Disclaimer: No SM ownership for me, maybe in another year or so -- comments all welcome.

The Real Hedonist

Chapter 2 - Break-up Blues

The day didn't seem to be progressing all that well. It was snowing outside, and everyone who came into the cafe had a bright red nose. The interior was warm, and quite busy.

"What a fucking asshole!" Ann fumed, sipping her Java Chip Frappucino. "I swear, why is it that every guy I dedicate my time to is either a total commitment-phobic, has some disgusting quirk, or doesn't like me? I mean, am I that ugly?" She paused dramatically, and sipped her drink reflectively.

"No, of course not!" we chorused our denial. This is pretty much standard procedure when it comes to break-ups with our circle. The girl, who's been dumped wallows in self-pity, pronounces that she's completely hideous and we merrily object. It's nice. And everyone knows a woman complimenting another woman is what really matters. We're usually so bitchy towards each other, and admitting that a girlfriend looks good is like a world affair. I know it's stuck-up, mean, ridiculous, and all, but hey, we're women, watching other women lose self-confidence is good for our ego. I know it's fucked up, but I just tell it like it is.

"Ann, don't fall for this. Honestly, just because he's stupid enough to leave you don't mean you should think it's your fault. We've been telling you're for months that Mark's not serious. When you tell him you want something more, he's just going to run away. I'd think you'd have learned that, dating for so many years." Amy patted her short dark hair, and studied Ann closely. "And, you being not good enough, or pretty enough. Do you even hear yourself? Of course it's not your fault." Amy is the brainiac out of all of us. She has a PhD in biology and a Masters in World Affairs. She teaches at NYU, but she's kind of that cool professor you want to teach you, but you never get.

"Amy tells it like it is, Ann," I said, smiling gently.

Raye stared at us, with a look of disgust. "Can you hear yourself? You shouldn't have to reassure her that she's beautiful. She shouldn't even have to worry about that! The way we see ourselves shouldn't depend on how men treat us. So he dumped you, it's not the end of the world, so stop your crying."

Ah, Raye -- she's whom we all strive to be like. Frankly, she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. All she cares about is her own opinion. She's outspoken, very beautiful, with a cool job, and she's a total feminist.

See, I'm envied for my lack of attachment and emotion when it comes to having sex, and Raye is envied because she's, like, a poster girl for the kick-ass 21st-century woman. Then again, she can get away with it because she's unbelievably beautiful, and I can say so as it doesn't matter to Raye if I don't. Reason being, she knows she's beautiful. Basically, her beauty gives her self-confidence, and this is what makes her so beautiful. It's a catch-22, too, but in a good way.

Whenever Raye enters a restaurant, every man and woman's eyes swirl towards her. I don't know how she does it, but she just commands attention. The Maitre'D and their flock of Waiters couldn't get her seated fast enough, brandishing menus as they hovered about her table.

On one occasion, we went to this popular restaurant with Raye and were seated -- drinks in hand -- in thirty seconds flat. I went there myself a week later, and waited thirty minutes for an opening, and another fifteen to catch a waiter's eye. It was beyond embarrassing.

Ann raised her head and pursed her lips. "Yeah, you know what? You're right, Raye. Mark's totally missing out. If he didn't realise we had something good, then he can kiss my ass. Platonically, of course," she added slyly. Light chuckles passed over the table. "Actually, you know what? He had such a tiny cock. It was -- this -- big." Ann demonstrated with her thumb and index finger. "And he couldn't even use it properly. I had to fake it so many times."

Now that she was starting to get over the bastard, out came the denouncements concerning his meagre ability in bed. Standard practice in the situation Ann presently found herself in. But for most women, while with their guys, all was fine and great, and they were having orgasms at the drop of a hat. But declaring their boyfriends were anything less than perfect in bed would raise doubts about the relationship and what that would mean in the long-term.

