by Julie Robinson
The reality is that I get tired of lying to guys. It is also entirely possible that it can be blamed on the fact that I have become lazy, lethargic, and (quite frankly) impatient. The whole idea of waiting around for men to come to me—being coy, conniving, a challenge—has flown out the door to be replaced by a grown woman with a teenage boy’s libido.
Traces of elusiveness remain firmly in place for men I don’t have any interest in pursuing, of course. When I received a text from Alejandro yesterday asking, “What are you wearing right now?” I winced with displeasure and ignored it entirely. When Brian dropped me off at my apartment Tuesday night after an evening devoid of pleasure and chock full of his whining, I smiled sweetly, offered my thanks, and skedaddled without any attempt at leaning back toward his outstretched, puckered lips.
It’s easy when they are like that.