Monthly Archives: August 2008

Remember Dmitri the Lover?

Well, lucky for us all, he’s giving lessons.

According to the protocols of the Rasputin Method of Seduction developed by Dimitri The Lover, it is important that as much physical contact as possible occur during the initial interaction in order to
set the tone for future sessions. Unfortunately, due to absurd, unnatural, feminist-inspired North American laws which run contrary to our natural biological urges, men are restricted from groping women at will. Therefore, it is imperative that the touching be consensual. The key is getting women to feel both comfortable and aroused at the thought of being treated like a piece of meat at a slave auction.

When I was in college, if I was in love with somebody I knew slightly but I couldn’t come up with an excuse to, you know, actually speak to him, I would tell him he’d appeared in my dreams the night before (in a completely non-sexual way).

“I dreamed that there were a bunch of people floating around as circles,” I said to one guy once, “and I was a triangle, and then I saw another triangle floating around, and it turned out to be you.”

We ended up making out once, several months later, so obviously I was onto something.

It has just come to my attention that there are people who have not read True Porn Clerk Stories.

If you are one of these people, please, please do your part to rectify the situation.

You won’t regret it.

Of course, the job he was beginning was in the department where this happened less than a month before his first day, so it’s possible he should be granted some leeway.

A few weeks ago today, E.S., having finished his psychiatric residency in Hell at Beth Israel hospital, began his new job as an attending psychiatrist at a city hospital. To support him, I decided to wake up early on his first day and cook him breakfast; when I asked him the day before what he wanted, he suggested that oatmeal and scrambled eggs would be delicious. I asked him when he would be going to work, and he said he thought he’d leave the house at around 8:30.

The next morning, at 7:30, I was in the kitchen boiling water for the oatmeal (I scorn instant oatmeal and use only steel-cut oats, which take me about 45 minutes or so to prepare on the stove) when E.S. came downstairs, attired for work. I was concerned, since he doesn’t usually dress in the morning until shortly before leaving the house. Then we had the following conversation:

FAUSTUS: Wait, when are you leaving?
E.S.: In about half an hour.
FAUSTUS: But—but—I won’t be able to finish your oatmeal before then!
E.S.: I guess not. Obviously I need to find a boyfriend who loves me more.
FAUSTUS: But—but—
E.S.: No, just kidding. I’m leaving at 8:30.
FAUSTUS: Oh, my God. You were lying to me.
E.S.: I was motivating you.
FAUSTUS: With lies.
E.S.: It’s a currency you’re familiar with.

The only thing that kept me from dumping the oatmeal on his head was the fact that I really like oatmeal.