With Autumn comes the bounty – and for me, this fall comes the booty. My snugglebuddy aka booty call has returned! After a summer away, The Boy is back and is ready to “be there” for me. What timing! It’s as if the greater cosmic forces of the universe have lined up and ensured that I will not go without this season. We were reacquainted this weekend after nearly three months of no action. Surprised to find ourselves at the same event at Vancouver’s Media Club, the initial re-greeting was a little awkward. I soon came to realize, however, that every time we managed to cross paths, he completely devoured me with his gaze. It might have had something to do with my new fake tits and the little shirt I was looking absolutely amazing in, but whatever the reason – Game On! I’m a firm believer in allowing oneself a few options in the booty call department. Like having appropriate footwear for a particular occasion, knowing the right number to call on a Friday night is imperative! With The Boy just up the street and Gold Miner Greg looming on the horizon, the season of plenty has truly kicked off well!

What is it about the promise of a Saturday night booty call that can end up in such disappointment? It must lay somewhere between the expectation of momentary bliss and overall next day glow of a really good shag. We put some seriously high hopes in those moments between the sheets – as if just that one night can cure a really bad work week, a month’s long sexual dry run or even a year’s worth of self-imposed celibacy. That’s just too much pressure to put on anyone.  But as girls do, and ladies we do, if that Saturday night booty call wasn’t any good – poor guy – word gets around. Sympathy for the friend ensues with a “O God I’m so sorry you had to experience that!” and a quick deletion of his phone number forever erases the bad memory (at least from the mobile).  The guy is tossed as useless and therefore ceases to serve a function as anybody’s booty call henceforth. It’s a sad situation, really, all the way round and it’s not as if it’s his fault (entirely), but if he can’t deliver the goods on that one occasion when we happen to be drunk and really horny – that what good is he?  After a booty call let down, this guy is not even worthy of fixing the leaky toilet, or wiring up the new flat screen or changing the oil on our car. O for shame, he’s not even worthy of quick cup of coffee on his way out the door!