Okay, so it’s been a little bit since I’ve given y’all fresh meat. Good news, I found some! Your welcome, I do this for all of you my beloved readers.
Here’s a little background on fresh meat. For this post I’ll refer to him as, the prude. He’s 6’1, blonde, lanky, great accent, and well spoken. We met on match.com, our first date was at a neighborhood beer parlor. He was very conservative, with the preppy wardrobe to match and he had his shit together. He worked for his family company, owned his own home, and a boat AND he COOKED! I’m not talking microwave. He actually used the stove and oven. Check and check!
We dated on and off for a while. His sexual drive was considerably lower than mine. Generally that would be my cue to leave. But my friends convinced me to stick it out and give him time. It can be a little awkward for the first few times, give him a chance. We were together for about six months. My sticking it out didn’t improve upon our sexual situation…
He only did one style, missionary. BORING! Snooze alert! It didn’t even last long, once I got into it finally… He’d cum. Then he’d say, I hope you got what you wanted because that’s all you’re getting. WHAT THE FUCK! So I would have to finish myself off the majority of the time. Which he then made commentary on informing me that I should wait until he left the room. That’s what a PROPER lady would do.
Inner monologue moment: WHAT THE FUCK!?! Proper LADY. I’ll show you a FUCKING proper lady. Give you a real lesson. Trust me you WON’T forget it! You prudish short lived bastard.
I digress. I’m sorry, onward with the prude story.
Prude invited me over to his place for dinner. He was watching the beginning of a rugby game. He said, there was nothing in the house to eat. So he said lets go out. He made commentary on my ensemble. Prude informed me that I was showing TOO much skin. I was in a cream lace short dress with nude tights and brown boots. It was not inappropriate in any manner. It was figure flattering. I looked damn good. This was NOT the first time he had made commentary about my wardrobe. Sometimes he would throw in a comment about my weight. It would involve him suggesting that I put on pants. Pardon me, but we both know who REALLY wears the pants in this relationship. Why don’t you get the stick out of your ass and shut the hell up!
We ended up going to my fave Jazz bar. It was a slow night. He was being a little weird. So I texted one of my girls. I asked her what she was up to. She said she was free. So I told prude that one of my friends was in the area. He told me to invite her to join us. So I did.
My girlfriend sat down, I introduced her, and he ordered her a drink. We had a little chit chat. Then he cut the idle chit chat and dropped a bomb on my girlfriend. The bomb, being a question.
The question: Does she tell you about our sex life?
Inner monologue moment: OH FUCK! I hope she can roll with this. That came out of left field. FUCK!
Prude is staring her down. It’s like he’s trying to intimidate her with his stare. She looks at him with that are you shitting me look. Then says in the most convincing manner, “No, are you serious? Why would you ask me that? It’s kind of insulting to Bunny that you would even ask. That’s private information between the two of you.” The look on her face was pure shock/appalled that he even asked. She didn’t even hesitate. She went straight into schooling his dumbass.
Now, my beloved readers. I’m assuming that most of you know that my girlfriend knew every detail of OUR very boring sex life. So, I was behind prude while she was lying straight to his face very convincingly. I was cheering her on, while mouthing thank you. Prude is oblivious and he realized that he just FUCKED UP. Because she’s pissed that he asked such a rude question. As he rolls his tongue back in his mouth, he’s trying to formulate words that can get him out of the HUGE mess he’s just created.
So after his royal fuck up…. He apologized. We continued with general chit chat. Then wrapped up the evening and headed home.
After that evening he got a little distant. He invited me over one night, said the door would be open and to come right in. I got off work late, but drove my ass all the way out to his place. It’s a FORTY MINUTE drive, just to let y’all know. I hop out of my car, get to the door, turn the knob… the knob WON’T turn. I try again, nope it’s not budging. It’s FUCKING LOCKED! All the lights are on outside, his car is in the driveway, I KNOW he’s home. I ring the doorbell. I assume he just forgot to unlock it. No reply, the door doesn’t open. I ring the doorbell a few times and knock repeatly. NO RESPONSE. Prude is a lite sleeper. I KNOW he hears me. NOTHING! NOT A DAMN THING! I text him. No response. I’m FUCKING LIVID. I’m about ready to KEY his fucking car. But I realize that could involve the police, so I curb the urge. I text my girlfriend instead. Because I need to vent about the bullshit that just occurred.
She tells me to leave and not to text him anymore.
He tells me the next morning he’s sorry. He didn’t hear me… I call BULLSHIT! We see each other a few more times. But nothing exciting. Because of his work schedule he says. Then a few days later I get a text. That prudish mother fucker broke up with me via TEXT!!!!! BASTARD. I should have keyed his car. He said in his text that he preferred spending his time focused on work at the moment. That he DIDN’T have time for a relationship.
Fast forward five months later… I’m checking my Facebook, I got an alert. It was informing me that one of my friends relationship status had changed. So of course, I check to see who it is. That fucking dick wad prude Got Engaged! Are you fucking kidding me? So much for NO TIME for a relationship! Busy with work. That no good sneaky lying mother fucker.
But of course I have to look at the pictures and see who she is. She’s just as preppy and boring as the prude is. I’m sure they probably have sex once a month and consider that plenty. She’s a teacher (I have nothing against teachers in general, just this particular teacher.) Somehow I doubt she’s taught the prude a thing or two. They probably live in boring prudish bliss together. Sitting at home watching rugby in their snuggies. Then when they go out in their matching loafers, stripped polos, and khakis they think they are living adventurously by holding hands in public.
Moral of the story: Go with your gut. Sometimes your friends aren’t always right. You know what’s best for you. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.