You can touch me if you want (I know you’re dying to…)

It’s been a while since I last posted anything here… and a lot has happened, a lot has changed.

I ran into Smash one last time, at the same bar where we first met. She’d told me before that she hadn’t been feeling well, needed some time to rest up and get better, so it was a big downer to see her not only out and having a great time, but doing so with the guy she’d met the same night we did.  It would have hurt a lot less if she’d just told me directly, “I don’t think I want to continue with you.”  I know that’s not always an easy thing to do, but it felt cheap and dishonest to tell me she was really sick instead, as an “easy out.”

Hands had a baby, and apart from the hour or so conversation we had the first time we met, and a few text messages afterward, she’s not been in touch.  Her last word to me was that she wouldn’t be available anymore.

Soup was a brief encounter at the same little pub that used to be my neighborhood hangout, and she came on to me strong. Both she and a few of her friends invited me to their “intentional community” living space for a weekly dinner they host, and as I was leaving Soup was stepping out for a smoke… she asked if she could kiss me goodnight, which turned into a several-minute makeout session on the sidewalk.  Then she never returned my calls, her friends didn’t answer my messages, I never got any details about the dinner invitation, and the next time I saw Soup at the bar she pretended I didn’t exist.

Then a funny thing happened when I attempted to make it to the Folsom Street Fair this year in San Francisco.  “Attempted,” because through circumstances beyond my control, I arrived several hours later than I’d planned, just as everything was closing down.  Hadn’t even eaten that day, and it was already nearly 7pm!  So I stopped by the Center for Sex and Culture to see what might be going on, and found that I had barely missed a group of authors reading their own work… so I sat around and chatted a bit with the few folks there — got to see some old friends and make a few new ones.  The funny thing is, I thought the day had been a total flop; I missed out on all the cool stuff, and ended up with a little conversation as a crummy consolation prize.  One of the new friends I made was headed the same way as me on mass transit, so we walked back to the subway together and took the same train partway (I had to transfer to get back home.)

Then the next day, I got an invitation from this new friend — we’ll call her MFP — to her birthday party a couple days later.  I’m not one to easily turn down an invitation to watch a burlesque show and sing karaoke with a bunch of queermos, so I went, had a great time, and found myself making eyes at MFP while she performed her last karaoke track of the night — “Queer” by Garbage.  She was eying me back just as much, and towards the end of the song, during an instrumental break, she came over and made out with me.

There’s this joke I’ve heard a few times, something along the lines of “Q: What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A: A moving truck.”  Well, it wasn’t quite that quick, and we both recognized that NRE was in play and we shouldn’t rush together even if we felt like everything was perfect… but we were both already looking for housing, and we did both have limited resources on our own… and as we got to know each other a bit better, we found that we could stand to live with each other and finally after lots of hard work from us both, lots of uncertainty and last-minute gambles, we landed a 2-bedroom apartment in an amazing neighborhood for a great price!  We’re slowly getting settled in our new place, and we’ll be having a housewarming party at the end of the week.

I’m still trying to find folks to be fuckbuddies, but it’s not going so great.  MFP and I have a fair amount of overlap in our sexual interests and preferences, but we have just as much that doesn’t mesh, and although I’ve been grateful and delighted to have so many wonderful sexytimes with her… I still have other aspects of my sexual needs left unfulfilled .  When my options seem to be limited to “hang out at a bar, spend money on booze, hope there’s a chance of meeting a girl” and “hang out on OkCupid and write messages to women who almost never write back” I’m not terribly surprised that I’m not getting any better results.  I did have one chick write to me on OkC, said she’d love to hook up while she was in town for a week.  We exchanged phone numbers, sent a few text messages back and forth, picked a day to meet… and then she cancelled late the day before, and rescheduled tentatively for sometime a few days later — which she also backed out of last minute, just before leaving town.  Says she might be around again in a few months, or if I’m ever a few states away where she lives, to look her up.  Why do I still expect people to have the fucking decency to be able to schedule an date and time to meet, and to follow through with that?  It seems to be a forgotten relic of ancient times, or something.  A mythical lore known only to a few bizarre freaks like me.

Here’s hoping I find someone soon!  Who knows, maybe I’ll have a nice holiday screw?

Just Fuck Me For Christmas

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2 Responses to “You can touch me if you want (I know you’re dying to…)”

  1. I believe I can see the future, ’cause I repeat the same routine | Σαφικος Σοφια Says:

    […] I’m still occasionally writing long rants, either here or on Facebook.  I just dug back to my post from December last year so that I could share the picture at the bottom on my Facebook page — the sentiment is the […]

  2. She’s so good that you won’t see it coming | Σαφικος Σοφια Says:

    […] everyone around her small and ordinary so that she could seem brilliant by comparison… to the most recent ex who could not hear her praises being sung by so many for what they were, whose consistent […]


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