The Truth about Letting Someone You're Dating Read Your Web Page, II 3/30/00

Hello-there, all. I have this strange feeling that this is going to be one of my longer Truths. Let's dive right in, shall we?

First, as a prerequisite (in order for this Truth to make a little more sense), you should probably have a peek at what I wrote in this month. They sortta relate.

Back already? Good ... now you're ready to read a letter I recently received:

Dear Mr. Steele,

Okay, here's a question . is there some reason why we who are over, say 30, must refer to our current (and they are only current ones, not permanent ones, right?) squeezes as "boyfriend" and "girlfriend"? I mean, how bloody inane are those words? Can we not come up with something better?

I mean, here I am, over, well, okay let's just say over 30 . (she clears her throat) . and I have this GREAT guy in my life. He's tall, blonde, handsome - hell, gorgeous - great in bed - okay, he's AMAZING - good job, great sense of humor AND the strength of ten (I kid you not). So, anyway, we go to parties, I want to introduce him to my friends, right? And it goes "Louise, I want you to meet my ." Uh. Uh. My BOYFRIEND? I mean, if you could see the guy from where you're sitting, you would have to agree that this is NOT a boy. This is a MAN. But I can hardly say "Louise, I want you to meet my MANFRIEND." How stupid is THAT? And in certain circles it's just bad manners to say "Hey, Louise, meet that great lay I was telling you about."

So, here's my question Mr. Steele. Where the hell did this stupid name start, and why didn't it get upgraded as we grew, uh, older? AND give me a suggestion or two for how I may properly introduce my . uh .


Step and Fetch

Whole World ... I'd like to introduce you to my Latest Squeeze. Latest Squeeze, Whole World. And in answer to your question, you can feel free to refer to me as either 'My Meat Puppet,' 'My Piece of Ass,' 'My Inferior Half,' 'My Wrestling Partner,' or just simply, 'Big Daddy.'

And the whole 'boyfriend/girlfriend' thing ... unfortunately, since our language doesn't have male and female versions of words (i.e., amigo y amiga), we have to slap 'boy' or 'girl' to the front of that word to indicate exactly what sort of friend this friend is. And since our first 'friend of the opposite sex' is generally either a boy or a girl, we're trapped with that forever and ever.

Of course, I don't have a clue why girls can have 'girlfriends' but boys can't have 'boyfriends' -- that is, unless they're willing to commit an Unnatural Act. Not that I mind ... I'm comfortable using 'friend' for my male friends. In fact, I generally use 'buddy,' because even 'friend' can sound a little strange. 'Buddy.' Nothing dangerous about that one.

And on the subject of danger ...

She actually sent me two e-mails on that day. The other ... well ... let's just say that I don't think it was originally intended for this web page. But sometimes, Gentle Reader, you just have to take the Big Chances.

(You see? You see how scary it is to date someone with their own personal space out here? This is exactly why I suggested you never do it in a past Truth.) (But, oh well.)

I've just spent two hours scanning The Truth's ...

Brace yourselves, everyone ... we're about to go trip-trip-trippin' down Memory Lane and Past Truths.

Oh my.

Yup. Here it comes.

And, of course, darlin', I have a few questions ...


... but I need to stop laughing first. I last read the whore house one ... and at the apparently very REAL risk of ending up on your particular brand of Poor Party (that would be Mr. Steele's Truths, wouldn't it? Why, yes it would, and thanks for asking...) Oh man, the whore house one. Remind me someday to tell you about the female equivalent ... or the male equivalent .. you know, where women can buy cock just like men buy pussy. You know. Or maybe you don't know. It's a strange phenomenon, one I've only seen in very weird places in Florida. Okay, one place, one time, and my girlfriends may have been pulling my leg ... but it's a great story IF you get me drunk enough ... I may even tell it to you. Maybe.

If I get you 'drunk enough,' I very much doubt that Q&A will leap to mind as a possible activity.

So I'm reading this Truth About Whore Houses, and I'm thinking to my self "Self, He NEVER told he made it with a working girl. Jesus, I hope he wore a condom. Well, of COURSE he wore a condom, he wrote Passed Around didn't he ...

... Passed Around ... most of you haven't read the screenplay I wrote. I'll get back to that inna sec ...

... and didn't Jack always say "ALWAYS use a condom"? But then, he never said to me on that first date (um, Miraculous Monday did you say?) -- so, should I wear a condom ... " So, anyway, then I decided not to worry about it ... and just kept reading. And so, okay, you got me ... no NOT on Miraculous Monday - GAH - ... with The Truth. You're something, you know that? Of COURSE you do.

So, here's some questions ....

I don't wall stencil, needlepoint, wear uncomfortable shoes (did I complain ONE time when we went walking on Sunday? I think not.) Nor do I do macrame ... Is that what gave you your first clues that I'd sleep with other chicks? (See, The Truth about Bisexual Chicks) Come on, you can tell ME the Truth.

Is she hip, or what? I mean, is there a better catch than a women who'll sleep with other women? No, I think there is not.

