In reality,they were both sluts.
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1539167/posts
WEAK IN THE NEEDS
By ELIZABETH HAYT
December 12, 2005 -- LAST spring was an unbearably dry season - and I don¹t mean weather-wise. Without a steady man in my life, I hadn¹t had sex in several months. Now in my 40s, an age when a woman realizes that her youthful ability to turn male heads was something she once took (wrongly) for granted, I worried whether my celibacy was less a matter of circumstance than the start of something more permanent.
Online dating offered a short-term fix. Browsing the nerve.com personals, I found "Word Guy," a 38-year-old poet who, according to his ad, was looking for "fun." In his photo, he appeared clean-cut: fair hair, wire-rimmed glasses, white oxford shirt with rolled-up cuffs, an athletic build and healthy-looking teeth.
Had I been looking for true love, I might have ignored him since, to me, being a poet is synonymous with being penniless, and my romantic radar is permanently set on guys with secure day jobs. But given that my immediate needs were otherwise, I was not about to discriminate against a charity case.
Contrary to Darwinian theory - or common sense - studs are not the only ones who score. Schlubs do all right, too. But it isn't desire that drives women into their arms. Pity does.
I "winked at" (Nerve speak for "contacted") Word Guy and he replied, sparking a session of e-foreplay. By the third night of feverish tap-tapping, it was clearly time to go live. When Word Guy IM-ed me to say he'd been fantasizing about having me in his bed, my response was, "What's your address?"
Dashing from my apartment in black lingerie, black peep-toe pumps and a black Gucci trench, along with a black tote into which I'd stuffed my little, black dachshund, adding a final touch to my Upper East Side look, I stood on Park Avenue - an overage chick-lit cliché - madly flagging a taxi.
(snip)