Fuckin With Fuck Boys: Day 1277

I got a phone call in the morning from a guy I used to fuck, and me being  a nice person, I picked it up. Now, I guess it’s worth noting that this particular erstwhile lover and I stopped sleeping together a year ago, but within the last year have managed cultivate a casual, distant friendship that occasionally results in spending time together once a month. It’s something that I appreciate, mostly because after being sexually intimate with someone over the course of several years, it’s nice to be able to maintain a friendship outside of the sexual aspect of the relationship. Although, maybe I’m lying to myself and I’m just keeping tabs on someone that I used to like fucking, but, hey, friendship is friendship and I can’t really knock it.

That being said, I picked up the phone only to hear him tell me that he was stuck in the hills because his car broke down after he drove to some girl’s house to hook up with her after work. And now he’s wandering around the streets of the hills, looking for a car parts shop before his phone dies within the next thirty minutes.

“Oh, that sounds awful,” I respond, still sitting in bed and checking this morning’s incoming haterific comments on various blog posts. I begin to process exactly what’s going on here: this guy wants me to drive my car all the way to the fucking hills to pick his ass up from a booty call and drive him back to our hood. Fascinating. While I appreciate the fact that he thinks he can turn me into his personal booty call taxi service, in no way am I prepared to stop my incredibly scintillating AM pajama party perusal of the Internet to do something nice for someone who doesn’t fuck me anymore. I’m pretty sure that the exact tenets of our relationship do not include a “Captain Save A Ho” clause, which is cool because if it did have a “Captain Save A Ho” clause, that means that he would have fought several dudes in bars by now to defend my currently disintegrating honor. But I have  yet to see him throw a punch at someone that irritates me when I’m out at bars, so it looks like I’m not driving to the hills to bring him motor oil. Which in no way negates our friendship, but, yeah, talk about the most fuck boy thing that has happened to me in Winter 2015: a former lover trying to get me to pick him up from a booty call. Wow.

“Well, I’m really busy right now, but I’ll be free in an hour,” I say, calculating the exact time at which his phone will die in order to avoid any real social responsibility.

“Ugh, well, I guess I’m going to wander around and try to find motor oil,” he responds, sounding defeated. I know he can’t hear me, but I shrug my shoulders, hang up, and wonder if we’re going to have sex again some time soon. I figure that the answer to that question is, “No,” mostly because the interaction that transpired just now was incredibly unattractive. So I guess what I’m really wondering is if he’s going to try to fuck me again some time soon, so that I can laugh in his face and reject him because that would be pretty entertaining for me, and it sounds like pretty accurate retribution for being phoned up at 10 AM to Captain Save A Ho a fuck boy.