Tuesday, August 14, 2007

My Libido and I Really Need to Have a Serious Talk One Day...

- ACT I -

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- Watching drunk college students fuck in public is not very entertaining. Startling, but not entertaining.

The windows were down as I walked by the car, a little sports car that I assumed, given the Greek sorority letters in the back glass, belonged to the female participant.

A white male ass, whiter than mine, bounced up and down inside, male grunts and female sighs and Oh Gods and Fuck yeses.

"I'm coming! Shit!"

In the time it took me to first notice the college romp, walk past, and get almost out of earshot, the whole thing was over.

I had to bite my tongue, had to keep from turning around, from being tempted to try to put a face to the white ass.

"A new speed record," I said to myself.

As I climbed into my truck, less than 10 feet away from the vehicular love nest, I looked back. The guy had pulled himself out of the tiny little car, was down to one lone flip-flop for his feet and an inside-out shirt across his back.

Didn't know the guy. Thank God.

But I did, however, recognize the young woman.

She climbed out of the car, too, gave the guy one of those staged, I'll call you embraces, and then scurried off into an alley to continue adjusting the remnants of her skirt.

"Oh for fuck's sake. If you're gonna crashfuck, at least get something out of it!"

Crashfuck. As in, find some random unlocked car, climb in, and get busy. These sorts of PDA fetishes are supposed to be executed quickly - but not that quickly. It's the adrenaline rush that goes along with the possibility of getting caught. Adds to the excitement, the drama, the sheer eroticism.

Tried it myself when I was younger. Still prefer the simplicity of the hood of my truck. At least, then, all of the heavens can watch, can judge.

I only thought I shared my unsolicited criticism with myself, quietly.

Nope. Said it out loud, through my pickup's open window, 10 feet from the uni-sandaled Quick Dick.

Hit the gas. Squealed the tires, in fact. At two in the morning, 100 feet from the police station.

And I was back to my apartment in less time than it took Mr. Missing Flip-Flop to realize that he'd risked jail time for a rather pointless ejaculation exercise.

I feel sorry for the young woman.

Especially for having the misfortune of being spotted, by a certain blogger, in Oxford Fucking Ohio.

- ACT II -

Which, while on the subject of friends and lovers, bizarre sexual fetishes, the overlap between offline and online lives, and other normal, everyday clusterfucks in the world of The Zenformation Professional...

For the first time ever, I have four very different women (three former lovers and one female friend) pissed off at me, simultaneously, for - Gasp! - either posting or not posting certain events in my sexual history, about not sharing certain intimate details.

Great way to check up on me, this ol' blog. Or so some folks think.

For the first time ever, I've had women who used to be very good friends, two very different pairs of women in two very different American cities, fight over me - and this stupid blog.

Long story. I've spent days trying to figure a way around the fact that all four women are going to read whatever I post, each one expecting me to trash the other, each pair just now learning that I'm experiencing, er, double the so-called fun.

And I'm NOT flattered. I'm NOT amused. And I'm so far from anything even remotely resembling pride, arrogance, or other stereotypically male emotional responses to such things that it's almost comical.

I am, however, annoyed, angry, and fed up.

I fucking hate pointless displays of melodrama, hate worthless petty bickering, and I hate being objectified down to nothing more than an excuse for friends to fight.

* * * *

In GirlFight No. 1:

An ex, an adult entertainer with whom I had an open relationship, just figured out that one of the women I've recently posted about just happens to be a former best friend of hers.

This woman was on the ex-lover's so-called "safe list" when we were together, a friend of hers that she would've had no problems (so she said) with me sleeping with in the event that I suddenly felt the need to exercise the my end of the open relationship. She had the other boyfriend, plus a few women to satisfy that side of her bisexuality.

And occasionally, there were a few extra women in my bed, friends of hers, to satisfy her bisexuality - just to set the record straight. I'm no boy scout. I tried to have some fun with it. But I still don't get why, exactly, heterosexual guys get so worked up about threesomes and foursomes and sex with multiple women at once. Damned tiring.

Why one of her best friends, you ask?

Well... this ex was convinced that I'd eventually cheat on her with a Local U. student, catch one of those dick-rotting STIs that undergrads tend to carry like badges of fucking honor, was convinced that I'd eventually get tired of the openness. And she had another boyfriend and other lovers, so why shouldn't I have someone to fuck on the other guy's weekends?

