The Inner Slut

This is my game:

When I'm out with a guy, I want to feel like I'm the only one. Never mind if it's just play-pretend. In fact, that's what the game is all about. For me. I don't play it because I want to go out to dinner at a fancy place, or go bar-hopping, or spend the night at some posh hotel, or -- horrors! -- because I want to please the guy I'm with. I play it because I like to feel good about myself. I don't care if it's only a game. I don't care about reality (i.e., that I've no real long-term relationship going for me). It's willing suspension of disbelief (i.e., I choose to ignore the fact that this guy's leaving in a few hours or days and I might not even see him again). In the end, it's got nothing to do with the guy.

It's all about me.

Marge said, keep it light. Referring to Tom, of course. I found the statement out of place then. Now I know why. The premise on which it was based is erroneous. It wasn't deep in sentiment, this "arrangement" with Tom. It was based on an expectation, that he, too, was playing my game.

The guys in this game are faceless, with the exception of my Dale and Carl, who are no longer in the game, but situated in my reality. Which is actually scary, come to think of it. Referring to my Dale and Carl, of course. But that's an entirely different story. There is nothing to fear from faceless people. The loss of one is easily overcome, easily replaced by another faceless person. That's my safety net.

I found Tom attractive because he just is. His enthusiasm for life is infectious. But he's not playing the game for the same reasons I am. Thus, the conflict, creating in my mind the impression of rejection. The Inner Slut was right, after all. I should keep away from him.