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WWWBT 1 – Meet the Woman With the Bloody Tomcat


My friend, Lara, has been pushing me to write about my men. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not collecting men, I don’t work in the industry and, just for the record, I haven’t had sex in quite some time. Real one, I mean. The dream sex or the accidental Skype ones don’t count, right?

When you’re 40, not that ‘appetizing’ like the young, slim, glittering ladies wondering around in the open air – yes, they’re 20, what do they care?, pathologically shy, and sometimes blonder that one should ever be, the chances to find a decent guy in this city are … How should I put it to get the right image from the first shot? Like winning a Pulitzer price with a text like this. DITO.

‘Make it funny. Some sort of a Bridget Jones’ diary. Sex and the city. And don’t forget to give all the dirty details on the Skype adventure with the young Mr. Rob.’

‘Sex and the City? I’m not that good of a writer. Can I write instead about my trainings with Circuit Factory? They’re as sweaty and demanding like the real stuff, you know? I’m all worn out after a session.’

Lara looks at me and drinks from her beer. It’s a peaceful evening, and we’d gotten out to a small pub in a hotel nearby. To meet men. Socialize. Have some ridiculously expensive beers, watching two or three matches in the same time, having to scream to one another in order to hear us. And of course, the men were all watching the games too. It’s fun, though. Especially because she’s paying.

She’s going to the bathroom, and I’m all alone with my thoughts again. The guy on the right seems cute, as much as I can figure out by watching his nape. I check my phone, no message from Rob.

Rob is 31, he’s somewhere very far away from me, he’s got the most concupiscent blue eyes I’ve ever allowed to see me naked over Skype. And…

‘So, no more beer for a month?’

Yeah, tomorrow I start the challenge with Circuit Factory. It’s my third one, and I’m decided not to cheat anymore – meaning clean diet and no more sneaky glasses of wine before going to bed.

I’ve started this relationship sometime last year, in August. More seriously in November. And it’s been more rewarding than any of my latest relationships. Except for the one with my Tomcat.

He’s always there for me. Mostly because I don’t allow him to get out of the apartment. And not that he didn’t try to. Several times, actually. And I’m moody, and I leave him alone, and when I’m with him I mind my own business and even if he tries to beg for a little affection, I’m still very stingy and I rather read a book or waste my time on Facebook than pet him a little. Poor bastard!


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