He's Just Not That Into You

Being completely behind on the times, I finally picked up a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" a few weeks ago. And I don't even mean the movie version. I read the entire book during an 8 hour road trip with The Sweet Boy to attend one of my college friend's weddings. The Sweet Boy was somewhat unnerved by the book.

And why shouldn't he be? Sure, it didn't help that I verbally "scored" him based on each chapter, but truthfully, he did a lot of things mentioned in that book to me. Basically what the book's philosophy boils down to is that actions speak louder than words. If he isn't calling you, isn't dating you, isn't having sex with you or is having sex with other people, he's not into you but is too afraid to say it. Did he do those things, yes. Does he do any of those things now, no.

A sane person would either say, "Everyone makes mistakes," and move forward with their new relationship. Or perhaps they wouldn't have given him a second, third, or forth chance. Clearly I am not a sane person (as though there were any doubt). Something won't let me put all my trust back into a relationship with him. Little things still conjure up painful memories of our past. Despite all the good things now, I keep thinking that his past actions still mean he's just not that into me.

Stupid insecurity. I need wine and ice cream.

Back to Basics

Four years ago, I was more experienced than anyone I dated or slept with. I thought of myself as something of a sexual wild child, and was up for anything, with anyone at least once. By and large, my self-image was confirmed in conversations with friends and lovers. By comparison to my peers, I was by far the least innocent. Especially compared to the Sweet Boy.

I called him the Sweet Boy because that's just what he was. He made me dinner, brought me flowers, called when he said he would, and had been with only a tenth of the sex partners I'd had. In the years that have passed, the Sweet Boy turned out to be the one who hurt me the most. But that wasn't all that changed.

Now that we're together again, he still brings me flowers and makes me dinner. He's still sweet and genuine. Still, during the time we were apart, he managed to have all sorts of sex-capades. All with one girl, too. Despite still having a number roughly a tenth of mine, he's done much kinkier things than I ever even considered.

Sure, the past is the past. He isn't bothered by all the things I did while we weren't together, so why does it bother me that he had all these experiences with someone else? But I can't stand the thought of it! He fucked her every possible way. In a swing even!!! To make matters worse, when I got upset about it, he tried to reassure me by saying, "It's just not like that with you. Our sex life is more basic."

AHH! BASIC! Oh no! Basic means boring! Am I boring in bed?

Sometimes I think all my casual flings and dysfunctional relationships have really fucked me up. After depriving myself of cuddly, sweet, vanilla sex for all these years, I've come to crave it. I get the feeling that I've wasted all my wild oats on boys who didn't matter. And now, when I love someone and should be having swinging-from-the-ceiling, crazy loud, window shattering sex, all I want is to look into his eyes and feel close to him. Yick! I disgust myself!