GIRL 84
POODLE HAIRED ANAL VIRGIN GIRL
I still think housesitting at the ex's place is a loser. It was on her damned computer I saw the thin, blonde, poodle-haired girl with the oddball description of herself. It went something like this:
"I have a great sense of humor with a bit of sarcasm and wit and the ability to laugh at myself. I have high moral standards, traditional family values, a strong faith in God, and an adventurous spirit!"
I wrote her an email that said, "well, honey, high moral standards, traditional family values - those two disqualify me…but a strong faith in God makes me want to remind you that he hates that name and he really hates when people capitalize the H in "he." As to an adventurous spirit, that's chick code for 'I love to be fucked up the ass.' So therefore, I'm truly your guy! Please write me."
I stared at the paragraph on the page for a full minute before I erased and put in something more socially acceptable.
But, the very MOMENT we started talking the first time, I TOLD her what I had written the first time, then asked her point-blank, so, where do you fall down on the issue of anal sex?
There was a long pause, and then she began laughing so hysterically I thought she'd choke.
Then she said, "Michael, I'm going to marry you, and you and I are going to be insanely happily married for the rest of our lives."
Okay, I'd tried to shock her, she'd tried to shock me, it was a tie.
So my reply was laughter as intense and as genuine as hers. We spent the next week like that, alternately shocking each other and laughing, and as I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant in the town where she lived, even I began to wonder, could Poodle Haired Anal Virgin Girl be "The Girl"? And as it turned out, she'd said that as far as anal sex, I would have to boldly go where no man had gone before. I was used to that. Anal was all about attitude. The girls who loved it thrilled me, but every single asshole I fucked felt pretty much the same as pussy. I liked it because it demonstrated a woman's extreme wildness in bed. Although women were beginning to accuse me of being gay. Or at least bi, because of my interest in nailing them there, and because of my own love for being touched inside by a woman, either by her fingers or her toys. I was used to it. I just rolled my eyes at the accusations, having never experienced any live-in-person attraction to any flesh and blood guys.
I was excited when she got out of her car and walked up to me, but at the exact moment I pulled off my sunglasses, her smile fell off her face. Her look was shock, surprise and bitter disappointment.
It pissed me off. I'm no movie star, I am who I am, but all my pictures looked EXACTLY like me. There wasn't a shred of dishonesty in them. And I was exactly the height and age I claimed I was.
So why the sad look, I asked.
She wouldn't tell me why.
I spent twenty minutes interrogating her about it, then finally gave up. At the bar, I began to regale her with my bratty personality, hitting her with the same stand-up comedy act that had her in stitches on the phone for the last week, but at one point she frowned and asked me to "be normal."
Honey, I said, this was the same act that you loved not hours ago. Now you hate it.
I put my shades back on, floated three twenties to the bartender and left her.
The next day she left me a voice mail to inform me that she had gone back to her ex-boyfriend, the one she'd complained couldn't make her cum.
As far as I know, as of this day she remains an anal virgin.
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