Fuck Buddy(5)

By: Scott Hildreth



“I guess it depends on exactly what it is you’re after,” I said. “You’re not going to find the man you’ll marry on Tinder, okcupid, or e-fucking-harmony, so why waste your time? Or their time for that matter?”

She took another drink of wine and shook her head. “You aren’t listening, I said I didn’t know how you do it. How you can be single and happy for like ever. I’m going insane, and it’s only been three months. And, it really doesn’t matter if it’s my future husband or just some dude to bone, both are human contact and sexual interaction.”

I coughed out a laugh and almost choked on my chicken. After taking a drink, I leaned forward, rested my forearms against the table, and gazed at her. Liv was beyond what anyone could describe as beautiful, and in all honesty she could have her pick of the entire single population of the city if someone took the time to get to know her. Her problem, at least in my opinion, was that she didn’t perceive herself as valuable.

To be willing to sexually give herself to a man she really didn’t know – under the feeble impression she did know him because she read whatever he chose to include in his online profile – spoke volumes of her emotional evaluation of herself. In summary, she was far too willing to attach herself to almost anyone who would pay her a moment’s notice.

“And, that is exactly what the men on those websites want. Sexual interaction. Nothing more, and there’s no way they’ll settle for anything less. They’re on there to get fucked,” I said.

Her mouth fell open and she stared back at me. “How can you say that?”

“Seriously?”

Her disbelief caught me off guard. I glared at her for a moment, pushed myself away from the table, and leaned against the back of my chair. To think she believed the men on the online dating sites were after anything other than sex was laughable. I realized I should address the topic cautiously, but also felt a need to make sure she understood my true thoughts.

“You know, when you started doing that a few years ago, I gave you my opinion, and it sure hasn’t changed since. Most of the guys lurk on those sites are looking for someone to fuck, and after they get it they go home to their girlfriend or wife. After a few weeks or a month, they make an excuse to break up, and then move on to another victim. They’re a bunch of narcissists feeding their self-esteem by their own personal count of the women they bone,” I said.

She gave me a pffft, and reached for her wine. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Answer me this, how many dates have you gone on since you started?”

She swallowed her wine, cast her eyes toward the kitchen cabinets, and stared blankly for a while. “Like, since the beginning?”

“Yes, Liv, the beginning.”

“I don’t know, maybe fifty.”

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table as I nodded in agreement. “Fifty. I’d say that’s pretty accurate. Probably one a month give or take, for four years.”

She took another sip of wine and wagged her eyebrows playfully.

“Now, how many twenty-five-year-old women in this city do you think have been on fifty dates in four years?” I asked.

She lowered her eyes to her plate and seemed consumed by the question. My guess was that she was going through her short list of girlfriends, and was truly trying to count the dates she knew they had been on in the amount of time we had been out of school. After a long silent pause, she glanced up.

“None?”

I nodded. “I’ll agree. None. I’d say most of them, if they’re single, have been on two or possibly three a year.”

“You always do this,” she snapped as she leaned away from the table.

I chuckled. “What?”

“Change the subject,” she said. “I asked you about you, and you turned it into me. I asked how you stay single, and you didn’t answer. You never answer. You just say you’re satisfied or whatever. Why don’t you answer me?”

She reached for her wine, finished what was in the glass, and stood from her seat. In a half-drunken stumbling maneuver, she stepped to the counter, grabbed the bottle of wine, and pulled the cork.

“More?” she asked, holding the bottle at arm’s length.

I laughed to myself about her drunken behavior. She didn’t get drunk often, but when she did, she was generally pretty cute.

“I’m good.”

She poured her glass as full as she was able and sat down. “So, you’re single and I’m single. I think you could have any girl you wanted, and you tell me I could have any guy I wanted. We’re both going without, and it’s fucking ridiculous.”

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