The Full On Eclectic**."

A few days of phone talk happened and then the next Tuesday she came over again and we had more fun, most of it legal in at least 17 states. At this point we'd had two nice dates with a few friction spots, so I suggested she come with me to see my therapist***. The session went well, my therapist later referring to her as smart, somewhat neurotic, and distinctly fuckable, so we went back to my place again. There we decided that we were through with seeing other people, at least so long as Tesh is off the market, and found ourself smack dab in the middle of a relationship. We spent the night together once more, each orgasming twice, and the next day went to visit a clinic where she was declared to be cured of her hoof and mouth disease thanks to the incredible power of my sexual healing. We had terrible mexican food at a chain restaurant and she declined to go to a movie because she wasn't feeling well, a trend that will certainly continue in the bedroom.

So apparently I have a girlfriend now, at least until she realizes how distinctly unsexy I am, and things are good. I've been neglecting my writing and other responsibilities as I process all of this and try to figure out if that burning when I pee is a mere coincidence or a sign. I intend to get back to it soon and perhaps all these exciting and pleasant experiences will inform and improve it. Perhaps they will rededicate me to the craft and lead to my taking another step towards professional status.

Or perhaps I'll spend the next month thinking about how nice it feels to have your dick in someone else's mouth.

Oh yeah, and lipstickboi if you're reading this uhh...thanks for that and I'll get the bra back to you as soon as I can find it.

*I made her say my name. She got it right on the fourteenth try. "Ben" can be a mouthful.

**Please note that Kenny is not a prostitute. She's just a kleptomaniac who loves mutual masturbation. There's a big difference.

***If anyone ever tries to out-neurotic me in the future I can yank that little chestnut out of my pants and smack it down on the table. It'd have even Woody Allen waving the white flag, something he probably knows well considering his popularity in France.
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Just to be on the safe side, the previous post was a fabrication based on true events. lipstickboi and I are indeed together, she is a real girl, and I did make her go to my therapist. Most of the rest is a pack of falsehoods meant to amuse. Her virtue is still intact as far as I know, she is very nice and I care for her deeply, and the clinic was for my psoriasis, which she cured with a kiss.

She is not a kleptomaniac, she's actually a second grade teacher in Rego Park, and she's really great. We have a lot in common, she's fun to talk to, and she's passionate about many things. She didn't kick me in the groin when I suggested that the reason her classroom was so well air-conditioned was because she had to take care of "30 hot bodies."

Also I'm not giving her bra back.
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