Spring is in the air and even the East Coasters are getting frisky!
I received a phone call from The Writer in NYC on Saturday and he was all wired and happy to connect after a prolonged game of phone tag. I must admit that I was too, and I still get that well-known euphoric feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I hear his voice. He was talking non-stop about this new book he’s working on, and it was difficult to get a word in edge-wise about say, my new boyfriend!
I finally managed to slip it in there between “I really missed you, C!” and “let’s meet up in New Orleans for the Jazz Fest next weekend?” At first I didn’t think he heard me, but then the other end went dead silent. “Okay,” he finally said. “Well, I guess I should be happy for you. It’s just hard when I feel like I was the knuckle-head who dropped the sword and lost the princess.” He then went on to apologize profusely for having been a complete flake and letting things fizzle.
Now, I don’t know if the drama and the self-berating is common for the ever-depressed artist-type, but getting an apology from this guy definitely wasn’t as sweet as I’d imagined in my day-dreams. In fact, after we wrapped up the conversation all I could think was: What a waste! I mean, why would he even spend time trying to redeem himself. Now. It just seemed so completely useless when there were no words, no explanations, and absolutely no effort back when I was still pining to be with him. Like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. Or too little too late.
On Saturday night, I cooked dinner for my new BF. I’d decided it was time I tried to fit the cute & savvy GF mole, and even though I’m no Martha Stewart I can make a mean beef/vegetable stir-fry. Of course, I also saw this as the perfect opportunity to re-visit the topic of the French Fashionista soul-mate like you all recommended. As soon as we sat down at the table, I brought up the delicate subject, and I could tell that The Biker had been pondering his defense. He did a fair amount of back peddling when stating calmly that she’d appealed only to a small part of him at “one point in time.” He also adamantly refused use of the word “soul-mate.” “Spiritual counterpoint”maybe, but not soul-mate. Hum! Perhaps it was the smooth Mondavi cabernet, or the fact that I was more in the mood for kissing then cursing, but the discussion ended abruptly when we started making out on the kitchen counter. So hot, and he was off the hook!
I’m sure things would have gotten way out of hand if it hadn’t been for our commitment to meet up with Dana and some friends at Indochine. As it turns out, Dana’s still red-hot with The Doctor, and he has some hidden talents that more than compensate for his shortcomings in the athletic department. Yah!
She is facing one minor challenge, though, in that The Doctor used to be The Very Active Super Dater and now that they’re one-on-one, she’d like to know if he’s as healthy as he looks! I’m on a similar track with The Biker, and although we’ve been around the block a few times, I’d like to know that the vehicle is without defects, if ya know what I mean? Unfortunately, the whole safe-sex thing can be a serious mood-killer, and a touchy topic.
I once dated an exec in a sports apparel company (think major sunglass manufacturer) and when we started talking about sex and the use of protection, he flat out declared that he thought condoms sucked, and he didn’t see why the girl couldn’t just “wear a patch or something.” I told him I’d never have unprotected sex with someone unless I’d known him for at least six months. (Might be a stretch, but he provoked me). That was the end of that relationship, and we never even did it!
Super sex-columnist Moxie, thinks that “you should absolutely ask your partner to get tested. And, if they balk, then walk.”
What do you think? If you’re in an exclusive relationship, when is it time to put him to the test? Is it fair to ask him to use a condom for the first six months? Or is it like going to a concert with earplugs?
Thanks and ciao for now!
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