All right. I'm a whorrible person. He he! Nice pun, there. At least I think so. Anyway, he gets here and Amethyst is STILL not sleeping so I put her down again. But he's still there when I come back out. We pretend to chit chat for a little while and then put on a horror movie. We seem to be very physically comfortable with each other, he has his legs on mine, hands not awkwardly fidgeting for a place to alight, just naturally resting where they lay-on each other's legs. Then. Then he's biting my legs and playing with my feet. In a nice way. Or at least in a sexy way. So he moves behind me and starts biting my neck. It hurt-but I like that. All this time we're on the couch-until he manhandles me to the floor and wrangles off my pants and panties. Kissing, trying to...you know, you're not naive. So I back up and he follows. So I back up again and he follows. All around my apartment. Long story short, he gets me off with his hands and doesn't rape me or anything horrendous like that-good thing for him, too. In my apartment I know where all the knives are. Then we watch more of the movie and he leaves. Them's the facts. So, my reaction: I'm not surprised; it's just the male species proving itself to me once again. And, c'mon, men. If you expect to fuck a woman in today's society, WHY would you not bring protection? I mean, if I WERE going to fuck a stranger, there's no way in HELL I'd do so unprotected. Even if I were a slut, I'm not a stupid one. Show some thought there.
Oh, and you have no IDEA how much I wanted to get drunk and laid tonight. But only both together-so I can blame the fact on the liquor. Which I know is too much forsight for it to actually work as an excuse, but as excuses go, it's a pretty good one. Except for the fact that I'm a very sober, aware-of-myself-and-my-surroundings drunk. Like I said, I only wanted it as an excuse.
Anyway, it has been suggested to me that if I actually hit the year mark without being in a relationship I should just go on a month long scrogging fest. That's in one week. One. Chances of me being in a relationship? A million to one. Exactly a million to one. (Anyone read the Discworld series? And know why I'm putting in that statistic?) So I haven't decided on that one yet. But I suppose I should be taking applications...anyone interested? Send me your qualifications, measurements, age, willingness essay, race, eagerness scale, and average time frame. *sigh* If only it were that easy. Actually, if it IS that easy, send me your application to be my boyfriend, too. With the same information, just also include stuff like why you'd make a good boyfriend for me. I know, I know. Unrealistic. But a girl can hope, right? I'm just worried, with all this crap I'm going through, that I might run out of hope. And probably soon.
Laters