Raye checked her expensive Gucci watch and drank the rest of her coffee. "I have to go. I have a meeting in twenty minutes. It was fun. Maybe we could do a movie tonight?"

"We could stay in and rent something," Amy suggested thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I love Amy, and she's way cool. And it's nice that she doesn't put the professor thing on with us, because having a woman whose life revolved totally around academia amidst our ranks would really spoil our girl-fun. "How about something classic? Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

I stared at Ann, and she nodded her approval. "OK, we'll do that. How about I pick up the movie and Amy can pick up some food? We'll meet up at my place at eight. Sounds good?"

"Perfect. Somebody better bring some booze," Tiffany said, sweeping out of the place. Several men turned their heads.

I continued sipping my cappuccino, already planning the video place I would stop by. I paused mid-gulp when Ann started weeping. "What's wrong, Ann?" Amy asked quickly. She shot me a questioning look, and I shrugged.

"Oh, I know I shouldn't care, but I still love him so much," Ann sobbed, covering her red face.

Amy and I exchanged a long look. Now it was clear. Ann was just saying she was OK while Raye was here, because Raye would go off on another lecture about not needing a man to fulfill your life if she started moping.

A woman shot Ann a half-curious, half-scolding look. I could see that coming back here wouldn't be a good choice. Good thing there were so many other Starbuck's around. "Look, you just need to forget about him. Get out there, have some fun." I raked my brain for some break-up wisdom, but came up shorthanded. "Ooh! I know, how about we double date tomorrow night? I could find someone, and you'll forget about that prick Mark in a second!" Amy was slowly shaking her head, in a way that Ann couldn't see.

"But I'm not ready to start dating," she sobbed quietly. She hugged her green jacket closer to her chest, (which did not go at all with her red hair, I'm sad to say) as she continued her crying. See, this is really, why I don't get involved with men. No matter how careful you are not to let yourself feel anything for them, they still manage to break your heart and stomp on it and then some for good measure.

I leaned in closer, partly to make sure Ann could hear me over her hiccupping, and partly to avoid anyone seeing the look of embarrassment on my face. "Well, you don't have to start dating. You can just go out, and see that there are other great guys out there, so you don't need to cling to Mark. He obviously didn't see how great you were." I laid my hand on hers in a gesture of reassurance.

"Mina may be right. You can't wallow in self-pity, since he's obviously serious about breaking up. And, there are plenty of men who would love to take you out. How about giving them a chance?" Amy suggested, nodding intelligently. Amy is the sort of person who exudes intelligence. She could be telling you how to tie your shoelaces, and make it seem like some super-smart chemical engineering lecture. Her words seemed to break through to Ann, who was no longer sobbing. She just sort of stared at us quietly. See, our goal was to make Ann get over Mark by making him seem uncaring and completely oblivious to the fact she needed some kind of serious commitment/insurance in order to continue the relationship. But not enough to make Mark look like a total bastard. Then Ann would want to retaliate, which could get her into trouble.

I love Ann, but she's a bit off her rocket sometimes. It's just that regular laws don't seem to apply to her when she's seeking revenge. I tell you, she's a scary chick to have on your tail.

"Oh, all right, all right. I'll go on your stupid double date. Stop staring at me like that."

---

The last two days just seemed to rush by. The girl's night went down so nicely. Ann, now more than willing to be set up, (I thought about this as I dressed for the upcoming double date).

I spent an hour getting ready. My hair was very long, so it took extra time to style it properly, but by now, I was a pro. Next, I had to wax my legs, which I normally do at a spa, but there was no time. I had no desire to go into the freezing cold. Bad enough I'd have to hike to The Terrier, where we would be eating.

Kyle, my date and a very important guy at Ann's advertising company, would be picking me up in half an hour, which left me just enough time to put the finishing touches to my face and survey the results. Well, except for my lipstick, which I put on before heading out the door.

