The Anne Boleyn Experiment

Anne Boleyn had some mad game.  Not only did that little hussy scale her century's social ladder with the same gusto I reserve for deliciously rare afternoon naptimes and a touch of Bailey's dribbled into my coffee...she nabbed her man from his harem of whores, his church and religion, and his very visable wife and daughter.
Let's be clear, it's not that I admire her ability to snag a man who was clearly unavaliable--which is, in my opinion, one of the sluttiest of the cardinal sins, but you have to admire a gal's technique.  How did Anne Boleyn do it?  The consensus I've come to after devouring The Other Boleyn Girl, tossing a couple of seasons of The Tudors on Showtime under my belt and dabbling in general Henry VIII's history: Miz Boleyn was a master of one of the oldest forms of "game" in the book: withholding.  Home girl flirted her girdle off--but not literally.  She was irresistable, undeniable...and something that many gals of my generation can't seem to conceive of: she was prudish.  And the king totally dug it.
Ol' Chumba-Wumba Henry was on Anne's leash for years--all through the simple, old-school method of denying him.
No sex.  Chastity-belt-o-steel.  And it's amazing the lengths a man will go to sometimes for the quick and the dirty.  Perhaps my theories and  findings are more applicable to men in situations of power--because it seems there are plenty of examples out there in the big wide world of alpha males making idiotic and very public decisions with their extracurriculars (see Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, and dozens of others any scorned woman could shout out without much thought).  But I am finding--and strictly through observation, of late--that sex is an extremely powerful and potentially dangerous catalyst that could send the boldest of divas... spiraling off into dozens of different directions in the relationship galaxy. Sex...or exchange of power?  Do women have the power while we dangle that tempting morsel, -in front of a man's snout? And  then, what happens when the man finally gets what he wants? 
 

I ask because I find myself in a sorry and odd place.  I can't get what I want.  And like any spit-fire of my generation, I don't like being denied.  Most of the things that I have wanted in life, I have found a way to get them--
whether it be through hard work and sacrifice, luck, or the skillful bat of my eyelashes.  But my methods are not
foolproof, and the experts don't publish rule books for this kind of thing.
I started out this coo with J telling friends that all I wanted from my crush was a kiss.  When I looked
at his chiseled face and honey, gooey eyes--all I saw and wanted was the set of full lips that looked as though they had that keen, first-rate smoocher intelligence all their own.
I got what I thought I wanted.  Halloween night, our lips closed in on each other like a heat-seeking missiles and fireworks exploded behind my closed eyes. After that...J may as well have dissolved himself into cocaine.  I was a junkie.  He was fantasy--realized in my real life, and I had to get more. 

In my bitter and cynical opinion, nature is flawed.  Tilted in favor of men's needs and fleeting desires.  More often than not, the sad truth of "the person who cares the least has all of the power" applies.  It must be biology...men and women are just different, spanning the distance from Mars to Venus--with different motivations spurring their actions.  Are we animals?  Sex: man's gospel.  Getting lots of it, multiple partners (awesome!), I'll take it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner...and afternoon delight.                                                                                                               But as for "all my single ladies"--sex never seems to honestly be enough.  It starts out that way, maybe.  But in my experience and with all of my girl friends--"slut" is a dirty word, and that word applies to the unfortunate soul who is never introduced to a man's world outside the four walls of his bedroom (and or kitchen and bath...)  While men lavish in "bachelorhood" and "playboys" woman get "trashy" or deemed "whores".  Who wants that?  We might start out saying, I just want somebody who's gonna throw me up against the wall and ravage me...but afterall, we start wondering why he doesn't want to take us out for breakfast after the fact.  Though we may will the words away and delete them from our vocabulary in favor of seeming like a "really cool, laid-back chick"...they aways find a way to bubble back to the surface of our lips.  "Where is this all going?"
 

I may have started my relationship (haha...relationship...what's that?) with J fantasizing about his lips and not his outstanding moral fiber meets potential as a father-figure...but somehow, my stupid-female brain started seeing him as less and less of a snack and more and more of a question....that question being, "Why aren't we dating?"
It's not that my internal clock is screaming, "MATE FOR LIFE!  MATE FOR LIFE!"  But its my head starting to clear it's throat to speak up over my heart.  Am I treading the path of...gasp...a bootie call?  My head and every ounce of self-respect pumping through my body on overdrive screams, "Don't let yourself become a statistic!!!"  Proudly, I have never been a bootie call.  If I had to file myself away on a shelf--I would fit somewhere in between, The Girl You Take Home to Mama and The Girl That Your Friends Think is Cool Enough to Date You.  If I sound cocky, good.  That's my self-worth talking--and I'm not about to shut it up and make some decision I could seriously regret in a moment of weakness.  

There is a list of theories I have accumulated for why J hasn't bit the bullet and offered up dinner and a movie.  They range from flattering to downright depressing--and I'm starting to learn towards the darker end of the scale.  Aren't guys suppose to be easy to read?  Didn't He's Just Not That Into You show us that there are no mysteries or obstacles too great?  Namely, if he's into you, then he is trying to date you?  It's mixed signals and my misconceptions that he is a good guy that keep me from completely caving and bidding him farewell--although I am starting to build up a wall that 2 margaritas shouldn't be able to knock over anytime soon.  But J and I have been treading dangerous territory over the past couple of months--uping the ante with each greeting.  Somewhere between the intense lip-on-lip contact and the amusing conversation and similiarities we share...I started thinking...why hasn't he asked me out?  Well...why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free, right?

Through my mental wars I came to the conclusion--I am not a "take what I can get" kinda girl.  Just because I am wildly attract to J, and just because kissing him does make me go weak in the knees--doesn't mean he can kiss me and bolt--nor should he want to.  If all is striving for is to get me on his terms and in whatever state of undress he prefers--then I'm not game.  I am no one's bootie call.  I am the girl you can be proud of taking out and then be excited to take home.  I am the girl you introduce to your mom and who hangs out with your friends.  I am not the girl you keep on the backburner until you get to the main course.

So back to Boleyn...as far as J is concerned...I know the boy is attracted to me--he's told me as much.  And I also assume he would capitalize on any opportunity to have an impromptu slumber party (he's a guy, afterall).  As close as we have come (last time's encounter spanned the evening until about 6 am...) to a point of no return--I have decided to slam on the breaks.  It takes minimal effort to get a guy to sleep with you.  The real skill...I suppose...comes in proving to certain men that you warrant respect.  I don't think I'm out of the running for the role of "girl I may date"--afterall, J has proven interest and has respected me enough to keep our time together at a PG 13 rating--but my pride tells me, I'm worth dating, and if all he wants is sex--he can get it from a much less awesome candidate.

I intend to garner respect--even at the expense of our interludes.  And perhaps...I can steal a page from Anne Boleyn and take the kingdom.  I just hope I don't lose my head in the process.