Her Codename: Little Miss Manners
Category: Multiple Personalities, Control Freak
I call her Little Miss Manners (She’s a loaded cannon of fucktarded contradictions and will come up in future episodes). I based her name after those Little Miss books from the ’80s my sister would collect – I now associate a lot of them with grown women who carry the same peculiar traits.
What still leaves me bereft of comprehension is how well groomed her public performances, I mean appearances, were and yet how unabashedly filthy this girl was under the sheets, behind closed doors … in the back of a cab. This one was (is) a special kind of crazy and I think she represents more than a justifiable amount of women out there who believe that decorum isn’t only exercised on the floors of military galas, but in every fucking aspect of her life. That is, for everything except the bedroom. She abides by that age old sports locker room, military barracks meets Catholic church policy also known as the “don’t ask, don’t tell” motto.
Let me help you understand to what level of “don’t ask, don’t tell” Little Miss Manners executed this bipolar mantra:
The Action: Post-dinner at one of the wonderful gastronomic spots in Tribeca, we dart over to the piers to meet friends for more drinks. I’m suited up, she’s looking remarkably perfect and everyone we are schmoozing with admires no more than an occasional peck on her cheek from me. Little do they know what comes next in our timeline will deliver several sexual health violations. The cab ride to her place of work turned into a ride through Times Square where I found myself pants off, ass up and her heels in the air while Mr. Cabby thought it would be a benefit to him and the innocent tourists in the city to experience what all New Yorkers do in cabs regularly – fuck. This led to her office that officially reinforced my belief in a greater being and that porn does exist in real life … She asked for a “pearl necklace” on her office floor.
The Reaction: Jump to a couple of days later where I now feel as if I have reached a much deeper understanding of who this woman is, what she likes and how we conduct our business.
Phone call from me to her – Me: “Hey babe. How are you? I can no longer look at a cab in the same way.” Her: “What are you talking about?” Me: “I wonder who’s vacation photos we will end up in after the trip down great white way. Anyway, you looked beautiful the other night. And I feel bad for wrecking the office.” Her: “Um, what are you talking about. What happened in the cab? Please don’t address my office as if it is a free for all …” Me: “Uh, I’m just saying it was a great evening. Pearls and all.” Her: “I have a client coming in, but let’s grab dinner later! muah. bye!”
I spent the rest of the day wondering if I dreamed the entire night. Were we that wasted? Did she not remember? Shit, maybe she didn’t like one bit of it. I was baffled. And then the craziness ensued. After multiple months of dating, intimacy and continuous porn sex, the aftermath that ensued when I casually offered a wink or at times abruptly stated my dirty approval was always received by the same amnesiatic responses:
“What do you mean?”
“What are you talking about?”
I came to the self-conclusion that it’s possible I was either hallucinating, blacking out or simply losing my mind. That was until this convoluted illuminating sentence came out of her mouth while sitting on the couch after I gently whispered in her ear some not for Sunday school thoughts, “Shhhhhhhhhh. Stop it. Do you not understand? Don’t ask me, don’t tell me. I don’t do those things. They don’t happen. You have me confused for someone else. “
What came after was another fine romp in the sack and a morning break-up by me.
The question for you is this: Why? Why would I give up someone who was a lamb by day, wolf by night? Or is it lady by day, whore by night? You get the drift. We fellas spend all of our waking hours dreaming of a woman you can bring home to mom, marry and still have the ability to make YouPorn with, but is there is a limit to that multiverse. Is Little Miss Manners an example of that limit? For me, yes, but if a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy is your style then my advice is to make sure you have at least one good “girl”of a friend in life that is your acting dirty-story soundboard advocate to spill all of your guts to after the act.
Background Check: After further investigation, it was discovered that Little Miss Manners wasn’t so button-lipped after all. Thanks to her best friend (girls are so loyal), it was noted that not only were the sexcapades shared, but they were full-detailed monologues … delivered in public spaces.
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The Unsung Romantic
Check out “Sex Diaries” in New York Magazine, real life sex stories from New Yorkers.