Tag Archives: Sexuality

Date 27.4: So Am I a MILF or a Cougar?

The exclusive friends with benefits thing? Not real practical. Especially when your “friend” goes MIA for ten days. Maybe it was a cheap move, but I texted Date 31, asking when I was going to see him again because Date 27 (who’s 27) had renewed his texting campaign. Date 31 didn’t make any plans with me, so I got a little pissy and told Date 27 he could come over.

Super tall, super built, and blond (and only 27!), Date 27 is a tasty package. Sex-wise, he’s a little on the vanilla side, but what he lacks in creativity he makes up for in stamina and resilience, so there’s that. Also, Date 27 is a genuinely nice guy. Maybe it’s sex-driven, but he texts me regularly throughout the week, wishing me a good day and such. As you may or may not recall, he’s one of the only guys who remembered both my birthday and Mother’s Day without having to be reminded. Okay–maybe it’s a little creepy that he so handily remembered Mother’s Day, but whatever–the sentiment was appreciated.

Anyway, super horny, I invited Date 27 over to my place for a morning sex date that wound up lasting four hours. Later that day, at book club (have I mentioned the fact that I’m one of the only white girls in an all-black book club? If not, my preacher’s-daughter friend is the leader, for reference), I solicited my girlfriends’ opinions on the situation, since I was feeling a little guilty about “cheating” on Date 31. “Should I tell him?” I asked them outright.

“Hell, no!” came the unanimous response, along with a bevy of stories about how they had kept their guys waiting and wondering in order to keep them interested. Shockingly (to me, anyway), lying seemed to be an accepted practice when it came to the game of love. Now, call me old-fashioned or whatever, but while I get the point (and definitely the motivation), this still didn’t sit well with me. I’d rather be in a relationship with someone with whom I could be totally honest and not feel the need to hide or lie about anything. Yeah, I declared inwardly, I’m going to take the high road. There’s no need for dishonesty.

Approximately four seconds after that thought crossed my mind, my phone rang with a voice call (not a text!) from Date 31. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember very well being mega-nervous as I spoke with him, and feeling mega-guilty. I told him I was still in the middle of book club (even though it was pretty much over and there were only three of us left at that point) so I couldn’t really talk. So much for honesty, because we all know that offering half-truths is just a kinder, gentler means of lying.

As I thought about it, though, I was like, you know what? I’m not going to feel guilty about this! Because here was a guy who was stringing me along, trying to monopolize my sex without really giving me anything in return. And maybe I’m not a supermodel, but I do have a few key things going for me. I like to exercise, so my body is reasonably decent, I’m aging better than most, so people tend to be shocked when I tell them I’m 43, I’m an excellent cook (and an even better baker), I’m a published author, and, last but certainly not least, I’ve come to the conclusion (based on comments by ALL the guys I’ve slept with since dumping my ex) that I have a sexual superpower: when I’m excited, I get unbelievably wet.

Yeah, that last bit was probably TMI, but it’s relevant, since it boosts my self-esteem and makes me think that someday, some guy is going to realize I’m a decent catch. He’ll put a ring on my finger, buy me a Range Rover, and we’ll live happily ever after in the Ranch. Until then, I’ll just keep doing my best trying not to get my heart broken.

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One-Hit Wonders: Dates 33.1, 34.1, 36.1, & 40.1

As I think I’ve mentioned, because Date 31 and I knew we weren’t ideal for each other, we had an understanding that we’d date other people but only sleep with each other. As a result, I went on a succession of Internet dates. First dates tend to be so fleeting, I’ve come to think of them in terms of cocktail-party conversation. Namely, I keep it light, keep it moving, and try to learn something in the process. That said, here’s the lowdown on how I fared in January:

Date 33.1 – An intelligent, handsome (but short–he barely cleared my height) gentleman in his late 50s, Date 33 took me out to dinner for our first meeting. Our conversation was lively and interesting the whole date through, and I found myself fascinated with this guy. At the conclusion of our date, he asked if I’d like to go out with him again and I said yes, hopeful he’d ask me to go sailing with him on his 45-foot boat. He kept touching me throughout our date (casually and appropriately, but also very intentionally), so I’m pretty sure he was attracted to me, but then he never called for that second date. Honestly, I don’t think I did anything wrong, since all the trappings of a successful first date were in place, so I have to chalk this one up to being about him, not me. Anyway, onward!

