Ultra Vulgar Super Fiend

By Danielle Bauman

Three Christmases ago I told a guy I had been seeing off and on for nearly seven years, that I hoped someday we would settle down together and get married. His response: “Really? ‘Cause I just always hoped I would settle down and cheat on my wife with you.”

 

Two Christmases ago I met the supposed man of my dreams in Israel. It was a whirlwind romance. Until, of course, I met his girlfriend.

 

Then last Christmas Eve in the middle of some deliciously drunken post argument sex, my latest lover said to me: “I don’t know what to do. I still miss my ex, but whenever I masturbate I think of you.”

 

And then he prematurely ejaculated.

But I’m getting off topic.

 

There’s something about me that brings all the stuck in a rut relationship boys a cummin. Even those that are not currently attached, eventually confess to being caught in the limbo of ex-girlfriend purgatory. For years my friends said that I had brought it upon myself: I’m attracted to unavailable men, I like the challenge, the drama, blah, blah, blah…

I don’t deny that the above statements are true but none of that accounts for the reason why I am consistently sought out to be the other woman (or even worse – the girl you date while getting over your supposed soul mate).  I have always maintained that it’s some animalistic underlying vibe that I am sending out; something that I’m not even conscious of and it wasn’t until last winter, just before New Years Eve that this theory was confirmed for me.

 

 

My best friend Lily and I were at a bar ordering beers when this guy, late twenties, trendy stubble on the chin and a shaved head (but it’s growing in so I can see that he’s not bald) started staring at me. He had on a tweed coat and skinny jeans with dark brown leather dress shoes. I thought he must be gay but he kept staring at me.

 

“Gay men love me,” I said chugging a High Life.

 

“He’s so not gay,” Lily said squinting because she doesn’t like to wear her glasses. “Look at how he’s staring at you.”

 

So being the type of ex-smoker that says: “I only smoke when I drink, am stressed out, am out of the country, etc,” I decided to go up to him and ask if he had a cigarette. And being the well dressed, well groomed hipster that he was, he had a fresh pack, and the brand, drum roll please: Parliaments.

 

Now P-funks are notoriously known as the poster child for the homosexual cigarette. You can get mad if you think I’m stereotyping but my future husband is a gay man and that’s what he told me, until he switched to American Spirits in the orange box because: “They’re just so damn pretty.”

 

So we smoked a quick one, exchanged names and he told me how he was quitting for the New Year, blah, blah, blah. When we went back inside the well-groomed probably gay man bought Lily and me a drink. And then, with the first sip of his Blue Moon he told me: “You have the most gorgeous lips, has anyone ever told you that?”

 

No. Never.

 

“I don’t want to offend you but I have to ask, are they real?”

 

And I told him what I tell everyone that asks that question: “Yes, they’re my fathers.”

 

He narrowed his eyes smiling ever so slightly. This answer seems to turn men on and he was visibly intrigued so I began to wonder if my gay-dar was off.

 

Then he winked at me. He was one of those guys who can actually pull off the wink and even though at first glance I wouldn’t find him attractive, after a heated debate I was definitely into him.

 

Then he went to the restroom.

 

“He’s so into you,” Lily said.

 

“He’s just friendly,” I said because he still might be gay and gay men are always into me.

 

“Um, Danielle are you not seeing the way he’s looking at you? His eyes are so intense.”

 

“Yea he has the eye contact thing down… and that wink.” I bit my lower lip. “Yea okay maybe he is kind of into me.”

 

“You should invite him to your performance on New Years Eve.”

 

When he got back from the bathroom, I decided it was time to grill him with some specific yet valid questions:

 

“So are you recently suffering from a disastrous breakup?”

 

“No.”

 

“Were you recently engaged but you broke it off and now you are trying to move on but you’ve been scarred and you’ll never be able to truly love someone again?”

 

“Ummmm,” he paused, laughed and said, “no.”

 

“Is this weird-ing you out?” Lily asked folding her hands on the mouth of her beer bottle and resting her chin on them with a smirk.

 

“No, it’s actually kind of fun. Keep going.”

 

“Okay….Are you married?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you recently divorced but it was only a marriage so she could get her green card but you still spend most of your time with her, it’s just that the passion has died?”

 

“Hah….no.”

 

“Did your girlfriend die in a freak bicycle accident?”