Right before a date, or any social engagement that revolves around dinner, I usually have a light meal (well, maybe a thick chicken sandwich isn't light per se) so I don't appear to be a total pig at dinner, or, even worse, have my stomach grumbling loud enough for those outside the restaurant to hear. Hell, we all do it, but no one's honest enough to admit it. Hmm, maybe if we all stopped worrying about how much we eat in front of other people and just went for it, it would be a lot easier. Except, you know, you don't really know the person that well for them to witness what a pig you are -- cuisine-wise. And besides, the sandwich tasted great.

Before completing my make-up in front of the dress mirror with a soft rosy color, I assessed my outfit. Yes, it was a bit too late to change it now if I didn't like it, but I did like it, and thus was staring at my reflection in a total state of lust/love. Someone once said that I should have gone into clothing instead of headhunting, which is funny, because I originally came out to New York City to be a fashion designer. OK, so not a very original idea, but I did love clothes, so I figured why not earn top money at one of the huge labels. Bad news: every other designer thought the exact same thing, so competition for the tiniest, shittiest little place was fierce. I was offered a decent job at a firm, and I quit fashion without looking bad. And really, good things did come out of it. I met Raye, who (although she hasn't yet reached the ranks of worldwide supermodel fame) is a very popular model, and I met Tipper, a very good, very trendy designer. No one knew why he was called Tipper (and he'd denied that it was a Tipper Gore reference).

Fortunately, my sense of fashion did not leave me, which was clearly displayed with the elegant yet suggestive suit I was wearing. Yes, it hadn't come cheaply, but in New York City -- where everyone is cold towards you and image is everything -- this was about as right as it could be. Call it the uniform of Manhattan.

A sharp knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. I glanced at the clock, and made sure that there were no smudges on my face before calling out, "Coming!" I opened the door and smiled at Kyle, who was about my height with light brown hair and of medium build. We met at the Christmas party for my firm, where I had apparently given him my phone number before getting completely and totally loaded. His call came while I was lounging on my sofa, still wearing my slinky dress, watching TV, and nursing my hangover. "Hi, there," I said, beaming at him. Kyle was wearing a very nice, black suit with polished black designer shoes. His hair was clean and without gel, I noted approvingly.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes roaming over my body.

"Yep, let's go," I said, quickly grabbing my purse and coat, locking the door behind me. "Shall we?"

During the ride to the restaurant, we kept the conversation light and casual. After graduating from Columbia at the age of twenty-four, he went straight into advertising. It was recently that he had been promoted to the executive position. I gave a brief outline of my job, leaving out the boring details.

The taxi pulled up beside The Terrier, and we got out. Kyle paid the driver as I stood waiting. Under other circumstances, I would have gotten all feminist and demand he let me pay, but I forgot my cash. I hoped Kyle would be coming back with me, or else I'd have to walk home.

As we made our way into the cool restaurant, I kept an eye out for Ann. Guilt surged within when I realized that in the midst of basking in the sexual potential of this date with Kyle, I totally forgot about her break-up and emotional distress. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted her red-brown head of hair. This meant that she had made it to the restaurant, and hadn't been arrested or jailed for either torching Mark's expensive apartment or any other illegal activity only Ann could dream up.

As I caught her eye, I waved, indicating we'd be right over. Kyle gave his name and we were led to our table by a tired-looking waiter. As we approached, I noticed Ann's date--a friend of Kyle's--who was sort of good-looking in a very unconventional way. His hair was receding and his eyes were very round, almost prodding out of his head. He was thin to the point of being bony and was unsuccessfully clad in an expensive suit that sort of hung from his shoulders.

Ann and this guy were eyeing each other suspiciously, neither able to throw caution to the wind and acquire that little glimmer of hope that just maybe this person would be the one, and the long, exhausting search for a partner would finally be over.

The waiter pulled out my chair for me, and I sat down across from Ann, with Kyle beside me. I gave the restaurant a little sweep, noting the people and decorations. There was the pleasant buzz of conversation, and I spotted a couple of famous faces amongst the diners.

