It is hard to have rampant harlotry if my bed is at half capacity. Oh don’t mind the boys above, they are just keeping my books in place until I buy bookends. Truth be told… my vagina still isn’t talking to me. She is still pissed off for letting a trustworthy cock go. Yeah, like a lot of people I usually solve my problems by letting them devour me. Just another reason for me to have that vodka and Ativan cocktail I guess.
My guy pal recently went through a break-up and his pain makes me want to kick his former in her grundle. Now of course slamming of Obama makes me want to kick him in his grundle but he will be on a Kat lecturing sabbatical while his heart heals. Anyway, speaking with him last night swirled up some conversation on where my head is right now in dating and why my vagina has stopped hiring.
He tells me… “Kat, you can’t let the men you want to date read your blog because it will intimidate them. Who can live up dragging you up their stairs with their cock in your mouth or keep up with fucking acrobatics your blog boasts of? It is just too much for the average guy. What is that you want Kat? A nice guy or this torque?”
I want what I’ve always wanted to be with a guy, to feel like I am going home. I want to be with someone that can be my best friend, share in a laugh and propel me forward in being the woman I need to be. I want someone who is authentic and doesn’t take themselves too seriously. A man who speaks with an open hand, not a closed fist. Men don’t come brown bagged for purchase. If they did, I would take a nice guy over the torque of a bravado boy any day. Nobody is on their death bed saying I wish I would have been gag balled more. People want a real hearts connection. Men that connect via the loins are great for awhile, but eventually that fire burns your wick at both ends.
The reality is my last two relationships weren’t based in torque. They were the seemingly nice guys with preferred shopper cards on their keys chains, pimping car seats and sippy cups in back of their SUV’s. In a cock line up theirs would not be one I would gravitate to. Not because their cocks weren’t amazing, THEY WERE! More that their cocks didn’t come on the other end of a tribal tattoo and order of protection. They were “nice guys” and we are told as women, the nice guy doesn’t have bed cred. Which fucking isn’t true. It is something we woman tell ourselves to prevent us from giving a good bloke a chance. We are conditioned to love the bad boy because of the fiery torque we think he can provide to our loins. But it is the nice guy we run to when the bad boy breaks our heart. Nice guys clean up the messes bad boys leave behind.
By all accounts my relationship with Mr. B should have lasted. He was everything I needed in a man which is why I dedicated 2 years of my life to that relationship. He was the type of fella I would make a sandwich for. He could drop a phrase to make you piss in laughter or take your heart by the hand slow dancing in the center of the living room. He was a musician and wrote his own music. It was our shared love of music that defined our relationship. He took care of me at a time that I needed to be taken care of. I will always love him for that. I was a magnet to his steel.
In the center of a perfect relationship lay some serious jealously issues… the kind that Lifetime movies are made of. In the end it was his jealous tirades that tore us apart. Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies, Choking on your alibis… Yeah, I fell in love Mr. Brightside.
About once a week he would have a hurricane of rage, though he never gave me the schedule so I could brace for impact. It usually was triggered in him finding out I shared a ride with a male co-worker or caught a gents gaze of interest when dining out. His love was punishing. He would scream in rage and remove all his belongings from my apartment, telling me how bad I was. One time falling asleep on my red velvet couch was a trigger for him to remove all his furniture and items from my apartment, canceling Thanksgiving and changing his phone number.
I felt abandoned by him in every way a person could feel abandoned. That was his intent. His temper spent my emotional bandwidth. How could he be so reckless with my love? Why couldn’t he see how much I adored him? I sacrificed so much of myself to make US work. In his attempt to keep me focused on US he caged me in the process. I suppose I lost a piece of myself that remains with him today. Caged birds accept each other, but flight is what they long for.
I never imagined I could fall in love again with a former loves ghost still taking up residency in my mind… but I did. I am still. It was safe to exhale with him and my heart basked in his calmness. Like Mr. B. he had the ability to make me feel like I was the only woman he had ever known. His love was like the sun shinning brightly on your face. Nothing is sexier then when a man is that into you. It is another kind of threesome… fucking your ego, heart and loins at the same time.
That beau did not show rage like my former Mr. Brightside did. Instead of yelling he would faucet himself off to me, if for no other reason than to protect US from the devastation anger can provide. He recently wrote something that gives hint to why that may have happened. Most attractive to see him be that honest with himself. Despite it all not once during our entire time together did he raise his voice or hand to me. That fact is not lost on me coming from what I have. He so easily could have lost it because I am about as easy as a nuclear war to love. I have reserved the left ventricle of my heart always for him. For attempting to love me during one of the most shakiest times of my life. In the brief time he loved me, he proved to me that love does not come by the other end of a fist. That left ventricles reserve is now trying to find a way to redefine my love for him in a friendship. Ever mindful of the sting that awaits me when I hear he has found love again with someone new.
To answer the question: Will the nice guy finish last? The only way a nice guy will finish last with me… is during a vagina jousting match with my snatch. Even then my hope is we finish climaxing together as if on cue.
I do worry that I won’t find another nice guy again. I am not talking about the “Nice Guy” that wants me to cook him up venison stew after his recent hunt for Bambi, that starts a sentence with “tell er wat.” There are plenty, PLENTY of those on the dating sites. I am talking about finding one like the one I had. One that is my sympatico, minds connection, every bit of my cerebral match and humor. Can I find that kind of “don’t sweat the small stuff” temperament again? Someone that will be my port of calm in the center of a storm?
I will bet my next few bottles of Belevdere that I won’t. And if my OK Cupid email box is any indication, I am in throws of a Douchepocalyspe. There are only so many times a gal can endure douching down in her dating profile before an apartment of cats looks appealing.
B. You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I’m bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone
But though you’re still with me
I’ve been alone all along