First, let me preface this post with a dedication: To my lousy (yet endearing and ever so enlightening) fucking male friend, who made Rita and I now question which “Girl” we are to the man-boys in our lives and realize that we aren’t the “A” girl to any of these clueless asses. We thank you.
I met Girthy a few years ago while I was in my long-term relationship. Girthy is a super cute, charming, eclectic guy. We hadn’t talked in years until I reconnected with him a couple of weeks ago on Facebook (Damn you, Facebook. That’s an entire post in itself!). After some flirting, he texted me to come over late one evening. After a half hour of foreplay followed by an hour of hot ass sex, I left.
Girthy: “You should stay the night.”
Stoney: “I have to get up early and don’t want you to have to get up on your day off.” (Ah, the underemployed guy…weekdays off.)
Girthy: (Smiling coyly) “Wow! I’ve never felt soooo used.”
Afterwards, I text him and tell him that I was quite impressed. And then, outside of a few random and nonsensical texts, I didn’t hear from him for two weeks.
What the fuck! Rita and I pondered this for a while (and if you have the answer, for fuck’s sake, fill the rest of us in): Why, after a night of seemingly great sex, would a guy not want a repeat? I’ve made my intentions clear. I don’t want to date the guy. I want to fuck him. It was good. It’s available. And there are no strings or emotions attached. Perfect, right?
Anyway, two weeks (to the day) later he texts and requests my presence in his bed. So, again, I go. Again, it’s great! (At least, I thought it was great…and really, I’m what matters here, folks. Let’s be honest.) There’s more to this encounter that gets really physically graphic, but we’ll cover that later too. Let’s just say, I didn’t want to ride a bike or a horse for a few days after this one and leave it at that for now. I spent the night this time, at his request. I also informed him that I would like to do this more often than every two fucking weeks! I tell him every 3-5 days is far more appropriate.
So I wait a few days and text him one rainy afternoon.
Stoney: It’d be a great day for you to come spend the afternoon in my bed.
Nothing. A few more days pass.
Stoney: Got late night plans? I’m thinking Round 3 is in order. (Yes, I realize I should’ve given up when I got nothing in return before…but I needed to get some. I’m not going to lie to you.)
Nothing.
He was deleted from my phone for lack of response - it is vital for me to remove the temptation to text when I am drunk or just drunk on horniness - and also deleted for just being a dick in general.
So I run an edited version of all of this by a married male friend of mine and ask for his thoughts. He looks at me in this strange ashamed way and we have this conversation:
Married Male Friend (MMF): Are you sure you want to hear this?
Stoney: Fuck yes! I’m so over this and don’t have feelings for the guy. I just need to know what I’m up against for future reference.
MMF: (Again, with the ashamed face) Well…it’s likely that Girthy has an ‘A’ girl. She’s the girl he wants to date and be with and fuck but she doesn’t want those things from him. She’s likely wanting someone else too but keeps him around “on the hook.” And then, Girthy also has a ‘B’ and a ‘C’ girl. Girls he keeps around to spend time with or sleep with, etc. ‘B’ is his second option always and when she’s busy he calls ‘C.’
Stoney: (Shiver. I already know the answer here, but I ask anyway.) And I am?
MMF: (Ashamed faced coupled with silence.)
Stoney: Fuck. Me! I’m the ‘C’ girl. Really?
Great. So as if we aren’t hard enough on ourselves as women, now we have to fight to not be the ‘C’ girl. And no apologies here, but I AM NOT A ‘C’ GIRL. Ok, well maybe I am, but only if he’s my ‘C’ guy.
The good thing about this lesson is that now I think in these sadly realistic terms (as does Rita) when a guy isn’t calling or texting with more regularity. But, on the bright side, it’s given me an amazing sense of clarity and empowered me to say “Fuck it. I’m better than a C. Consider yourself deleted!”
-the Fox
-boys in our lives and realize that we aren’t the “A” girl to any of these clueless asses. We thank you.
I met Girthy a few years ago while I was in my long-term relationship. Girthy is a super cute, charming, eclectic guy. We hadn’t talked in years until I reconnected with him a couple of weeks ago on Facebook (Damn you, Facebook. That’s an entire post in itself!). After some flirting, he texted me to come over late one evening. After a half hour of foreplay followed by an hour of hot ass sex, I left.
Girthy: “You should stay the night.”
Stoney: “I have to get up early and don’t want you to have to get up on your day off.” (Ah, the underemployed guy…weekdays off.)
Girthy: (Smiling coyly) “wow! I’ve never felt soooo used.”
Afterwards, I text him and tell him that I was quite impressed. And then, outside of a few random and nonsensical texts, I didn’t hear from him for two weeks.
What the fuck! Rita and I pondered this for a while (and if you have the answer, for fuck’s sake, fill the rest of us in): Why, after a night of seemingly great sex, would a guy not want a repeat? I’ve made my intentions clear. I don’t want to date the guy. I want to fuck him. It was good. It’s available. And there are no strings or emotions attached. Perfect, right?
Anyway, two weeks (to the day) later he texts and requests my presence in his bed. So, again, I go. Again, it’s great! (At least, I thought it was great…and really, I’m what matters here, folks. Let’s be honest.) There’s more to this encounter that gets really physically graphic, but we’ll cover that later too. Let’s just say, I didn’t want to ride a bike or a horse for a few days after this one and leave it at that for now. I spent the night this time, at his request. I also informed him that I would like to do this more often than every two fucking weeks! I tell him every 3-5 days is far more appropriate.
So I wait a few days and text him one rainy afternoon.
Stoney: It’d be a great day for you to come spend the afternoon in my bed.
Nothing. A few more days pass.
Stoney: Got late night plans? I’m thinking Round 3 is in order. (Yes, reader, I realize I should’ve given up when I got nothing in return before…but I needed to get some. I’m not going to lie to you.)
Nothing.
He was deleted from my phone for lack of response - it is vital for me to remove the temptation to text when I am drunk or just drunk on horniness - and also deleted for just being a dick in general.
So I run an edited version of all of this by a married male friend of mine and ask for his thoughts. He looks at me in this strange ashamed way and we have this conversation:
Married Male Friend (MMF): Are you sure you want to hear this?
Stoney: Fuck yes! I’m so over this and don’t have feelings for the guy. I just need to know what I’m up against for future reference.
MMF: (Again, with the ashamed face) Well…it’s likely that Girthy has an ‘A’ girl. She’s the girl he wants to date and be with and fuck but she doesn’t want those things from him. She’s likely wanting someone else too but keeps him around “on the hook.” And then, Girthy also has a ‘B’ and a ‘C’ girl. Girls he keeps around to spend time with or sleep with, etc. ‘B’ is his second option always and when she’s busy he calls ‘C.’
Stoney: (Shiver. I already know the answer here, but I ask anyway.) Which one am I?
MMF: (Ashamed faced coupled with silence)
Stoney: Fuck. Me! I’m the ‘C’ girl. Really?
Great. So as if we aren’t hard enough on ourselves as women, now we have to fight to not be the ‘C’ girl. And no apologies here, but I AM NOT A ‘C’ GIRL. Ok, well maybe I am, but only if he’s my ‘C’ guy.
The good thing about this lesson is that now I think in these sadly realistic terms (as does Rita) when a guy isn’t calling or texting with more regularity. But, on the bright side, it’s given me an amazing sense of clarity and empowered me to say “Fuck it. I’m better than a C. Consider yourself deleted!”
-the Fox
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