I always claim to be an impatient person, but when I really sit down to think about it, I don't think that's really the case. (I mean, I was a teacher for five years, and some of that time was spent in elementary schools. Maybe I don't give myself enough credit.) Sometimes things just take a while to happen. Sometimes it's a long while.
This lovely tale starts not long after the previous Classy Hussy story, so make sure you're still picturing my smokin' hot college senior self (as opposed to my current smokin' hot self). That year, I wound up living in an old shithole of a house with Dr. ManDiva, who is one of my closest friends, and three of his friends/roommates - NotBrendanFraser (the resemblance is uncanny!), the Manatee, and someone who is irrelevant. Our house was sort of a crazy place - NotBrendanF didn't want to be in an official "relationship" with the Manatee, but she still let him fuck her every night, and Dr. ManDiva and I fooled around whenever there was a lack of better things to do and kept it a secret, and the irrelevant one would sometimes go out to bang random gangstas, but that's irrelevant. Dr. ManDiva later said that had he known ahead of time what our house was going to be like, he would have called up MTV to alert them to their new reality show.
Somewhere near the beginning of the school year, I was introduced to the friends of my friend and new roommates. Enter PartyBoy: as his pseudonym indicates, PartyBoy (who was pretty damn hot) was known for partying hard. Or at least he USED to party hard. By the time I met him, he was dating a girl we shall call...I don't know, AntiPartyGirl. (*shrug?*) AntiPartyGirl put a serious leash on PartyBoy; he had to massively cut down on his drinking and other herbal refreshments, take out his various piercings (yes, including...that one), and stop hooking up with chicks that weren't her. Many people resented AntiPartyGirl for allegedly killing PartyBoy's good time; however, as I never knew his previous incarnation, I didn't have a problem with her. Since I'm a good person (or can at least pretend to be), I was always nice to her and made sure to talk to her when she actually made an appearance at PartyBoy & Co.'s house parties; these acts of kindness did not go unnoticed by PartyBoy.
One Friday night in January, NotBrendanF and the Manatee wanted to go out to a local bar and I decided to join them. PartyBoy wound up meeting us there and we all started off with a pitcher of beer. While the Manatee was bitching and moaning about whatever it was that had annoyed her that day into the ear of poor NotBrendanF, PartyBoy and I start talking over our beers. He eventually confesses to me that he doesn't know if he's really happy with AntiPartyGirl and just feels they don't have a lot in common, blah blah blah. I've neglected to mention up until this point that I've had a boyfriend this whole time, but that relationship was nearly completely dead by January; I tell him that I understand, that I just feel like I'm at a totally different stage in life from my (younger) boyfriend and that we just don't click the way we used to. Cue the consumption of more beers and mutual venting about how "they just don't UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAAAND us!"
NotBrendanF and the Manatee were around us somewhere, but we hadn't really been paying attention to them. The Manatee starts whining to NotBrendanF about how she wants to dance! and he should take her out on the dance floor! because she really wants to dance! and come on, let's dance! NotBrendanF tries to get out of it by claiming he doesn't want to leave the two of us alone, but the Manatee will have none of this and says, "PartyBoy and Jen can just dance together!" ...Okay. Sure.
We get out there and do the usual clubbing thing - sort of bounce around to the music while the people who actually know what they're doing head to the center of the dance floor and get their groove on, or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days. As the night progresses, the music slows down and PartyBoy and I are getting rather cozy on the dance floor. We're pressed up against each other, he's stroking my hair and tickling the back of my neck, and we're whispering all sorts of mildly suggestive things into each other's ears. NotBrendanF sees all of this, but he has his hands full with the Manatee, so he can't really do much.
Last call is called and we leave the bar. PartyBoy lives much closer to the bar than the rest of us and he invites me back there. I mentally curse myself for not shaving my legs that morning, but whatever, it's winter in upstate New York and we have a nice buzz going anyway, it's a minor detail. NotBrendanF senses some hanky panky about to go down, and he jumps in and says he'll come with us. The Manatee, however, is completely oblivious to everything and starts mooing like the sea cow that she is that she wants a slice of pizza and NotBrendanF has to take her! Because she wants pizza! Like, really wants it! Now! As we've already established, he wasn't really all that good at saying no to her (this, luckily, did change in a few months) and he goes with her to the pizza place. PartyBoy and I make our escape to his place, knowing that after last call, the pizza place is always mobbed.
In an unusually cruel twist of fate, there was no line at the pizza place (for the first time in...well, ever) and the other two are back with us before anything happens. We hang out for a few minutes and then the Manatee starts bleating that she's ready to go home (GOD, she was annoying). As I wouldn't want to walk home by myself, I start openly debating whether or not I want to leave with them. PartyBoy invites me to stay and his subtext is clear. NotBrendanF, however, tells me that I want to leave. I don't believe him. He grabs my purse, shoves it into my hands, puts my jacket on my shoulders, and pushes me out the door. I manage to get out a sulky farewell to PartyBoy before I am led back out to the street.
For the entire walk home (maybe only about ten minutes or so), I loudly berate NotBrendanF. Seriously, I didn't let up the whole time. Even when he was urinating onto the side of some random house, I was bitching him out. (The Manatee was still oblivious to the rest of the world.) Somewhere in this lengthy rant, we establish that the female equivalent of the "cockblock" is the "pussyblock" and the name sticks. "You pussyblocked me! I can't believe you did the pussyblock, you asshole!" I continue to yell.
We get home, NotBrendanF puts the Manatee to bed so we don't have to deal with her, and then we sit down to have a serious conversation. He explains to me that while he was friends with both me and PartyBoy, he'd known PartyBoy longer and was afraid that he'd really regret cheating on AntiPartyGirl the next day. He says he wanted to be a good friend and prevent any bad feelings if he possibly could, which I could understand and respect...to a certain point. I remind him that I had not had sex in close to three months (I didn't count the Death By Blowjob incident, as I didn't get that much out of it, and I hadn't started sleeping with Dr. ManDiva at this point) and he was in a position where he was having sex every single night if he wanted it, so it wasn't really fair of him to deprive me of that. Likewise, he understood and respected my viewpoint.
Since we were mad classy in our shithole of a house, we come up with a solution to our problems: the following day (Saturday), we would each present our case to Dr. ManDiva (who wasn't around for this because he'd gone to some other college town to bang some random girl), and he, acting as the Kitchen Judge, would decide who was right and who was wrong. We stipulated ahead of time that if Judge ManDiva ruled in NotBrendanF's favor, I would only be allowed to be mad at him for the rest of Saturday. If I won the case, I would be allowed to be mad at him for Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday until 10:00PM, because that's when "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" was on. I agreed to the terms that I would not be allowed to be mad at him in any circumstance on Sunday, because it was Super Bowl Sunday, and ergo, it was a day of peace.
Dr. ManDiva gets home Saturday morning from sticking his dick into that random girl from whatever town, and takes his place on top of the kitchen counters, calling the Kitchen Court to order. We each present our side and he seriously contemplates the situation (as in, for almost a full minute). His noble ruling is that we were both right and we were both wrong: NotBrendanF was trying to be a good friend, which is commendable, but as someone who was receiving sex on a daily basis, he was in no position to honorably perform the pussyblock. In a very fair compromise, the judgment decrees that I would be allowed to be mad for the rest of Saturday and Monday.
So I was a bit disappointed at not getting to fool around with the tantalizingly hot PartyBoy. Oh well, I thought, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. However, to make up for the bizarre circumstances regarding the lack of a pizza line, the universe would eventually smile upon me...
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