But here's the thing. I didn't want to continue the open relationship. I wanted to move on. And the best friend was cleaning up her shit after years of self-abuse. Neither of us wanted, necessarily, to be on the "safe-list." She even turned down a threesome with a certain whiny fuckhead librarian from Ohio.

So we hung out, once, in Santa Monica. I left it off the blog, because, well, for a woman who thought I was a whiny fuckhead, and a guy who thought the woman was a narcissistic skank, we did seem to have a lot in common. Both former addicts, both into zombie movies, and both fans of obscure 80s cartoons. We spent a whole afternoon...talking.

And then she flew into Cincinnati one weekend, after the ex and I broke things off.

And she ended up staying for a whole week.

And free of the dreaded "safe-list," we both went a little crazy. And we broke my last headboard, almost got arrested for lewd behavior in public, and we utterly destroyed the hood of some poor Trustafarian undergrad's Hummer. I cooked these amazing Vegan dishes, she made me do Yoga with her in the mornings (a born-again morning person, like myself.)

And we left it at that.

And again, I didn't blog about it. Instead, I blogged about (I think) politics and all sorts of things. And she left cute little comments anonymously, posted from my laptop, an inside joke. She even suggested that I date other bloggers...

Years pass.

And then, sometime last week, the two ex-lovers of mine accidentally ended up in the same little diner in Ventura. One was wearing a Local U. sports tee shirt that I'd bought her. The other went ballistic, threw a glass of wine, and, according to witnesses, started yelling something about...

Lee Blanchard. A fucking character from a fucking James Ellroy novel. And from a blog post.

I now understand the comparison, having finally finished reading The Black Dahlia. Trust me. Partly flattering, but, well, mostly not.

Small world.

* * * *

And in GirlFight No. 2:

Two college roommates from a certain Great Basin University were having their final post-graduation, off-to-the-real-world party, in good ol' Sin City, before their lease expired.

One of the women, the baby sister of an ex from my own undergrad days, was apparently drinking heavier than the rest of the folks at the small get-together, drinking and completely ignoring her best friend and roommate.

The roommate, upset that her best friend in the whole world was ignoring her, pulled my ex's baby sister aside. She figured that it was a guy, or just post-college depression, or...

It was, in fact, a guy.

"Did you fuck Jason ________ when you were in Indianapolis at that fucking conference?"

The roommate, from what my Colorado ex tells me, denied it at first, then copped to it when her best friend, a woman I've known since she was 15, threatened to call me.

For two years, I'd assumed that, well, when _____ and I not-so-accidentally happened to be in the same hotel in Downtown Indy, then accidentally ended up drinking too much wine and dancing a little too slow and close...


____ had said she would tell her, be honest about it. And I believed her. I actually was naive enough, at 27, to believe a 21-year-old when she told me that she'd take care of breaking it to her best friend in the whole wide world.

______ never did it, figured she'd let a silly one-weekend thing go, one of those don't ask, don't tell moments for the good of both of us. But her best friend was my ex's baby sister, my almost sister-in-law. I held up my end of the post-fling damage control, told my ex about it, just in case baby sister needed some support, a surprisingly neutral party.

My ex, herself struggling to stay out of harm's way, apparently told her mother in confidence.

Dear ol' sexually-liberated Madre then, at the party, made a comment about how she and I had had dinner in Cincinnati a few weeks ago, how she was surprised at how well her youngest daughter had maturely accepted the fact that the boy she'd once had a crush on had slept with her best friend in the whole wide world.

Everyone but Baby Girl knew.

The result?

A very nasty public shouting match. Hair, yes, pulled. One woman has a black eye, the other required stitches.

And apparently, it's all my fault.

If it'll stop the stupidity, then, well, I'll take the full blame. Hell, at this point, I'll cop to just about anything.


Back in Oxford, I was feeling like a man out of time, the universe having cast me out unto the plane of Bad Fucking Timing.

As I was walking back to my pickup from the Uptown clubs and bars, on the last weekend before the kiddies arrived back from their summer vacations, I was in anything but what most folks would consider a festive mood.

I was brooding. Brooding over things that I cannot change, perceptions I cannot change...

"One day, my libido and I are gonna have a nice, long talk. Might be time for a divorce."

And then I see a bare white ass bouncing up and down inside of a car, the faint sounds of probably the quickest quickie in Ohio undergrad history.

And I laughed the moment I realized who the woman was, didn't even think about why.

