The Intercourse Papers – Ashley

For those of you unfamiliar with my series known as “The Intercourse Papers,” it consists of me putting up a few pictures of a girl I’d like to sleep with and then explaining why (beyond obvious factors like large breasts and possessing all of their limbs) . Typically, the person featured is someone at least semi-famous, but today, we’re going to go with someone from my day to day life that deserves the IP treatment – Ashley.

Ashley is a girl I’ve talked to for years online but never met (just typing that statement makes me want to reevaluate my entire life up until this point). We started chatting many years ago through a (now-defunct) MySpace precursor named The Dilly, a webpage born in an era where such sites were a place for friends second and a means of finding women with low self-esteem and daddy issues to show you their goodies first. Although I’d been cruising websites like Hot or Not, Rate My Body and Face the Jury for a while to find pictures of everyday chicks showing off their goods in bikinis and bras, The Dilly was the first site out there that posted user’s instant messenger names, meaning I could actually contact the girl I’d just run a batch off to. At the time, it was revolutionary. Due to my then-total inability to approach women (which I’ve since grown out of because I realized I’m 6’2”, have washboard abs, a ten-inch cut and make – conservatively – $275,000 a year), The Dilly was my first means of being able to talk to women I found attractive that didn’t scare the living shit out of me. I was like a kid in a candy shop. And Ashley was like some sort of seventee…errr eighteen year old chocolate bar with 34 D’s that I really, really wanted to win over.

I talked to countless girls on The Dilly in the almost two years I was a member, and, out of all of them, Ashley was the only one that: 1. never showed me her goods and 2. lavished not one word of praise upon the insecure-but-funny guy with a heart of gold schtick I was spitting at many of the other girls on the site. Every other hussy on that webpage was saying hola with some areola within an hour of me speaking to them, but the most I ever got was a “lol” or “hehe you’re funny” in reply to every third private message I sent Ashley. And witholding praise is totally how you win over the heart of any approval-seeking loser. I was smitten. As I migrated to MySpace from The Dilly and started talking to women that actually lived in my immediate area, I forgot about nearly all of the girls from The Dilly. But Ashley always stayed on my brain. It would have been kind of romantic had some of the infatuation not been based on my ego getting bruised by her refusal to show me her squid eyes, but thems the breaks.

A year or so passed and life moved on: I got a job, moved out of the house, started hitting it off with women I met in real life (ha)…but every time Ashley’s name popped up on my AIM buddy list, I couldn’t help but think about how she was doing. By this point, she was of legal age, so my crush was only adult-guy-hitting-on-girl-that-couldn’t-legally-drink gross, not ped gross. Finally, I figured what the fuck did I have to lose and asked her how she’d been. Randomly enough, she remembered me and, in fact, still had my number in her phone. She called a few moments afterI IM’d her we talked for hours, which blew my mind, because up until now, I didn’t know she had a vocabulary that extended beyond “lol.” And after that conversation, in whatever capacity you can fall for someone that you’ve never met in real life, I fell for Ashley. I figured I’d finally visit her in a few weeks and, in spite of my general distaste for long distance relationships, see what I could make happen. This was November of 2007….annnnd I’ve yet to meet Ashley.

You may ask why I keep up with the girl if, in all this time we’ve never met. Any rational person would conclude that, hey, if the girl gave two shits about you, she’d have hung out by now. All I can say is, whenever we do talk, she’s incredibly sweet and seems to genuinely be into me. That and Ashley is some sort of master of conversational jujitsu: she can sidestep any question she wants to and keep you coming back for more. Here is an example of our typical text exchange throughout the day:

JOHN: Good morning, babes!

ASHLEY: Mooooornin baby!!

JOHN: Hope you have a great day! So…when am I finally going to visit you?

ASHLEY: (no reply)

JOHN: (an hour later, frustrated that he is probably being ignored but aware that there is a small, small chance that she just walked away from her phone so trying not to sound worked up) What is your schedule this week? I am off Thursday and could visit.

ASHLEY: (no reply)

JOHN: (many hours later, defeated and drained, just making sure her phone works) Well hun, miss you. Night.

ASHLEY: (replying instantly) Goodnight love!

JOHN: (to self) And she wins again. Sonofabitch.

The “relaitonship” has taken on a life of its own with my friends. My female friends seem to take a particular delight in asking “soooo….how’s Ashley?” in the same way you’d ask a child who’s playing make believe restaurant “soooo…how are the mudpies today?” I deserve most of the abuse, because every time I get a picture sent from this girl, I show it off to all of the women I know. I really don’t know why, either. Am I that proud that I have a hottie pretend girlfriend? It’s not like I don’t deal with and date women that I meet in real life. Yet, somehow, Ashley is always first and foremost on my brain. It’s like a romantic Viet Nam: I will never win the war, but I’m so invested in it that I refuse to cut and run, either. And until the equivalent of the fall of Saigon takes place, there I’ll be texting Ashley, asking what her schedule’s like. Goddammit.
 

Tagged as: Intercourse Papers.