Bottom line, we should be naked together again.
Honestly the most subtle thing SG has ever texted me.
southern gentleman
So I’m going to send you porn that I think you’ll like. Yes, I know it’s unsolicited and it’s 4:30 in the morning. But don’t judge, this is healthy.
An actual message I found this morning from the Southern Gentleman in my Facebook inbox.
Continued from here.
The Southern Gentleman has a theory about the types of men I’m into. Basically, they fall into one of two categories: a) charismatic Aryans and b) what he calls “effete feminists” but is honestly just cause-oriented hipster-types.
I told him I was going to see Penthouse and before I left he proceeded to ask me, “so, which type is he?”
“You’re a jerk,” I replied.
“Feminist it is, then.”
Thus, when Penthouse texted SG from my phone, he decided to include the fact that he straddled the two categories.
And then proceeded to solicit advice.
“What’s he saying?” I asked.
Penthouse smirked, “he’s saying to feign indifference.” He yanked on the rope, pulling my crotchrope tighter, and I gasped. “But I think I like this better.”
Continued from here.
Penthouse sat on his bed, smiling down at me. I was hogtied at the foot of it, nude, rope slung through my crotch. Every so often, he pulled on the stray end of rope threaded through his bedpost, tightening the knot against my clit.
He noticed I had gotten a text from a certain Gentleman.
A certain Southern Gentleman.
He smirked.
“You can respond, go ahead,” I murmured, already halfway to subspace. Penthouse picked up the phone and responded with a greeting and an update on the situation.
SG responded right away.
And that’s how Penthouse met the Southern Gentleman.
Kind of.
“Rope marks ”
Model: Petya Gencheva
With things being complicated and absurd with the Southern Gentleman and because I have realized that it has been a long time since I have been with a girl, I think it is within reason that I consider the possibilities of a Southern Belle.
Move over, SG.
Last night, SG asked me to friend his girlfriend on Facebook. Why? Because, in his words: “It will make her so happy”.
I’m sorry, what? Excuse me. That’s just about one of the most inappropriate requests to make of me.
I have tried, in the time I have had something going on with SG, to basically avoid talking to his girlfriend. Occasionally, she’ll like something I’ll put on his Facebook or, according to him, ask about how I’m doing. And I’ll do the same for her. But, the two are in a nonmonogamous relationship with no sharing and a sort of out of sight out of mind mentality.
And part of me has had integrity issues in the past with this sort of thing because I feel like she does this solely to appease him. She’s a very traditional girl, not really too bright, but almost painfully kind. Sexually, SG claims she’s not really on-point with what he wants. He complains that he can’t have an intellectual conversation with her. But, she’s sweet and tall and gorgeous and one of those Southern pageant queen types.
Yes, she even has a sash and a crown.
So, naturally, sometimes I feel awkward about the whole thing. Especially when he complains to me about her and how she only does stuff to make him happy and puts me in this really awkward position. And then to ask me to friend her on Facebook to make her happy is almost sort of insulting. As was two minutes later when he awkwardly transitioned into asking me why another girl wasn’t answering his booty-call to her. Which, fine, we discuss the other people we mess around with, but still felt so sleazy and horrible.
Maybe I’m still a little sore after the whole incident with Elle, even though he apologized. But part of me knows that this entire arrangement is becoming demeaning. Some of my friends are pretty insistent that I cut my losses and just get out. And part of me thinks that they are absolutely right.
But I have trouble letting go of people, especially when he offers these weird glimmers of hope amidst the ridiculousness. It’ll be a conversation or a moment or something he’ll say like “I prefer talking politics with you to dirty-talking you. And I really like dirty-talking you” that feels vaguely romantic and then I go God, what a low standard I’ve set for romantic.
There was a time when I was struggling through something for my portfolio and SG goes, “I know you can do it.” And I sort of shrugged him off and he said, “no, actually, I know you can. Because I found some of your work and I looked it over and I know it’s good. Because I still think about it sometimes.” I realized he happened upon something very old of mine in Elle’s house back when he and I were just getting to know each other. I told him I didn’t believe him and he made a reference to some little acute part of it and told me he would look at anything for me. And, lo and behold, he stayed up and did. And I was thinking the whole time, well, shit, he cares.