* * * *

I started writing the first part of this blog post in the truck, mentally, mapping out ways to tell a true story, a common but sorta uncommon sight here in Oxford Fucking Ohio. And, at the same time, I was trying to figure out creative ways to hide a person's identity within the narrative.

I write the first draft on the ol' laptop. _______ becomes the woman and some probably very embarrassed guy becomes Mr. Missing Flip-Flop. I take out as many physical references as possible, without cutting into the meat of the story, to specific alleys, nearby businesses, and even the make of the sports car.

And as I get ready to hit that Publish Post button, my brain freezes up. My fingers twitch.

"Dude, why the fuck are you blogging about seeing to drunken undergrads crashfucking in some stranger's car? Man, you've got all of this drama surrounding you, eating your goddamn soul with every goddamn angry voicemail, text message, and IM. You're even screening your work calls. Are you that much of a goddamn pussy?

"Are you too afraid to say what you really need to say? Isn't that the point of a blog?"

So I start adding a center to the post, something completely unrelated, stream - of - consciousness sutras and space cadet librarian fluff. I wanted, in the event that the woman from the car should read this, to let her know that there's no way in hell I could blame her for hooking up with...

And it hits me, why I found the whole drunken car sex thing both humorous and tragic.

I'm That Woman. And Mr. Missing Flip-Flop. All rolled into one, with additional fuck-ups, mistakes, flings, and bad fucking luck thrown in for good measure by Satan himself.

John Fucking Milton ain't got shit on me - I built my own Hell with only my brain, my penis, and a keyboard, once or twice a week, on average.

And I don't have to wait for somebody else to gossip about it, to load it onto a MurdockSpace page, to add the photos to a Facebook account.

I'll end up, regardless, doing it myself.

Tragic, but funny.

- # # # -


Woeful said...

You have a very rich an complicated life, my friend. Whatever you do, be sincere.

Xmichra said...

lol.. Jason you are indeed your own worst enemy.

Cat. said...

For lack of anything sensible or helpful to say...walk slowly and carefully, and what Woeful said. Be good to your Self for awhile, eh? You've had a tough summer.

Coyotemike said...

I know of a good monestary you might want to look into. No women, no phones, and those kick ass hooded brown robes. You can click your beads in silence and not have to think about the fallout :)

HuneeB said...

What an eye opener huh?

Tragic, yet funny. Yes.

We are all the common denominator in our own problems/issues/drama ... when we learn that is where the pivotal moment occurs to either remain the ignorant victim of 'luck' or 'fate' or whatever the fuck you want to label it ... or the self aware reformer that can take inventory of actions and make changes...

Good luck hun!

As always love the read...you know what's funny is how small the world really is...

EsotericWombat said...

Well, it seems that crashfuckers do contribute at least one thing. Looks like they make for a hell of a Rorschach.

John Fucking Milton ain't got shit on me

Not going to find an argument from me.

Jessica said...


You may be the one man on Earth who could keep up with me in the sack. Though I doubt I'm your type, I bet we could just ruin each other.

Again, that being said, I often wish you could find a NICE, SANE horny girl (there are a few of us) and settle down.

In the meantime, be safe, my crazy librarian friend.


The ZenFo Pro said...

Good advice. There are times, though, I've got to just be sincere to myself, too.

Trust me. I know :D

That's the plan, hon. And I may hold off on the cat, btw. I think you may be right. Great advice :)

I'm seriously thinking about your offer.

Now that's frightening.

VERY small. But, lord, do I hate drama. There's no point.

Heh, and at least, hopefully, there wasn't enough time to leave stains in the sports car...

Yep. Just been waiting to use that line. Waiting. Still can't get through Paradise Lost.

The ZenFo Pro said...

Keep up? Aw, hun... I may suck at relationships, but, lmao...

See! People don't believe me when I tell them that librarians and library staff are freaks. Freaks, I tell ya!


pia said...

Told the Wombat that if I didn't "know" you--bloggingwise--I wouldn't believe your stories, but I do

Tragic is Ellroy. If you haven't read his autobiography--read it--he did drug mixtures that would have killed anybody else's brain. Left his brain cells took out something vital to being a compassionate person

HuneeB said...

I think I need to go to my local library more often.

Miz BoheMia said...

I am still working on this fabulous post (kids keep interfering with the faboo reading dammit!) so I will comment on this later but I wanted to reply to YOUR sweet reply to my comment for the post below...

