Biting my lip

A girlfriend once said to me that she loves calling and catching up with me because there’s always some new story to be heard – some new interesting chapter in my life. A boss of mine once said to me that no one could tell a story like I could. My best friend once told me I should wield the pen and change the world. Truth be told, encouragement for my continued writing abounds, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pressure on a daily basis to create something magnificent – and powerless to know what that something really is. I know what I do have – and it’s been happened a hell of a lot more in recent years than in the many eons ago when I started writing.

Stories of Men. Loads of them.

If I could encapsulate each and every story surrounding the men that have come in and out of my life over the years – the kinds of stories I’ve shared with each of the three people mentioned above – I’d have a collection for every woman’s side table and every man’s bathroom. It’s always being said to write about what you know – and boy do I know men. Every gritty, grimy, dirty, sexy detail.

How do I claim to be an expert, you ask?

• As a former “cam girl”, I spent over a year learning their fetishes and could easily write a book on taboo sexual fantasies alone.
• My marriage was relatively open, which brought the kinds of encounters with men (and women) that allowed for much observance of the male approach to unorthodox situations.
• I have a pretty insane intuition and way with reading people.
• Men open up to me about things they’d never share with their buddies.
• I’ve spent the years since my marriage trying every approach a woman could possibly try with men and have seen just about every possible reaction.

While I think that the first two points are enough to keep the interest high, I know the more down to earth, everyday involvement with men at different levels is just as, if not more, amusing. I’m not sharing this to introduce some new direction or goal with my writing, because god knows when I do that I never make it happen.  Instead, I’m just throwing it out there – to the universe – and whomever might be reading – that I could practically burst at the seams with all the gems of male behavior I could serve up.

Let’s get started, shall we?

Remember the guy from this entry? Oh, and this one? It’s okay, I can wait while you catch up.

…

All good? Great!

So the other night I sent him a text message that said the following:

Thinking about you!

Now… before we move on… this was nothing different for me.  Our messages have ranged from overtly sexual (and even visual) to really innocent.  So the next morning I got two calls from an unknown number at 8:00am (still in bed and without coffee obviously) followed by the following text from said number.  NOTE: Spelling has not been corrected – my apologies for that.  Oh and names/employers have been changed to protect the innocent.  Here goes:

Unknown texter: Who is this and r unseeing my boyfriend, Jack? No angry, just saw ur text this morning and need to know please

Me: Just a friend

Unknown texter: Why oil u send Gina text saying thinking of u?

Unknown texter: A text

Unknown texter: Did u know he has had a GF for 2.5 years?

Me: Similar issues and frustrations at our jobs maybe?

Unknown texter: Issues? I work at Acme too.  Maybe I can come by and chat with you.

Me: That would be great.  Always nice to have.

Unknown texter: So u don’t work at Acme?  Where did you meet Jack? Last question I promise.

Me: Work.  Sorry you’ve misunderstood my intentions.

Unknown texter: U should never send a man Ina relationship a text like that. U never know who may see it.

Me: Lesson learned. Thank you.

Unknown texter: Did he say he was single?

[Enter radio silence]

Sorry, darlin’ – methinks you already used your last question.  First of all, this is wrong on so many levels.  I would break up with a guy if my level of trust was such that I felt I needed to check his phone.  I don’t invade your privacy, you don’t invade mine.  The last boyfriend who found the need to check up on me via my text messages and emails is long gone (and probably fucking someone else over as we speak).  No thank you.  So, by reading Jack’s text message without his permission was just plain nasty.  Contacting and interrogating me was beyond stupidity. Can I also say how fucking proud I was of myself for keeping my cool – especially pre-coffee?

Yes, I spent one night with him.  Yes, we do keep in touch.  I’m hardly “seeing” him.  But that’s all beside the point.  Whether or not he told me he was in a relationship is of ZERO consequence.  The subject never came up, which means that it wasn’t important to either one of us at this point in our friendship.

So, where is Jack during all of this?  Well, he did leave me a message that morning which was hard to understand, but was essentially a warning that those calls would be coming.  He did end up calling me after the flurry of text messages finished and I told him exactly what was said so there’s no way either one of us could be incriminated.  He thanked me for being so sweet and said it was a blessing in disguise actually – that things have been going downhill for a while and this really needed to happen.  ”I guess we’ll be getting together for drinks sooner than later,” he said.

“I’m kind of curious though, why you didn’t mention being in a relationship before,” I said.

“Well, we’ve only seen each other once. And if I recall, there’s a little something you didn’t tell me about either,” he said – with an obvious smile.

Touché, Jack…. Touché