Lieutenant PS -4.7

This PS (potential suitor) has earned himself a name rather than just a number designation. This is because he had muscles I did not know existed. Additionally I did exclusively call him “lieutenant” for the duration of our tryst. Partially because it so clearly inflated his ego, but more so because I was still trying on my newfound sexuality for size. So this felt boundary-pushing provocative.

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Anyway … he is PS -4.97 because he happened so long ago, (ummm… kind of. half way…) and he truly was never meant to impact the broader story. The lieutenant was one of my first dates I had after my break up from Dionysus. I had begrudgingly gotten on tinder (correction: my best friend forced me to get on tinder, at which point we (my best friend and I) matched and started sleeping together the same night. But honestly this portion is relatively unrelated at this time, so let’s just push pause there.)

As many of you know, Tinder is most often a completely useless tool unless you want to just lose a little bit of hope in humanity overall. So my expectations were low when I first got to swiping. Enter: lieutenant. He looked a bit like Elvis Presley in his super hot years.  Not only that, but he was also a lieutenant scientist! I know.  So on one hand he would send me snap chats from work that looked like this scholarly gentleman, but then he would get naked and he looked like an actual mythological god of some kind. He legitimately even had a chest tattoo like this.original

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We went on one date. I promptly realized he was undoubtedly the worst, so I told him this and asked him if he was at least a good kisser. Now is probably an important time to disclose that we were sitting on a vibrating chair at the time, so my wits weren’t completely about me in the moment. (Long story, but please click that link for a better idea of my circumstance.) Anyway, he just so happened to be an excellent kisser, and I was 2 extra dirty vodka martinis in. So I said (likely sort of shakily), “I am going to fuck you tonight.” To which he replied, “Ok, I will text you my address.”  He paid for drinks, and I begrudgingly left the chair. Upon arrival at his house, we began your usual process of undressing each other while kissing when suddenly I realized that I was feeling a variety of muscles which I previously did not know existed. “WHAT?! AM I BEING PUNK’D?! Oh my god, lieutenant… this can’t be your actual body?!?!?!?!,” I proclaimed like the totally normal and composed person that I am.


We had sex a few more times after that first night. Each time I would text my girlfriends incredulously afterwards with photos and stories of how this man gave me access to his completely unnatural hotness. At one point I remember drunkenly requesting outright that he be my sex slave. I honestly don’t remember much about him other than that. He kind of was just this wonderful spring board from monogamy to my future recklessness.

Then…

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About 5 or 6 months ago, I was leaving a party where I saw a few exes, and I had scrolled ALL THE WAY THROUGH my “U up” Rolodex as my totally healthy visceral reply to suppressing any feelings about said sightings. A couple of burned bridges, one non-reply, and finally I dialed the number I hated even scrolling to…

He answered the phone sleepily… “Hello? Wait. Leah?”

(Yeah. I CALLED him. This is the extent to which I was not fucking around here. I want to be ashamed of this, but frankly, I am not.) “Yes. Hey, Lieutenant. Listen. I am honestly  furious that I am even calling you, but you are obviously in bed and not doing anything. So I am coming over and you are fucking me.”

“Uuuuuhhh… yeah… ok….? uuuuhhh…….”

“Text me your address!” I all but screamed, then hung up.

Still not satisfied that I had let him know the extent to which I was disgusted at my own regression to his rock hard scapuspinoabdominal muscles or whatever, I stormed into his house, began removing my clothes, looked him dead in the eyes, and said “I have to pee. But if you don’t make me cum at least twice after that, I never want to speak to you again.”


(He didn’t)


Either way this was a non-event, and I had continued my prowl for more suitable partners in the meantime. A few weeks ago we began a rather silly series of message exchanges until last week, he sent this.

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… And that’s when the universe yet again chuckled as it reminded me to stop texting dudes I never even gave a shit about in the first place when I am trying to learn to give a shit about things again. #celibacy

Le sigh… xx-Leah

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