Oops ... hope she doesn't mind my putting that on the page. Ah well. Guess I'll know soon enough.

Oh -- but she lied about not wearing uncomfortable shoes. Don't believe her for a second. I remember one day in particular where she kept talking about the fact that her feet hurt because, 'her shoes weren't broken in yet.' And the next day, she wore those shoes again.

"There, that oughta hold ya"? (A reference to the same Truth ... cross-referenced with something I said to her in bed one morning after ... um ... ahem.) That gave me a scare ... "Good god, could this great lay I been a-sleepin with really be a bi-sexual woman?" No, I reassured myself, it simply means HE'D sleep with other chicks ... hmmm ... wait just a damned minute here ...

And, do I qualify as the Perfect Date? I ask you ... I mean, hell's bells, I deserve a Truth about that I think ... Haven't we had a FEW of them ourselves (you tell me, you're counting, you're the one with the bet!)

Her friends started a pool, as to how many dates I would last before I joined the Poor Party™, so quite naturally I offered to arrange my dumping on the date chosen by whoever would split the money with me.

Oh, like you haven't all done that before. Gimme a break.

... Do I need to write you a teaser letter with a question first? I mean, after all, you've written truths without letters first -- remember the exercise bike you killed?>

Okay ... this is a very fair question. She's right, she does deserve a Truth about her. And here it is. However, I can't rightly say that this is what she had in mind ...

And the reason I haven't put anything out here about her up to this point is that there hasn't really been anything funny about the dates. They've just been ... really ... nice. And I mean, 'nice,' in that good-way; not 'nice' as in 'my three-hundred pound roommate who wants to date you has a 'nice' personality.' I mean 'nice' like Barry White would say it: Nice.

My last question - that's a lie, I'm inquisitive, I'm curious, I'm FEMALE -is your Angry Place giving up Real Estate to your Happy Place lately???

Unequivocally: Yes. My Angry Place has gotten so small, it only costs $.75 to cross it in a taxi cab these days.

Oh, and (told you it was a lie...) did we have Sex that would launch a thousand ships? Sex so traumatic it gave you flashbacks? Sex that Shakepeare wrote plays about? I know I felt Galactically supernailed, how's about you?? And how come we haven't tried that position in its full out possibility? I thought you told me that there was only one thing that would make you say that "L" word again ... and that was Magic Pussy ... hmmmm .... what's the Truth about that, my darlin'?

And, back to the screenplay. The great scholar Van Grymm (aka Nyrve) referred to it as, 'a romantic comedy with penetration.' And no -- I'm not talking Market Penetration, here. I'm talking good, old fashioned penetration just like grandpa used to serve up to grandma.

In answer to your question, Darlin' -- the earth moved, and even the moon took a bad shaking. And that sexual position you asked about ... well, hmm ... doing anything this weekend?

And .... wait, I'll think of something else, I'm sure ... OH ... AND, if I've now succumbed and told you I love you, that makes me ... what was it that Truth said? Boring? The hunt is over? I thought you told me the Hunt was over with the walk down the paper aisle. Oh, dear oh dear. Say it isn't so ... I'm not through with you yet!

I think that's why I've always liked head-strong women ... the hunt is never really over, with one of those.

You know, at the real risk of ending up being boring to you because the mystery is all gone (as IF ... I have to be one of the most mysterious women you've ever known - uh, don't I? I mean, I damned sure ain't typical. IN FACT, if I EVER do anything typical, hit me, I mean, really smack me, in the back of the head.... that'll teach me) ...

Back of the head? What fun is that, Darlin'? Nope ... if you do something typical, it's right-over-my-knee with ya for a good, sound Paddling.

... all that reading of Truths made me love you even more ... well, at least LIKE you even more and baby that's sayin something.

Just 'like?' Jeez ... what's a guy gotta do? Publish a freakin' novel, or somethin'? Oh ... wait ... I did that.

You really want to know what makes a woman tick? I'll tell ya: when a man surprises her ...

Heh-heh ... I think seeing this letter on the Truth page just might qualify. Surprise!

Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh ... it's funny, 'cause I'm such a dead-man.

... (not with trinkets, baubles and flowers though these certainly have their place in the "He's definitely getting a blow job tonite department") but with WHO he is and how is with her ... when a man makes a woman laugh (not AT him, though, that's a BAD thing, turns the ticking right off) ... and when a man says "I'm dead inside" oh, about twelve million times and then says I love you ... on the seventh date ...

She claims to have forgotten, but she actually told me first, and on the 6th date.

So there.

Write me, snoogie-oogums ...


Gah! That snoogie-oogums thing ... that's just a joke. She doesn't really call me that. I think I suggested over a pillow one morning that we needed cutsie nicknames for each other. And actually, she was going to be 'Snoogie-Oogums.' So, just disregard that you ever read that, Gentle Reader.

Well, I think I've dug this hole quite-deep-enough. I hope you enjoyed the Nostalgic Truth as much as I did sure to tune in next time, to find out whether or not she threw me a rope, or began filling the hole back in with me at the bottom.