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19

Nov

The Actor by V

I normally do not mix business with pleasure. But when curiosity gets the best of you: “What the hell?”

I meet a lot of high end people where I work. The Actor wasn’t necessarily a celeb, he had worked and for some reason, he just had a spark to him. I meet a lot of actors and usually have no interest, but for some reason, there was a vibe.

I asked, “Are you from New York?”

He said, “Yea, how’d you know?”

“Because I’m that good.”

He told me he was born in Israel and that he grew up on the Upper East Side. Before he left, he went up to me to shake my hand, “A pleasure to meet you.”

Whether he kissed my a** to get closer to the Casting people or he thought I was cute, we became Facebook buddies. I threw out the invite to drinks, but only because I was being network-y… (okay fine, I was opening the door).

We met up at this bar in Hollywood. I was trying to keep it professional. I thought it would be weird, but he was actually really good about keeping the tone. With a drink in hand, he grabbed me a beer from the bar as we sat down and shot around industry blah blah blah. Then of course, he mentioned this movie he was writing and how he was trying to get it produced.

Ugh.

But he was charismatic as hell. So when he said he was selfish and vain and not a very good boyfriend, I knew the only other thing he was after besides kissing my a** , was getting some a**.

But, “What the hell?”

So when he asked me if I wanted to go to his apartment, I paused for a moment and thought long and hard before I said, “Yeah,”

I was also drunk, so that might have aided in my decision making. I had him drive my car down the street to his place (ha, he had that all set up, the bar was on the same street).

His place was immaculately clean and really nice. I was jealous.

We sat and talked for awhile on the couch.

“So do you ask every actor at work to drinks?” He asked.

“No.” I responded.

“As long as you know I expect sex.”

I laughed. I knew he wasn’t joking.

He finally ponied up and made the first move. He was one of the best kissers I ever had. I made out with him and got his shirt off. He might have been skinny, but his body was cut really nicely. Then he got my shirt off.

It was getting hot. And then I couldn’t resist, I pulled out his …

It was really nice. Really well kept. I couldn’t help myself.

I knew even though I wanted to, I couldn’t have sex with him. It would just mess me up too much. He complimented me on my “skills” and then we cuddled as he repeated that he was selfish and vain and not a very good boyfriend. I nodded my head, “Uh-huh.”

After I went to the restroom to put myself back together, I came out to find that he had a little star machine that reflected the entire universe on his ceiling, as I lied on my back and looked up. It was a nice moment.

As I left the apartment, there was no talk of a next time, he kissed me and called me “Darling.” Ugh. And even worse,  he saw the disappointment on my face.

He asked that I text him to tell him I got home safe. I did and haven’t seen him since… except on television.

V

Check out more stories from V @ Confessionsofav.tumblr.com

05

Nov

The Cynic by V



5 Signs You’re in F**kbuddydom

 

Sign #1: He will contact you out of nowhere.

Sign #2: You feel like a hooker.

Sign #3: No sleeping over.

Sign #4: His texts virtually consist of “Hi”.

Sign #5: Weeks, even months pass before you receive communication from him.

 

I met The Cynic right after some friend with benefits emotional disaster, another Jdate.com fiasco with another guy. I was trying to reprogram my monogamous female brain to “clean my pipes” because the fact was this: I needed to move on and I needed to get laid. Simple.

I was 25, working for the corporate man, 55 hours a week and living in Los Angeles. In short, I wasn’t meeting ANYBODY. The truth was I wanted a connection more than anything, a relationship with a man who cared for me and I cared about back.

Well Cynic… was not this man.

I had met Cynic via Jdate.com and I knew we had absolutely nothing in common. His photos showed he was super cute but he liked music like Neil Diamond, Live and 90’s gangsta rap. Live and 90’s gangsta I could identify with… but Neil Diamond? Folksy music? Um, really? You’re 26 and you like Folk?

I met Cynic at a Starbucks in Sherman Oaks. We had been texting back and forth after I suggested we meet the same day after we spoke on IM.

Finally, he just called me to confirm plans and… his voice was hot, “V?”

“Yeah, hi, sorry, I was just texting you back, I’m driving.”

“That’s why I called, figured it would be faster, you’re a fast texter though.”

“That’s why I went to NYU, right?”

He sounded like he was from the Valley, like me. Valley boys are a special breed. They’ve got that Sean Penn, Spicoli from Fast Times slight surfer drawl in their voice. In short, they are never ever good for me. Ever.

I sat waiting at the Starbucks. I didn’t want to buy anything and wanted to see if he would offer. This is a test: Is this guy going to try to use me for sex and never buy me dinner? A man paying is a sign that he is willing to invest, emotionally.

This too, never happened.

Cynic showed up, apologized that he was late and then excused himself because he ran into a professor from his law school that he was attending.

Then he came back and said, “Sorry, he’s my professor and I just had to ask him something really quickly.”

“Oh, it’s totally fine.” I actually really didn’t care all that much.

“Are you getting anything?”

“Um, no, you?”

“Nah.”

