The Student Journalist needs a
The Student Journalist needs a new name, that one's too long.
The more women I sleep with, the more I miss the Cuban. How retarded.
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The Student Journalist needs a new name, that one's too long.
The more women I sleep with, the more I miss the Cuban. How retarded.
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Fuck you, Sid.
You've caused me to have an existential crisis.
God damn mother fucker stupid piece of ARGH.
So now that I've got a routine where the Student Journalist AND the Jaguar BOTH know about each other (to the point of knowing ABOUT each other, names, what they do for a living, etc) and are cool with it, wherein I've finally got a situation where I've got _two_ girls who are totally down to both take turns, now you've got me thinking I just want one really good one. This disregards entirely the horny 29 year old in California who calls me for phone sex at one in the morning.
Blah.
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She, to Bad Man and Paralegal: I was walking across the street to the store the other night and left my lights on. I found out that you can totally see into my apartment through the blinds. That's why I say I found out I'm a stripper.
Bad Man: Where do you live again?
She: Have you read the sexual harassment policy?
Bad Man: You opened the door to that...
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Bad thought of the day.
I like to pull on girls hair. Right at the back of the head, massage the scalp a bit and then grab a handful of hair and pull. It's one of the fastest ways I've ever encountered to turn a woman on. It's like her hair is an erogenous zone, I love it.
My bad thought was: what about chicks with hair extensions? I'd feel wicked bad grabbing some beautiful woman's fake-ass straight hair and having it come off in my hand.
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Despite my last whining post (Which I admit to being quite drunk while writing) I've had yet another legendary weekend. To explain, here's my conversation with my boss this morning.
Boss: Bad Man, thank you for suggesting [Bed and Breakfast], your other boss [his girlfriend] and I had a great time. It was beautiful and a wonderful weekend away. How was your weekend.
Bad Man: Cool! My weekend was great. I saw Burn This. [the play with Ed Norton]
Boss: Who'd you have to sleep with to get tickets to that?
Bad Man: God, you make me sound so dirty.
Boss: *laughs, knowing that Bad Man has indeed slept with a woman in order to get theater tickets*
Bad Man: Why are you always laughing at me?
Boss: [Tells girlfriend about this.]
[note: it was the Greyhound]
Conversation with the Greyhound at 10:50pm at a local pastry shop:
Greyhound: I've never been, I don't think, sexually satisfied by a man.
Bad Man: Not even me?
Greyhound: Nobody. Not once. I mean, I bought a vibrator, and I can see what I can get, and no man's ever satisfied me like that. What do I need a man for?
Bad Man: I've been replaced by a home appliance.
Greyhound: I wouldn't say replaced.
Bad Man: I wouldn't either.
Conversation with the Greyhound at 10am in my bed after sucking and fucking her on and off for 10 hours, where she discovered things like anal sex and being forced and some of the other goodies in my bag of tricks:
Bad Man: Satisfied yet?
Greyhound: Yes. *sighs heavily*
I made my goddamned point. She took me to brunch after that, because it's good to be the king.
After she left, I called The Student Journalist, with whom I was supposed to have a date, to go shopping with me. Things were weird and tense. She's a metal chick. She works in the industry. She knows music people. To her, I'm clean cut and conservative. Ok, I admit, I've been clean cut and conservative lately. That's because they pay us well.
Things were going in a bad direction until she proposed we see the movie Secretary. At which point, I just kissed her and she melted and her personality went from rigid to kittenish. We had a few drinks while we waited, and then saw the movie. Afterwards, she offered to be my secretary and come back to my place.
When we got to my place, I set my alarm, because I had a date lined up with the Mermaid at eleven, and it was already 9:30.
We made out for an hour, after which time the alarm went off.
SJ: Is that you're "kick me out" alarm?
Bad Man: No, it's my "i've got to go to my 11o'clock date" alarm.
SJ: Ok. [puts top back on] I'll talk to you soon?
Bad Man: You should stay here. I won't be long. Just a few drinks.
SJ: You don't even have a TV.
Bad Man: Yeah, but I could tie you up and blindfold you and put headphones on you, and you'll lose track of time.
SJ: *gasps a little* Umm, this is our fourth date.
Bad Man: Good point. Is that a bit much?
SJ: Um, wow. not that I wouldn't want to do that, I just think I'd rather have you here. No, i'm going home.
Bad Man: *rolls eyes*
This went back and forth for 15 minutes. She finally agreed to stay. I walked to the bar where I was supposed to meet the Mermaid, only to find out that she wasn't there. I trudged home, having been away for a total of 20 minutes. SJ was pleased to see me, alone, so soon. She'd showered and changed into my boxers and a t-shirt. It wasn't until this morning that I realized I'd convinced a girl to wait for me in my underwear while I was to go on a date with a different girl.
