Saturday, March 9, 2013


Most of the women I hook up with have no connections between them. I meet them in different settings, initial encounters are brought about by a multitude of scenarios. I rarely stick around long enough to be introduced to sisters, co-workers or girlfriends. And I have more class than to come on to a woman introduced to me by a lover. But to every rule there are exceptions, and meeting Clarise on account of Michelle was just that. We met at Michelle's wedding reception, an affair I felt was not to be missed. I usually have a good time at such events, so many women around with romantic notions in their heads. Clarise ensured that this time would be no different.

If she was over five feet tall, she barely made it. This aroused me in the same way that a beautiful woman over six feet tall does. There's just something about extremes. Why walk upon common ground when you can be at the top of a mountain or bottom of the sea? Clarise and I met by inadvertently bumping elbows at the bar. She was Michelle's aerobics instructor. Judging by the amount of people in the place, everyone Michelle had ever met was there. I had picked out over a dozen potential targets, but fate threw Clarise in my path first. Or perhaps she threw herself there. I didn't bother to ask.

In case you were wondering, I don't use pre-prepared pick up lines. Any bullshit I end up tossing is usually invented on the spur of the moment, inspired by the particular situation I find myself in. Who I am depends largely on who she is, who she wants to be, and who she wants to be with.

For Clarise I was an ex-jock, my promising football career cut short when I injured my knee in a college Bowl game. I could almost see myself in uniform, pulling down a bullet pass from the back of the end zone. Claiming to have once dressed as a USC Trojan wasn't too much of a stretch, since that happens to be the brand of condom I don.

One night stands don't always take place entirely in the course of one night. Clarise and I exchanged no bodily fluids that day, only phone numbers. I am not one of those guys who leaves a woman waiting for days by the phone. I don't request a number unless I intend to dial it, usually within a day or two. I undertake all missions with intent to complete them.

Things seemed to be going well during what was to be our first and last date. Halfway through her second glass of wine however, the mood changed. Something gave Clarise an excuse to bring up her ex-boyfriend. They had been together for six years, marriage presumably just around the corner. But it turned out that her man was not inclined to make that turn any time soon. So she broke up with him, figuring it was just a temporary measure that would make him realize what a good thing he was losing out on. Unfortunately, he never did figure this out. Instead, he began seeing another woman and within three months was engaged to her.

Her ex and his fiancée had been at the wedding. No wonder Clarise was so friendly towards me. She had hoped to make him as jealous as he was making her, to win him back by acting like his presence wasn't even noticed. It seemed I was on a roll when it came to being used, but I wasn't such a hypocrite to let this upset me. I was simply glad that her little charade was ineffective, or else she wouldn't be with me. I told Clarise this, but the flattery didn't lift her spirits any. It appeared I was in danger of becoming one of those schmucks I pity most, guys with perennially dampened shoulders from letting women cry on them, but nothing else getting soaked by the heat of desire.

I turned the sympathy bit around on her, telling Clarise that I too had been the victim of a long term relationship that ended badly, at least from my perspective. According to my yarn, as soon as my knee was rehabilitated enough to make a pro team, we were to be wed. But once I knew for certain that my knee would never get strong enough, not only did I have to deal with the loss of my dream, but my girlfriend dumped me for one of the New York Jets. Clarise was money in the bank after that bit of concocted melodrama, and her third glass of wine probably aided my cause as well.

Those are the details of the tale I wove, but a tale on its own will not suffice. Women like Clarise believe firmly in love that strikes instantly, long before familiarity settles in. They feel not only that love can exist without knowing a person particularly well, but that "true love", the takes-your-breath-away kind that romance novelists and serial killers cash in on, exists only in such a climate. I can honestly say that this mindset makes a fair amount of sense to me, so it was with little difficulty that I continued to ham it up along these lines. I told Clarise how overwhelming my attraction to her was, that I had not expected to feel so strongly about another woman for a long time, but there was just something about her that I was helplessly drawn to. These are the sort of Hallmark card declarations that can make many a man, and also a few women, gag as if having accidentally swallowed a kitchen utensil. Even in the most conducive of circumstances, such sentiments must be expressed judiciously and timed perfectly in order not to come off cartoonish.

In my expert hands there was no danger of this. Not only did I not choke on the words, but to some extent I even meant them. I described myself to you as a liar earlier. But like many a method actor, I often sincerely believe what I’m saying at the moment I’m saying it. Then the mercifully brief moment passes, other moments transpire, and what I had almost convinced myself of no longer applies. I have as little control over the changing of my mind as I do over the passage of time. Reality is no less transient than fantasy, so perhaps then, it is no more real.

Within a few strokes I can tell if the woman beneath me thinks she's fucking or making love, and Clarise clearly felt the latter. She thought we were two wounded souls whom destiny had brought together to heal one another. Clarise believed we had something substantial because I allowed her to stop feeling sorry for herself by feeling sorry for me. She was ready to be a naughty nurse rather than a helpless patient so I let her tend to my imaginary wounds of the heart. After several consecutive days of undesired phone calls, I told her I had reconciled with my old girlfriend. One too many losses by the Jets had done the trick. Clarise should have understood, since she would have dumped me first had her ex come back around. But he didn't, so she didn't, and sometimes that's just the way things go.

Was the sexual workout she put me through worth the emotional wringer I subjected her to? The answer is yes. It's always yes. Why else would I keep doing it?


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