Chicken Game

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Friday night, I went on the usual walk with Nina, after which we went to the Brown.  Longstroke, Kahuna, and Gadget joined us there.  Slick came along later too.

My bros noted that Slick is looking rather tore up.  They know about the rapid shift in my sentiment towards him, and understood when they saw how things were for themselves.  They lost sympathy for him.  They’d previously been leaning towards against, but mildly ambiguous since I had been the bitch to match the bastard in the past.  Now they’re sure he is not for me, so I no longer get, “Maybe you’re being too hard on him.”

In any case, they were there partly to hang out and partly to eyeball Skin and give me their impression.  They like him so far, but warn me to be cautious since we’re now pretty sure that he’s at least partly Moroccan.  He is also 39, which is cutting it close in age.

Still, Friday, I met his brother and a brother from another mother, the pub’s owner.  They might be related.  He’s still introducing me to people as his girlfriend.  I noted though, that the girls hovering around and hugging up on the owner were mostly sturdy women…not superfat, but sturdy.  They ranged from thick voluptuous to farm-girl.

This has me a little worried.  If it’s a sort of genetic or family subcultural preference for big women, I might be in trouble a year or so from now if it turns out that my real natural weight is in the 100-120 range like it was when I was as active as I liked to be, as opposed to the post Navy 130-140 range.

This is yet another reason to at least try to put off having sex with anybody until my coccoon has melted.  What’s going to happen to butterfly me, if someone falls for the coccoon?

I’m only a little worried because the thing is shedding rather quickly.  If he was losing interest because of the weight loss, he’d have said something by now.  It seems that he’s gaining interest.  So I’ve decided to go ahead and respond positively to his apocalypse type game.  I’m going to start acting like his girlfriend.

I started with, this evening, sending him SMS reports of my location.  I went out dancing with Nina, and told him where I was going before the first location, and then where I was at the second location, and then that I got home safely.

In other words, I’m playing chicken.  Whoever veers off first is the loser.  He’ll either stop calling me his girlfriend, or at some point, we’ll collide at the genital region, because I’m no chicken.  I already thought he was cool before all this started, so now he’s moved up to attractive.

Since he is a barman though, I understand that my competition is going to be scores of doting college girls and barflies trying to flirt their way into free drinks.  I’m not going to be showing up at the bar every freaking night to fend them off.  My stance as a non party girl will remain.  I represent off time, not working hours.  So I’ll go when invited or when that’s where friends want to go, but that’s it.

So we’ll see who’s the chicken or if we’re both eagles.

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