Tell the wolves I am home.

One of those phrases that can be taken two ways. Love those.

When I realized this I howled.

It all comes back to Wendy and the lost boys.

They find me when it’s time and not a second sooner.

Tell them I came home to them.

Tell them I am home for them.

I realize fully when dealing with fuckbois, lost boys and young un’s that, in a sense, for all intents and purposes, I am being used.

Humans use other humans for warmth, sex, companionship, understanding etc.

Problems arise when it is one-sided. One always taking and never giving. Gets draining after a while.

Fuckbois are notorious for this.

Someone said “calling a boy a fuckboi is like slut shaming a girl”.

No, it isn’t.

Someone else replied “Fuckbois are not called fuckbois for fucking. They are fuckbois because of how they treat the girls they fuck, which is usually badly.”

However, if you just want to get laid…by all means. Go for it.

Speaking of…

That Cassadaga psychic said a few things, one of which foretold the return of an ex. 2 days later Wolfling showed up in my inbox with a ‘what are you up to tonight?’ I howled again.

I am that Panic at the Disco song, and as such have never heard of closing a god damn door.

I am 1400 miles away. I am safe here.

I am safe regardless, I know him, his patterns, and the way he does things. The way he treats me outside of the bedroom is pretty fucking horrendous, but the sex is pretty fucking good and his pillow talk game is on point.

He said I should call him when I get home.

“At this point? With you? I’m bulletproof.” AHS

We shall see.

Sometimes bruising my cervix helps distract from the bruises on my heart.
And I left a movie at his house.

“I can’t just leave Karen, it’s not simple, my cd’s are in his truck. I have like 30 or 40 cd’s in his truck I have to put up with his shit for at least another 6 months.” Dane Cook

Yep.

Moving on, or maybe sideways…

Once upon a time a girl I knew got herself knocked up by an advanced level fuckboi.

He bailed. She struggled. I helped her out to the tune of about 6 grand. Between buying her groceries, taking her out for lunch, smokes, helping with rent and taking emergency cab trips over so she could pass the baby to me and shower etc. 6 grand in 6 months.

I don’t regret it. I’ve justified the whole situation by realizing I was helping the baby, not her. Baby is alive and well, mission accomplished. I’ve made peace with it. It was never about the money, it was about how she treated me like shit after.

While in Florida this time around, a man approached us in a grocery store parking lot crying saying his van had been stolen. Asked for 50 cents and I gave him a handful of change. We went about our shopping and saw him again an hour later singing the same sad song to another group of people.

Once on a family vacation we pulled off at a scenic outlook. A man approached my dad and said the same sad story, went so far as to get our mailing address to ‘send back the money’. My dad said to us after “never loan out what you can’t afford to lose.” and it stuck with me.

Didn’t stop me from handing out change to panhandlers when I moved to Toronto, if I had it and they needed it why not? I was picky about who I gave change to, women and punk kids mostly. My change, my choice.

When I was 15 I was broke and I panhandled. My friends made me do it because I seemed to get more sympathy/money somehow.
So I get it.
I get lots of things. Being down and out. Being pimped out.

I have been a stripper for almost half my life and had many a ‘financially abusive boyfriend’ which is just another way of saying pimp.

The entirety of this convoluted post has been me avoiding the actual issue. Did a good job.

But here it is…

A boy asked me for money.

My philosophy on money is that it comes and goes. If I have it and someone needs it I give it.
When I need it, it comes, sometimes when I don’t need it money comes, I am blessed like that.

So I gave it to him.

It was a bad idea.

I felt a little ill.

I felt the annoyance that I felt in the parking lot when the guy cried crocodile tears for 50 cents.

I felt the betrayal of that girl with the baby.

The anger when a girl who owed me 500 bucks refused to give my hungry child 20 bucks for lunch.

When you give money to friends and they don’t give it back you are basically paying them to stay out of your life.

I’d have rathered he stayed.

I’m still too young and too cute to be a sugar mama, maybe when I’m 50 or 60. Probably not even then. I’m way too concerned with freewill and people staying in my life because they want to not because I’m manipulating them.

This is where my line is.
I don’t mind being home for the wolves/cubs/fuckbois.
I know what they do and why they do it.
Their comfort and joy is mine too and I do so love getting laid.

It’s a barter system.

Sylvia Plath said

“GIRLS ARE NOT MACHINES THAT YOU PUT KINDNESS COINS INTO UNTIL SEX FALLS OUT.”

I’m a different kind of girl-machine wherein they put sex in to get coins and kindness out, but…

When you attempt to use me for money what you’re doing is spitting in a wishing well.

The best things in life are given freely, I am those things.

Fool me once. Okay baby.

Second time? Fuck boy. Transaction denied, funds unavailable.

The only concrete reason I have not to trust him is because of what the others did.
The ones who came before him.

Well that doesn’t seem much like concrete does it?

Those houses were built out of straw and bullshit.

Cheated and lied, broken so bad, you made a vow never get mad, you play the game though it’s unfair, they’re all the same, who can compare

The worst thing I ever did was allow other people into my relationship.

That isn’t really the worst thing,

Fuck…that just took my brain on an ugly journey.

I don’t know the worst thing I ever did. There is a cage match happening right now in my head.

But allowing people outside of my relationships to weigh in on them was bad mmmm’kay?

I went for brunch and then coffee with my girl.
She said she wanted to get all CSI on my mister, she’s afraid I am going to get hurt.
She is a realist and I am not, especially with men.

So…it’s possible.

First you lose trust, then you get worried.

I have a bad habit of being color blind to red flags.

I have been blindsided many a time. Because I am blind.

First you get hurt, then you feel sorry.

My personally philosophy has always been to trust someone until I have a reason not to.

I feel like that might not be the best way to go.

There comes a time, in a short line, turn it around, get a rewrite

I thought last night of making a catfish Tinder account. Catch him doing what I think he might be doing.

Which is spending a substantial portion of his limited free time going on random dates with other random girls.

Ew.

Both of us. Him for hypothetically doing this and me for hypothetically regressing.

Scumbags, both of us.

As if I would be able to hold it together long enough to a) make a date with him under someone else’s name and b) walk out of said ‘date’ with any semblance of dignity or grace.

I would be a wreck, in public.

Not that girl anymore.

I am too lazy to stalk anyone. Lying makes me choke, literally.

I played out the scenario in my head, sadly it felt pretty real and it hurt a lot.

Why in god’s name would I kick the hornets’ nest?

If I go back on Tinder it will be to go on a real date with a new boy or a half dozen of them.

The flags are admittedly varying shades of pink.

In my head he has already been downgraded from boo to bootycall.

I already know he’s married. No, not like that. I’m an asshole but not that big of an asshole.

He’s married to his job.

I keep rationalizing everything. I agreed to this, well not exactly this but I knew he worked a lot. I’ve waited longer for less, but that is wearing thin as the time gets longer I am getting next to nothing.

Flying like a cannonball falling to the earth, heavy as a feather when you hit the dirt.
How am I the lucky one, I did not deserve to wait around forever when you were there first.

Feathers float and so will I.

(Italics = Cold War Kids, First)