An Alleged Life: A Steamy Sneak Peek

WARNING: This content contains adult language and adult situations and is not recommended for sensitive readers. You have been appropriately warned so you are hereby neutered of any and all rights to complain about the following material should you choose to proceed. If you continue reading and still bitch and/or moan, I will laugh heartily.
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I have GOT to develop better taste in women. Unfortunately I’ve been mostly involved with ones who have been either indecisive, dishonest, too young, married (!), just plain bat shit crazy, or simply out for a rebound. There were perks of course along the way (wink wink) and glimmers of long-term potential, but… I’m 27 in less than two months. Now by no means am I looking to get married anytime soon, folks, but it’s definitely something more prevalant on my mind as I slowly start to close in on 30. People rush into marriage way too often and ultimately wind up getting divorced or remain in an unsatisfying marriage and live a miserable defeatist life. I refuse to fall into either of those categories.

What I look for in a partner is somebody dependable, someone intelligent, someone that actually gives a damn about communicating to work *through* a problem rather than letting a concern fester and grow into a relationship-killing beast. It’s difficult finding these qualities in a woman that is also beautiful since the prettiest ones often pull the most shit, and for good reason: they can get away with it. If a hot chick has to cancel a date, for example, they can bat their pretty little eyes and say “I’m sorry, baby, you know I’ll make it up to you.” Then she can bite her lower lip and BAM… it’s all over. She’s won. Well, maybe sometimes a blowjob is tossed in if she’s done something really awful. But that’s it. And it works! It’s so unfair it’s not even funny. But I will try to retain a healthy level of wit and charm for the remainder of this… I suppose “essay” is fitting enough.

The following is essentially a rambling history of my prior relationships in chronological order. I’ll avoid the mushy stuff and focus on the entertaining highlights as best as I can. I’ve omitted using any names so I don’t think anyone can really be pissed at me, but we’ll see. Remember, this book I’m working on is a TELL-ALL NOVEL so yes, it is all about me. That’s just how these types of novels work.

Okay, enough pre-emptive padding and pandering… read on, enjoy, and PLEASE leave feedback. It will be a huge help as I continue on this project.

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My ex from college wanted to “take a break” in the summer of 2005. The relationship had become pretty serious and she said she needed some time to herself to process it and make sure it was really what she wanted. She asked for space. Being my first relationship, I naively took her words at face value. It seemed reasonable enough at the time. Less than a week later she called me to say that she was seeing (aka fucking) someone new but that she still cared about me. “Oh, you still care??” I recall shouting at her over the phone. “Well now I feel SO much better now, thanks!” Amazingly we ended up dating again after the summer break and she broke down in tears, crying because she couldn’t believe I was willing to forgive her and look past what she had done to me. It wasn’t easy, but I remember telling myself that she didn’t technically cheat on me, so somehow it was okay.Fast-forward to March 2008… we’d been through a lot (a major understatement) but she and I started to seriously consider moving in together. Mere days before we were going to look at apartments she called and said, “I think we still have a future together but I can’t talk to you for awhile.” Those were the last, mysteriously vague words she ever said to me before disappearing from my life in every possible way. She changed her number, moved out of state, blocked me on facebook… I never saw or heard from her again. What she didn’t know was that I had planned to propose to her if she had shown up as planned. Talk about bad timing. This was an instance where communication would have done wonders, but she went the opposite direction and shut down any chance of that. This, ladies and gentlemen, is called being a bitch.

What followed was admittedly cliche. I drank heavily for at least three months straight and tried to “fuck away the pain”. Anyone that has seen “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” knows exactly what I’m talking about. I had actually only been with one person up until that point, so starting something new was daunting. I began with a random hook-up with a 19-year old from Sage college whose last name still escapes me. All I knew was that an attractive young woman was in my apartment, I was depressed, and she was willing. That’s all I needed to know. After that initial release (for lack of a better word), I had several “regular hook-up” relationships. One was especially amusing. This was back when Facebook required the word “is” in the status. “Scott Pilgrim is ______” or “Cindy Lou-Who is ______”. Remember that? Okay, so I posted a status that said “Dave is… ideally looking for drunken intercourse.” It was obviously a joke because nobody would reply to such a thing other than perhaps with a “LOL” or “haha”. To my surprise, a beautiful blonde I’d never met before but was fb friends did in fact reply with “drunken intercourse sounds lovely”. I gave her directions to my place, playing along with what I thought must be a joke. Yet sure enough, she actually showed up. We drank, we vented about politics and religion, and wound up naked in the shower to wash off all the love juice which, of course, simply led to another cardio workout.

