Sexless and Happy

By: M

Love was in the air…and all I could do was gasp for a fresh breath. Valentine’s Day made me sick. I was convinced that this “celebration” of sorts was a government conspiracy to boost the economy after the holiday consumer slump. I was a self proclaimed Bitter Betty. In fact, I had never been too keen on good ol V-day, and after two sexless Valentine Days in a row, I didn’t want to see red or pink ever again.

It was then that I had the “cupid epiphany.” It was almost as if a heart shaped light went off in my head. Why had I never realized this before? Valentine’s Day was in fact a gold mine for singles. That’s right. V-day is the one day a year that is sort of like a free-day for the loveless: It doesn’t count. It’s like Vegas—the second you’re out of the damn city, you automatically have a clean slate and you suddenly never danced topless on the stripper pole, lost two grand, or cheated on you adoring boyfriend. Valentines Day was the one day a year that singles were out on the prowl for other like minded anti-love individuals. You could go to a random singles party, drink too much, and go home with that half way decent guy from across the bar…(who may or may not be that cute intern you saw in the elevator at work) and then wake up the next day like nothing ever happened. Once I realized the desperation that surrounded all the loveless people out there on this one single, solitary day, the most nauseating celebration of the year suddenly became my new favorite holiday.

But last year…last year was different. Monumental in fact. Thinking back, my actions may have been caused by an extremely high fever, or bumping my noggin too hard against the headboard of my bed. Whatever had caused this lack in judgment, will hopefully never happen again.

It was late January and as usual, all the corner drug stores and flower shops started to put up hearts and cut outs of chubby babies in diapers shooting arrows in their windows. It was at that moment that I experienced something that I had never felt before. I was like the Grinch who suddenly grew a heart. I found myself eager…okay, desperate, to be one of them. I wanted the cheesy box of chocolates and candle lit dinner. I wanted a cute, clean shaven guy on my doorstep with cheap flowers and a teddy bear that I would give my dog to chew up the next day. I wanted it all.

As I laid in bed, my dark room only lit by the florescent light of my cell phone’s screen, I scrolled through every name in my phone book looking for a last minute flame. Unfortunately, it appeared that I had burned all my bridges. I had to start fresh. I had exactly three weeks to find a man that would sit in front of his computer googling my name to make sure I had no arrest records. This was going to be difficult…especially because almost all of my partners in crime had boyfriends and wouldn’t exactly jump at my offer to go fishing for men on a Tuesday night. I was on my own.

It was only a matter of days, while dancing on the table at my favorite club that I met “Goody.” We’ll call him Goody because he was an oldie, but a goody. About 12 years my senior, just as I liked them. Goody had recently gotten out of a very serious relationship with a live-in fiancé. Yes, yes…I know…One might think that I would have immediately veered away from this precautionary tale…but in fact, he was just what I was looking for. Men like Goody had been trained. Very well. Goody was like an old farm mule that had been over worked, under appreciated, and whipped into shape. He had left his fiancé once he realized that she was only after him for his money, and was now on the rebound. Guys like Goody make a perfect date. They just want to have fun- no strings attached…but still know how to wine, dine and spank you just right. (insert thank you to ex-girlfriend for her dog handling skills here.)

For the next couple of weeks Goody and I had a blast together. We enjoyed his Knicks season tickets, lived off of sushi, and drank dirty martinis until the olives ran out. The only problem? After 3 or so sleepovers together I still hadn’t even touched him. This might be normal for some people, but we all know that I’m no prude, and three shacks with no action was beyond rare for me. I had repeatedly pulled the “I’m too tired” line…and it was wearing thin.

The truth of the matter was that apparently after the split from his ex, Goody had handled his sorrow by eating half of Manhattan. When I first met Goody, it was dark, and with my beer goggles on, I failed to notice the spillage of belly fat over the front of his pants that was hidden by his baggy button down. But sober…it was all I could focus on. In fact, I was terrified of hooking up with Goody. He was like a Cadbury bunny egg—he looked decently yummy from the outside—with his shiny, polished wrapper, but once you took it off—it was a gooey, fattening mess. I had never been with a man whose belly rolls would equal the weight of my entire body. Okay…so I’m exaggerating, but I tried super hard to ignore it and see Goody for the wonderful, sweet, caring man he was. Unfortunately, all I could think about on the subway ride to work was what it would be like to ride a fat man. Would I hold onto his rolls as I flailed on top of him like a bucking bronco? What if I took off his pants and couldn’t find Goody’s goods? I had two choices. I could either suck it up and drink so much that I hoped I wouldn’t notice, or I would have to call it a day and admit to myself that I would be single, yet again, on Valentine’s Day.

The day after our fourth fully clothed sleepover, I received a concerned e-mail from Goody. He asked if everything was okay and boldly questioned why we hadn’t been at all “intimate” yet. This e-mail was very bad timing. I didn’t want to be forced to break things off with Goody the week of Valentine’s Day and ruin my potential to have a date. After all- Goody made me happy…as long as I didn’t have to give him a blow job. I wrote back explaining that I like to take things slow. A blatant lie- yes, but I knew it would hold him off at least until the big day.

My plan had worked and sure enough, I received a phone call from Goody inviting me out for the long anticipated day. Desperate, ridiculous and shameful mission accomplished. I had a date to an incredible restaurant and would be picked up by the car service promptly at 8pm. I could now rest easy knowing that I was not going to once again, be the only one of my girlfriends without a date on Valentine’s Day.

It was the very next day that my plan came crashing down on me. Out of nowhere, Goody called and requested that I be his date to a work function two nights before Valentine’s Day. At first I thought this would be no problem…I could be his trophy date for a night…as long as I still had a date for V-day. I happily obliged, and said I couldn’t wait to wear my brand new cocktail gown. But then, (swallow) Goody went on to say that he had gotten us the pent house suite of the same hotel that the event took place in for the night. I was screwed. Literally. Screwed by the fat man.

How would I get out of this one? I had already used the “I’m on my period” excuse last week, and I knew that my rolley polley prince charming wasn’t footing a $1,000 hotel bill for one night just to have tea with me. The image of “Fat Bastard” (the obese Scotsman from one of those Austin Powers movies) played over and over again in my head. And with that nauseating thought…I knew what I had to do. Head sulking, I dragged my feet to my computer and wrote Goody a cowardly e-mail about how I didn’t think things were going to work out between us and that I just wanted to be friends.

Looking back, I have to laugh. My cock eyed attempts to boost my ego by using poor old Goody were wrong. It was all simply a farce to cover up other issues through faux affection from random strangers. Instead, I realized that life can be much more fulfilling when you focus your love and energy on a couple people you truly care who will love you forever, rather than a dozen or so strangers who will love you for the night. The cliché “quality over quantity” really shows face when it comes to love.

A single Valentines actually turned out to be quite a lovely day. I ended up having a homemade dinner with one of my best friends whose boyfriend lived in Boston. I realized that neither my cupid epiphany or my desperate, pathetic attempts to boost my self esteem would have been fulfilling in the end. Rather a few phone calls to those I loved was all I needed. I woke up the next day feeling happy, loved and relieved. I was in my bed… aaaallllllll alone.