"Hey, Pete. This is Mina. Mina, this is my good buddy, Pete," Kyle said, jerking his head in the direction of the weary man. "I'm Kyle," he added, glancing momentarily at Ann.

While looking as if I were paying attention, I quickly gave Ann the once-over. I couldn't see what she was wearing below her waist since the table obscured my view, but she wore a very nice cashmere sweater in a shade of deep purple. Adorning her delicate ears, a pair of elegant amethyst earrings.

"Hi, Pete," I greeted obligatory. I never did like double dates, especially with men I only just met. You never know if you'll hit it off, and if you don't, it'd be twice as awkward. I gave Ann a shot, something along the lines of, "Are you having fun?" She shrugged moodily.

"So, Pete, what do you do?" I asked a little nervously, as Kyle frowned at the tense silence that had descended upon the table.

Suddenly, Pete's eyes glinted excitedly. "I'm a stockbroker," he almost shouted. His face was flushed with pink, and I could see Ann rolling her eyes out of the corner of my eye.

The thing is -- I don't even know what a stockbroker is. "Uh, and do you enjoy doing that?" I asked a little unnecessarily. Unfortunately, a little flicker of dread shivered within my stomach like an angry viper. Oh, God, hopefully I haven't just set myself up to having to listen to Pete having orgasms about his job for the next thirty minutes.

"Oh, you have no idea!" he gushed, his previously cold manner vanishing. "I know what people think, but it's the most fulfilling thing ever. Do you know that only yesterday..." and my mind tuned his voice out. It's awful, because I have no control over what I'm listening to at any time. But if it's boring, or something I have no interest in whatsoever, my mind just jumps in and shuts off. I don't even know how I managed to graduate from high school.

I quickly glanced at Kyle and Ann; both slumped over in their seats, looking as if they'd slip into a coma at any moment. I tried to stifle a laugh, but ended up making a weird choking noise.

"What's so funny?" Pete demanded. His eyes hardened.

"Nothing!" I moaned in agony. The last thing I need is for Pete to storm out of here, leaving Ann moping about. OK, OK, so I don't want her to mope, purely for selfish reasons, as I wouldn't get any peace with Kyle.

Our table lapsed into an uncomfortable silence -- Ann shooting me angry looks. When the waiter came to take our orders, we all rattled off our choices. As he disappeared behind the tables filled with rich, elegant people, I racked my brain for some topic of conversation. Anything, at this point, so that at least one of us would talk. But honestly, I was tired. Kyle had remained silent thus far, and Ann was being difficult. I was considering calling sick, and slinking off to my apartment to brood. "So, are you seeing anyone special?" I blurted before thinking.

Pete's face darkened considerably. "Not anymore. I was with this woman for about a year, but then she started nagging about getting engaged and wanting me to move in with her. I don't want any of that shit." He shook his head, as if disbelieving anyone would ever take up such an option. "Damn women, can't even relax and give me some space. It's always not enough. Sometimes I think the only thing that would make them happy is if we're locked in a room for the rest of our lives, being miserable," he said, sneering.

Ann's eyes narrowed as she listened. She stared at Pete with a furious expression. I could tell that something was going to go down. "So you want to have a girlfriend, and spend a while dating her, but not actually move to anything more? Do you think dicking girls around who are looking to settle down can be justified? Maybe you should be upfront with them, so they know what a prick you are, and not waste their time on you. And maybe you should grow the hell up! I know you men think you're God's gift to women, but that's probably because all the women you've dated have been blinded by the fact that you might be ready to settle down!" Ann's face was growing redder and redder. She was breathing heavily, and I could tell she was just seconds away from strangling Pete -- not that I could blame her -- and it was sort of my fault that I brought her out to witness this spectacle. But I hadn't exactly known the guy would be a carbon copy of Mark. Why wasn't this working?