Another girl I’d been flirting with online seemed very resistant to actually meeting me which, really, was appropriately cautious of her. But then she finally invited me to a party and towards the end of the night took my hand and lead me into what I thought was just a darkened closet. She shoved me and I braced myself, expecting to bump into the wall or a shelf unit, but to my pleasant surprise I’d landed on her bed. I still have no idea why I thought it was a closet, but I chalk that up to the copious amount of alcohol I’d already consumed. In the morning she delivered a pretty brilliant line, noting that I was officially now a mother fucker (she had a son). To this day, I always think of her and smile when I hear that particular brand of profanity. A second memory with her involved going for five rounds in a row, a feat I’ve accomplished only one other time since. Three rounds is plenty, four is work, and five is frankly a bit painful. But it was all worth it when she whispered, “you fuck like a prince”, to which I playfully questioned, “wait, you’ve fucked a prince??”.

I won’t get into details about the others (you’ll have to read my tell-all novel, An Alleged Life, once it’s published) but I’ll summarize by saying one wanted a very specific role-play experience as Sarah Palin so I could fuck her doggy style as John McCain so she could turn around, wink, and call me a maverick. This was during the 2008 election season and she had a terrific penchant for kinkiness (which I fucked up royally… READ MY BOOK) and then there was my close friend’s ex-girlfriend that purred like a cat when she was aroused (which *she* fucked up royally… again, READ MY BOOK).

While none of these relationships led to anything quote unquote serious, there were levels of emotion involved with all (well, minus the purring cat freak) and I do remain friends with all of them to this day. Which is fortunate because a couple wanted to become official girlfriends and it pained me to see their faces drop when I said no. I told them that I was moving in the very near future so it just wasn’t practical. While that was 100% true, I left out the part that I felt too broken and damaged to do right by them. Deep down I think they could sense that, but those two still went home and cried. (I only know this because they both made a point to tell me so). Then it looked really bad when I ended up sticking around for an additional two years because of a new job as a tutor that I couldn’t say no to, which made me look like a lying douche. But in truth, life simply changed in a way I hadn’t expected. Then I became a mall Santa Clause/Easter Bunny and I swear I got more attention that I’d ever had before. Two of the bunny helpers/elves actually fought over me, which was an unfamiliar experience for me and was, of course, quite flattering. One of them told me that her husband had cheated on her and she wanted to even the score and asked for my “help”. Amusingly she told me this while I was in the giant rabbit suit. Go figure. I’d never had an affair with a married woman before and the sheer forbidden nature of such a thing plus the unique circumstances of our meeting was a two-hit combo that piqued my interest. How could I say no? So there I was in March 2009: an Easter Bunny fucking his married bunny helper. It was wrong, it was bizarre… and it was hot.

You have no idea which of these girls was the married chick, do you? Good.

You have no idea which of these girls was the married chick, do you? Good.

Then her friend, the other bunny helper, got wind of what was going on and decided to make her move. She wanted to legitimately date me and at this point I knew I’d be around New York for at least one more year. I’d been screwing around for awhile and figured it was finally time for a change of pace. Y’know, something healthy! I figured that the affair would inevitably have to end, but with this other chick there was a change for real legitimacy. She was 19, recently separated from her boyfriend, and that combo should have been a major red flag. I failed to have the proper foresight. We dated for a month or two and for the first time in nearly a year I was doing things right. I’d take her to dinner, bought her flowers, and we even waited awhile to have sex to strengthen the relationship (which was my idea, believe it or not). I found myself thinking about her smile and the way she scrunched her nose. That was the kind of genuine emotion that I’d been lacking since my ex in college and it was refreshing.

She later admitted she was torn between me and her ex (amusingly, he was also a part-time Easter Bunny). I made the mistake of fighting for her and got overly pushy. What I should have done was step back from the situation. If she cared for me as I cared for her, she’d choose me in the end. And if not, then she had shitty judgement and why the fuck would I want to be with a chick like that anyway? But patience was a virtue I’d yet to develop, so I dove in head first and, if you haven’t figured it out by now, ultimately failed. Surprisingly, the married one gladly renewed her affair with me and we ended up having an exclusive relationship that lasted for over two years. Weird, right? Note that I wrote “exclusive relationship”, not “official relationship”. We often referred to it as “dating but not dating”, if that makes any sense (it doesn’t, I know). She separated from her husband and, after he ended up fracturing her jaw by slamming her head into a fridge, appropriately filed for divorce. I’ll never forget the day she called me and said, “Dave, go to Albany Med! I’m on my way there, there’s blood everywhere! Oh my god, Sean…he…” and at that point I told her to focus on the road and I’d get there as fast as I could. I drove as if rushing my wife in labor to the hospital and all I could think about was how much I wanted to kill her ex-husband for doing this to her. It was only then that I realized how much I cared for her.