 

“Noooo,” he said reaching his hand across the round bar table and taking mine. “Do you want another cigarette cause I think these questions are making you a little stressed.”

 

“Sorry,” I said realizing I was “pulling a crazy”.

 

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s adorable.” He said taking my hand and leading me outside.

 

We stood in the doorway, real close. He smelt faintly of cologne and maybe sugar cookies. I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t think sniffing him would go over well.

 

“So would it be acceptable if I got your number and called you sometime?” He asked flicking his cigarette out into the street.

 

I have never been good at the flick.

 

“I think that would be more than acceptable,” I said smiling.

 

He winked again and I smiled again because I can’t do the wink well either.

 

He plugged my digits into his phone just in time for Lily to stick her head outside: “What are you guys doooing out here?”

 

“We were just coming back in,” I said rolling my eyes at her suggestive tone.

 

He bought us another round although we were all thoroughly toasted at that point.

 

“We should go soon,” I said glancing down at the round table because I was actually starting to feel bashful and we had planned to maybe catch a movie although I couldn’t for the life of me remember which but I knew it must have been good and I really didn’t want to just go home with this guy because I actually thought I might like him and maybe we could really date and maybe… I was drunk.

 

And then, because she knew I never would, Lily said: “Danielle is performing on New Years Eve. If you don’t have any plans you should come.”

 

“You didn’t say anything about you being a performer,” he punched me lightly on the shoulder.

 

“Yea I mean it’s not that big of a deal,” I said pulling the label off my High Life and then becoming self conscious because we all know what label tearing means.

 

“Performing on New Years Eve is definitely a big deal,” he said. “I’d love to come, I’ll text you so you have my phone number and you can send me all the info.”

 

Lily had this shit eating grin on her face and she winked. She isn’t a sexy winker but she manages to fall under the category of absurdly cute like a bunny in Bambi which I guess is kind of sexy after all.

 

“Well it’s late, we should get going,” I said.

 

“Yea I suppose I should get going too,” he said reluctantly. And then: “I’m not a big fan of going home these days. My girlfriend and I are going through some rocky times.”

 

Excuse me?

 

EXCUSE ME?!

 

There it was. He just tossed it out there as if it wasn’t anything, as if I hadn’t asked him all those weird questions which sure he was honest about, I mean technically speaking: he didn’t have an ex-wife or an ex-fiancé but he did in fact have-

 

“My girlfriend is a bit older than I am and well it didn’t used to be a problem but we just don’t share the same interests anymore.”

 

“So are you thinking of moving out?” Lily said full of school girl hope and cheap beer.

 

“I don’t know,” his eyes focused completely on her. Then he gave me one guilty glance and locked into her again. “Honestly I’m really not sure; it might just be a rough patch. We’ve been together for years.”

 

YEARS.

 

WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR YEARS.

 

We left the bar, all three of us, and he crossed the street at the next corner saying: “Really, you should send me the info for your show, I’d love to come.”

 

I never called him.

 

“Wow,” Lily said. “You really are right; there really is something about you that attracts unavailable men. He had plenty of opportunities to tell you he was in a relationship.”

 

“Well he did tell me.”

 

“Yea, after he got your number.”

 

I buttoned my coat and tied my scarf around my neck a little tighter, feeling thankful for all my layers; it’s strange how disappointment can make the air around you colder. The wind was especially strong as we walked down the next block, my eyes burned and I could feel tears drip down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the male model hipster guy that was making me cry, perhaps both.

 

“Don’t be sad,” Lily stopped and took my hands. I’d lost my third pair of gloves that season and refused to buy new ones. “He’s a confused asshole who’s stuck in a relationship he clearly doesn’t want to be in.”

 

“I feel sorry for his girlfriend,” I said stuffing my hands in my pockets as we continued on our way.

 

“Denial. She’s in denial.” Lily said.

 

“She’s a sucker,” I said.

 

I have always maintained that ultimately there are two roles I can play in love: The sucker or the whore. While it may seem cruel to put it that way, and I will admit that I do want to believe that there are other options out there, I haven’t been offered any of them yet.

 

So Santa, I’m asking for a Christmas miracle: give me a guy who is over his ex, send me a saint without a significant other, grant me a gentleman who will offer his hand and his cock unencumbered by some frigid out of work actress.

 

I just want love and buckets of cum.

 

That’s what I really want for Christmas.