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6 years, ladies. 6 years of not so much as a kiss on the cheek from a man. I was intent on holding out for the seemingly mythical HVM. I was proud to have turned down so many scrotes throughout this time.
Then along came Mr. Charisma.
Charismatic men, or let's face it- narcissists- love me. They love that I'm quiet and let them hog the spotlight. They love that I sit through their self-flagellating ramblings without interrupting (little do they know I'm daydreaming, and not captivated and spellbound, as they think).
THIS GUY.
I think he sees me as a challenge. I went to University with him, and let me tell you- he practically has a cult following. He was even voted as speaker at our graduation, despite having a "C" average. People find him inspirational. Quite frankly, I find him annoying.
But he was there, and I was lonely. And gosh dang it, am I sucker for persistence. This guy's been hounding me for years trying to get a date. And with all that's been going on in my life, I was dying for someone besides my counselor to talk to.
So this last time he begged to "hang out" (may day! may day!) I agreed. I told him I had just a couple of hours, as I had work the next day. We started talking, and man- was it good. He even seemed to listen to me (though I'm sure he wasn't). Somehow we moved to the bedroom, after I laid down the ground rules that he was absolutely, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES to cross over to my side of the bed.
Ladies, we all know scrotes do not know boundaries. This fool was all up in my space in no time, caressing my breasts, kissing me, rubbing up against me. And it felt sooooo good. That's always been my favorite part, anyway. Once the genitals come into play, all the romance turns raunchy, more boundaries are eroded, and I wind up in a contorted position being jackhammered like a human blow-up doll.
So thank GOD I hadn't waxed yet- something I generally keep up on. I love my Brazilians, but lately I've just been too busy to make an appointment. Every time Scrote tried to let his hand wander down there I slapped it away. I don't know if I would have had the strength to if not for what was growing on down there.
Today I can say I still haven't slept with a guy in 6 years. And most importantly, I haven't been USED by a guy in 6 years. Because I'm certain that's what would have happened.
Saved by the bush. Time to block and delete, and continue on my search for the ever-elusive HVM.
"Saved by the bush." --- I know you probably said this tongue in cheek, but if you need to be saved by external roadblocks then you're not safe at all. Because the minute you let your guard down, your boundaries fly out the window. You even said yourself you would've slept with him if it hadn't been for the not waxing. So no, you were not dodging a bullet - you just wore a bullet-proof vest, but what happens next time when you remove the vest?