I got an interesting call last night.

Most interesting perhaps in that a woman told me she didn't want to see me anymore, which hasn't happened very often in the annals of history.

I imagine most people would have been feeling an emotion like hurt, disappointment or anger. I was indifferent, and I suspect that's why she hung up on me after about 3.5 seconds.

The thing is, our relationship never really had any definition, at least that I was aware of.

She was a friend I've known for about a year, and for one reason or another, that's all it was, despite my repeated suggestions that we give into our lesser desires.

A few months ago, she decided we would have sex.

I was not informed this decision had been made and when she asked me to attend a cancer benefit with her that evening, I went through my usual going-out routine – have some drugs delivered and drink whiskey for dinner.

That's not to suggest I was a mess at the party. On the contrary, I am an experienced alcoholic/addict and more than hold my own in any social situation.

No, the party went fine, but around 5:00 in the morning, when she announced that we should go to my bedroom, I was ill prepared.

Despite the initial sloppy experience, a certain level of comfort (attraction or need – I can't pretend to know for sure) inevitably brought her back again.

Things moved into the vaunted friends with benefits territory. We would hang out in social situations and have occasional sex, which was enjoyable. Her boundaries were similar to mine – virtually nonexistant.

With most women you have to tiptoe around certain things for fear of offending. That wasn't the case here. Porn, other women, anal sex – all perfectly acceptable and normal.

It's pretty easy to understand why we enjoyed each other's company and this arrangement progressed to the point where we were enjoying it more and more.

I thought it was fair to say we had an open relationship, and I did say it, quite a few times.

We both continued to see who we wanted, but when it came down to it, we were only really serious about each other.

Everything was on the table. We discussed people we were seeing, dates we were going on, when we had sex with someone else.

For me, it was perfect. I didn't have to pretend I could be faithful and was still with someone I respected and enjoyed spending time with.

Of course, I was foolish enough to believe she was on the same page and predictably, things went awry. I've been told they most always do in these type of situations, but I always think I can build a better mousetrap.

There were subtle hints at first.

She decided to screw the waiter at The Belmont when I decided I wanted to work instead of having sex all day. She picked up the hostess at Dillon's after I started flirting with the cocktail waitress. She began to put down women I was or had been seeing.

I just shrugged it off. Whether I was unaware or just chose not to pay attention is debatable.

Eventually, I found my freedom had been taken away and expectations were put in its place.

Towards the end of last week, I finally realized what was going on. My fantasyland had morphed into something grotesque and unavoidable – the expectation of a real relationship.

The horror.

My first course of action was to get this woman out of my home, which required a shoehorn and several quarts of Vaseline.

Next, get ripped.

Yes, a three-course meal of wine, cocaine and ecstasy would make things clear… or at least nonexistant.

When the harsh reality set in again, I decided it was time to extricate this amalgamation, if not so much the woman, from my life.

And then the call came.

I would be accused of flirting with two of her friends, which was 50% accurate.

Partially confused, I uttered the phrase, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing! I don't want to date you anymore.”


And sometimes, things just work themselves out.

A friend of hers would later tell me, “She's not built for an open relationship. I don't think many women are.”

I suppose every girl just wants some version of a Norman Rockwell painting. And I just want some version of a Motley Crue video.

LA Weekly