Bang Bang

Fall is upon us and all I do in my spare time is fantasize about the amazing new wardrobe I have in store for myself. I'm thinking Camelot Hunting Queen . Furs. Scarves. Leather. Suede. Camel, brown, pea-green and cream. I'm tempted to go for a bit of turquoise to brighten it up, but since I'm assuming everyone will be grabbing at that colour this season, I'll go for something different. Taupe-y pink. We'll have to see. Can't wait.

I'm currently being pursued by a player. I hate using words like 'player' because they sound so dated - like 'girl power' and 'did you watch 90210 last night?' - but I think shallow, fakely-sincere attempts to acquire sex is dated anyway.

Why am I allowing it, you might ask? Why would I waste my time wasting perfectly good sexual innuendo remarks on someone I'll never sleep with? Why would I shake my head at lame offers of intercourse instead of just calling bullshit? Because. It's nice to play the tease and feel no remorse about it at all. Oh, I'm sorry, did you assume I'd sleep with you because I answered your inappropriate questions? Weird, 'cause I didn't assume you'd provide emotional love past the fuck even though you talked like Cassa-fucking-nova. Colour me embarrassed.

For a long time I thought I owed sex to someone if I got him interested in it enough. It was my payment for having a good conversation with a man, that spending time with me was his sacrifice. For a long time, I wasn't good enough to just walk away. Now I don't mind that part at all.

Watch out, shallow fuck-hunters. You'll be sorry.