Even if the dire unavailability of parking in Jeanette’s neighborhood had made the task of meeting her at her apartment for sex seem daunting, only minimally rewarding, I always had a thing for girls who looked like the nerdy Chipette and this fact added a feeling of urgency to a situation marred with inevitable difficulty. Parking matters; inadequate parking is as off-putting as a bridge or toll, and I distinctly remember cursing the wind on an early August morning in 2006, drunk out of my skull, taking the parkway home because I was forced by law to relinquish my hard-fought spot, as per alternate side rules, and couldn’t find a new one anywhere.
How would I have explained this to a dutiful officer of the law? Would he have been so kind as to understand the inadequacies of parking in that god forsaken, asshole neighborhood?
Luckily my intoxicated journey was cunningly executed without police intervention, but the scars remained, and while I would have thought that no amount of implied sex was worth dealing with this asshole neighborhood again, she looked like the godamn chipmunk, so I felt compelled to piss in the wind and live out every Saturday morning fantasy I had clumsily composed in 1986.
Parking wasn’t as arduous as imagined, but when I got to her apartment, I immediately picked up on her game: she bamboozled me.
She met me at the door and suggested we get dinner. Yeah, that’s cute. It was only twelve hours prior that I had the Chipette squealing like a pig over the phone. Phone sex is a lost art.
You simply must come over and watch the fireworks, she told me. It was the fourth of July. People would be out in the country having the kind of picnics that you only see on TV- at public parks with rusty, foil-covered grills.
If there was ever a time to find parking, this was it.
But it was a serious case of bamboozlement. I declined the dinner suggestion, which was certainly the correct course of action. You don’t negotiate with a terrorist. I should have found a way out then, really, but the perceived effort in parking lent a contrived gravitas to the situation. Even still, staying was the wrong move to make.
We go for drinks and I pay. She wants this to be transactional; I concede. The law of the jungle is self-perceived value- violent interactions; verbal warfare; jockeying for position. Find yourself on the losing end of baseline adequacy, falling shy of meeting her inflated expectations, and she’ll find a way for you to make up the difference: pay for pussy. No price posted. How are your negotiating skills? Put in a bid and hope for the best.
One drink.
Rejected. She wants a table. She wants dinner. You just have to try their Yoshi Tatsu spring rolls, she says. An appetizer, of course. Her drinks keep coming. Hayabusa’s Exploding Anus for dessert.
When the bill comes I have her pay for what she ordered.
She’s shocked. She’s livid. She’s having a low-key, passive aggressive fit.
Her attempt at a sexual bait-and-switch had failed. Turns out her pussy wasn’t worth a hundred dollar tab at the Samurai King. Back to reality. Maybe next time I’ll be invited up, she says through gritted teeth.
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KTP 
This entire post is hysterical, and full of awesome. I read it in my car just now before driving to work today, and had to take several deep breaths to get my laughter under control.
“Single Jewish Women”, indeed. 😉
When the bills comes I have her pay for what she ordered.
She’s shocked. She’s livid. She’s having a minor manic passive aggressive fit.
See, this is something that I’m glad men are figuring out. Namely, that these types of women don’t actually want to share in the physical and emotional delight that is intercourse with a likewise willing partner (aka what sex should be). Instead they want to be undeservedly pampered with material goods like food, jewelry, flowers, etc obtained by the financial means of their potential partner. Then maybe…maybe…if he’s spent enough, her golden pussy will be opened to him.
Bullshit.
I have a FwB of 9 years.
We like having sex. Sex is fun.
Ergo, whenever time is convenient for both of us, we have sex. It’s always very satisfying, because we openly communicate about what we want to do that day. There’s no need for exchanging finances, or going out for dinner beforehand (though sometimes we do afterwards, because sexytime ➡ hungrytime, and I usually pay for us), or buying drinks, or giving/receiving gifts in order for the sex to happen.
Why? Because the only exchange going on is sex for sex. If someone ever says they want to share sex with you, but then proceed to make you jump through hoops to get said sex…they don’t actually want sex. They want you to pay the toll.
9 year FwB??
The “where is this going?” question should be forthcoming from her any day now…
Hi there Kid Jupiter,
I know it wasn’t apparent from my comment, but I’m technically the female half of said relationship. I just have gender dysphoria, so I don’t think of myself as female or care about the things that most vaginally-endowed people do. So yeah…I’ve always had 0% desire for marriage, a ring, or sharing a home, and the thought of me getting pregnant is quite honestly nightmarish. Luckily that is impossible since he got “snipped” 11 years ago. (I’m currently 31, he’s 46.)
Both of us know precisely where this is going. It’s “going” to stay exactly as is, with both of us retaining our freedom, financial independence (though yes, I do happily pay for 95% of our “dates”) and separate houses while sharing a great friendship based on mutual love of sex and our nerdy hobbies/games. Hope this explains things a little bit better?
Btw, if I was a “real” woman, I’d absolutely agree that he’d likely have been bombarded with the “what are we/where is this going” shit by now. FwB don’t usually seem to last beyond the 2 year mark according to common manosphere knowledge.
She wants this to be transactional; I concede.
Hey KtP,
How exactly does this kind of request even go down? It is literally a case of her directly stating “I’ll invite you in if you buy me X”, or is it more an implied thing?
It’s always very passive aggressive. She met me at her door with a smile and said, “how about… dinner?” When I offered drinks instead, she bit, but at the bar she pushed for a table by telling me about how great the place was, etc, with the idea that the man should pay; at that point, it’s flat out assumption to the point where it’s uncomfortable asking for separate checks.
I think as a woman, she was thinking that a “gentleman should take a lady on a date,” which provides some kind of silent permission for sex to take place.
When I offered drinks instead, she bit, but at the bar she pushed for a table by telling me about how great the place was…
Sounds like a complete bait-and-switch on her part. Say yes to X, then push for X+1, then X+2…soon enough, you’re at Y, which was not what you originally agreed to. Very manipulative and pathetic.
You have my sympathy, for what it’s worth. It’s due to stories like this that I hope more men find happiness in “going their own way”.
I have no issue with paying for a woman’s dinner, but in this situation the correct response would have been, “You want to invite ME out to dinner? How very modern of you, ok I accept 🙂 “
What is “beta male bait-and-switch”?
In my agreeing to get a table and sit down to eat, especially after I bought her a drink, she was thinking I’d pay for dinner which is why she had no issues driving up the tab with multiple drinks, dessert, etc.. And she was shocked as shit when I asked for separate checks and only paid for my little Diet Coke and Masato Tanaka chicken.
I’m still not sure what this is about, but I love it and I rarely even like most things.