Friday, January 07, 2005

A True American Hero

Okay, I'm just going to use my blog space for TMI about my sex life, such as it is, 'cause basically my interests are limited to stuff like sex, vomit, man boobs, and flatulence anyway..so if you don't like it, or you're one of my Professors (or, God Forbid, my Mother) please feel free to hit the return icon...NOW.

So on December 23 at approximately 3am Central Time (4am Pennsylvania Time where I happened to be) I get a phone call from my sort-of-ex(alias G.I. Joe.) I did not answer my cell, figuring that it was equally likely that he was in Madison looking for a hook-up or that he was in Madison and needed someone to bail him out of jail...either way, I wasn't around and didn't want to hear about it.

G.I.Joe is a guy I dated for about 6 weeks after deciding to open my Internet Personal Ad search criteria back up to include men. He broke up with me in October because, and I swear to God he wasn't joking, he'd decided to pursue a "soldiering career" in the French Foreign Legion. That makes me the world's only lesbian to have been dumped in favor of a calling to become a foreign mercenary, I'm fairly certain.

Right so, after Christmas he sends me an email apologizing for the, as he called it, "pre-Christmas Booty Call" explaining that he forgot I was out of town. Considering that G.I.Joe is presently touring the Midwest with some of his old Army pals getting into barfights for old times sake until he ships off to France at the end of the month, I didn't even realize he'd BE in Madison on the 23rd, nor did he bother to inform me in the normal way--like, um, an email or call while the sun was up a few days ahead of time. No, instead he calls me in the middle of the night, probably with the request that I come collect him from whatever bar he was currently too drunk to walk back to his hotel from. Well, well, well, Santa done came early to my house this year and here I clean missed him.

If 3am drunken hook-up with an ex-Army officer who's most cherished aspiration is to become a hired goon for the French Government and who refers to sex as "booty call" isn't really your thing...well, who's "thing" is that really? I mean, who reads that and thinks "Wow, sign me up for some of that?" Precisely no one. As it turned out I ended up getting fairly used to it because G.I. Joe generally refused to have sex unless he was really drunk, insisted that the room be pitch dark, viewed foreplay as utterly beside the point, and was generally incapable of attaining orgasm with a partner. Meaning that, after about 15 minutes of dry thrusting, he'd whine "AW, IT'S NO USE!" roll off, curl up in a ball, and ask if his sexual dysfunction made me "mad at him" in a truely pathetic whimper, and then proceed to fall fast asleep. This made him absolutely identical in almost all respects (except for the military fetish) to my last girlfriend, Daisy, who also refused to have sex unless she was really drunk, insisted that the room be pitch black, viewed foreplay as utterly beside the point, and was generally incapable of having orgasm with a partner. At least G.I.Joe, unlike ex-girlfriend, did not beg off sex using chronically infected nipple jewelry as an excuse. On the other hand, at least Daisy did not freak and spring instantly from sound sleep into full attack position every time one of my cats jumped on or off my bed. Honestly, I view it as a total trade-off. Feel free to post comments criticizing me for putting up with bad sex with total lunatics only if YOUR sex life is BETTER.

1 Comments:

Blogger knit wit said...

"Daisy"- LOL ;)

3:05 PM  

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