Date 34.1 – I had my doubts about Date 34 when I agreed to meeting him, since he lived over an hour away, but he seemed really nice, so I figured I’d give him a shot since he was in my area for work one day and asked if I’d like to join him for lunch. But here’s the thing: my instincts were correct. I hate to say this, but the area he lived in is kind of remote, and the fact that this didn’t bother him meant we weren’t a match. Not to mention the fact that he showed up looking ten years older than his pictures (this may equal laziness, rather than dishonesty, but either way, it equals both, which goes down as a minus in the date-evaluation process). Also, he was wearing a gold chain under his polo shirt. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve got to say it again: Guys, tread lightly when it comes to man-jewelry; we chicks don’t dig it unless it’s an expensive watch or your wedding ring (and you’re married to us!). Date 34 was a sweet guy, but like I said–we weren’t a match, so I declined when he came asking for a second date.

Date 36.1 – Surprisingly, Date 36 was the first Asian guy I went out with (surprisingly, because some of the worst crushes I’ve ever had have been on Asian guys; in fact, I lost my virginity to an Asian guy I had it really bad for back in high school). Super handsome and mega-smart (like I’ve mentioned, I go for brainiacs), Date 36 did not disappoint when I met him in person for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. But here’s the thing: he was mega-Zen, like the type of guy who surfs every morning and nothing can rattle him because he’s so perpetually blissed out from spending so much time in the water. I, on the other hand, have always secretly wanted the T-shirt Booger sported in the movie Revenge of the Nerds that read HIGH ON STRESS, since it so accurately reflects my personality. Plus, Date 36 went to Berkeley, while I went to UCLA. Now, the fact that we both went to top UC schools might seem like an argument in favor of compatibility, and it is in some respects since they’re both esteemed California public universities with student populations of similar sizes, but here’s the thing: Bay Area people tend to have something against us SoCal-ers. They’re smarter, but we’ve got prettier people and better weather, and they can’t seem to forgive us for it. Don’t believe me? Check out the local news any weeknight on one of the San Francisco Bay Area’s television stations. Any stories about Los Angeles inevitably portray the city (which is actually full of way more courteous, wonderful, hard-working people than the douchebag bubblehead types who populate the tabloids) as seedy and inherently evil. Plus there’s this level of pretension even former Bay Area folk sometimes carry with them. An example of how this plays out in its natural habitat is found at the Barnes & Noble closest to Berkeley, where they have a section labeled Thesauri. I mean, really? Can’t just lump them in with Reference, now, can we? Some of my closest friends are from the Bay Area and aren’t at all like this, but they also don’t plan on moving back north. Others, well, they’re going to remain acquaintances rather than friends, because we Southern Californians may seem laid back and simple, but we know when we’re being looked down on, and the snobs aren’t invited to the next party. Anyway, I could tell Date 36 thought I was a ditz and wouldn’t be asking for a second date. Turned out I was right. See? We SoCal blondes aren’t so dumb after all!

Date 40.1 – This date actually happened just recently, in May, but it’s of the same ilk, so I’m adding it to this list. That said, on paper, Date 40 seemed to have all the boxes checked: tall, handsome, well-dressed, good job, responsible homeowner. Conversation between us was lively as well. But there was an edge to Date 40, like he might have been a little bit mean, and like what he was really after was getting laid, not going out to dinner. I might have mentioned this before, but I have kind of a good-girl schtick going for me. Some guys (cads!) can see right through it, but most of the guys I’ve dated traditionally (if you can call online dating traditional, but you know what I mean–as opposed to bar-pickup/hookup dates) see me as a squeaky-clean, bookish, church-going mom-type. And I am all that! But I also very well might be a sex addict, so it’s kind of funny to me when guys dismiss me as too straight-laced or whatever and move on without seeing where things might lead given a couple glasses of wine and a tasty dinner. Anyway, Date 40 was one of those. Because he’s so tall and has money, I’m sure he has a vast selection of women at his disposal. Chances are, I dodged a bullet by letting him think I’m all prim and proper.

Such is life, right?

 

Dates 31.3-31.5: The Sweet Spot

From the beginning, it was pretty clear that Date 31 and I had it bad for each other in terms of sex. Starting with Date 31.3, however, I realized it was more than that, which was a problem. Basically, Date 31 wants to have kids, while I don’t. He also wants someone ten years younger than him, but I’m two years older than he is. Add to these two dealbreakers the fact that I’ll never be as perfect as his dead 29-year-old former fiancee and that I have both an ex-husband and three kids from my prior marriage, while Date 31 wants a girl with a clean slate, and you can imagine how my being so taken with him is more of a liability than an asset.

ANYWAY, Date 31.3 was the first time I went over to Date 31’s place. Granted, his best friend from Long Island was about to arrive from the airport, so I’m sure Date 31 had worked hard to clean up, but here were the first things I noticed: (1) a shoe rack by the front door, meaning he cares about keeping his place tidy; (2) real (as opposed to particle-board) furniture, showing me he either appreciates living amongst comfort and beauty or his dead fiancee had great taste and he still has the same stuff; and (3) a mix of tasteful (again, dead GF’s picks?) and comics-oriented kitschy artwork (most likely his), showing me that he truly does have a golly-gee sense of humor that’s surprisingly squeaky clean, despite his mad sadistic streak and penchant for dirty talk in the bedroom.

