Why the hell does the skin of the papaya in my fridge make my fingers smell like pussy? I need to get my maid to do a through scrub down of the damn thing.
That aside, I’m really quite allright. Mildly upset that Martine and I cannot maintain anything more then a cerebral relationship for the time being until things get sorted out, but while, principally, I am not hoping for anything in particular at all (not that I honestly give a damn), it still makes me a little sad that I can’t sleep with someone I really like. Sex makes all the difference in a relationship to me, and I find it extremely difficult, impossible in fact, to be denied indulgence. It took me awhile before I could understand what he meant.
Me: That was quite like a quickie romance wasn’t it.
Martine: That’s not the way I see things, not in the least…
Me: I do suppose we don’t ever forget the people we really shared something with. But it’s now that I want you, and every inch of you, all puns intended.
Martine: It’s just that the present circumstances conspire against the possibility of an affair.
Me: Je ne regrette rein! It will be like old school courting again. It’s been awhile since I slept with someone after getting to know them better over a few months first. (Not that I’ve ever managed to wait a few months ever since I felt ready to have sex)
I told him not to comfort me by telling me it was silly to be sad, since he’ll be around for a long time anyway. Because I felt sad presently, and telling me about the possibility of things could do nothing to change how I felt, Now.
The G-Spot called me up late at night and Tori (my little sister) picked up the phone and told him I was in the shower. I wasn’t bathing, really, just jilling away my sadness, and I told him so. He always has a way of getting me at my most neurotic, and am I ever glad for it. I hadn’t seen him in a long while, due to a number of commitments on his part. Chiefly, his girlfriend. But he was such a depraved little boy when he went back to
Had insufficient sleep. He’s still suffering from jet lag, and woke up at 7 in the morning. We ended up watching a brutally candid film about club etiquette called The Swingers, that got me thinking about the why I hated getting picked up in a night club, and why I hate picking up in a night club. I have not dispensed my number to anyone in a club for, oh, months.
How many days should I wait before I call her?
How often do you think I should have sex with her?
How often to take her out on dates? Is it necessary to do so every time before I take her home to have sex?
Christ. Who cares. That’s the problem with meeting someone in a club; more often then not, you’re too drunk to judge the vibes you get accurately, and you end up following some stupid 2 day no call rule. I suppose because club pick-ups are impressed upon with that ‘try not to seem desperate’ rule so everyone has to abide by it, even if they feel they really like the other person for reasons beyond sex. This is however something I have yet to experience for myself. No doubt, I’ve had a couple of relationships that came out of club pick-ups. I met Mr. Big at a club one damn year ago. But the reason had always been initially, chiefly, sex.
We tried to get breakfast at Cedele Depot (my absolute favourite place for brunch! I was mildly surprised when he suggested it), but it was closed for business till 11, which is awfully strange, since I think bakery cafés should be opened for breakfasts. Had it at Coffee Bean instead. Sucked. I forgot to tell them not to nuke my damn scone, and scones are just more lovely eaten hard and slightly stale.
A friend of mine (white guy, been around Singapore for nearly a decade) had apparently read my essay on the attraction of the occident, and had called me up yesterday evening telling me how it inspired him so much he’s started writing one himself, from the ang mo men’s point of view. ‘You Never get over Asian Women’ (especially me). HIliarity. I told the G-Spot about it, but I’d knew he wouldn’t feel the same way. Firstly, where he came from, there were already a lot of Asian people. Secondly, his List had started to resemble a Colours of Benetton ad ever since he graduated. An attractive woman is an attractive woman, and he was absolutely indiscriminately promiscuous.
I got the weirdest message as the G-Spot was walking me back to town.
It went, ‘The longer I haven’t seen you, the more I miss you, and the more I love you’
I thought, no way. It couldn’t be.
‘Mein Schatz, I finally got a phone in
Oddly, I hadn’t been able to sms the Boy back when he was still in
But romance does always play such an important priority in our lives.
It was no fun walking past where Martine lived, I felt upset for awhile.
***
I got one horrid e-mail today, over the whole Martine ordeal.
What do you expect? You're soiled goods. But yes, there will be many in line for a free fuck.
Okay, so I’m soiled. Big deal. Better slutty then bitchy, malicious and ignorant. Because nothing in the world is free, dumbass.
It’s people like you that cause women to be so stigmatized. Oh No! I mustn’t have sex unless he does all these 101 things for me, otherwise, I’m a free fuck!
Even if I don’t feel a rat’s ass for the guy, I still most certainly derive pleasure from getting fucked, and that’s payment enough if there’s nothing else going on between either person. But usually it’s more, oh so much more. Barter trade indeed. Your pleasure for mine, sex for intimacy. Any idiot can see that.
xoxox
No comments:
Post a Comment