Feminine Wiles: It's all about subtlety

Note: this is a joint posting between Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat.

Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat went out to paint the town blue tonight. They started by walking down Comm to T. Anthony's, to get a bite before going to the rock show.
There were three young women in the pizza shop, desperately seeking male attention. They played the dance sexy game, the pretend to be bi game, and the shriek and giggle game. Now, bear in mind that Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat actually were looking hot and sexy. As Wonder Muff says: "Our hotness was subtle. They were overblown, and think that slutty and hot are the same thing." Sugar Twat thought that Wonder Muff looked like Chrissie Hynde. Super sexy with her tats peeking out from under the edges of her top. Wonder Muff thought that Sugar Twat was on the other end of the Punk Rock spectrum. Like a two woman version of the Decline of Western Civilization.
All of the men seemed put off by the blatant angling of the pizza shop girls. One guy in the shop even caught Sugar Twat's eye, and they sort of shook heads at each other. Wonder Muff says: "we sat in the booth, and discussed how much we could teach them about subtlety, and about owning one's sexuality." Had they tagged along and observed WM and ST for the rest of the night, they would have taught them something. Wonder Muff interjects: "Like how not to act like stupid whores."

So, Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat then crossed the street to go to the Paradise Rock Club, to see X, the best band in the world. Wonder Muff says: "we approached the door, and saw the sign that the tickets were sold out. But, we were undeterred." First, Sugar Twat approached the doorman, and asked, nicely, if they ever resold tickets that weren't picked up. They do not. A lot of people would have given up. Our girls did not. Guys kept asking Sugar Twat for a light, and each time she handed her lighter over, she said "Got any extra tickets?" At one point, a sound guy asked for a light, and for one moment she thought he would be the connection. No luck there. But, they persisted, and stood within eye line of the door, without crowding.

Finally, Wonder Muff noticed the doorman make a sly come hither gesture towards them. So they did. He whispered, "I can get you in. Come around the rope and make sure you hand your ID's to me. Then, after you go in, wait for me in the lounge." So they did. They waited in the lounge for a few minutes, and later, found that for a moment both thought that that was as far as they would get. Then, he came in and brought them to the back of the room, and told them to wait. So they did. Finally, he brought them behind a rope, through a door marked "No admittance. Employees only," and up a poorly-lit, narrow flight of stairs. Our girls glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed him up the stairs, not sure of where they were going, but certain that they could take care of themselves and each other. They emerged into the second floor balcony area. He told them that since they didn't have tickets, they couldn't go down to the main floor, and they would not be able to go outside and re-enter. That was fine with them. After Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat thanked him, they looked at each other in amazement. They just had a total rock and roll moment, without debasing themselves. They knew that the pizza shop girls would never have been slipped in by the doorman.

Sugar Twat says: "The show was amazing. We danced the entire time. We screamed, we sang at the top of our lungs. We were total balls-out rock chicks. We were hit on by several squares who were more impressed with our rock status the more we talked. Then we walked away."

After a fantastic set, both X and the girls were drenched in sweat. They cooled down to two encores-three songs each. Wonder Muff says: "We did not want the night to end, but finally admitted that the music was over." Since they didn't think they could go back down the employee stairs, they then went to the main floor. This is when, just by being themselves, Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat got what the pizza girls would have wanted but didn't have the power to attain. Billy Zoom, the guitar player, was milling about shaking hands with the crowd. He turned, walked straight up to Sugar Twat, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. Then, he embraced Wonder Muff, and, she later said: "he grabbed my ass." Wonder Muff says: "this has nothing to do with feminism. It happened because we weren't trying to get his attention. it wasn't degrading, it was just a part of our rock-star night."

Another pair of girls might have tried to get something else out of the night, and probably would have ended up giving blow jobs to the roadies. But this was not about false intimacy, or trying to find a sense of self worth in an anonymous sexual encounter. It was about two girls who love rock and roll. So, Wonder Muff and Sugar Twat bought t-shirts and walked home, together, alone.

Friends who Fuck? WTF?