Pete began to laugh as Ann and I recoiled. Kyle just sank further into his seat, staring on silently at this impromptu freak show. "You know, why am I not surprised? That's all you women want, to trap some poor bastard and suck the life out of him. Right, well, I don't give a shit. I'm young and I'm out to have some fun, not marry some desperate chick and have a house full of screaming kids." Pete grinned maliciously at us.

"Now, Pete, come on. Don't you think you're being a little unfair?" Kyle asked.

"Pete, and I do this out of the kindness of my heart, don't fool yourself. I doubt any woman would want to give birth to the kids of a misogynist, smug bastard like you. All we want is for you men to show us that you're at least in it for the long haul. I don't want to spend a year and a half with a guy only to find out that we haven't moved from step one." Ann's eyes were getting misty, and her lips were trembling. I reached out to squeeze her hand, but she moved away. "Excuse me, I have to go."

And before I could call after her, she rushed out of the restaurant. Pete stared after her with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he stood up and looked at Kyle. "I may as well go, too. Enjoy your date." He left in a dignified manner.

As they each left in their turn, I noticed that some people were glancing at us. How loud had Ann and Pete gotten in their argument? And why was I always being stared at whenever I'm out with Ann?

"I'm sorry about that," Kyle groaned, his head in his hands.

"It was hardly your fault," I said, reassuringly. Although I was a little put-off at Kyle's lack of balls, I wasn't ready to end this night on an abrupt note. My sister's son's birthday party was tomorrow and I needed someone to take my mind off things. And since it would be a little unfair to call Richard on short notice, Kyle seemed like my best bet. "How about we head over to my place?" I asked, in what I perceived to be an inviting tone. I smiled seductively at Kyle, whose eyes had taken on an understanding glint.

He motioned to the waiter with a short, pointed gesture. "Sure. Let me handle the check."

It took several minutes for Kyle to sort everything out, and explain the departure of both Ann and Pete, and our own. When the waiter got a little testy and difficult, Kyle agreed to pay for the meals. We grabbed our outerwear, and headed outside, making the rookie mistake of not calling a taxi beforehand.

There's a sort of requirement I need all the men I go to bed with to have, I should tell you. And that is one date. After a date, sleeping with someone doesn't feel as sleazy as it otherwise would if it were a guy off the street. Of course, there are exceptions: one, vacations don't count…two, if I'm too horny to wait… And three, if I've slept with the guy before.

---

It took us all of half an hour to get back to my place. We shivered as we made our way into my building, and could hardly keep our hands off each other once the elevator doors shut. Kyle was kissing my neck when the doors sprang open, and found ourselves faced with Mrs. Wilker, an old, extremely self-righteous lady that lived on my floor. She was a widow, left with a sizeable will by her husband, and stuck her nose up at just about anyone she met. We had gone up and down the elevator several times. She pointed out that my shoes were NOT what ladies in -- her day -- wore, and implied that I looked like a whore. "Really, Mina," she exclaimed, her thinly pencilled eyebrows knotted together. "I don't expect to get caught up in the middle of an intimate session when I wait for the elevator... Although I'm not surprised; after all, I haven't seen you do anything that implied you had anything like a decent reputation." Her sharp green eyes honed in on us, having broken apart and panting. As we tripped out of the elevator, she made her way past us, directing a stony glare our way as the lift doors closed upon her stormy face -- then was gone.

Kyle and I stood in the hallway, staring at the spot where Mrs. Wilker had stood ten seconds before. Both of us bewildered and put off our sexual escapades by the old cow. Then, for a reason I didn't know, I started laughing -- the kind of laughter where you double over and have to clutch your stomach in case you collapse. It wasn't long before Kyle joined me, and we stood there, practically howling, in the middle of a pretty sophisticated hallway, with wealthy people holed up in their apartments, separated from us by thin walls.

"Come on, c'mon..." I hiccupped, after I calmed down a little. Behaving spontaneously and recklessly was so much fun, but knowing the kind of tight-asses that lived here, we'd have the cops on our hands for causing a disturbance if we didn't stop.

