Page 49 of The Fed Sex Man

“Believe what you want to believe,” I said. “If Jo wore contact lenses and dressed like a nun, I’d still be attracted to her.”

“Tell yourself whatever you want to tell yourself,” he responded. “I know you, remember? You’re scratching a twenty-year-old itch. Won’t matter much in a few weeks anyway, because you’ll be dumping her. I just wanted to make my point.”

“What was your point?”

“My point is I tell chicks the truth from the get-go, and you don’t.”

“I do, too.”

“You don’t lie to ‘em, you just don’t tell ‘em nothin’. I’m a different creature. I told Ol’ Cowgirl that I was throwin’ her some dick, and that was that. Said, ‘This ain’t nothing but sex. If you get your freak on and take ‘er in the butt like a pro, maybe we can do it more than once. If you’re not down to fuck for fuckin’s sake, we’ll have a beer and call it a night.’”

“And she agreed?”

“Fucked her, didn’t I?”

“You question my methods, and I question yours. End result’s the same,” I said. “Neither of us do relationships.”

“But I don’t lead ‘em to believe there’s ever going to be a chance. You do.”

I laughed. “Don’t think just because you tell them up front that you’re just ‘throwin’ ‘em some dick’ that they don’t secretly hope that it’ll turn into more. For a girl to agree to that, she’s got to swallow a gut full of self-worth.”

“I’ve never pressured anyone into anything.”

“Bottom line is this. You make them feel bad when it starts, and I make them feel bad when it’s over. We both make them feel bad.”

I wished things were different. That I was different. But I wasn’t. I never would be. Change would require believing that a relationship could survive.

Flourish.

Go the distance.

I had the luxury of knowing better. Relationships were like turds floating in the toilet of life. Eventually, they all got flushed.

It was just a matter of who did the flushing.