But then her ex was arrested for rape and went to prison. The toll that took on her and their 5-year old son (did I forget that little detail?) was incredibly draining and put a damper on the relationship. Then the exact opposite happened and she started talking about getting married and having another child with me (“David, I want a baby! Let’s have a baby!”) and getting “a farm with a white picket fence with chickens and cows and”… yeah. Her head was up in the clouds and she went way, way beyond where I was ready to go. So she took it down a notch but to the opposite extreme. Suddenly I hadn’t even seen her for a month and I decided that I was entitled to playing the field until she got her head on straight again (assuming it ever was, haha). Then I met one of most beautiful, funny, artistic women I’d ever met. The chemistry was incredible, we laughed all the time… she made me feel alive, as they say. After a month of that, I finally made a move and it remains one of my more nostalgic memories. We were sitting side-by-side on her bed, watching Parks and Recreation, and I texted her, “In eight seconds I’m going to kiss you.” She gave me a look, then despite sitting right next to me texted back with one word: “Okay.” I looked to my left and saw her eyes flash, her smile grew knowingly wide, and we proceeded to have what remains one of the most passionate sexual experiences of my life. If I wasn’t hooked before, I certainly was now.

Right on cue, the married one wanted to see me again. In fact, she wanted to have dinner. Right then, an hour after I’d just had sex with this wonderful new girl that had entered my life. But I had been with the ol’ bunny helper for about a year and a half at that point and hadn’t seen her in over a month. For the sake of curiousity, I agreed to meet her for dinner to see how she’d been. We had a good time and caught up on things… and then had sex in the parking lot. A sick, perverted part of me wanted to call up another former fling and try to go for three chicks in three hours, but thankfully a dormant sense of decency reared it’s moral head and stopped me in my tracks. Upon further reflection, I realized I’d already been quite the manwhore that night. I wasn’t dating either of them so I hadn’t cheated per se, but it was certainly morally ambiguous. Or as the married one would say, “oh my god, so naughty!”. Perhaps foolishly, I continued to carry on with both of them for about a month. One was just too hard to quit, the other was too perfect to resist. I also couldn’t bring myself to abandon the married one because I was her shoulder to cry on during her ex-husband’s legal debacle. She needed me to mend her broken heart, and I needed my new chick who’d stolen my heart. Like all balancing acts, something had to eventually collapse. And boy did it.

Both of them, in the same week, told me they might be pregnant. Guys, you know that feeling you had when some chick in your life gave had a pregnancy scare? Double that. You’re probably thinking “oh shit!” and that is definitely the right response. The new one ended up having a false alarm, but after that close-call things cooled down between us. She was too freaked out to even consider sleeping together for awhile. At least, that’s what she told me. I had essentially been friend-zoned, a torturous demotion. However, I didn’t realize this at the time. I thought she just wanted to take a step back because we continued to spend so much time together, sometimes for days at a time. She’d spend the night and I remember just putting an arm around her as we fell asleep and the wave of contentment I felt made me forget that I wasn’t getting laid. If that wasn’t love, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately she started seeing someone else, a guy that ended up almost breaking her hand and threatened her friends with a shotgun. Sometimes I wish I were making this up.

After they broke up, we spent much more time together and started to (or so I thought) move closer to a relationship. It never happened. Oh, and as for the married chick? She learned about the other girl and was in fact pregnant! Now I was left without the girl I loved and stuck with the pregnant, moody, and understandably bitter bunny helper. I told her I was definitely not ready to be a father but that the choice was hers to make, an honest assessment that I thought was respectfully balanced. She debated back and forth for over seven weeks and as time went by the option of aborting the pregnancy became increasingly difficult, morally speaking. She made an appointment with her doctor to make her final decision, though in the end she thankfully never had to make it. Nature lifted the moral burden from her shoulders and she miscarried. As you probably expected, the entire situation killed the relationship. It was for the best though since she didn’t share my dreams of eventually moving to California and I wasn’t particularly keen on becoming a stepfather to her son. Plus her ex-husband would be out of prison in 15 years and I could see him tracking us down and doing something outrageous. He was a violent alcoholic rapist, so I didn’t and still wouldn’t put anything past him. That’s a shadow I didn’t need looming over my head.

Then I lost my job of all things to top it off. Suddenly everything had just… ended. My relationship(s), my job, plus some personal legal nonsense (which I won’t get into here because it would take way too long and I’d like to stop writing at some point tonight). I had no reason to remain in New York aside from pursing the one chick left standing, but there was zero indication that any progress could be made outside of my romantic notion that we were “meant to be”, a notion I wisely suppressed due to it’s overwhelming lack of practicality.

I left the one I loved (who is now supposedly engaged to that shotgun-wielding ex of hers… sigh) and moved to California in September 2011. During the long drive I made a pitstop at an old flame’s place; the bunny helper I’d briefly dated. She and her current boyfriend had gotten an apartment together and she offered me the guest room for a few nights, an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture. They hosted a small party at their place and a fat asian dude suddenly dared her to blow her boyfriend in front of everyone. She blew him off (badump-ching!), but I wouldn’t have just ignored that kind of shit. If it were my home and I were her I’d have kicked him out for assuming I was some kind of slut. Well, I hadn’t seen this girl in awhile and it turned out I really didn’t know her as well as I thought. Yes, that’s right. She did it.

