Three weeks ago, Margo divulged to me a certain piece of information that I can only appropriately classify as cataclysmic. I haven’t updated my journal in quite some time now because I’ve been hesitant to reveal to you what she told me for fear that mass hysteria would surely ensue, especially amongst my many female fans. Be prepared because there's a very good chance that it will rock the very foundation of your world.

She informed me that we’re a couple.  We were standing in line at the movie theater waiting to purchase tickets. I was coyly flirting with the teenage girl in front of me by sporadically mashing my crotch against her perfect little ass. After each prodding, she’d turn around and glare at me. I’d return each of her vixenish frowns with a look that conveyed, “This girl standing next to me is just my sister. I’m all yours if you want me, sweet thing.”Just as it appeared that she might take me up on my offer, her Dad, who was standing next to her, totally cock-blocked me by dragging her away.  “What the fuck is that about, dude?” I pondered as Margo rolled her eyes at me.   

Dejected, I bought the tickets and Margo and I walked towards the theater. She was droning on about something that sounded remarkably similar to, “blah blah blah blah blah,” when I suddenly felt her hand take hold of mine. I looked at her, she smiled and I heard her say, “blah blah blah we’re a couple.”  My male instincts immediately kicked in and I recoiled in horror. I ripped my hand from her grasp, turned, and fled from the theater screaming, “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!” Despite the bewildered, frightened stares from strangers, my hellacious shrieks and the tears pouring down my cheeks, I still managed a somewhat dignified exit.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed the time that I’ve spent with Margo over the past month but the word, “couple” just sounds so exclusive and let’s be serious; it takes a lot more than one woman to satiate my unparalleled sexual appetite. I’m The Dude.  The Dynamo.

She can’t seriously expect me to deprive every other female of my company, can she?
 
Still blubbering, I raced to the my car, only stopping once at an ice cream stand to inquire about buying a fluffy Tiramisu Parfait. Alas, they had no idea what I was talking about. I ended up purchasing a Fudgsicle Frostee Fudge Cup instead.  With my chocolaty comfort food in hand, I crawled into the back seat of my car, curled up in a fetal position and wondered how I could have let this happen.
 
As the hours passed, I concluded that, as usual, the blame was not mine. I’m apparently just too damn sexy for my own good. Margo is an intelligent and extremely devious girl. She correctly sensed that the door to moi boudoir would not always be open for her so she made an attempt to prolong the ecstasy by forcing me into a more committed relationship. I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Try as she might, the poor girl just can’t hide her wanton lust for me.
 
I’ll give you an example.
 
Every Friday after work, she goes to see her physical therapists, identical twin Swedish bodybuilders, Magnus and Karl. Afterwards, she’ll drive over to my house to see me. She’s in such a rush to be in my presence that she’ll usually show up with her hair mussed, her makeup smudged and sometimes her clothes are ripped.
 
The exact same thing happens on Wednesdays and Saturdays when she finishes her workouts at the gym with her trainer, Sven.  Out of breath, she’ll collapse on my couch in an apparent, “come take me, you irresistible man-beast,” gesture. We’ll be watching TV or listening to the radio and every time she shifts her weight from one side to another, she’ll wince and grab her crotch in a blatant attempt to focus my attention on it. And then when I try to make a move on her, acting like I haven’t had sex in three months, 2 weeks, eleven days and sixteen hours, she’ll suddenly switch characters and play hard-to-get by picking up the telephone and talking for hours with Alan, her Italian masseur.
 
As you can see, we like to spice things up with a little role-playing from time to time. It can be a lot of fun and Margo is quite good at it. Sometimes, she'll play her character for days and weeks on end.
 
Three hours after I left the movie theater, Margo brusquely knocked on the window of my car. I unlocked the door and she asked, “What happened? Are you ok? I was worried that something was wrong.”
 
“Not worried enough to leave the theater before the movie ended,” I mumbled.
 
“Well, no, not that worried I guess. Good point,” she conceded before continuing, “So what happened? We were walking into the theater and as I started to say, “We’re a couple of minutes late. I hope there are still some good seats available,” you burst into tears and bolted away from me.”  I felt my face start to redden and quickly thought of a plausible reason for my abrupt departure. “Oh… right. Um… well."  I smoothly answered.
 
“Yeah, whatever, let’s just go. I’m hungry and one of us is buying me dinner.”