A Mexican SEXican standoff

As of Thursday the 15th, I still had not heard from Kelly since The Blowjob.
 
You'll recall that she asked to stay over Friday night, hinting that she was too tired to drive. 

When I think of Kelly, I am reminded of George Orwell's book, 1984.  It's a creepy story in which people are watched, monitored, to make sure they stay in line.  Even their thoughts are patrolled by police.  As you read it, you quickly get the idea that no one can get away with anything.  
 
That's kind of how I feel about Kelly.  Every time I think I have her licked (er, beaten), she frustrates me somehow.  I can't seem to get away with anything.  Well, not much, anyway... 

As soon as I looked up and saw Kelly at the bar that night, I knew I was fucked.  

Kelly wasn't looking at me at the time.  She was 20 or 30 feet away.  It was noisy and crowded.  It didn't matter.  Kelly was going to find out, somehow, that I was hitting on that waitress, and she did.
 
But as long as I live, I'll never understand why she does certain things.  Kelly didn't react like a normal girl.  She didn't make a big scene at the bar, or storm out, or leave a nasty message on my machine.  No, she came home with me, sucked my dick like a Kirby vacuum, swallowed a huge load of goo, and THEN confronted me about it. 

It makes absolutely no fucking sense.  But that's Kelly.
 
The only thing I can think of is that she likes the idea that I was lulled into a false sense of security.  She let me think I had gotten away with it, and THEN she sprang the revelation on me.  Or maybe she just doesn't care that much.

"So are you gonna call that waitress chick," she says, after blowing me.
 
"It's OK, Kel, I filed for divorce," I say.
 
She shakes her head.  "You just never fucking quit, do you?"  she says.  "You know, I don't need to stay here after all."  She grabs her shoes and keys and takes off  She always says that I can't take it when she one-ups me.  But when I get her, she hates it too.

Almost a week later, I had not spoken to her, not even once.
 
I don't like calling Kelly.  I like that she comes to me.  I like that there is no appearance that I am chasing after her.  And I think she likes that she can see me when it's convenient for her, and that she can dictate the terms (what time, what place, etc.)  So, imagine my reluctance to break the stalemate and contact her. 

She is probably pissed at me for disrespecting her like that, so she may want an apology, or at least an acknowledgement that I did something wrong, and I am sure she would like me to call and offer it.
 
So neither of us wants to call, and both of us are waiting for the other to make a move.  It's a Mexican standoff.  And, since neither of us are getting any from the other while this goes on, it's what I call a SEXican standoff.

I really want to stand on principle, but this is junior high school bullshit.  I'll call if I have to, to break the deadlock.
 
Thursday evening, the 15th.  I am trying to patch a hole in a baseboard.
 
Ding, dong!  The front doorbell.
 
I look at my watch.  It's 9:49.  Only one person comes over this late. 
  
I walk to the front door.  It's Kelly.  I gotta break her of this habit of dropping in unnanounced.
 
"Do you own a telephone?" I say. 

"Why do you ask?" she says, smiling.
 
"You came over without calling."
 
"Well, I guess you don't own one either, since you haven't called me."
 
Smart ass.
 
"We need to talk.  Are you alone?" she says.
 
"Let's go for a walk," I say, striding out the door and closing it behind me.

Now, I know what she is thinking:  I have a girl in the house.  Otherwise, why would I not have let her in?  This is important, as you will see.

"How many girls are you screwing?" she says.
 
Nothing like getting right to the point.  I actually like that in a lady.

"Kel, by now, you've gotta know what you're getting with me.  I'm not ready for-"
 
"I don't want that either!" She says.  "I just want some communication!"  
 
"I didn't know we had a problem in that area."   

"Evidently, we do," she says in a singsong voice, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head as she looks at me.  She's pissed.  Or worse, disappointed.   She's talking about the waitress.  And she wants ME to bring it up.  No dice, honey.
 
"What we have now is the best I can offer you," I say.  "The BEST I can offer.  If that's not enough..."

"Steve, all I am asking you for is a little honesty.  I'm just asking you to tell me how many other people you are sleeping with.  I know we're not exclusive and I don't have a problem with it." 

"Come on, Kel.  What happened to, 'I really like you, Steve, and I really want it to work out,'" I say in a mocking tone.
 
"I DO really like you.  I DO want it to work out.  Otherwise, I wouldn't care at all.  I just want to take it slow right now.  And I'm glad you do, too!" 