The other thing I couldn’t help noticing was that his apartment was directly above the complex’s pool. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon (Santa Ana condition, making it in the 80s in January), and Date 31 lives in the same suburb as I do (which is known for its schools), so it sounded like there were about forty kids in the pool, all screaming and splashing and generally having a great time. I complimented Date 31 on his place as he showed me around, noting how nice the floor plan was and such. He thanked me, then said (in total seriousness), “Yeah, the other thing I love about this place is how quiet it is.”

I started laughing. “Really?” I asked.

“It’s like there’s never anyone around,” he said. “Always so quiet.”

I pointed toward the balcony overlooking the pool. “You don’t hear that?”

A chorus of shouting pre-pubescent voices wafted upward: “Marco!” “Polo!” “Mom! Jaden’s splashing me!” Etc.

He shrugged.

“Seems like there might be a lot of kids in this complex,” I said.

Date 31 laughed, conceding I had a point. “That’s funny,” he said. “I never really noticed.”

I could tell he was being honest–he truly hadn’t noticed. Basically, I chalked up his acceptance of kid noise to the fact that he wanted kids of his own so badly, which made me doubly nervous. Because what if I got super attached to him? What if he talked me into giving a shot, having one for the road. Even though I’ve had a hysterectomy, I have eggs. Lots of couples in their forties are using surrogates these days, so it wasn’t like it was beyond the realm of possibility–but it wasn’t a future I envisioned for myself when I left my ex-husband.

Before we headed to the bedroom, the last stop on my tour of his place was the kitchen, where there were five piles of goodies laid out on the counter, with a nice variety of all the junk-food groups represented: salty, sweet, gooey, greasy, and crunchy.

“I bought snacks for the game for each of my buddies,” he explained.

I know it may sound silly, but I was almost moved to tears. Because, what a sweet guy!!! From his thank-you texts, I had suspected he was a considerate man, but now I had proof.

[Side note: Have I mentioned The Five Love Languages, by Gary Chapman? If not, it’s a book that describes how each of us has a way we most often express love and enjoy having love expressed back to us. The five “languages” are Physical Touch, Gift Giving, Quality Time, Acts of Service, and Words of Affirmation. All these are great, but the one that really gets my heart racing is Acts of Service. Like, want to *really* impress me? Wash my car, or fix the little piece that fell off the valance to the living-room blinds. Load the dishwasher, or bring in the trash cans (without being asked!). Diamonds, flowers, and massages are awesome, but it’s these little day-to-day efforts that truly make me feel loved and cared for.]

All that said, I knew I had found an amazing guy. Was he perfect? No. Over the course of Dates 31.3, 31.4, and 31.5, I learned that he enjoys country music–the pop kind–because “it’s just so happy.” Also, the TV in Date 31’s bedroom is taller than I am (and I’m 5’6″). Yeah, I’m sure it’s cool to watch movies on, but he likes to leave it going (with the volume silenced) while we’re having sex. Not to rain on anyone’s parade, but the flashing lights from having a TV on are kind of distracting. Also, isn’t that kind of a waste of electricity? If the sex hadn’t been so consistently stellar, I’d suspect him of watching TV while we were going at it, but he wasn’t, so I was left wondering, Why???

No matter, though–I was hooked. I couldn’t get enough of Date 31, and he seemed to be pretty taken with me, as well. We texted each other on a daily basis, constantly on the lookout for opportunities to steal a few moments from our respective busy schedules to spend together. Our first five dates spanned eleven days, if that gives you an idea of how caught up in each other we were.

And the sex? Good Lord!!! Date 31 loved to do all the nasty things I fantasize about but am too shy to voice. He used his belt, I used my mouth, and the things he said to me? Makes me blush just to think about it! So incredible, I found myself thinking, Yeah, I’d have another kid (and enjoy raising him/her) if it meant making this guy happy!

Which was right about when I realized, Oh, shit. Right after I almost blurted the words I love you.

In a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation, I didn’t tell Date 31 about my near slip-up in person, but I did admit to it via text a couple days later. The result? We didn’t see each other again for a week and a half. Could have been longer, but I’ll get to that in a later post. At any rate, the damage was done: I was supposed to be playing it casually, but I liked Date 31 too much to lie to him about the nature of my feelings. For better or worse, I knew I had to tell him the truth–even if it wound up costing me.

