Crush, Crushed, Crushing

I've always wondered what it would be like to run into a former crush. Apparently, fate doesn't realize that "wonder" doesn't equal "want."

Background Rundown: My crush asked me out; I stupidly said yes like a foolish crush-blind girl with foggy-brain syndrome. During the course of the date--pretty early on, actually--he started asking me when we were going to have sex, whether I would do things to him right there and then, etc.

A little shocked by his bluntness, I soon realized I was on a date with Sex-Only Guy. SOG didn't give a hoot about the person; he just wanted to "bang." He didn't know about my V-card, but he quickly figured out that I'm not a wham-bam kind-of girl, much to his dismay.

According to him, he thought I was "a naughty girl in good girl clothes."

At the time, he said he would take me out again IF I'd "eff" him. I told him that's not going to happen; he said it was a shame and he's going to have to "regrettably" let me go.

And that's how a crush crushes. (Not that I want a guy like that...it's just a little disappointing when your crush turns out to be nothing like you expected or hoped).

Fast forward: The random run-in turned into, well, more of the same. After showcasing his ability to masterfully craft urban dictionary lingo into a compliment on my appearance, he asked if I was still "...the good girl or would I be willing to go around the corner."

Nothing changes.

I thereafter confirmed my good-girl status, to which he shook his head and groaned, "Shame."

Me: "You said that before, as I recall."

SOG: "Why not go wild? If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I'd want you more than once."

Me: "Well that doesn't in any way make me feel like a can of beer or anything."

SOG, laughing: "Some women are like beer--you can't stop at one. It's a compliment."

Me: "And when you hit the end of the six pack, it's onto the next." He laughingly agreed and liked my sauciness. "Yeah, I'm not into to being a beer can."

SOG: "All right, all right, I'm not getting anywhere. It is too bad, though. You should probably give some thought to how things work...there's a reason you are still single."

Me, working to control my temper: "Really? Enlighten me."

SOG: "Men want Pamela, not Audrey."

I knew instantly what he meant--he talked quite a bit using movie/celebrity references. Men want the blonde-bombshell-sex-symbol-type like Pamela Anderson, not Audrey Hepburn.

SOG: "You're the Audrey."

Me: "That much I got, oddly enough." After a brief pause, I had a thought.  "But, here's the thing some men don't understand--the Audrey's can be every bit the Pamela...they just save their Pammy moves for the Harrison Ford's or the Sean Connery's, rather than waste them on the Charlie Sheen's."

I was quite proud of that little comeback, especially considering Charlie Sheen is one of his idols. [Note: Recent Charlie Sheen news had him partying for two days, where one of his special guests was a blonde porn star--undoubtedly the ideal scenario for SOG].

So, men want Pamela's, not Audrey's, according to Charlie, er, SOG. What do you think? Should this be a crushing revelation to the Audrey's of the world, or just a crappy concept formed in the mind of an egotistical prick? Personally, I prefer the latter.

Maybe we Audrey's should modify our image by re-naming ourselves Undercover Pamela's or Saucy Audrey's. Hmm. Maybe not.