I remember how Kelly asked me "where we were going" on Friday.  Is that a question someone asks when they want to "take it slow?"  Maybe, maybe not.  Even if she DOES want a commitment, she doesn't act like it:  She's not clingy, she doesn't call excessively, and she is clearly interested in other people - girls, anyway...
At any rate, I'm pretty sure Kelly won't try to sabotage Lila and I --- IF she finds out about us at all.  Looks like I'll be able to have my cake and eat it too, at least for now.

"What are you going to do with this information, Kelly?  Why do you need to know if I'm with anyone else?"
 
"Because, Steve, it would make me feel better.  And don't even try to tell me that you aren't fucking SOMEONE, because I know you must be; at least ONE besides me, I bet, and probably more."

I am reminded of the concept of "plausible deniability".  Remember when Ken Lay, CEO of Enron, claimed not to know that the company was knee-deep in phony subsidiaries and myriad other dirty accounting tricks to hide the fact that it was losing billions?  People like me, businesspeople, as well as anyone else with half a brain, just rolled our eyes at such bullshit.  Company executives took it upon themselves to jump through incredibly complicated hoops to hide their losses, and didn't tell the CEO?  And he didn't find out about it himself through the normal course of business?

It's crap.  We all know it's crap.  Common sense tells us this.  But common sense is not cold, hard proof.  And unless there IS cold, hard, proof, and as long as his balls are big enough, Ken Lay can keep on smiling and blithely claiming he "didn't know," and no one can prove otherwise.  Plausible deniability.

Shit.  If Ken Lay can claim he didn't know his company was losing billions, surely I can get away with this.

"NONE, Kel.  I'm not sleeping with ANYONE except you.  I just broke up with someone in May.  And I slept with someone when I was travelling a couple of weeks ago, but it was just a one-shot deal."

Guys, if you have to lie to your girl, make sure it's just a little lie, mixed with a lot of truth.  It's like garlic powder:  Use just a pinch, and it's heavenly; use too much, and it fucks up the whole recipe.  Notice, I told a lie, i.e., that I am not sleeping with anyone else, but I mixed it with two truths:  One, that I broke up with someone in May (it was pre-blog), and two, that I slept with someone while I was travelling.  In otherwords, I've been getting laid lately.  That makes it a lot easier to believe that I am not sleeping with anyone else right now.  Get it?

She narrows her eyes at me.  I look at her unblinkingly.  She is studying my face, looking for any trace of evidence that I am lying.

She's BUYING it!! It's WORKING!

"SO?" I ask.

"So what?"

"So, do you feel better now?"

"So who was this girl you slept with while you were travelling?"

"Total dipshit, Kel.  You wouldn't like her.  Not your type.  Oh, and by the way..."

"What?"

"How many other guys are YOU sleeping with?"

"None.  I just broke up with Brad [her husband].  There's a guy at the gym I want to fuck, though."

"Good luck with that," I say.

"By the way, she's got a boyfriend, you know.  That waitress?"
 
"Yeah.  Good to know."
 
We turn and walk back to the house.  She grabs my arm around the bicep with both hands as we walk.  She always holds me that way.
 
"I feel better.  Don't you?" she says.
 
Yeah.  I'm getting this incredible urge to sing "Cumbaya".
 
"Yeah, Kel."
 
"Hey, I've been talking to Taylor.  She wants to hang out next week.  Rob is going to be away, so she's gonna be bored."
 
HOLY SHIT!!!  It's threesome time, baby!  Maybe this time, I can actually do Taylor while Kelly watches.  That would be hot.... 

I get hard.
 
We walk into the house.  "Hope we gave your chick enough time to get out," Kelly says.
 
"Yeah, sure.  Go look at the bed.  Not a wrinkle on it!" I say.
 
"That doesn't prove anything," Kelly says.  "You?  Fuck in a bed?  It'll never happen!"  

Are you starting to see my strategy now?  I don't let Kelly in at first, but we come back to the house, and there is no girl there.  So, next time I don't let her in, she won't be so suspicious.  See?  Now, if I ever actually DO have a girl there, I might be able to get away with it.

It's late, and Kelly has to get up early.  But we make a date for Friday night. 
  
Kelly takes off for home.  I actually feel good.  Relieved.  And I have to respect her for making the first move, and helping to clear the air between us.  I feel like I know the ground rules for us now.  Until she throws me another curve ball...

And I hate to disappoint you guys, but there was no sex to report on Thursday night.  Tell me:  Is this blog worth reading when I don't get any.......?