Dear Frank,
When it comes to being faithful, I find myself, yet again, on
the fence. Here I sit, unsure of which side I should lean, caught
between two fields: devotion and indifference…
When a woman walks into a bar, I, unlike most men, respect her
enough not to buy her a drink. I think to myself, not this time, she
might be one of the good ones, and I would ruin her. However, I’m
still a man and I’d be lying if I said, the thought didn’t tempt me.
Besides, it’s not like women make it easy. Like clockwork, the
cocktails flow, the cigarettes are smoked, and eventually the
temptation of cock and acquiring a quick fix sits comfortably in her
mind. I can only pray that she is in fact one of the good ones and does
not make the mistake of attempting to engage in conversation. The
last hope for humanity is, without a doubt, masturbation.
I’m wondering if I should head out and call it a night, but I am
down to my last cigarette and I don’t have a light. Get your ass out of
here while you still can, she has yet to make eye contact with you.
Don’t take it personally; you can still walk out of this shit-bar with
your head held high, you have no reason to stay here. Too late.
Well, fuck me Frank, may I just say how much I hate being right?
Sure enough, as if it had already been written in the stars, five minutes
before last call, she had already stumbled her way to my side in
pursuit of what I could only assume was an excuse for a quick fuck. I
told myself over and over, not this one, you’ll ruin her, but since
when is it my fault that the majority of women in this day and age will
walk into bars and by their own choice, make every attempt to cling
to the one type of man their father had warned them about? What the
fuck should I care? Besides, if not me, then it’ll just be somebody
else. She’s begging for it.
I blame my pig-headed persistence to pursue personal pleasure as
to why I respect her enough not to buy her a drink.
