Vajayjays are Important Too

I was having dinner at a very nice restaurant in Greenbelt with Jt and a Playboy (Philippines) model. I was pleasantly surprised by the girl's loquaciousness and intelligence; she even gave me tips on how to prevent the worsening of my eyesight. At some point, as conversations between adults usually do, the topic shifted to sex.

"Oh my god, can I just say..." she said by way of introduction.

"What?" I replied.

"Wait I have to tell the full story," she answered. "I used to date this guy, half European, half African."

"Ok..."

"And he's huge."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, huge huge. Like my wrist, dude."

At this point, an image that I did not want to see popped into my head. I drank some water.

"So, you know, at the start of relationships where you're both like bunnies? Anyway, after one week of hardcore you know, I suddenly woke up with this tremendous pain in my...vagina."

I looked at Jt, whose forehead began to crease. Playboy model continued, "Apparently, I have UTI, at least according to my OB. And I asked her if size mattered and she said it doesn't. I was just worried that I might be overusing it."

"What's UTI?" I asked.

"Urinary tract infection. Ok, imagine my mouth as a vagina."

That wasn't really something I wanted to imagine.

"And the walls of my mouth, or the vagina, has bacteria right? Well, what happens is..." She looks around. "Think of this spoon as a penis. It scrapes the sides of the wall of the vagina right." She makes a scraping motion. "Then you move some of the bacteria around. If they go back, it's possible that they are already infected. So, that's how you get UTI."

Since my head was swimming with images of giant spoon-penises the size of wrists and mouth-vaginas, I didn't realize immediately that Jt was starting to look sick.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"That's so gross. I can't believe you're talking about vaginas."

"Well, babe, vaginas are important. I'm sure the heteros and lesbians can't live without it." Playboy model nodded in agreement. "Besides, that's where you came from."

"Yuck."

"Oh my god, you're so gay."

"Duh."

The Pitfalls of Dating the Perfect Guy

Jt is not the easiest person to date, especially if you're the jealous or insecure type (just so we're clear, I'm not). He's good-looking, (very) intelligent, and successful. Seriously, everything I've been looking for in a man, I found in him. And he loves me. What more do I want?

At the risk of sounding ungrateful, there are a few pitfalls to dating the perfect guy:

1. It magnifies all of your own insecurities.

I once told my friend that I just realized Jt is everything I ever dreamed of becoming. First, he's a lawyer (and a very successful one). Second, he's an opinion writer for a popular newspaper. Third, he does freelance writing for art magazines, where he interviews up and coming artists, as well as a few established ones.

Now look at me. First, I'm a law student working my butt off to pass the bar. Second, I have a blog. Third, I do freelance writing for random magazines which would take me.

I'm like Jt redux. The diluted Jt. His sidekick.

I'm not an insecure person in general, but there are moments.

2. Eating out can be a hassle, especially if he stopped telling you he knows people in the restaurant who used to court him.

Here's a typical conversation.

"That was a nice dinner," I would say.

"Yes it was," he'd reply.

"The guy next to us was pretty cute."

Pause.

"What?"

"We dated maybe once or twice."

Repeat.

Then he said, a couple of nights ago, that he didn't tell me there was this guy in this restaurant in Greenbelt that he used to date because I might get jealous. Of course not, I said. Then wondered which one it was, and if he was cuter than me.

3. You don't want him to talk about his exes. Then you do. Then you don't. Then you imagine random guys he probably dated and why he ended up with you.

I was at his apartment when I saw a picture of this very good-lucking guy on his bookshelf.

"Wow. Hot guy," I said.

"Oh that's nothing," he replied.

"Who's he?"

"Someone I dated before."

Eyebrow raised, I swallowed a little bit of my own spit. "And?"

"He moved back to Malaysia."

"What does he do?"

"He's a model."

"Kill me now and stab me in the gut," I thought. I looked at the picture, imagined the guy without his shirt off, and I started to hate myself.

"Oh, that's not a real job," I mentioned offhandedly, if defensively.

He smiled.

Then I thought, "Please, please, please, let him be an idiot. Or else I may have to tell Jt myself he could do better."

I wouldn't exchange Jt for anyone in the world, and I do love him, but we have our moments.

In all fairness, another friend did point out that Jt is 16 years older than me. "That's a pretty decent headstart," he said, and I agreed, but that's probably something I should tell in a different story.

Photo taken here.