The Proposal - Kitty Thomas Page 0,12

No Girlfriend Speech

Eleven months ago. Last July.

I've been seeing Livia over the past month. She's a strange and unique creature. First, despite my obvious wealth, good looks, and charm—I never said I was modest—she seems somehow unfazed by the catch every other woman seems to think I am. Women aren't a challenge for me. Ever.

I can have any woman I want in my bed any time I want. That's not bragging, it's the actual fact of how it plays out. Usually I've got their panties off by the first and often only date. And I've never dated a woman who still turns me down on the third—until Livia—because the third date is the sex date for good girls who don't want to look too slutty. On a certain level, though I'd never admit it to another human being, I find this really disappointing—that it's all so easy. Only a century ago no man would expect a respectable lady to fuck a suitor by the third date. It would be expected that he wouldn't get to do that with her until they were married—until he'd offered her a life and safety. How much of this was religion and how much of it was the nature of the male drive to want to win something, I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't there. But I could take a guess.

So here we are, on the fourth date with no sex. Other peculiar things about this woman: She hasn't called or texted me once. And when I text her, she doesn't reply. It's infuriating. She only responds to phone calls. I thought she was playing games at first, but she flat out told me she doesn't like texting, she probably won't reply, and it's not the best way to reach her. Oookay. Not once did she worry this would come across as difficult or that I wouldn't want to see her again. If the thought ever did cross her mind, she must have decided that would be just fine with her.

This is an unusual situation for me to say the least. I'm equal parts intrigued and annoyed by it.

Women are always trying to win me, earn me, impress me, like I'm a trophy they want to display on their shelf. They want to land a rich eligible bachelor so they can be the envy of all their friends. I'll admit, I preferred when things went the other way around, when it was women who were the prizes. When there was something to live for, fight for, die for. But people tend to overly romanticize the past, and maybe that's what I'm doing now.

There's a part of me that wants to say this woman is too much drama—except that she isn't. She's happy to hear from me when I call. She's fun and flirty when we go out. And she hasn't once asked me “Where is this going?” There is zero pressure. It's like she doesn't care. And I honestly don't know what the hell to do with that. It's so novel that I just keep calling her like a fucking idiot even though part of me is sure she's playing me somehow.

Is she involved in some advanced next-level gold-digging where she gets the man to shell out without ever spreading her legs? Given tonight's extravagant date, that's possible. And well-played, my dear.

I've tried on every date to push things a little, to maneuver her into bed with me... and... nope. She's assured me she's very attracted and feels strong chemistry, but she doesn't do casual sex. I don't normally do the girlfriend thing, partly because I get trapped in vanilla suburban hell where the woman I'm with doesn't have the slightest clue of who I really am or what I'm actually into.

And I rarely feel anymore that I should inflict my sadism and kinks on them for sport. I like to think I've outgrown some of my darker edges, but deep down I know they're only lurking, lying in wait for the right moment and the right woman they can be unleashed upon.

I know I could specifically seek out kinky women to date, but that's often its own brand of drama. Then I not only get the needy clingy girl but I get the needy clingy girl who needs me to order her around 24/7—which is exhausting—and it becomes rote and boring. Then it's like I'm LARPing my own sex life.

Above and beyond the specifics, I miss sharing a woman. I miss passing her around.