I am dating two women.
One of them really likes me. She can’t resist me. She would accept either a friends-with-benefits arrangement or a long term relationship.
The other is less keen. She constantly weaves mind games and throws up every obstacle between here and my bed.
One of these girls I’m quite besotted with. She’s such a cutie; I’ve an eclectic taste and she fits it. The other is not my type. I find her irritating to be around and not particularly arousing. Also, her room is messy.
Can you guess which is which?
Of course you can, because you, like me, know that God hates us and wants us to be miserable. The one I’m sick of fancies me. The other just sent me an email saying she can’t come over tonight because she ‘has a little crush . . . might get hurt . . .’ etc. A fairly obvious backwards strategy, like this one. Perhaps at this point we might give them names. The one I don’t like so much? Let’s call her Mary. She recently sent me some nudie pictures. First time that’s happened to me.
The other, let’s call her Chloe. She’s not repulsed by me. It’s just that, more than me, she enjoys the drama and attention that she can get out of me. So she doesn’t say ‘no’ to coming over. She wants to fight over it, to be won over. She wants a long string of messages to be strung out between now and her either coming over or not coming over. The drama in between is more important to her than the eventual outcome.
At first Chloe seemed like a sweet girl. She spends most of her time hanging out with her family, helping to care for her beloved nieces and nephews. She’s never been anywhere. She speaks in an innocent, childlike manner that does not seem affected.
The other night I convinced her to come over to my place. I cooked. It turns out she does not like broccoli or olive oil. For fuck’s sake. Who doesn’t like olive oil? Anyway, she ate the remainder and canoodling commenced. Then, recalling her craving for drama, the inane banter started. I am too mysterious. I don’t talk enough. She doesn’t feel comfortable with me. She tried to get some information from me.
Of course, I know better than to give in to these feminine wiles. I playfully responded with absurd answers, accused her of being nosy. Until, wanting to throw her a bone, I made a big mistake.
I told her I had a girlfriend from this country, who broke my heart.
Telling her I had a serious girlfriend – fine. That she broke my heart? The technical term for this is Display of Low Value and my confession was a horrifying example. Cool guys break girls’ hearts, not the other way around. Now she’s thinking, what’s wrong with this guy, that his ex left him? Oh shit.
I tried to laugh it off and thought I may have succeeded. She told me about her ex. He was Scottish. An alcoholic. Knowing he had problems, she refused a long term relationship with him. Instead, they would have a ‘serious, but short term’ relationship. They were together for six months until he got clingy and she dropped him.
Oh dear. I’d misjudged her and I’d been doing everything wrong. I thought she was only looking for a long term relationship because (fool!) that’s what she’d said and I had tried to build comfort. Instead, she likes cool losers of the Underclass. This explains why, when I told her I might only be in this country for another year or so, she became keener instead of less so.
It crossed my mind to pretend to have a drug addiction or mental issue but it was too late. Her interrogation was designed to get information to use against me and the mission was accomplished. She already knows I’m a normal, stable guy with a sensitive side. If I were staying here for the long haul she might have tried to tempt me into two kids and a sexless marriage but because I’m a gypsy, I might not even enjoy that tepid level of affection.
Still, we kissed again. She said, “You can touch my breasts.” I politely obliged. Later, cuddling, she wouldn’t let me touch them, saying she didn’t know me well enough. Did I mishear her the first time? But my hands were not in the region back then so it would seem an odd thing to say. She said she wants to ask me a question. She wants to know what I like about her. I tried to explain the phrase ‘fishing for compliments’ but it’s over her head. I told her I like her smile. She said, “I know you really like my breasts. You told me they are my treasure and I should always keep them.” I have never said such a stupid thing and I told her so, suggesting she may have confused me with one of her other boyfriends. I withdrew, feeling repulsed. I don’t like crazy. A while later she looked at her watch and went home.
Then today I asked if she wanted to come over and help finish the vodka. She said she doesn’t want to because she has a crush. I wonder, should I spend my afternoon playing the game with the cheeky back-and-forth messages, the push-pull of love? Or should I work on my writing?
Having finished this post I suppose I’ll have to make a call.
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