[Edited to add]:
Just after I posted this, the California Slut called to tell me she was going to call me for phone sex on Saturday night but didn't remember my number, and tried to have phone sex with me while I was in my office. My office mate wasn't here, so I said fuck it and talked dirty with her. Hee. I love it.
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Thesis: I want women that I can not have
Antithesis: I can have any other woman
Conclusion: I get lots and lots of women that I don't want.
Tonight, I saw the college crush. She, personality-wise and body-wise is precisely the sort of girl I want. Reminds me of the Cuban. Of course, she's in love with another man, and one I went to college with, and bear no malice towards.
Described me to her amazingly beautiful cousin as "her dirty lawyer" and shocked her best friend by saying "yeah, Bad Man? He looks clean cut, but he'll shock the fuck out of you."
The best friend went off on a diatribe about how she keeps meeting players and being happy that she's met a player so she can just play around and not worry about shit, and then suddenly the player is like "hi, I want you to meet my parents" and "we" and shit. That's what I did to the Cuban. It all came crashing down, with great clarity, tonight.
I am therefore depressed. I may sleep with the Student Journalist and the Jaguar this weekend, and perhaps, the Mermaid. but none of them will arouse in me that small thing, that tiny spot that gets flicked on by the college crush and the Cuban. Because I won't let any of them in, because they're placeholders.
When I'm a bad man, I get everything I go after. When I try to give a piece of my heart to someone, I get creamed. This explains the merry-go-round of fuck that I've been on.
The best friend told the college crush and the cousin, quite candidly, that she'd hook up with me, because I excude "that cool confidence that you don't find in many men." Of course I do. I know what I'm capable of, and I know that only two women have ever left me, one because I became a simpering idiot, and one because she was off her nut. So what's not to be confident about?
I will bring, inevitably, any woman I date, more pleasure than she brings me. It's a position of power, but it's depressing as hell. The Cuban and the college crush are the only two women I know, at the moment, with maybe one exception, that I believe could give me more pleasure than I could give them. Maybe. It's amazing what you learn about yourself when you let your fingers go, that's the fucking crux of it all.
I get this devious look as I half bored half attentively bring a woman to multiple screaming orgasms. My own bores me, somewhat. I can lay and get a woman off for a half hour, all the while, reviewing in my head my plans for the next day. The man's equivalent of counting ceiling tiles.
I'm looking for the je ne sais quoi. Unfortunately, I'm also afraid to find it. Because the last several times that I did, I had my heart shattered. I'm looking for the woman that I think brings more to the table than I do. And they're much harder to find than I'd thought. The girls that give me wings. I've found three in my entire life.
I've had amazing girlfriends. The freshman was insanely great, the sweetest most beautiful girl you could ever imagine. She was incredible. She also didn't give me wings.
The sophomore year fuckathon was amazing for being a fuckathon, but she didn't give me wings.
The oboe player was amazing, but she didn't give me wings. She now, I believe, runs a major metropolitan symphony troupe.
The Cuban gave me wings. The college crush gives me wings. The Evil One gave me wings for a little while, but then ruined them.
I have wings of my own, now. Which is awesome and wonderful and it's great to be the king. But sometimes, like tonight, I get tired of the merry go round. I just want to find the one brilliant, breathtaking, audacious woman, and rage with her. And the girls she brings home to us.
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Last night Sid brought me Chicken Soup because I was sick. Yay Sid. I miss having Sid live in my house. Sid rocks. Ladies, you don't know what you're missing in Sid. I highly suggest finding out.
After Sid left, by about 10 minutes, the student journalist appeared, bearing Halls and Orange Juice! She proceeded to "force" me to smoke a fat bowl of the chronic that I've got, and suddenly, miraculously, I felt good enough to make out with her.
The Freshman just called to tell me that she's donating an egg. Good lord. I nearly fertilized those damn things.
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I was walking home from getting my soup, and suddenly this woman bends over to tie her shoes, and I'm right behind her and nearly bumped into her, and she looked up at me and grinned "doggie style."
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I just spoke to the student journalist. Should I tell her that the Pimp brought me an 18 year old gift? This only comes up because she expressed jealousy over a friend of hers meeting and hooking up with an exotic dancer the other night, she'd like an exotic dancer of her own...
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At the dramafest, I kissed Sid, Fatty Fat Fat and I think that's all, but I hardly remember. The Pimp brought me an 18 year old gift (who left with someone else) and The Freshman showed up, as did the biter, the college crush and assorted (and sordid) others including my boss, who was quite impressed with the array of girls around me.
