In the time it took me to cross to where they were sitting, one of the chicks had climbed into his lap and begun kissing him while the other one stroked his hand. I took Jane to Headquarters, aka The Ladies' Room, for a quick conference. Seems little Benny's tummy was hurting and he was merely being comforted by some "friends". She assured me that he was indeed not feeling well, that she wanted to stay, and that "It wasn't his fault because it was the girls who were coming on to him and, after all, he didn't do anything".

Damn straight he didn't do anything. He didn't get that girl off of his lap, he didn't treat my friend with the respect she deserves, he didn't behave like a responsible adult man. And after I pointed out to him that if his stomach was indeed in distress it was probably hurting more with a whole human being laying on top of it and that some fresh air might help, or that perhaps he should get some water, he still didn't do anything. Took no action, drank no water, got no air, claimed no responsibility.

Granted that Ben is fine and in a band and I cannot rid the world of groupies. Hell, if I was a man and women jumped onto my lap I might let 'em stay, too. And if it cost me the woman I was starting to date, I'd have to accept those consequences, wouldn't I? And I certainly wouldn't plead innocent.

Ben went home with another woman. And as he left, he looked at me with a feigned innocence that seemed to cry "What? I'm not doing anything!", and I thought to myself that he's exactly right.

*Names have been changed to protect the played.

"The best thing about him is, he's not a player." I'd heard loads of great things about my friend Jane's* latest beau, so I was eager to accompany her to hear his band play. He lived up to the hype, flashing her huge smiles from the stage and whisking her off to a dark corner of the bar after the set.

Suddenly, Jane sent up a Sisterhood Distress Flare. Seems she was sitting with Ben when they were beseiged by a pair of Good Time Gals. (See also: Groupie Bitches; Skanks.) Jane is not the fighting type, so she watched in horror as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow. And I saw then and there that not only is this Ben a player, but he's the worst kind of player: The Un-Player.

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