First off, I actually agre with G wholeheartedly and can understand the beauty and attraction to the violence... ironic seeing that I am a veggie head and, for the most part, a pacifist (unless REALLY pissed off which is when the rage takes over and a thirst for blood awakens I am afraid!)...

And I was being silly but to reiterate my comment in a more serious manner and in the spirit in which it is intended it was merely to comment on the double and perplexing nature of men... I have commented that way before and the post below connected me back to that feeling...

Basically, it is just amazing to observe both you and Loverboy be so educated and well spoken and civilized and feminist in so many ways and yet still respond to primal and animalistic urges to a degree that most of us female counterparts cannot truly relate to... it is paradoxical in nature and well, when it comes down to it, the very animalistic urgings of you males that can both horrify and disgust us are, at the same, time, a source of great attraction and MAN is that a mind fuck!


I know you got it the first time, I think, but, just in case, I thought I would be more succinct!

And yeah, Loverboy was kinda in trouble but he is clear of it now! Ha, ha, haaaaa! ;-P

Curiosity.Killer said...

This is a hilarious post - thanks so much.. I really needed it. You have no idea.

It's crazy how the blogging world has changed our lives and the people around us. NUTS.

The ZenFo Pro said...

You know, it's funny. There are folks I've known offline FOR YEARS who say the same thing - even some people who've been subjects of blog posts, who were there. It fascinates me to no end. One of the women, for example, in this post actually called to ask if the post involved her! Wasn't mad at all. Now that, for me, is hard to swallow...

It's the spin I put onto things. I think a lot of folks just end up wondering how my brain works, if at all.

I think it's given who I am now, this librarian with the weird-ass job in the middle of friggin' nowhere Ohio - makes it easy to forget that, yep, I used to be a real broadcast journalist in the West Coast equivalent of Martha's Vineyard/Hamptons region of California. Yes, I know people who work in various aspects of the film, sports, and television industry, some famous and some not-so or genre-specific. Came with the territory. I've lived everywhere, traveled the states extensively, and, well, I've racked up a lot of exes in a short period of time.

Heh. At least I wasn't compared to Ellroy himself :)

I think, chica, that you may have just made a lot of librarians very, very happy!

The ones of us who aren't friggin' insane, of course.

Well, men are, indeed, curious creatures. Like the sport of boxing itself, we can be so violent, downright barbarians at times, yet so beautiful and hypnotic simultaneously.

Women are the same, yet different. I was reading your comment, then thinking back to the stuff behind this blog post, and some other similar things I decided to not post about (i.e. I kept two women from fighting earlier last week...over yet another guy), and yeah, women do have the same beautiful/hateful, violent/pacifist paradoxes working their mojos. The difference is in how they manifest themselves, those pesky "gender roles" that nobody really wants to talk about in polite company anymore.

You are so welcome, chica! Thanks for commenting and I just LOVE your blog!

Yeah, blogging does impact a lot of offline stuff...more than I think anyone wants to ever admit.

Hell, I had to take a day off from work when I learned, through an Australian blogger, that a NYC-based video blogger's son had died in an accident. I cried for a not-so-complete stranger's loss.

cooper said...

I've been reading I've just been speechless in an internet type way...

Can you blame me.

And now boxing........

t'is true I am drawn to crazy people.

The ZenFo Pro said...


Heh. I tend to do that to the hot girls around the Beltway ;)

No, seriously...

What the hell's wrong with boxing???

Guy's gotta have at least a few healthy hobbies.


xboxgirl said...

Boy, I'm really glad I won't ever have the problem of a bunch of women bitching over me.

And two of your ex's got in a fight in Ventura (can't be Ventura, California where I live right)?. Because that would make the world seem a lot smaller then it is.

The ZenFo Pro said...

Lol, ya never know, hon ;)

One and the same, sadly. Used to know some really good folks down there.

Smurf said...

Wow. The girl and guy thrown into one. Wow. This is making me think a bit of the dream you shared a while back about... um... I don't remember the name you gave her here, but I will only tell you... its the stripper/prostitute that I worked with and set you up with thinking that is who you meant instead of the other girl. YOu had the dream about the bathroom and I posted the meanings from a site about some of that stuff. YOu really have lead an interesting life. I am sorry you have been hurt so much in the process. I hope things are going well for you now. you know if you ever feel like talking, send me an IM and I can give you my number. Its been over a year since I talked to you last on the phone. I think it was your birthday last year.

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