That Thing You Do

Dirty pleasure movies (in no particular order)

  • Shakespeare in Love
  • High Fidelity
  • That Thing You Do
  • Good Will Hunting
  • Space Jam

Are any of the above movies available for consumption somewhere that I am present? If so, I am watching it.

Outside of its iconic classiness and impeccable musical intersections, That Thing You Do always stands out to me for containing one of the best lines a man could ever possibly utter to a woman. “When’s the last time you were good and kissed?” (Note: Dionysus once asked me a similar-ish question but if memory serves me correctly, he also fucked me in a stairwell shortly thereafter, so like… the writing was really on the wall there. Anyway…)

In my time of being a full blown slut bag for a couple of years, the biggest thing that I missed was … just… kissing. Making out.   With or without agenda.

—-

Think about it though! Think about the last time that you were good. and. kissed. There really is something gorgeous attached to that. And I had (have?) essentially eliminated it as a portion of my interactions with humans since I was last in a relationship. Which is ABSURD! Kissing is the best! It is one of my favorite hobbies, and IMHO one of my resume worthy skills. But it only sort of occurred incidentally since I stopped having sex with feelings. Even really good kisses were slightly cheapened because they were exclusively a mechanism to kill time in the broader sex process.

So when was it? When was the last time that I felt like I was good and kissed?

Enter John.

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John is one of my best friends on the whole planet. He has seen me through my wonderful and less than stellar moments with most of the men who you will see mentioned here. In fact, he has had this weird ability to actually be very, very close friends with all of the men who have come and gone. He is just really… cool. Like the kind of dude that you could drop in literally any room or any conversation and he would figure out a way to connect with someone within it. Additionally he knows the absolute worst and most absurd parts of me, but he just so happens to somehow be willing to hang out anyway.  He is wildly clever and extremely interesting. He is incredible at his job (which just so happens to mean he is also great with kids), and he is just one of those rare gems of a human in my life. To make matters even worse, John and I are both just make out seeking missiles the second we consume alcohol.

Editor’s note: I know. I know what you are thinking, so let’s just go ahead and address it before we go any further down this trail. John and I 100% could never and should never be together. And that’s it. We’ve both always known that, and we have largely conducted ourselves accordingly. And before you ask, yes – OF COURSE I have thought about John as being more. No less than a hundred times and with increasing frequency as other men came and went and he stayed. But no matter how many times it has crossed my mind, I have known that it’s not even worth it to risk a conversation on the matter. Not to mention an actual attempt at something.  

John also just so happens to be a total fuck boy.  But he does it in this extra shitty way where I KNOW he does fuck boy things but is also the greatest man I have ever met.

Anyway – now for the kissing part…


Given the aforementioned fuck boy tendencies and our shared propensity for kissing literally everyone, at some point I realized that it was actually absurd that John and I never kissed. So in true Leah fashion, I began to bring it up ALL THE TIME. Like to the point of awkwardness. I would regularly reinforce that it was totally lame that we hadn’t kissed and feign hurt when he would ignore my staged advances.

Then one night we went to an event together for a local non-profit then went out for drinks and dancing after. (This is an important time to mention that John was also socially off limits because his best friend banged the brakes off of me for a little over a year and we formed a sort of Three Musketeers trio during this time. This is also another reminder that I really need to finish this glossary of suitors so you all can keep these men straight, eh? Ok. I promise I will soon.) As we were leaving the bar, our friend group was trickling out one-by-one to move on to the next location. I walked out of the bar into a hallway. I looked around to see where everyone was, and the only person who I saw was John standing on the other side of some glass doors that led to the parking garage where our cars were. I started walking towards him and as soon as the door opened, it was just very apparent what was happening…

So after months of half-jokes and ridiculous self-imposed boundaries. John and I kissed.

It was perfect. It was simple. It was one of the safest, loveliest kisses I have ever experienced. Then we just released each other as I stuttered my way through saying… something… I don’t honestly remember what… Our other friends joined us and we all just walked away.


A couple of months later, we would kiss again. Drunkenly. Hastily. And with much more touching. We were in the home of the third musketeer, and John had a girl visiting him from out of town. Said girl was very clearly jonesin’ for some John love, but he vehemently denied any interest in hooking up with her. At one point, his guest and the third musketeer went outside to play with / let out the dog. Again without conversation or really any previous indicators during the evening that something was going to happen, I found myself furiously kissing John. During this particular tryst he accomplished a feat which still mystifies me to this day in that he briefly fingered me while I was wearing a floor length formal dress. This kiss was completely different from the first. It was almost unsettled. It was intense, graciously limited on both the space it had to escalate or overthink, passionate, and once again – annoyingly perfect.

It stopped as quickly as it began (and PRAISE THE LORD) only seconds before the other two came back inside. We walked opposite directions…

John  went home and had sex with that girl. I woke up the next morning in bed with the Third Musketeer… But that’s the thing with John. He can somehow be the last man to kiss me well and also be the man who fucks another girl after that kiss. And that’s why he can also be the one man who holds my whole heart and soul in certain moments, but also not the man that I choose to kiss regularly. But luckily these moments remind me why I am celibate now in hopes of kissing a best friend/ passionate lover sometime again in the future. Apparently that’s the thing that breeds the best kisses? Meh. We shall see…

So that’s it. That’s the last time I was good and kissed. When was yours?

xx- Leah

p.s. John, if you use this as collateral to make out with other women, I will harm you physically.

Kermit meme

Me: 😬😍😬😍 he’s hilarious. He asked you out on an actual date in the smoothest, yet weirdest possible way. He knows you’re not going to have sex with him on said date, and conversation has INCREASED after that rather than the opposite. He has the cutest fucking curly hair……

Also me: 🐸 nah. Just like … go balls out in the awkward weirdness and just see…

🤷🏽‍♀️xx- Leah

Music Therapy

In all of his wisdom, my therapist has learned that sometimes it is best to speak to me through music. He felt pretty proud of this one given it even references his profession.

“Daddy Issues”

(Go)

I call you too much
You never pick up
Except when you wanna fuck
And I can’t get enough
You’re the man of my dreams
‘Cause you know how to leave
But I really believe that you’d change it for me

You’re unavailable
(You’re unavailable)
I’m insatiable

Lucky for you, I got all these daddy issues
What can I do?
I’m going crazy when I’m with you
Forget all the therapy that I’ve been through
Lucky for you
I got all these daddy issues…

Don’t know how to commit
But I might want your kid
And after our first kiss
Got your name on my wrist
Yeah, I get a little obsessive
A little aggressive, a little bit too invested
And whatever you want, whenever you want
That’s what you get ’cause

You’re unavailable
(You’re unavailable)
I’m insatiable

Never enough
Addicted to love with the wrong one

Lucky for you, I got all these daddy issues
What can I do?
I’m going crazy when I’m with you
Forget all the therapy that I’ve been through
Lucky for you, I got all these daddy issues
(All these daddy issues)
Daddy issues
(All these daddy issues)
Daddy issues
(All these daddy issues)
Daddy issues, daddy issues

xx- Leah/ Demi (and our daddy issues)

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