I am not unintelligent, and I am emotionally savvy enough to understand the dynamics of most relationships, but the one phenomenon I don't understand (and possibly have some cathartic resolution to deal with) is that of friends who fuck. I'm not talking about the "I'm heartbroken, you're drunk, we're good friends and fell into bed together and now will feel awkward for a little bit." That I understand. I'm talking full-on, can't keep your hands off each other, looking for any excuse to be alone together, years on end, really good friends fucking.
Not to be confused with the following scenarios, which I also understand:
-Really, really good friends who really like each other but are not sexually attracted to each other.
-Being really into having sex with someone you don't really like (it's not nice, but it happens.)
-"normal" relationships in which you really like someone and really like having sex with them. They are called "Boyfriends" and "Girlfriends."
-Starting out as really good friends but, being sexually attracted to them (scenario A plus sexual tension), thus becoming "boyfriends" and "girlfriends." (scenario C)

But, here's where I get lost (and, of course, tell a story). Starting out as really good friends who really like each other, feeling mounting sexual tension build between you, giving in to it, discovering that you really like having sex with your really good friend, and then swerving off the road to become Friends who Fuck.

So, The Anti-hero and I met because he was dating my roommate. We didn't really become friends until she dumped him, but then we very quickly became very good friends. We even made up a myth about being long-lost brother and sister. We decided when both of our leases were up, we would be roommates.

Then we kissed. And decided we would never do so again.

Yeah, right.

We continued on our merry way, being really, really good friends, and looking for apartments. Another girl was going to live with us too, she turned out to be The Crazy (remember her, she'll be back).

So, after being really good friends and roommates for about 6 weeks, the tension between us was palpable. You could cut the air between us with a knife. Even The Crazy noticed. And forbade us to sleep together. Big mistake.
Here's the deal. You want Sugar Twat to do something? Tell her not to.

So we did.

And we liked it.

A lot.

Plus, because of The Crazy, it was a secret. Let's face it, secrets like that are sexy. We started doing just about anything to be alone together. I got The Crazy a job where I worked so that we would have guaranteed Sundays together until 1:00 pm. We would go to Stop and Shop together and park behind the store. Once we even went to where he worked in the middle of the night (not uncoincidentally, a furniture store. Okay, I'll admit it. That was pretty hot).
But, something wasn't right. We were really really good friends, and we really really really liked having sex with each other. But, he didn't feel "That way" about me. Honestly, which part of the equation was missing?
There was a lot of strife over this, but still the fucking.
The Crazy moved out. Wonder Muff moved in.
After about a year, he moved out. We thought that this would solve the problem.

It didn't. Now The Anti-hero was living alone. Less sneaking. He had no roommates to hide our secret from.

More tears, more declarations that we would stop.
We didn't. We couldn't. It was as if we were addicted to each other.

Wonder Muff and I moved to a different apartment. Now instead of around the corner from each other, I lived across town from The Anti-Hero. Didn't matter. He would just drive over.

I moved into my own place. Now we were both living alone. I could have him over for dinner first. More fucking, more tears.

Surprisingly, this story does have a happy ending. Finally, after four years, we realized that our sexual appetites for each other would destroy our friendship. I met a guy and moved to Boston. He met a girl and moved to New York. We remained close. We visited each other. Six years ago, when my heart was broken more terribly than ever before, he took me to the Vineyard and helped mend my heart with the innocent, platonic love we now have for each other. He has turned from being the man who breaks my heart to being the one who heals it. I now consider him one of my best friends, with no strings or disclaimers. Or sex.

But, there is still that nagging doubt in my head. Why didn't he want to be with me in a meaningful way? We had an emotional bond. Clearly we were attracted to each other. Our "non-relationship" lasted for 4 years, longer than all but one of my "real" ones. Was it just that he didn't want a commitment? God, we were young! When It started I was 20, he was 23. Or was it me? Was I not "girlfriend material?" Am I now? I do know this: I did learn that one should never settle for less than what one wants in a relationship. And that I never again allowed myself to be used, even by someone I loved.

You can call me Bitch, OR you can have sex with me

I have a funny relationship with the word "Bitch." I call myself a bitch on a very regular basis. I find it fun when Wonder Muff calls me "Bitch." I even enjoy it when my straight male roommates call me "bitch;" this usually is presaged by my being, well, a smart-ass bitch.

However, I do not want to be called a bitch by my lover. I'm still trying to figure out why exactly that is. I think because in the cases above, there is a teasing admiration in the name-calling. But, when called such by a lover, there is a tinge of anger and disrespect. Why does there need to be anger and disrespect? And, more importantly, and I am thinking of a specific individual, why should I have to tell someone MORE THAN ONCE? Okay, so the first time he called me a bitch, he didn't know that I don't like it. So I tell him. Why should he ever do it again? Is it forgetfulness, or disrespect? And, why should I even have to explain myself? I don't need to give a reason why. I don't like it, and that should be enough.

The worst was the time in which I was called the B-word in flagrante delicato. It is possible to push a man twice your size and weight up, off and away from you in mere seconds. Suffice to say, there was no happy ending that day.