Confessions of A Naughty Girl

Acting Like A Lady Is F*cking Hard

A few weeks ago, I made a resolution for immediate implementation:

(1) I am going to act like a lady from here on out, which means no hooking up, no sleeping with anyone bad (exception: if they're insanely good), and no cheap behavior that I've taken a liking to in the past.

I've found that while being slutty is pretty much the most fun thing in the entire world, after a certain point in time, it gets old. Very, very old. Call it mature or call it sad, but I am no longer a victim of the conquest. It just doesn't interest me to pursue someone for sport. I mean, sure, there is still a football team's worth of lust objects of mine wandering the world out there, but frankly, I am no longer interested in racking up points on their accord.

Even so, acting like a lady is f*cking hard.

This past weekend, I went to the mountains with five other kids, to stay the night at my friend's parents' cabin in Cashiers, North Carolina. Oh yes - I am well aware that I said North Georgia in my last post, but my date to the mountains, Erica, politely informed me upon picking me up that by "North Georgia" she meant "North Carolina", and by "hour trip" she meant "two and a half hour trip". Truthfully, this was fine by me. After a demanding planning season for two clients and one three-day weekend vacation all summer, I was craving a change of scenery.

Here's where it gets interesting - our little group of six was like the oddest triple date I could have imagined. My friend (whose parents owned the cabin) had also invited - along with Erica and myself - his friend Kyle and Kyle's girlfriend, and his friend Whit, who I've met a few times before - both in reality and a few incredibly dirty dreams, the details of would embarrass even myself if I shared with you.

You see, I am absolutely infatuated with all six-foot-three of Whit's hot Georgian ass. He is, in all honesty, one of the top 7 hottest men I have ever personally come into contact with - tall, with reddish brown hair, fair skin, clear blue eyes, and a smile that lights up the entire world. He reminds me of a young Robert Redford, and if there's anything this Jewish girl likes, it's Robert Redford with a Southern accent. L'Chayim!

He's a smoke show.

I would wreck him.

I want to give God a high-five for making this guy.

I can't really attest to his intelligence level or his morality, but who cares? We've made small talk in the past. We've certainly flirted. We actually maybe almost went home together last St. Patty's Day, had it not been for that pesky house party I refused to attend in favor of drinking my $20 cover charge worth of beer that I paid for at the bar we were at. Hindsight. 20/20. I know.

At any rate, as is normally the case when I am presented with an opportunity to have mindblowing sex with an insanely good looking acquaintance, I pondered. I spent all day Friday weighing my options. I shaved my legs (just in case). I got up early on Friday morning and spent an hour flat-ironing my hair (just in case). I stopped at the gas station in Walhalla, South Carolina on the way to the cabin, disguising the trip as a pee break, and purchased 1 Rugged 'N' Ready condom from the dispenser for 75 cents.

(Tangentially, the condom actually had a $1.00 mail-in rebate on the back of the package, which pleased my frugal ass to no end to know that I could actually have the condom pay me 25 cents to have safe sex using a latex contraption that was studded for my pleasure.)

But somewhere between Walhalla, South Carolina and Cashiers, North Carolina, I grew a conscience and asked myself what the f*ck I was doing. After all, a promise is a promise, and if I lie to myself the promise wouldn't really be all that legitimate, would it? I mean, yes, I'm all about having fun, and yes, I will seize the opportunity when available, but this was not the person to do it with. As much as, if presented with the chance, I would rock this guy's world, how much fun would I really get out of it? Three minutes' worth? Two pumps worth?

I came to the realization that fantasy guys are objects of lust for a reason: you don't know what they're really like. And in order to have healthy fantasies, you probably never should. It'd be one thing if I had unearthed his fabulous personality or great sense of humor, but I hadn't. I didn't know the guy from a slap on the ass. And although Whit is a good guy, there's really nothing beyond nappy bed hair and a half-assed orgasm that would really hold any promise. I'd probably just wake up the next day Rugged 'N' Regretful.

So we got to the cabin (which is set on the most beautiful golf course setting I've ever seen), and drank. A lot. We played a mini-game of Truth or Dare. Erica dared me and Whit to touch tongues, so we did. We dared more. We drank more. And then, when I couldn't really see out of my eyes without crossing them, I stumbled into the guest bedroom by myself and passed out. Like a lady, of course.

So nothing happened. I know, a whole post about nothing happening...f*cking disappointing, right? But here's the thing - it wasn't disappointing, it was great. It was great to let go of that pressure, that craving, that inexplicable need to add this false dimension of self-worth by f*cking a hot guy. Nothing happened. There was no awkwardness, no need to set expectations, no weird pillow talk. It was beautiful.

And what about the Rugged 'N' Ready, you ask? Well, I went out on Saturday night and as I was walking back to my car with friends in tow, I saw a wasted horny couple going at it in the alleyway. Ever the lady, I got into my car with my friends, drove through the alleyway, stopped, and offered the condom. That f*cking drunk girl ripped it out of my hand and took it and is probably going to parlay her Saturday night mistake into a 25 cent rebate. If I ever come into contact with her again, I'll bitch slap her for not knowing how to take a joke.

posted by KA @ 10:42 PM