[NOTE: This ad appeared at craigslist.com on June 1, 2003. No joke. —MB]
One futon for sale. Full size, mattress in excellent condition.
For full disclosure, I will describe the entire sexual history of the futon, from the date of acquisition (approximately May 2001) to the present day (all names changed to protect the innocent):
Said futon was acquired for $20 from a bohemian graphic arts type living in some sprawling loft in Oakland. It was immediately installed as my primary sleeping surface at a cozy if smallish flat in North Berkeley. The house was shared with my then-girlfriend. While equipped with her own bed, the futon was necessary as I have never been able to sleep with someone else in bed, lover, friend, family, or anyone else.
Maiden voyage. She: an intellectually brilliant mathematician graduate student at Berkeley doing two simultaneous Ph.D.s. Dominant, aggressive, mentally a male (and physically almost one as well). Of mixed German-Russian extraction and raised under communism in East Berlin, a dizzying polymath mind, and the stubborness of a bull. She always smelled vaguely of old gym socks due to a rather loose interpretation of modern hygiene, but could primp on occasion. Sexually, a disaster. Sedated tree sloths must surely be more compelling during coitus than this woman. I however convinced myself physical chemistry was a mere illusion, and that a human relationship could exist solely in the realm of abstract ideals. Wrong. The futon witnessed our most magnificent conflagrations, including my flinging a cordless phone through our front bay window, and a howling, pitched wrestling match where I finally pinned her down and verbally assaulted her for 5 minutes straight.
This lasted about 1.5 years, from about March of 2001 to approximately November of 2002.
She: a Bosnian war refugee and undergrad at Berkeley, as well as former student of mine (yes, academia has its rewards as well as its pains...). Nice girl, no fundamental chemistry or attraction on my part, outside of willingness and availability (note to the ladies: however hot you might think you are, these two features are the ones men really care about). The futon in question was hence the scene for my first infidelities to the above-mentioned woman. Short-lived, petered out at the end of the summer of 2001 (while woman above was away at some swank science conference).
Number 3: My old and forever legendary girlfriend. Small, blond, blue-eyed and big-breasted...with a smile that could only display joy and earnestness. Since dumping my ass in '99, has repeatedly returned snivelling asking to be restart the relationship, only to be spurned by me, too caught up in other projects (that's the story of another piece of furniture, which I don't own right now...). We had the usual old girl/boy friend bootie call, at periodic intervals during the tyranny of the first woman described above.
In a word, fantastic. There is no better sex than that with old girlfriends. You possess the painstakingly earned intimacy and emotional tightness, as well as well-developed sexual chemistry, and yet all the excitement and childish joy of an unknown woman. A necessary antidiote to Woman #1.
Number 4: fellow graduate student, in a different field naturally. Sort of a midwestern white trash chick...moonlighted as high-class prostitute on weekends to support her lifestyle. Earned $500/hr having sex with visiting engineers and businessmen in San Francisco. No style or culture, but real maturity and an impetuous will that drove her to do everthing from ride a pink motorcycle around town to earning her hot-air balloon pilot's licence. Conversation often lagged, but we both sort of got along. The sex was mediocre. When you sleep with a whore, you are constantly rivven with doubt as to the sincerity of her behavior, even if she is not making you pay for the privilege. Much too much panting and yelling, but perhaps even she couldn't distinguish anymore between professional fantasy and romantic reality. This lasted sporadically between the summer of 2002 until Dec. 2002.
Number 5: A friend of a friend of a friend. A very lowkey and wholesome French literature student from that fine, pacific country up north. No idea what caused this, other than those magic traits, availability and willingness, again. A disaster before it even started....even after I finally managed to overcome her doubts and inhibitions (by this point in the narrative, I had achieved somewhat of a reputation among my little circle...this is only one piece of furniture I could talk about of course). Her vagina was obscenely small, and no amount of desire, lubricant, or three years of experimental physics experience could do anything about it. Think of that feeling when you try to re-insert the flared and expanded end of a champagne cork into the bottle again...only the cork is part of you, and the bottle shreaks. Ridiculous, ludicrous...the futon saw it all. This one ended quick.
Number 6: a dark, mousy Italian/Jewish girl from New York. Feisty, warm, spontaneous...equally at ease in the kitchen or the bedroom, and fond of spending lots of time in both. A great woman. With her, a sleeping surface for sex is often superfluous, since due to a naughty and ardent passion and love of novelty, the futon was where sex least occurred during our ongoing affair. She complained occasionally about the discomfort of the hard futon, as well as its low stature which made bending her over it for coitus impossible (buyers take note). Yes, she is like that (the new place has a full-fledged bed, she was happy to learn).
That is the complete sexual history of the piece for sale. Despite this full account, sheets were always used and regularly changed. Photos of said women plus additional details available. Serious enquiries only please.