Tiffany, you really should reconsider your life choices if you are currently planning on taking another guy's kids," "I don't know what you are talking about," the other blonde responded, also sounding slightly annoyed, as the older woman smiled at me with understanding and went back to her seat. "You really should." I laughed. "Or you'll wind up like Mimi and that won't be so hot," I added with a glance at the woman I thought of as Nana the Nagger. "Well, I guess I'll just go see if I can get laid," she huffed. I laughed again and leaned back to watch the rest of the show, my laughter a reminder to myself that the humor around today's problems and disappointments would always be easy. I was always right. I got a text message from the office. "Ping-pong tonight at eight." My friends had moved to town several months earlier and immediately discovered my love for the new competitive game that came from the combination of the ping-pong table and a martini. I had just received a new ping-pong table for my birthday and decided it was time to put it to good use. The two women walked in about ten minutes after I did. I looked up with a smile and waved. "Hey guys. Come join us." I was happy to see that, as was usual for the girls, one was dressed like a slut and one was not. I thought the slut look was the far more effective one for a woman. And after a hard day, who could resist a woman willing to be that sluttish for you? "This is my friend Jenny. She's from New Jersey," I told them. "Hi," she replied, with a warm smile that revealed nice teeth. "Cool," they both said, like they knew how to get it. "Are you kidding me?" I said. "I think you'd have to be an Idaho fan to like this one." "I'm sorry, but your jersey is not something to be proud of," the former cheerleader said to me. "It's actually quite pretty. I could put it in the kitchen." "It's a disgrace to sports," the other chimed in. "Can we agree to disagree, since I happen to like it?" I asked. "Are you kidding? It's the ugliest jersey in the history of sports," the slut proclaimed. "No, it isn't," I argued. "There is actually a cute little fox or raccoon on the front," I said, looking from one of them to the other, trying to gauge their reaction. "A fox?" they both said, sounding incredulous. "You think that's bad? Some of the people who designed jerseys in the early 1900s were clearly out of their minds, since they put a fox on the front of the shirt of the Washington football team," I said. "Now wait a minute," the slut said, seeming irritated at the whole conversation. "I was the one who invited you over. I should get to pick the movie. I get what I want. And I want this." She pulled out a huge bag of red licorice from the cupboard. "I'm going to enjoy every inch of your body. Right now." Her friend nodded in agreement, as the first blonde stripped to her underwear. "Okay," she said. "I won't have sex with you." She threw herself on the couch and began munching on the red licorice, just like I told her to do. "Wow," I said. "That was incredibly impressive. How did you find such a great friend?" "She saved me from joining a cult on Craigslist," I was told. "What cult?" I asked. "It's called the Church of Scientology. The friend I found says it's all a big rip-off. Apparently they force you to throw away all of your electronics and eat nothing but brown rice and wheat grass and sit with your butt on fire for hours." "I'm sorry," I told her. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at that cult," I explained, taking a look at the red licorice. "Why am I not surprised," the blond with the big rack said to me. "She's been in here eating red licorice since we moved in," the friend added. I looked to the friend who had not stripped down. She had long, straight blonde hair and was sporting an outfit more attractive than anything I owned. She also did not have red licorice in her hand. "Can I get you anything?" she asked me, smiling. "And by anything I mean a date." She had a beautiful smile and the same energy as the former cheerleader. If she was on the front of the basketball team instead of her friend, she would be the most sought-after girl in the school. She was very thin, which wasn't common in the world of basketball coaches. "Oh God," I thought. "I am still not over this girl." The next two weeks flew by. I was working every night, so I'd arrive home around midnight. I didn't mind so much, since Tiffany was usually home at that time. Her roommate, who also had her own place, was only home in the mornings. This put her in the position of having to be as discreet as possible about her lesbianism. She tried hard, but after two weeks of working together every day, she was beginning to show through. In fact, the more I saw her without her clothes on, the more I wanted her. "I really don't want to say anything about what happened between you and Jenny yesterday," she told me one morning. "You don't? But you know. Why not?" "Because. You don't need to know," she said. "Why?" I asked. "I just don't want anyone to know about it." "But you can't keep that to yourself. You're too loud. If you don't tell everyone, then people will start to talk about you. It's not that I don't want you to date other people, but you're kind of a big deal here and no one wants to see you hurt." I could hear myself whining and I knew I had a problem. "I'm sorry," I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry I'm such a child about this. It's a lot more serious than I'm making it out to be. I want you so much and you're so beautiful." "I'm pretty, but I really am scared," she admitted. "It's good that you understand." I couldn't understand. The same person who was asexual in college was now completely opposite the next day. I was embarrassed for her. It's hard for me to say, but she was being a prude. We had a long talk, where she told me that she didn't want to date anyone else, but I felt that she didn't respect me enough to not have sex with me. We talked a bit about mutual respect, but I couldn't really put my finger on the exact issue, since she was pretty much in a relationship with her panties at all times. My friend called the next day and, even though I had told him not to, he called me on my cell phone. "I just wanted to tell you that you're a dirty, dirty boy," he said. "I thought I already was," I joked. "You have no idea," he said, without laughing. "Now that I think about it, I've gotten some flack because I'm a Christian." "A Christian? Why is that a problem?" "Well, you know. It's just different. People expect you to be homophobic. All the lesbians look at me like I'm an underwear model. It's not as if they would want to try and talk to me about Christ or anything," he said. "People expect you to be homophobic?" I asked. "What kind of people would expect that?" "Well, the people who are Christians are