I was as equally stunned as I was disgusted, but held my tongue until after the guests had departed. Partly out of a hint of jealousy but mostly out of being completely appalled, I made a comment that implied that what she did was something a whore would do. I told her she was better than that. She, uh, didn’t take it well. I was promptly kicked out in the middle of the night and continued on my trek sooner than I’d wanted. A truly bizarre end to the long-lasting Bunnyland Saga, wouldn’t you say?

Finally, I reached California.

Between all the drama and stress, plus having just driven 4200 miles taking a scenic route across the country to a place where I didn’t really know anyone, I had quite a bit on my mind. I was so preoccupied that it hadn’t dawned on me until November that I hadn’t even touched a woman for nearly 11 months. That seemed inherently wrong to me, so I promptly set out to remedy the predicament.

I snapped out of my funk and met a girl for drinks in Santa Monica (who was actually my age for once!) and proceeded to have a small handful of hook-ups. While brief, it was significant. She reminded me that I was still even capable of such connection even if it was primarily motivated by baser instincts. It was a huge confidence boost but wasn’t a love connection by any means and ended fairly quickly. I really needed to secure a job and stay focused on acclimating to my new life on the West Coast and get my head on straight before jumping into anything. Practicality trumped indulgence. (That’s my way of saying “work now, play later” but I refuse to use such unoriginal phrasings).

Suddenly a chance meeting led to a gorgeous middle-eastern girl asking me out in mid-January. I specify her ethnicity solely because I’d previously only been involved with white women, so this was quite a healthy leap in terms of diversity). I still wasn’t looking for a relationship necessarily, but figured there was no harm in having a dinner date. I ended up being blindsided by the chemistry between us and we hit it off far better than I expected. We were both artists, had a strong sense of humor, and seemed to share a general appreciation for intelligence (that’s rarer than you might think). I’m not certain, but I’m pretty sure I had a real shot at getting laid after that first date, but I decided that it could ruin things. Much like the previous girl I’d officially dated (Miss Blowsinpublic), I went with the “let’s wait” strategy. That trend didn’t and frankly couldn’t continue for the second date due to a sheer crumbling of will power and quickly unraveled a sexual chemistry that was equally as strong as our personalities. I’d have been an idiot not to keep that train rolling so we began a relationship, my first official one since 2009. It had been a long time coming. (And while I wish that pun were intended, I feel compelled to admit that it was purely by chance).

It turned out the stars weren’t as aligned as I’d thought they were. This girl had far more in common with the former bunny helper than I thought. No, she didn’t start blowing people in public, but she also had second thoughts about her ex about a month into the relationship, an ex who happened to have the same first name as the bunny helpers ex. What are the odds of that? That’s a dumb question, I suppose, since I have a history of being a magnet for improbable circumstances… but this coincidence gave me a second chance to handle things right.

If you recall, the first time this happened I became pushy and impatient. But I was now three in a half years older and three in a half years wiser, so I broke off the relationship and told her I still wanted to be with her but first she needed to figure out what she wanted. I’ve kept in some contact with her but have generally done my best to retain the space she needs to sort out her thoughts. She proposed just taking a step back, to stay unofficially together (“dating but not dating”, anyone??) but there’s been no follow-through as of yet in that regard which is probably for the best.

Based on history, I fully expect she’ll give her ex a chance if she hasn’t secretly done so already, despite his multiple instances of infidelity in the past. There aren’t too many universals when it comes to matters of the heart, but one of the few is that it’s never smart to continue a relationship with a partner that previously cheated. It’s probably unfair to expect the worst of her, but cushioning the blow of heart-breaking disappointment with a healthy level of cynicism is my only recourse. If my prediction plays out, this will be the most uncanny dose of deja vu I’ve yet encountered. I certainly hope I’m wrong, not just for my own selfish reasons but because I don’t want to see her to learn her lesson the hard way.

So here I am, technically single and still no clue as to which path my love-life will take next. But in the process of chronicling my relationship history and the reflections stimulated by writing it all down, I have learned that the previous sentence is severely flawed. It’s not about which path the heart takes me, but which path I allow it to take me. And maybe that’s the big lesson I learned: to be more assertive and take the reins into my own hands. I think I’m doing that and anxiously await to see how it plays out. If it doesn’t, then I foresee following the examples set by the likes of Bill Maher and George Clooney: never get married, never have kids, and never keep the same woman around for a significant amount of time.

It’s actually kind of sad when you think about it… so I won’t and just smoke a bowl and say I did.

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