I grabbed his hand and led him to my door, frantically searching for my keys. Once inside, we resumed kissing until I felt his hand snake around my waist, squeezing and kneading. "Mmmm," he groaned his approval.

I shut the door with my heel and stumbled into my apartment, grabbing at each other like ravenous beasts. After several minutes, when his impatience was blatantly obvious, I untangled myself and started taking off my clothes. I know that having Kyle rip them off would be so much sexier and in accord with the program of the evening, but I didn't exactly pick this outfit up for free. So I unbuttoned my top, and kicked off my heels.

I looked up to see Kyle staring hungrily at my exposed flesh. "Undo your hair," he whispered, huskily.

I complied, letting it fall against my back. Kyle was breathing heavily, knotting his hand around my blonde locks. Actually, I should mention -- natural blonde locks -- by some miracle of nature, I ended up with naturally silky blonde hair. Honestly, it just stays looking so smooth and shiny without my ever needing to get it done at the hairdressers. Every woman at work envies it -- hey, I'm allowed to be smug about this, though!

Kyle cupped my chin, staring into my eyes intently. "God, it's so nice to see a full-figured woman. I'm so damn tired of all those bones poking out at me." He was smiling, and I was smiling back at him until the words registered. What...is he calling me fat?

"Uh, what?" I mumbled unintelligibly.

"Well, I mean that you're not some starved, size-0 stick. You've got that healthy weight, which is incredibly sexy," he said, going in for a kiss. I just stood there, gaping at him, unsure how to react. "Mmmm," he moaned again. "I forgot how great it is to be with a big woman."

That had me frozen to the spot. "Big woman?" I exclaimed feeling wounded. Since when have I become -- a big -- woman? What is happening, I thought, bewildered, as my world came crashing down around me. BIG? But...but I was only a size eight.

Kyle must have gotten the idea while I stood there, staring at him, confused and hurt. "Oh." His face contorted into a weird expression. "I didn't mean it like that."

Suddenly, I felt tired, lonely, vulnerable, and very stupid, standing in my bra and skirt. All my boastings about nice hair felt like a lie, as I stood half-naked in front of a man who had called me fat. "I think you should go," I said quietly, edging toward the door. I needed to be alone, and I could not stomach anyone seeing me at my worst.

When Kyle started protesting, I held the door open and waited until he strode out. "I'll call you," he said as he headed out, leaving me miserable. I closed the door, and faced the empty apartment. Now that I was alone inside, I wanted to be with someone, because this really gutted me, and I had that birthday to go to tomorrow.

For the first time in several years, I felt very depressed. I sank down on the sofa and closed my eyes. It was like that time when I first came to New York City, not knowing anyone, without any friends, and living in a tiny, shitty apartment. But I didn't give up, even after just about every fashion house I applied to turned me down, and look where I am today. I have great friends, live in a very cool apartment building, and hold an important job. But now that seems trivial, because now I discover that everyone thinks I'm fat behind my back. All these years I have thought I had it all: money, friends, glamorous life and the looks to go with it. I bought all those cool suits and sexy skirts, and paraded around town, thinking I obviously looked good. But I hadn't, not really, because what I thought was good wasn't what everyone else thought. And even though I may have looked good, by another city's standards, in NYC, I was more than a size 0, so therefore I had to be regarded as an obese fat-bag. And all those men I thought were falling over themselves to sleep with me -- were they all looking for a "big woman" too, but just didn't tell me?

I almost wanted to cry, because I hadn't been so uncertain in a long time. Is it just me being insecure, or do people really see me as fat? Do those men want me for me, or because I wasn't model-skinny? Should I continue with this and not pay attention to what Kyle had just said, or should I agonize over it, because he only told the truth…what? What to do? What?

That night, I went to bed alone, cold, and for the first time in my life, scared.

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Woo! Done another. Review, and tell me what you think!