What is the difference between a player and a slut?

I was just reading a couple of trashy magazines the other day and I came across this article titled "The Female Player". Apparently a female player does not have sexual intercourse with her male consorts but instead, keeps them hanging around buying her gifts and expensive dinners hoping that the relationship will blossom into something more 'substantial' (depends on what you deem substantial these days - flesh or emotion?).

In today's confused feminist world where women wear suits and head large corporate companies, the issue of sex as applied to the independent female is still largely a gray area. Women head to male strip clubs in droves to assert that yes, they can enjoy the male form and completely objectify and sexualise the male anatomy 'just like what the boys have been doing to us!'. Yet, is it the thrill of humiliating the physically stronger sex into performing lewd and submissive acts like an over-muscled trained monkey? Or do women secretly want to be dominated, hence the allure of the naughty 'policeman' or 'firefighter'? I've never picked up a damn Mills and Boons / Barbara Cartland book in my life but I hear that strong well muscled men who are honest and kind i.e. upright morally conscious citizens are a recurring fantasy for uh, desperate housewives. Actually, I lie. The last time I picked up one of those novels was in year 14 when I read the beginning paragraphs of a classmate's trashy novel (His dark tan skin glistened in the sun, beads of sweat appearing across his forehead, long lustrous locks of thick black hair flying in the wind as he rode his horse across the valley) and I laughed my head off, much to her embarassment. Sadly to say, she never invited me to read any of her pink books ever again.

Note: Neither have I been to a male strip club. Talk about a prude prune. 

Dogwalker dude told me a story about how he was two months behind in rent and was close to being kicked out by his friendly housemates. This was way back when he was in his first year of uni. He had spent all his money on weed and alcohol and was completely off his face on drugs. Being a fit 18 year old Asian male, his friends suggested answering an ad on the internet for nude house-cleaning. He was probably high/desperate at the time, but he called the guy (yes, it was a guy) and arranged to meet.

So anyway to cut a long story short, he ended up vacuuming and mopping an elderly and overweight homosexual pervert's house for two hours dressed in only a red G-string. "He kept throwing money at me and asking me to bend over to pick up the cash. He had this assortment of weird toys that he kept trying to entice me to put in my arse." He counted roughly $400 in earnings for the deed.

Apparently the guy was going to pay him more if he agreed to a little more interactivity. Dogwalker told me the only interactivity going through his head at the time was his fist versus old man perv's jawline.

Prelude Pt 3: The Dog Walker

Oct 3: 12am

It has been a bad day. Three unexpected deaths. The allure of drink beckons. Intoxicating.

I take a shower. Water invigorates me. My sleek black hair clings to my back, reminding me of my Oriental heritage. The phone rings. I step out and towel myself dry. I quickly wrap myself in a woolen dress and step into a trench coat. I take a swig from the Jack Daniels sitting next to the vanity.

Are you crazy?

The phone rings again. I pick it up. It's the boyfriend. "Hey babe, are you working tonight? We could do supper." "Oh I'm meeting a few friends for drinks later. Catch you later honey. Don't work too hard."

God, you've really lost it. 

I bring Sibs for her midnight walk. It is chilly outside. I wrap myself in a scarf.

A text message. It's Kelvin. "Hun, don't bring the dog. I'm allergic to dogs."

I reply: "What the fuck? 'Coffee' is off. What about that terrier you told me about?"

"I made him up. Turn around." 

I turn and I see him.

He looks pleasant enough, early thirties? But he is wearing Bata slippers and three quarter cargo pants in the middle of chilly weather.

Alcohol blurs the lines between acceptable societal morals and ridiculously wanton behaviour.

"You look like a fucking homeless schmuck! You piss poor liar!"

"What?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Are you drunk? You're fucking gorgeous. You didn't mention that in the ad."

"I had a hard day, please just leave me alone. This has been the star on the top of the Christmas tree, the straw to break the camel's back. Just fuck off and leave me alone. I'll go home and get some sleep. God, what was I thinking?"

"Shit day, huh? Let's go get some more to drink then."

I eye him incredulously. He brings out two stubbies from his backpack and points to a nearby park.

"Let's go drink in that park there. Sibs can go amuse herself. We'll talk about ourselves. I had a shit day too."

You know the fork in the road, the moment in time where you make a decision which ultimately dictates where you will end up. Gut instinct, women's intuition. That load of bull. Alcohol made me a stupid stupid girl that night.

I don't know why I did it but I followed him to the park.

We talked.

He was an investment banker.

"I dress in a monkey suit the whole day. Society demands you dress like a monkey, so you do it in the office. But no monkey suits after work for me. Comfort is best."

He'd travelled the world.

"Went to South Africa once. Crazy times that. Wanted to find myself. Had a mental breakdown - too much competition and backstabbing in the corporate world. Exited the rat race and went backpacking. Have you ever done that? Have you ever lived? Have you ever experienced the hospitality of a dirt poor family sharing their only supply of meat with you so they could cook you a wonderful meal? Have you ever had a gun pointed at you?" 


"Actually yes, I have had a gun pointed at me. Bank robbery. Innocent bystander."

