sWell (shakewell) wrote,

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the insignificant other

as i trolled the livejournal masses this week, i noticed a lot of people are posting about the number of people they've kissed. and, just as i do with all those damn quizzes and memes i began to question my kissing history.

the number is high. unbelievably high. i made a list three years ago and that number was about four times as large as those reported by people recently. the list will follow.

i'm sure plenty of people will have plenty to say about what that number means, but none of it will bother me. i kissed more people in elementary school than jo3 has kissed in his entire life. i'd hardly say that makes me a slut.

and, i remember all of their names. that's better than a lot of drunken sluts i know.

besides, it's a kiss. big deal. but it does bring something else to mind: i've slept with more people than some of my friends have even kissed. now, does that make me a slut? i suppose it does. still, it doesn't bother me. i like having sex. i like having good sex. i like finding someone better to have sex with than my douche bag ex-boyfriend. it's not like i've had sex at every available opportunity or anything. if i had, i'm not sure i'd ever have gotten off my back. lol. apparently, i'm a highly desired female.

i've come to the conclusion that, although i'm not as slutty as i could be, i'm slutty enough that it negatively affects my romantic (and even my platonic) connections with people. i've been in several relationships where i'm the insignificant other--the one you call when you want to fuck or party, not when you need a shoulder to cry on.

two of these relationships i got into knowingly, but there is one that has always bothered me--nicholas auxier. i really wanted to date him. i don't even know why. he's really intelligent, but he can be a super jerk. but i digress. ["DIGRESSION!" screams the catcher in the rye aficionado.]

our relationship consisted of making out on my couch, sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night to make out, flirting during band rehearsals, swing dancing and him sneaking into my house to wake me up in the summer. he gave me a gift when i left for the academy and i know that i wrote him letters from indy, but i don't know why. i mean, i'm not sure we ever really talked about anything without filling the conversation full of sly hints about our attraction.

so years later, i run into him in madison. i totally instigated hooking up. and he kind of treated me like dirt the next morning. not bad, but certainly not "i want to be your boyfriend" good either. and then when he drove me to wheninhell's graduation party he made a comment that just presumed we'd be havign sex that night. so, i asked how it was that i became his fuck buddy. i don't even remember what he said. it doesn't even matter. it's half him being a jerk and half me being a naive slut.

you can't put out without the least hint that you want a relationship not a lay (which, by that time, i'd given up on wanting a relationship from nicholas) and ever expect anything more than just a lay. sure, i could have fenagled my way into romantic entanglement like so many girls do. i could have called him endlessly and showed up at his house unannounced until we spent so much time with each other that we might as well be dating, but i've never been interested becoming in one of those puppy dog girlfriends who hassles her way into a man's life. i'd much rather be a slut.

i forget where i was going with all of this. i guess maybe it bothers me that certain boys make these assumptions about me, but, if they do, it's my fault. i mean, history does repeat itself, right?

but, you know, every boy makes assumptions about me. they all think i should be in love with them. if i tell them i'm not, thenthey think that just think i'm being coy. they all think i should be tripping over my own feet trying to get into bed with them. they're all living in this fictional worlds where they're the hottest shit in town. and i'm living in a fantasy where i believe honesty will get you everywhere. but, as it turns out, no one ever believes me.
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