Part I of “I am a whore” can be found by either clicking on the link or scrolling down ever-so-slightly.
So, Tom, dictionary.com and my logic have determined that I’m not, indeed, a whore. Though, to reiteriate, this is only due to the fact that I’m sexually stunted… sort of. To explain, I’m not a virgin or anything… that would be kind of randomly fucked (ha! see what I did there?). However, I’ve never actually had sex while sober. This tends to happen when one is consistently high and/or drunk for 10 years. This brings up the fact that I may not actually remember all of my sexual encounters. So, there’s that, but what can one do in that regard? eh…
By sex, I don’t mean oral or some sort of kiddie ride version of sex… but actual sex.
On with the story:
In addition, I’ve never had sex with one person more than once. That, in itself, totally sounds: whore! The aforementioned with the exception of Mr Leaving West Hollywood. Whom, you may remember from his brief appearance in American Idiot (the musical) & Me (the liar). And with Mr Leaving West Hollywood, the sex was basically constant, as he is insatiable. But again, it was a very sad sort of pickled-liver alcoholic craziness.*
*wait, not only Mr LWH, possibly (I feel most likely)… lets call him Mr. Not-Alive-Anymore (aka Dead Phil). Now, the not-alive-anymore-part has nothing to do with either the author or drugs. Literally, some kind of freak accident. He was sweet and probably (literally) saved my life more times than I can remember. These were the days of primo-primo-junkie-meth. This is 23rd Street. I am young and wide-eyed and blissed beyond the imaginable. In NY, that particular summer, there was a massive brown-out. This is the only time that I remember the goings-on (in flashes)… and Mr. NAA saving my life. I know it was bad. And I know that I am alive. But that is another story. (and I will tell it… as much as I can remember because he did save my life). Anyway, for “I am a whore” purposes… he, like Mr LWH was someone that I believe that I’ve had sex with more than once. But unlike Mr LWH, Mr NAA wasn’t a crazed sex-fiend .
And, so there’s that. I mean, as far as sexual history goes… that’s what you’re gonna get right now.
Whatever the above amounts to, though, we’ve decided that, at least literally, I’m not a whore. However, it doesn’t explain anything about the fact that I feel like one.
So, he pays for everything, he is a thousand years older than me and I probably wouldn’t hang out with him, if he couldn’t help me (job-wise) and/or pay for everything. So, on the surface, atleast, it all looks very “whore”. I must say that I do enjoy his company and can actually have an interesting conversation with him… but then again, if one is pouring alcohol down my throat, I can probably have interesting conversation with a turtle.
But mostly, this is the complete opposite of my M.O. I don’t get random things for being eye-candy on someone’s arm. Simply because I am not eye-candy. I like my rapscallion homeless vibe. This is one thing that I have a hard time reconciling.
Again, to be continued. Sorry.
Though, to backtrack here, from a self-professed whore, here is another definition:
- What being a whore means to me (honestldngirl.wordpress.com)