Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Once More With Feeling

I mentioned that on Saturday I was going to a pool party at the home (read: mansion) of a guy I used to go out with. I am generally the kind of person that maintains good relations with the boys I have dated. After all, unless something really regrettable happened, there’s no reason to burn a bridge. This is especially true when the dude in question has a pool and likes to throw big parties.

I do not, however, have sex with my exes. I like variety. I don’t like reruns.

Now far be it from me to ever look down on anyone for their sexual choices. I just personally don’t get Ex Sex. If I want to keep boning somebody, then I can continue to date them. When I don’t want to fuck them anymore, the relationship is over. It’s as simple as that. That’s why I am able to categorize guys so easily as boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, and booty calls. Perhaps it’s another symptom of my OCD, but I’m just happier when there’s a place for everything in my life, and everything is in its place.

To that end, I tend to avoid doing anything that would somehow blur those lines. If I used to date a guy, I’d rather make him still want me than actually let him have me. Accordingly, I spent the last three weeks working out like it was my job and avoiding my favorite, fattening foods. But I did not overtly flirt with Gatsby at his party. Sure, we talked, but it was not flirting. Him and I tried dating; we gave it a two-month run last year. And if it didn’t work then, it’s never going to work, so why bother trying again?

I guess that, for some people, Ex Sex is like a security blanket. You know what to expect, there are few surprises, and even the pillow talk has a comforting ring. At least, that’s what I’d assume. Because I’ve really only done it once. After The Teacher and I broke up, about three years later, we went out for drinks and ended up naked. While there was something to be said for the “hey, I remember you” moment, for the most part, I felt very unfulfilled. All it did was remind me of everything that had gone wrong, in spite of one of the few things we had always gotten right – drunken banging. But aside from that, the only thing less comforting than worrying whether a casual hookup will ever call you again is worrying whether a casual hookup that you dated for three years is every going to call you again.

Oh yeah, then he got engaged to his current wife, and the mother of his child, about six months later. Awesome.

So as far as I’m concerned, though I have no problem hanging out with them and raiding their liquor cabinets, exes should remain in the no-fly zone. I took a good look at Gatsby on Saturday, and though I still find him attractive, I just don’t need to go there. There are plenty of guys in this world that I haven’t yet dated that I can still sleep with.

Which reminds me…I’ve got two weeks, bitches. Count it.

xo

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