I'm still high.
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The student journalist. She
1) Is cuter than I remember
2) Is a Russian Jew (oh dear)
3) Is 21
4) Asked me how many flings I'm in the middle of. (Answer I gave was evasive, but the implication was "enough to keep myself busy" (answer is 2))
5) Kisses good, and didn't come home with me. Earned respect points, although I think she probably will next time.
Remember, this is the girl whom I flirted with by telling her it was obvious that she was stalking me.
It's _so very good_ to be the king.
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So who do you call for your weekend fun?
The slightly overweight mammothly endowed lawyer (breasts the size of my head) with the great personality
The she-shoulda-not-turned-down-that-elite-contract Nurse with the IQ of a garden hose, who sucks like one as well?
Or do you try to get them both, since the latter proposed finding chicks to hook up with, and the former is entertaining and willing to "try anything."
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From the "Pushing your luck" files.
Bad Man to very cute girl in California who has been emailing him lately: So, you're not going to just fly over for the weekend next weekend to come to my party?
Californiagirl: No. It's a pity, I'd show you a really good time.
Homina Homina.
She's 30 and dreamy. Purrr.
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I think I'm going to need someone with some database skills to set up a database for me to keep track of the women.
The Greyhound called last night at 12:30 to find out how I'm doing, since I haven't called her since last we fucked. Sorry, sweetheart, I've been working.
The Lawyer called several times, including one 1:30 am call that I missed. What could that have been for? A game of Parcheesi?
California Reader just called me, and wants me to call her tonight. She's in California. I don't see how this gets me anywhere.
The Student Journalist and I are going back and forth trying to make a date. Her smile killed me, even if her personality was underwhelming. I think she was a bit overborne by Sid and I.
The Cuban, of course, consumes my thoughts.
The Biter is avoiding me.
The College Crush has returned from Greece. Purrr.
Park Avenue is gone. *shrug*
There are others, but those are the ones I've dealt with today.
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Women, I know you're out there, back me up here.
You test men. You test men pretty constantly to see if they're the right one for you, especially after the initial fireworks wear off. You ask men probing questions to find out what their strengths and weaknesses are and how they react to certain things. Yes?
And you use Judo.
By which I mean - I just realized that the Cuban _actually_ had me arguing _for_ getting married, despite my no marriage policy. Damn, she was good.
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For anyone *cough* SID *cough* considering becoming a lawyer, be aware that I'm still at work at 2am unexpectedly on a Wednesday, and so are my boss, his boss and all of our team. Our boss's boss will get home in 45 minutes, to sleep 4 hours, and be awakened to take another 45 minute journey back here. Because no matter how high up the food chain you go, this job's hours still suck.
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My very first long term girlfriend, the single most disturbing and dysfunctional relationship I've ever had, the one that involved screaming, crying, my being hit, a two month stint of not talking but fucking quite regulary (like, she'd show up in my room with a knock, we'd get naked and freaky, and then fuck like crazed weasels, she'd dress and leave, all wordlessly) and just general "issues" just got engaged to one of my closest friends from that year.
Who's trippin' now, Beotch?
This one's named Natalie as well. I've fucked several Natalies, although not Sid's Natalie. I would, of course. She indicated a preference for... how do you say... larger size? I can do that. Except that she's a lesbian, although I'm skeptical about that claim. As was, I think, Sid.
So anyway, my first Natalie is now engaged to my close buddy from that year. FUCKING FUCKING FUCK FUCK.
Weirdest thing is that this morning I was thinking to myself "I wonder what happened to Natalie."
Oh, I got rehired and got a $10,000 raise.
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I can't seem to shake this funk. Had a drink last night, was bored. Got high, was bored. Went to sleep, woke up discomforted with myself. Blah.
Massive case of the blahs.
Also woke up this morning with the Cuban firmly out of my mind. The place where she was seems to be empty. I can't tell if this is good or bad. I listened to "our song" and it brought back nothing. I'm free, but at what cost?
I saw another chick I used to sleep with the other night, who was on a date that I interrupted with some guy that looked like a cross between a linebacker and a sensitive new age guy. She pulled me aside to tell me "I got waxed today. I'm so clean. I love the way my panties feel against my lips. I went for a walk before just to feel it. I feel like such a woman." My life is an adolescent's wet dream. (She's another one of the 5'10ish blondes that I sleep with).
Fucking hell. I live like a god and I still have complaints? Life's imperfect.
(Would you all hate me if I said that having reread this post, I've suddenly cheered up immensely, realizing the scale of problems vs. wicked cool shit in my life?)
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