For Booty or Worse

Recently I have been the victim of a few booty calls, ore more appropriately, booty texts (dang the age of cellular communication). I wonder how booty calls went down before cell phones/landlines were invented? is that when you would throw a rock at someone's window at 3:00am? And why does throwing a rock in the name of love seem so much more romantic?

After two bad decisions (made two months apart) to go home with my ex-boyfriend, I suddenly found that the booty calls/texts have been coming more frequently - more like two weeks apart. Please keep in mind that the previous bad decisions were made after running into each other in-person, which allowed for at least 20 minutes of face-time/awkward conversation, and the opportunity for the ole hand on the knee (universal indication for - you're going to come home with me - and isn't it sad that all it takes is a hand on the knee to completely melt you into makeout mode?). The recent phone calls/texts have been coming much later in the night, which to be honest slightly offends me. I mean, yes I may have gone home with you from a bar or party? But do you honestly think that I'll accept an invitation to meet you directly in your bedroom after no effort has been put forth? Okay…maybe, depending my point of desperation.

What exactly demotes one from bar hook-up to booty call category? I guess if I had actually granted a late night text request in the past, then I could understand. I guess a guy has to put himself out there, try, wait and see. My favorite, most recent attempt was over a week ago when I stupidly got into a text message exchange with said ex, until it finally climaxed to a 2:30 am phone call on a Thursday night. Secretly I was hoping it would be a booty call just so I could reject him to his face (or at least with spoken words, and not written). "I mean if you wanted to come over and huff my sheets, I would be okay with" - I bet you would. I laughed and gave him props for such a bold solicitation. Then he laughed and I thought that ended the booty call stint until...Pot Calls Kettle Black. My furiousness suddenly turned to flattery and desire this past weekend, when I found myself in a drunken stupor coaxing said ex for a late night rendezvous. Somehow it seemed okay if I were initiating. He accepted, and not very hesitantly for someone who hadn't just had multiple vodka-sodas and goldschlager shots(wha???)

What makes us fall into these damn traps. Is it the longing for the smell of Speed Stick? The comfort of just having another warm body in the bed? The cuddling the next morning while watching various MTV episode marathons? him buying you breakfast? the awkward conversation good-bye and wondering whether or not you even acknowledge what just happened? the anxiety of never hearing from the person again? or running into them a few weeks later pretending that you haven't seen each other in months and having more awkward conversations and perpetuating the cycle? Can it ever just be for the nookie???