But I feel like he literally represents everything bad about me that can be found vaguely endearing. And I feel like this is all quickly becoming more trouble than it’s worth. But, I’m having trouble letting go. Because there are feelings there (oy) and that gets all kinds of messy.
So, yeah, I probably need to grow a pair and have a little more self-respect. Eventually.
Strangers With Candy 3×4 Invisible Love
Just thought I’d share this with you all. Because, gosh, I don’t know, it’s somehow relevant.
Essentially, later on that day, as my friends and I were driving around hungover and looking for brunch, I explained to SG where my liquor confidence had come from. Mostly, a lot of liquid. But, also the addition of a new liquid (solid? soquid? I used to know this. Oh, solutions.) to my repertoire.
Which led to this exchange.
All the while, my friend was blasting “No Church in the Wild” and those certain lyrics were coursing through the car as we texted like this. I’ve always felt that song was somehow, a little bit, off. And, yet, in that moment, even if it was cheesily and stupidly appropriate, the song seemed to be right on track.
I woke up before anyone at my friend’s apartment and remembered the text I had sent the night before. Wincing, I checked my phone. SG had responded asking me to explain what was bothering me about it and I realized that we probably needed to talk. I stepped outside, took a seat and sucked in a deep breath.
I told him how I had felt betrayed, that it had seemed that the two of them had gone behind my back, that I had wanted not to care as much as I did. I expressed that I had always feared being used and that I worried I meant nothing to him.
I felt pathetic and childish and far too vulnerable. It was why I had not gotten into it with him previously beyond our initial argument over it when I first found out.
However, he heard me out and then apologized. A lot. For being careless about how I might feel, for assuming I had known and wouldn’t mind, for snapping at me when I had confronted him, and for making me feel the way I did. He explained he wasn’t aware at the time of how rude Elle had been to me lately and how she had done this behind my back and he felt horribly for having put me through what I described to him on the phone.
I was shocked. I don’t know why, but sometimes I just don’t have enough faith in people. So, I was pleasantly surprised.
“I care about you a lot,” he reassured me near the end, “you mean a lot to me. And I’m really sorry.”
While it’s not enough to get me to jump back into bed with him right away, it was an extremely satisfying resolution. And it feels nice to not have to just sit around quietly resenting him and not expressing how I felt, something I know I need to work on in the future.
So, in total, Drunk Ivy initiated a pretty major success.
Drunk Ivy is silly. She’s an interesting dancer, she often starts rapping and she has a pretty unusual sense of humor. She gives a lot of hugs. She sometimes gets a little too introspective if left to stew for too long. She can be very convincingly sober if a situation arises.
And she always, always speaks her mind.
I went out with a bunch of friends last night for a friend’s 21st birthday. By the time the night was winding down, we wound up sitting around in a pub, resting our feet, giggling and catching up. Right around last call, SG started texting me.
While Drunk Ivy is a very talented texter, she was a little more open to his conversation and what eventually turned into flirtation. At one point, the Southern Gentleman said, “I can’t wait to have you again.”
Normally, I would have been silly and brushed it off. He’s been pretending what happened didn’t happen, avoiding conversation around it, and I have followed his lead. I’ve quietly resented him for it the whole way. And, at first, the response was a little coy quip of “if I allow you.”
He was cocky. I suppose he thought I had moved on. And so he assured me that I definitely would because he knew my body and detailed this in a pretty naughty text that perhaps, under other circumstances, would have made me blush.
But, Drunk Ivy took matters into her own hands and replied: “You will never, ever have me again after what you did.” With that, now back at her friend’s apartment, she fell asleep, totally unashamed.
And, this morning, Hungover Ivy got the apology that she deserved.
So, apparently this cluster of gifs is from Weeds.
The gentleman looks a lot like SG. Who was trying to text me the other day and was being very sweet (and a little flirty) but, I’m sorry, I still haven’t gotten a formal apology where he identified what he did and why it was fucked up. I got more of a “oh, that thing I did was fucked up, ah well”.
But, jeez, followers, this little cluster of gifs over here really gets me thinking.
Ugh. Just masturbate it out, Ivy.