A Blowjob, A Sandwich Silence

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This man is typified by Investment Banker Ex. (Yes, the one I said I wouldn’t see again. I lied.) Before our date, I wrote in to my friends over at asktheguys.info and asked “Why does this man want to see me again?” They responded: “If he's still calling, he must like you. Just because things didn't work out before doesn't mean that you can't have a meaningful relationship. People grow, gain new perspectives, and eventually come back around.” (Hmph. Asktheguys.com’s use of the words “meaningful” and “grow” would indicate that they are not Neanderthals. Note to self: be wary.) Dinner was fabulous. IBE sweetly forgave me for being 20 minutes late to the sushi restaurant, and our conversation flowed easily. I almost decided not to bring up the whole “why haven’t you called me” issue. But I never let anyone off that easy. “What’s the deal? Why are you talking to me now, after more months than I care to remember?” I finally asked him. After much hemming and hawing, he says: “I like you. I think you’re intelligent, and even though you talk too much, you mean well.” “Ahh. So most girls who talk too much have malicious and evil intent?” I asked sweetly. (Ah-ha! Screw you and your backhanded compliments, buddy.) “No…but they’re so self-centered…and…” Oh, come on now. I am as self-centered as the next girl. And so is Investment Banker Ex.

The main diff is, I’m also self-aware. And he is, sadly, not. “So what do you want from me from here on out?” I ask. “No wait—let me guess: A blowjob, a sandwich and silence.” “No,” he spits, aghast. “I want to watch American Idol and snuggle up with you, because it feels good to have you close to me.” SHAME! I had implied he was a Neanderthal. BAD LENA! Snuggling would be my penance. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The thing is, IBE is a Neanderthal of the highest order. And not only that, he’s also part octopus, I think, because he had about 16 limbs wrapped around me in the space of two minutes. AND OMG WHY ARE MY CLOTHES COMING OFF WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE? What was going on was that he wanted a blowjob and silence. And sushi. If he’d ‘fessed, it might have been fine. But I don’t like liars. Especially ones who condescend the entire female gender. So I wriggled out of his grip, checked to make sure I still had my shoes—and my tonsils—and skedaddled. Sorry IBE. Next time, just be honest. TO ALL THE MEN WHO DISAGREE WITH MY BJ THEORY: Write in and tell me what you need. I believe you’re out there. It gives me hope.