Slut Radar

Anyone who has read all of my posts can piece together the following:

1. I started out a fairly good Catholic girl.
2. I got married and was a good Catholic wife.
3. I got lost, had mucho sex, and now feel bad about it.
4. I am now becoming a good Catholic wife again.

What I will talk about today is a transformation that occurred in me from being "fairly normal" to slut-de-jour.

After I had seven or eight different men in the course of a year, I developed a sense for the good boys and the bad boys. A sense I never had before. I know, some call it some super power, but it was more like a different sense. I could just hold a conversation with someone, and sort of tell if that person would easily bed. And I thought of it as slut radar.

I can remember vividly meeting someone at the shop where I worked, talking about whatever, and knowing inside of ten minutes if I made some excuse to go to my office for "some paperwork", if he would follow. If he did, chances were high that by the end of the hour, he would have used one of my condoms that I kept in my filing cabinet under "P." The P was for personal, but I guess subconsciously, it could have been for penis.

And I think they could sense it as well. At work with co-workers, it had to be more subtle. Complaining that the hubbie would be out-of-town on the weekend and my car really needed an oil change. Yeah, I got the free oil change, but that was not all that was greased and lubed that weekend.

I have gotten some personal e-mails since I have been blogging, and I know exactly who have more liberal strike zones, if you know what I mean. Sorry, baseball playoffs (people go ape over Atlanta around here, mostly for the second round of the play-offs). I am sure if I had a business trip to Minnesota, for instance, I could make some kind of excuse to visit a photographer friend who would do me if his wife went to a neighbors to borrow sugar. Just the way things go.

I do believe that this slut radar that I have developed is still working. I am in a very administrative position, but I have been asked several times to attend conferences. For my job, there is no reason for me to network. A reward, they say. But the various managers and I both know all they really want is an opportunity to spend a few hours of hot sex with the office slut. Not that I am a slut now, but I think I still probably give off the subtle aroma of a girl that has done a few things she wish she hadn't.

So playboys, beware, my slut radar can sense you coming a mile away. Although you just promise a staple through the navel and instant fame, all you really want is to nail something.