Girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy. Girl gets used to an active sex life. Boy gets on an airplane and jumps the pond. Girl is left behind. What’s a girl to do?
In perfect Bonnie fashion, I find someone I click with and before you can say Virgin Airlines he’s gone. I knew that Jack would not be in the U.S. for long, but for me December came a bit too quickly this year. Aside from losing someone to hold my hand in the movies and kiss the tip of my nose before going to sleep, I also lost my sex partner.
I don’t mean to be crass, but being single can sometimes suck. Especially when you have an itch that needs scratching. In the beginning you miss the little sweet things, but in a month’s time you’re climbing walls like a cat in heat. How can we solve this sex shortage without the walk of shame and awkward phone calls the next day? Are we singles left with the mere options of masturbation or random hookups? Is there nowhere to run, no rock unturned?
Feeling a little lonely before the start of this holiday season, I went back to New York and remembered to keep my options open. What I discovered was a lot of action in the least likely of places. Sure I loved the way that Jack’s hand somehow found it’s way onto my leg, and after a few weeks of his departure my legs were feeling neglected. So I went to the tailor. My favorite pair of jeans dating back to the early ’90s were in desperate need of patching. I slipped them on and stood up on the fitting block and got ready for my pinning. And wouldn’t you know it, that tailor had some damn gentle hands. It was the first time in weeks that I felt a strong hand up my backside. Not too shabby for six bucks and next day pick up.
The next day I went to do some female maintenance otherwise known as the gyno visit. Laying back there in stirrups wearing a paper gown is certainly not my favorite way to spend an afternoon. But I soon learned that my insurance covers me up to third base, so I opted for the cervical test. There I was, in a room with a trained professional in female anatomy willing to practice her service and assure my physical health. Maybe it’s not such a bad way to spend an afternoon. Looking back on it now, it is odd to say that the most action I have had since Jack was my pap with my doctor, but hey could be worse, could be a prostitute. And, with a co-pay of $15, I’ll pick the gyno over an escort service anyday.
It wasn’t until my voyage back to our nation’s capital that I got some action in the least likeliest of places – the airport. With Sultan as my last name, they just love me at airport security. Not only did I take off my shoes and get my usual pat down and bag search, but I got to second with a lovely lady named Lisa. Lisa made me “spread ’em” and put my arms out. Not to kiss and tell, but Lisa slipped her hands all up and around my breasts. Maybe it was a bit much for a security check, but hey, I take it when and where I can get it. And Lisa got me rounding second.
So, how can you be single and play the field without going to a “professional?” Easy, go to a trade worker. A tailor knows how fit your curves, a gyno knows how to feel your curves and Lisa works the morning shift Sunday through Thursday.
My holiday season began with Jack leaving me for London but soon became a game with me rounding the bases. I may be single and unwilling to hook up with hookers and hobos, but I still come out swinging. As of yet I am batting 3-0 this season, not a bad stat for someone who just got started playing the field again. When you add it all up, me at bat aint so bad. I get perfect pants, a clean bill of health and felt secure about being on an airplane with myself. And what you pay is chump change for what you get – pant patches, $6; third base with a gyno, $15; second base with Lisa, $40. Knowing I don’t have to call anyone in the morning – priceless.