Dating is Pretty Impossible

Part 1:
Her:  Why is she looking at me like I have three heads?  I’m not being a dick…I don’t even have a dick.

AG:  What does she mean I’m too masculine for her?  Too into her femininity? Um….

Her:  I don’t think she’s a career lesbian.

AG:  I’m going to have a field day trying to resolve this with myself.

Part 2:
Him:  Well look what we have here…

AG: Of course this cute guy just saw me go through about ten thousand different emotions with corresponding facial expressions.

Him:  Animated…nice tits and ass…and she’s looking at me…I like that in a girl.

AG: Ok…focus on a courteous and appropriate group of words to say to him…related to the situation…don’t be a weirdo.

Him:  I’ll just feel her out…super fun!  OOOH SHIT!!!…caught

AG: Seriously…at the store with his girlfriend…I can totally pick ‘em or I imagined the flirtation.

Part 3:
AG: It is maddening.  Why now? After all the emotional outpouring.  Why is now the time he’s come to collect the sex? He’s smooth…slick as an oiled railing. Now is the moment he chooses to ignore our awkward behavior and immaturity? We are in an endless cycle of us reacting to each other’s reactions and trying to then process how to react to that.  If this is what he needs in order to cope with the gravity of our connection, then sure, I’ll buy in. Not that it’s ever been just fucking, and we both know that. But he works so hard to deny the connection, and to be honest, I let him. Because, after all, I’m horny. I have needs. And before any judgment is passed, I am not using him. This neediness and craving is not just for anyone, but for his particular brand of tortured love. I need him; it’s a heady thirst indeed.

And he is coming over. He is actually coming over. 

I totally need to shave my legs. Do I have dark circles today? Ugh.  He says 12:15 so I have at least until 12:45 to do maintenance. Not like it matters.  I could be Venus reincarnate and it would still be this clusterfuck–the way that it has always been. Amazing. Confusing. Awful. Tempting. Phenomenal. Essential…like air. 

I can’t keep on losing you over complications”… 

I rap Mac Miller’s words in my head like a chant and I wonder. Does he hunger for me with the same zeal? He certainly fucks me like he does. He has to…it wouldn’t make sense otherwise. He touches me like it’s more than…a fuck.  I feel him search my eyes for the tormented innocence of my soul. And he has found me there. Over and over. Is that enough for me to sustain this…this thing we have?

Is he even coming?

Him:  Am I really actually going to go?  I mean not after all the feelings and everything…it’s a lot.  She’s a lot. Maybe too good for me…cause maybe I don’t want to be a better version of myself through her. It’s easier to coast on my own.

She wants more…maybe I want more…maybe I don’t.  Maybe I’m not sure what the fuck I want.

I want to fuck her.  I end up making love to her.  Why does it always feel so heavy, so loaded?  I’m not even sure it’s her fault, although I’m smooth enough to make her believe it is.

Fuck it. I’m going…I have to keep her on the hook until I figure it the fuck out.

AG:  It’s 12:49….fucking 12:49.  Why do I let him do this? Why do I do this to myself?  I know the answer to this….but deny…tuck it away and deny.  

He’s the only one that would ever get away with this…I’m usually like Arianna Grande, “Thank you, next”.  He makes it so loaded and so heavy. Why isn’t it possible to just have a mutual affection and float in that calm bubble for a bit?  I know the answer to that too…it’s cause it’s not as exciting. He needs the thrill…I need the hunt.  We’re both playing the game…I’m not so sure I’m cognizant of the rules.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!  In the midst of all this thinking, he actually came.  And me…like the asshole fucktard nincompoop I am somehow wandered outside as if I’ve been sitting here like a clingy injured kitten of a woman.  What the fuck kind of message is that sending?!?!

Could he at least pull in the driveway though?  NO.  He’s too non-committal for that.  His loyalty lies with keeping up the facade of being nonchalant.  Truth be told no one does it better though and it looks so sexy on him.

Him: Why in the living fuck is she waiting outside?  What message does that send? Clingy much?…pathetic.  But she’s not. How did it get so tricky? I know the answer to that…shove it back down.  All the way down. Concentrate…you’re cool, you’re slick…you wore the slightly dirty sweatpants, mild scent of dick cheese included.  You’re totally putting off the right vibe…non-committal. There you go guy!

But look at her.  The way the porch light is shining around her.  Her light…I’m so fucking drawn to it. I’m walking too fucking fast…does she notice? SLOW DOWN.  Cool, slick…easy breezy. Yeah right…like a moth to a flame. And now she’s covered half the distance.  I feel her…the pull like a magnet…wet fire in my bones…towards her. What the fuck is the right opener?  And just like that I’m kissing her…

AG:  It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the fire strangling my heart… wanting to be freed and heard. Explosive and destructive…clingy like napalm. STOP…but I can’t…I have only GO with him.  And just like that it melts away into our joining lips…and his kiss is everything.