The Law of Desirability
- The service having id "propeller" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
- The service having id "buzz" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
One thing I've learned since I decided to only date one woman is that there's a weird inverse relationship between availability and attractiveness. The less available you are, the more attractive you become. This week alone, I've gotten two hook-up texts, a "baby I've missed you so much!" email, and a "sorry I didn't get back you sooner. Call me!" voice mail, from women who two months ago were giving me nothing but shade.
Just this morning I discovered that I'd been tagged in a suggestive Facebook photo of me, dancing at a club a while back. It had to have been quite a while back, since I haven't been out dancing in months. In the picture, I have my mouth open, looking like I'm about to take a bite out of my dance partner's breast! I know I never would have done any such thing in public (in private is a totally different matter), so I was probably just laughing at some witty repartee. But, if a picture's worth a thousand words, I didn't want to have to spend two thousand more trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. I took the easy way out and untagged myself from said photo.
It's hard, if not impossible, to believe that these Janies-come-lately aren't aware that I have a girlfriend. Nothing travels faster than the speed of gossip in the lesbian community. Now that I'm suddenly unavailable, it's like I've become the honorary mayor of Dykeville. Everywhere Autumn and I go women are "Hey Sissy" and "Hi Sissy-ing" me, with various sultry inflections. Or is that just wishful thinking?
"Who was that?" Autumn asked me after one woman insisted on giving me a hug and her Twitter name while Autumn and I were out to dinner.
"Uh," I looked down at the scrawled name on the paper and read, "@BarbieTrubble."
"It's funny you don't know her name. She seemed to know you pretty well."
"Well, I think we might have gone dancing once or something."
"You dated her, but you don't remember her name?"
"I didn't date her, specifically. We were out in a big group of women," I explained, recalling the woman as a member of Rose-the-Diva's entourage."
"Sissy, just how many women have you dated?"
I laughed. "Hey, don't worry, it's not like I've dated like 10,000 women or anything."
"That's an interesting upper range. So, less than 10,000, but more than...?"
"10?" I suggested.
"No, seriously, more than what?"
I didn't answer. Not because I was angry, or embarrassed, but....
"You honestly have no idea, do you?"
.....Bingo!
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Comments [3]
Love your Sunday tales, by
Love your Sunday tales, by the way.
a number is "just" a number
a number is "just" a number for some...not "just" (a number) for others = LOVE IT. (I am of the latter...nothing is "just"....)
LOL Not to mention the, "Is
LOL
Not to mention the, "Is this a date or just..." dilema of transient queer relationships. Isn't our lack of definition part of the beauty?