 I looked at Cynic’s eyes which were totally red. Cynic was a total stoner.

“I usually get very nervous in social situations, so I smoked up beforehand.”

“Well, no need to be nervous with me.”

Cynic also explained that he was in remission from cancer. WTF. He had cancer?! He’s 26! Lymphoma? What?!

Let me sum up the conversation here, he’s an introvert. I’m an extrovert. He’s a perv. I’m just sexual. He likes Neil Diamond. I don’t. Yet, when the conversation turned to sex, turned out I was attracted to the guy and he was attracted back. Figures.

He walked me to my car, we hugged and I figured I would never ever see him again.

That’s when I got an IM from him the following day:

 

Cynic: Hey indie rocker chick

(second to think if I should respond)

V: Hey Neil Diamond lover

Cynic: So would you be interested in meeting my brother?

V: Huh????????????

Cynic: Well, I think you might hit it off. He’s a nice guy.

V: Um, didn’t I just go out with you. Isn’t that weird?

Cynic: Well if you have someone for me then it’s not.

V: I might, but most of my friends are taken. Why would you try to set me up with your brother?

Cynic: Well, I like you.

Cynic’s points clearly plummeted and I didn’t really converse with him further. Till one night in December, during the holidays I was sitting home alone and he IM’d me again, but this time to come over.

 

Sign #1: He will contact you out of nowhere.

Uh-oh. You know what this means. He wants to have sex. Did I really want to do that? He could be dirty; seriously, I mean STD’s, etc. He had already explained he had his share of chicks at UCSB.

He lived with his parents and they were out of town. I lived with my parents and they were going to be home soon. (Don’t judge, this was a super bad economy, don’t you wish you could live with your parents too?)

I had driven all the way to Woodland Hills at 8PM on a Friday because I had nothing better to do and when I arrived he greeted me and he looked seriously hot. He had actually made an effort to look good. I sat in his kitchen while he offered me some food and tossed some frozen pizza into his toaster oven. He tried to entertain me and had this seriously charming smile. I fell for it.

We hung out in his room. Chit Chatted. He smoked. I did not. Things escalated. Next thing I know I have to stop things before we actually do have sex. This is the second time we have met and even I can’t go that far so soon. I do the “Have you been tested? Wear Condoms?” Q&A and make sure everyone is on the same page. He let me know there are a couple other girls that are in his circle, but that he’s not really looking for anything serious.

I turn on my side and nod my head, “Uh-huh, I get it, I get it.”

He had zero relationship potential, but if he was as good as he said he was, he could flush out the memory of my dreaded friend with benefits and quite frankly, rock my body.

The next time I came over, we did have sex. And he was as good as he promised. He didn’t like his neck kissed or making out in general.

 

Sign #2: I felt like a hooker.

After he got his, he went into detachment guy mode and got weird on me. Typical. He suggested we take a shower and it was the most awkward shower I had ever taken. We weren’t doing anything and there was nothing to really talk about. I was still drunk and since I do not drive in that state, I hung out at his place till 2PM till I hustled on home.

 

Sign #3: No sleeping over.

“Hi” is the official booty call text that opens the door to coming over, providing booty and then leaving. I started to ignore him. If he wants me, he can call.

 

Sign #4: His texts virtually consists of “Hi”. 

Time passed and then I was at work getting a call from my Dad telling me that my mother was in a car accident, “A bad one.” In that moment, I didn’t care about anyone or anything, my mind flipped and like a little girl, I started crying, in my corporate work fortress that never permitted real emotion. I raced to the hospital at 90 miles an hour to find my mom on a board, with a neck brace because some bastard t-boned her into a telephone pole and she had to be pulled out with the Jaws of Life. My mother was stable, but it was obvious he had done damage. After all the tests and X-rays, she had a pneumothorax in her left lung, fractures in her pelvic region and in the sides of her vertebrae in her lower lumbar region.

And suddenly I was my mother, making sure she was getting the proper care, getting her things, informing family members, staying with her to make sure the hospital didn’t kill her.  While they were moving my mom to a different wing at the hospital, I checked my phone and found a text from Cynic, “Hey V, who’s on your IM?”

 

Sign #5: Weeks, even months pass before you receive communication from him.

‘Shoot,’ I left that on at work and some silly temp responded.

 V: I’m at the hospital; my mom was in an accident.

 Cynic: Sorry to hear that kiddo.

 I didn’t really care about Cynic at this moment or the fact that he had ditched me after having sex. At this moment, I was completely numb. I texted him and asked him if he wanted to meet and smoke. I never smoke.

He texted me back and we decided to meet at… the mall. When I saw him, I didn’t expect him to be affectionate. But he greeted me with a hug. I was stone cold, flushed out of emotion, but as he held me, I became defenseless… vulnerable.

Then he grabbed my a**.

Afterward, he took me to In N’ Out. He paid.

I didn’t ever really know if Cynic was just a f**k buddy or a real friend.

My Mom, who was hospitalized for a week, thankfully recovered. I never told her about Cynic.

V

Check out more stories from V @ Confessionsofav.tumblr.com