He looked at me and grinned. The alcohol and the full moon worked to potent effect. There was a river nearby and the soft night breeze and the undulations of the water brought my soul to a peaceful slumber. Like a soothing lullaby to the child who just needed to be loved. When the soul dies, it leaves the body. When it sleeps, where does it go?

"Have you ever felt misunderstood - like nobody else understood how you really felt?"

"Now that sounds like a line out of Neil Strauss."

"Oh come on."

"So this dog walker schtick - how often have you used this ruse?"

"First time babe. It was late at night and I was lonely. I liked your style of writing and I really wanted to meet you."

to be continued... 

Prelude Pt 2: The Dog Walker

Oct 2: 12pm

I receive a text message. "Coffee sounds great. Let's meet. Do you like laid-back indie or sophisticated urban chic? I know this great place in the city..."

Work is chaotic and people are yelling at me from all corners. The phone rings. Another angry person on the other line.

How the hell did he get my number? What the hell, I'm tired. I must have posted my personal number on those other ads selling my crappy second hand furniture.

Undoubtedly, it was a ray of sunshine in an otherwise horrible day. My uniform was drenched in blood yet again and the boss from hell was yelling at me to go get changed or I'd scare people away. Death, death lingers and people cannot handle the stress, so they yell. The tough survive. They have loved ones waiting for them at home. I have Sibs and the cats.

I stealthily text back: "Not free today until after 11pm. Terrible work roster. Hence the ad."

"Thalia! Get your lazy arse back in here! What do you think we are?"

I love my job and yet I hate it. 

Another message: "That's fine. I'll meet you after midnight then. We'll go somewhere nice. Don't worry I'm harmless."

Thalia, stupid ignorant innocent Thalia. Otherwise known in elementary school as Dahlia, Malia, Tanya. Silly creatures of the air. Daughters of the wind, grounded and yet so wrong in their gullibility. She'd always trusted strangers. Where she came from, strangers were kind and understood that in a tired world, the comfort of a stranger in need was precious.


I replied: "Sure thing." 
   
This prelude is taking a long time to write as the events occured many red glasses of wine ago. Bear with me. 

Prelude: The dog walker

October 2: 12am

I work long hours. The smell of death clings to me as I trudge heavily home. Two years ago, I rescued a lost looking dog from the pound. She was not the Siberian Husky I dreamed of as a child, but she was small and dainty. Most importantly, she needed a home.

I call her my mini sibby, or Sibs for short.

Lately work has been draining. Sibs and I share a small apartment (with a huge courtyard) with two cats. They are all I have/had. Warm bodies to snuggle close to in winter.

But lately Sibs has been looking at me with doleful eyes. She barks and fetches me her leash but I am too tired to walk her when I've worked a 6am to 11pm shift.

So I looked on craigslist and put an ad up for a dog walker.

'Dog walker wanted. Busy professional female needs kind soul to help walk her long suffering dog." 

'This would be the cure to my problems,' I thought, as I buried my head in my pillows and fell asleep, poochy sleeping at my feet as usual, ears alert guarding the doorway.

I drink heavily at night to help me get to sleep. I see too much horror in the day time. The balance between life and death is tenacious.

The next day, I get up and splash water on my face.

Three replies. Two professional dog walkers charging $50 a week and free access to my home. I scratch my head. Possible, but do they have references?

I almost delete the last one as it has no subject in its header. It turns out to be from a regular nice guy called Kelvin offering to walk her for free as he loves dogs. He even lives in my neighbourhood.

"How sweet," I think to myself.

"So do you want to meet? I have a feisty little terrier that needs walking. I probably don't walk him as much as he likes. I know exactly how you feel. What about this? We make it a point to go jogging with our dogs early in the morning or late in the evening - whatever you are comfortable with. That way, the dogs get exercise and we develop our stamina and discipline. I am a huge fan of self improvement. We could make this work. Email me back."

He sounds intelligent. Mmm, and he has a terrier. Little Sibs needs a friend, I thought.

Should I mention at this point that I had (emphasis on had) a long term boyfriend? We hardly saw each other but we were 'dating' in the sense that we had grown comfortable in a granny-pops relationship - happy to talk anytime we needed each other. Too bad we were too tired to even pick up the phone these days.

I get ready for work and the day as it unravels ahead pushes the email to the back of my mind.

Oct 3: 2am

The red light illuminating the numbers on the alarm clock blink incessantly at me. I am wide awake. No alcohol tonight. A sense of hollowness dulls the gnawing sense that something is missing in my world. The ache for something different, something raw yet familiar. A sense of dread tinged with longing.

What if?

I get up and walk to the study.

"Coffee? I'm free this Saturday."

Little did I know that that short email would be the catalyst, the spark that ignited my descent into hell.

- to be continued -

The End of 2010

October 2010 - December 2010

I thought I'd start a blog to clear out the cobwebs in my mind. Or rather, to sort out the confusion that has occured. I was brought up by decent parents and given a ridiculously fancy education. I have three degrees and I am working on my fourth one. In all my twenty eight years of living however, I felt hollow inside.

I suppose this blog would be cathartic for the mistakes I have made in the last three months.

I just want to know that I am not alone in this.