Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Manwhore

A few months after grieving the failure of my first virtual man project, I schlepped my way through yet another get-to-know-you process in making the acquaintance of The Manwhore. Now, although nobody felt the need to point out my reductionist male-bashing categories in previous posts, I think you should know that these terms were how the guys referred to themselves. It's not that unusual for someone to define themselves as as virgin if they haven't had sex but it was unexpected for someone who had a lot of past sexual experience to proclaim himself a manwhore. Truth is stranger than fiction.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson and recommit to non-dating, but the universe had plans for me. I'm  disciplined meaning that I can endure what I don't like but I'm also impatient in the sense that if I see something I want that isn't necessarily in my best interest, I have a hard time resisting it. The Pilot who charts my destiny must have picked up on this theme of moral decay and wanted to smack me awake. It was time for me to experience the consequence of such a shameless trajectory.

The pendulum swung the other direction. The Virgin was very structured, traditional, and relationship-oriented. The Manwhore, by contrast, wasn't any of those things. First off, as you'll recall, with the previous boy toy, I was the aggressor. The Manwhore, however, pursued me relentlessly. Secondly, while The Virgin provided a gentle, accepting atmosphere, The Manwhore pushed me beyond my comfort zone. Voila la difference between THAT guy who is relegated to friend territory and the OTHER guy who becomes a dark addiction.

There was nothing wrong with The Virgin. As a real person in the real world, he had lots of great qualities. In my post-mortem analysis of the relationship, I recognized that while he stated he didn't want to have sex before he got married because he didn't think there was much point to it, his limits were not rigid. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I pushed to see what I could get. No, it wasn't very nice but consistency is not a human trait. It wasn't long before he revealed he'd have sex if he was engaged. Then it morphed into if he was in a serious relationship. I felt I could probably work things so that sex was a real possibility in the not-too-distant future. I wasn't very impressed with myself for setting this agenda. But what I really didn't like was being the partner who brings up topics for discussion. I was given the burden of control. No thanks.

One of my friends asked me what the difference was between my feelings for the two guys. Every time I become interested in somebody new I describe my experience of falling in like or lust as if it were unique to that person. It can't be a singularity if it happens ad nauseum, now can it? I can't even remember what I said to her. In the final analysis, there was a sense of possible connection that seemed like I had at last stumbled upon The One because not only did he understand me inside out and upside down but I really, really liked him liked him. It was so very highschool. That lack of balance at the beginning of a relationship is 'the high' for love addicts. Brittney said it best, "Hit me baby, one more time!"

This budding romance had a similar onset of 'instant intimacy'. We chatted for hours at a time on a nearly daily basis. I'm not sure what the hell we talked about other than ourselves. It's that kind of coupledom that smacks of 'too intense to last'. It was a recipe for disaster. He was high octane just like me. He was funny just like me. And let's not forget, horny just like me.

Of course, I pulled out the usual torture methods of bright lights, prodding questions, and watertable. These are standard-issue interrogation techniques I deploy in some half-assed strategem to suss out a person's character. What I really need is truth serum, but failing that, hypervigilance is the next best thing. Right? Wrong. But that's another story for another time.

He liked my questions. He encouraged dialogue. The Manwhore shocked the shit out of me. He wasn't just some asshat, but knew a thing or two about a thing or two. Let me rephrase that, he knew his way around women. He knew that 'emotional safety' was of primary concern. So he set about inviting my questions and narrating his life experience. It was fascinating to me: a moth to the flame.

Stay tuned for the next instalment of the codependent conundrum.

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