Sleeveless in Seattle 

This is why. Right now. I could have gone the rest of my life without this shit. Fuck.

Relax. No, contrary to Sleeves’ ego, I have not fallen for him. ON him? Yes. Twice. That’s not the problem. He can’t remember shit, remember? I think I might like him. A little. Maybe. Who knows? I’m really not the pinnacle of emotional awareness. What I do know is that I do not share well. It doesn’t matter what it is or if it was even mine to begin with; if you tell me I can’t have it, suddenly I cannot live without it. I am essentially an English Bulldog puppy with a heroin problem. 

I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I cement my spot as the world’s dumbest smart person, I need to start at the beginning. 

As previously mentioned, C and Sleeves used to hook up. Not a lot and not with any expectation of legitimacy, but his P has been in her V. This is yet another example of why this was a terrible idea. Anyway, Sleeves was her ‘Band-Aid’. He was her quick fix, stop the bleeding, hold me over until my real person comes back, person. He was good at it. Plus, due to the aforementioned silverware situation, he was in no danger of an actual relationship; not a bad gig if you can get it.  

I knew enough about him to employ the nickname, but I had never been formally introduced until about a month ago. C had decided she really wanted a beach house for the summer and apparently the easiest way to get one was to whore me out to the highest bidder. I’m paraphrasing. Kind of.  Actually, C has an amazing boyfriend who enjoys spending time with Sleeves. They had spent time at his house, but C was looking for a little less awkward silences. Maybe a different dynamic would do the trick. 

Speaking of her boyfriend, PG is either a serial killer or a fucking unicorn. I cannot find a single piece of filth on this guy. I haven’t given up entirely, but as of today, he’s legit. I hate to admit it, but they’ve almost restored my faith in the system. 

Sleeves is kinky. I know I’ve mentioned the rope thing, but it goes beyond that. Way beyond. He likes control; demands it, on occasion. For instance, every girl with any experience in the blowjob department will agree, don’t fucking touch my skull if your dick is in my mouth. Three hours after having that conversation, this motherfucker decides to jam his cock down my throat. Not just a little bit either. We’re talking full blown face fucking. And before you assume anything, trust that I in NO way need assistance. I have a very specific skill-set. Hashtag no hands or it’s cheating. Fast forward to my turn, and, well, let’s just say he learned his lesson. Now if that were the only example of control, I probably wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of stalking his Tumblr. Side note: not to give away trade secrets or anything, but most people are creatures of habit. If you’re able to locate their OKCupid user name, you’ve effectively opened Pandora’s box for all social media. 

Tumblr. I don’t want to sound pretentious, but for the most part it’s just pictures of shit you like. It’s not a blog in the traditional sense, but if you know where to look and have the patience to wade through months of reblogs you’re guaranteed to find a deal-breaker. 

To be continued…

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