Okay, tried to avoid it, tried to go to sleep without doing this, but seemingly I won't rest easy until I do.

Need water. Going to get it.

Aaaahhh.... Got it.

Okay, so, the $64,000 question: Can a slut be reformed?

And the answer seems to be.... no, can't be done, sorry. Sucker.

I'm going to confess it: Not only I do not have any real female friends; I've also had sex with ALL of my male friends.

[Rethinks, reconsiders, frowns in an attempt to remember a male friend she hasn't laid... and fails cataclismically. Even if she can't spell it.]

It would work like this: Meet the guy, fool around, flirtatious remarks exchanged, along with my indisputable tough-girl charm, then we fuck each other, then we're friends.

That generally constitutes a very good friendship, to be totally honest. Once the sexual innuendos inherent to any man-woman friendship are left behind, guys tend to relax, stop being so aggresive. Most of the times there'd be this rough spot, of course, in which the guy would get into his head that 'I'm irresistible' thing, or the 'I'm coming to love this girl' thing, a phase which I lovingly termed 'Getting stupid'.

Of course, I also slipped a couple of times. I also got stupid a couple of times.

But, as we all know, guys [and myself] don't stay stupid all of the time, and all of us eventually realized how things worked and started being real friends. Once the 'Getting stupid' phase wears out, the friendship gets as comfortable as can be.

I realize this probably doesn't work in most cases. But, we've decided (me, myself and I), I'm a slut, right? Just Can't Say No, thass me.

In my defense, I'll say my guyfriends absolutely adore me. We don't meet as often as we'd like, probably, but that's because most of them have girlfriends who, of coursity course, hate me. Oh, and the fact that all of them, with one notable (if cynical) exception, hate Belendor's guts.

They don't say that out loud, of course; they know I'd whack them. But I can tell. Of course I can.

The exception: my most beloved friend, George. Gods, I love him. And I love him in such a good way. And he loves me too, and how. He's the only one of the whole bunch of them who actually comes to my house, and actually talks to my boyfriend. Every time we meet, which doesn't happen frequently, it's a mildly disgusting scene: we'll hug for about five minutes, whispering into each other's ears 'I've missed you so much' and 'Yes, me too'. And in our goodbyes, another ten minutes of hug: 'Take care, ok?', 'You know I love you', 'Yeah, me too'.

And Belendor, such a great guy he is, will just smile and let us be, because he knows there's nothing we can do to help it. He might not know the details (although I have no doubt suspects them), but he knows, without me telling him, that I love George so much because he's the only person in the world, either man, woman or cat, who has ever completely understood me, the only one who knows every little thing there is to know about me. And he knew these things without me telling him, either. Because he's just like me.

I met him about four years ago, when we were both teaching english. We met, we liked each other, we followed the above described protocol up to a certain point, and then it completely changed. Because he, unlike all the others, knew exactly where we were going, so happily we could skip over the gooey, slushy parts. We just fucked each other's brains out in the most satisfying way imaginable.

Unlike the others, as well, he knew everything there is to know about the 'Getting stupid' syndrome, and he regarded it with a satyrical eyebrow, just as I did. We agreed that, as we were aware of it, we would not fall into that.

Of course we did. There came a point when we both realized that if we didn't stop like, right then, we would helplessly fall for each other, and that was bound to be a disaster. So, although we were deeply reluctant to give up on what had been until that point one of the most satisfying sexspells of our lives, we stopped. It was a little painful, but it was for the best.

Anyway, he's the only one of my friends who was truly, 100 percent happy for me when he knew about Belendor. The others were happy for me too, but they all felt some jealousy on some degree, as well. But George, he was happy for me without the slightest jealousy because, unlike the others, he knows what I feel for him (which is this great, stupid love) didn't change a bit with Belendor's arrival. He knew Belendor was no competitor for his share of my love.

Whatever. I was trying to make a point here. What was it, again?

Oh yes. The Being a Slut Thing. Or, if you'd (I, in other words) prefer, The Being a Very Passionate, Sexual Woman Thing.

I remember when George came home for the first time to meet Belendor. We'd been talking, the three of us, and then Belendor had to leave. The moment he was out of the door (or practically), he said 'That guy really loves you. He is a good guy, too. That's great.' And I go, 'Yeah, I think so, too'. And then he said, 'Well, good luck'. And I went, 'Ain't gonna need it, mate. This Is It'. He just smiled and shrugged. And hoisted his cynical eyebrow up to the ceiling, of course.

I remember it so clearly now. It struck me as strange, but I didn't say anything else.

I didn't see him for another half a year, perhaps a bit more. Then he came to my house one night when Belendor was out on tour. I yapped excitedly about all the things that had been happening in our lives, about how we had bought a TV and a DVD thing and all that horseshit. He also yapped excitedly about his own happy bullshit.

Then he said, 'Are you doing okay?' and I go, 'Shit yeah, perfectly fine'. Up goes the eyebrow again. 'That's good,' he said, 'so it hasn't gotten all difficult yet?' and I go, 'What the fuck you're talking about? It's not difficult at all!' 'It will,' he says. 'It's gonna be hard for you.'

I didn't quite like the way he said that, and I even thought he was jealous or something, so I lifted my own eyebrow and went, 'George, are you Getting Stupid on me?' He laughed then. 'Of course not, honey. Getting Stupid wouldn't work with you. What I mean is, all this' -- meaning Belendor, the new apartment, my stupid tv and all the horseshit -- 'is not enough for you. Or won't be enough for long. You are not like this.'

I was a little cross at him for saying that. I thought he was Getting Stupid.

I saw him again less than two months ago. Again he came over, had lunch with us, and then Belendor decorously retired and left us alone. We talked about tis and tat, and then I asked him what he had really meant when he said that. I also pointed out that more than a year had gone by and I was still perfectly happy with Belendor.

He put an arm around me and said, 'Well, I hadn't said anymore about that because I noticed you didn't like it. But now that you bring it up, I think you're the one who's gonna have all the doubts here. He loves you, no doubt about it, he loves you a lot. And you love him too, you can't help but notice it. But This Isn't Enough For You. You've forgotten it now because you love him so much, but you'll see later.'

And I just looked at him squarely in the eyes and spat, 'That's bullshit, George'. And changed the subject.

Until two weeks ago, I honestly thought it was bullshit. Now I'm not so sure anymore.

Once a slut, always a slut.

Ah, shit. I'm gonna shut up now. More thoughts tomorrow, I suppose.