 

Dates 29.0, 29.1 & Beyond: Here’s to the Future

As the year and this blog come to a close, I’ve been making some resolutions. Not resolutions, really, more like decisions. In 2010, 2011, and 2012, I opened the year with a 21-day “Daniel fast” (eating primarily fruits and vegetables), during which I also refrained from masturbation. Given that my ex and I only had sex three times the last five years of our marriage, believe me–not playing with myself for three weeks was way more difficult than going vegan and avoiding sugar and white flour. But I did it, and I felt like God blessed me for the effort. [Side note: if you want to know more about the rationale behind faith-based fasting, there’s a pastor named Jentezen Franklin who’s written some great books on the subject.]

Last January (2013), I was in a really rough place. I had left my husband three months earlier and was clinically depressed, the result of which being that I wasn’t sleeping well and had dropped 30 pounds. Honestly, I was dreading the annual fast and a little worried about my health given the circumstances. And then the pastor at my church made an announcement: for the opening of 2013, he felt like God was leading him to skip the corporate fast, calling for feasting, instead.

Anyway, this year, the fast is on again, and I know this one’s going to be an important turning point for me. In short, here’s the deal: vegan diet, no sugar, no flour, no caffeine, no alcohol, no sex (since I’m not married), and no masturbation. And this time, I’m feeling called to do it for 40 days instead of 21. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m doing my best to set myself up for success–I canceled all my online dating subscriptions and I already stopped drinking coffee a week ago.

Of course, as I’ve been typing this, trying to resolve to be good, Date 14 (the 27-year-old with the tattoo on his back, the guy who probably has sleep apnea) texted me out of the blue. I know I should ignore him, but I wrote him back, carrying on a totally inappropriate conversation [secondary side note: Date 14 mentioned how much he liked it when I gave him head, which is tawdry enough as it is, but here’s the really bad thing–I don’t remember sucking his dick! I was so drunk both times I was with him, I was inwardly all like, Hunh??? when he texted me his compliments just now.]

Okay–seems like the texting has tapered off for the time being, so maybe I’m not going to slip up before I ever get started being chaste (although, I have to say, there is the temptation to say, Well, January hasn’t started yet…), but let’s talk about Date 29, the guy from my church, shall we? Here’s the deal with him: we’re from the same small group (a home-based Bible study group designed to enable people to connect on a more personal level, even though our church is super big), so it’s kind of awkward to be dating, but that didn’t stop him from asking me out. First, he just asked if I was going to attend one of the Christmas production performances, saying he’d be there the same night and that we should sit together (Date 29.0). When I showed up, he’d gotten a serious haircut (big improvement) and was all dressed up. We wound up talking for an hour after the show, leading to his asking me out on an actual date.

We went on that date this week (Date 29.1). I wish I could say he was the one, but he’s not, and now I’ve got to face him (and our mutual friends, who know we went out) in church and at small group. We connected on a friendship level, and there was some degree of attraction on my part, but there were a few dealbreakers I just couldn’t get past, the biggest of which was the casual mention of a homophobic attitude. As I might have mentioned before, I have gay friends and family, and I believe that, whether gay or straight, God made us the way we are, and it’s not our place to cast judgment on others. And lest anyone out there start quoting the Bible to me, I’ve read through Leviticus enough times, I happen to know that we’re all in trouble for piercing our ears, having tats, and wearing mixed-fabric clothing if you want to get legalistic about it.

Anyhow, I don’t want to point any fingers, since I still consider Date 29 a friend (though one I hope to influence to have a more loving attitude), but here’s some general advice to the guys of the world about some key first impression stuff women are taking a careful look at when we date:

1. Haircut. As in, has he had one recently? And if so, is it decent? Beyond that, is it professional? For example, one guy I dated kept his hair buzzed short. The length was good, but I could tell from the way his neckline followed his hairline, he buzzed it himself, rather than paying a stylist or barber to do it. Know what this says about a guy? CHEAP!!! And if the haircut is bad or nonexistent, the messages we gals read are LAZY, CLUELESS, and/or OBLIVIOUS. Don’t be that guy.

2. Shoes. Call me crazy, but shoes say a lot about a person. You style mavens out there already know this, but I think this is a point that the rest of us just sort of internalize. Ugly shoes again point to cluelessness. Alternately, unfortunate footwear can also be an indication of someone having a really bad sense of style (extrapolate this to their wardrobe and what their residence looks like, both inside and out, and you get the idea about how this isn’t just about shoes). Down the road in a relationship, you’ll have to make a decision: will you put up with his bad taste or try to change it by offering more stylish suggestions? If you choose the latter path, there’s a good chance that you’ll ultimately be accused of being controlling and/or micromanaging your significant other, an argument to which no one wants to be a party.

3. Car. Now, this is a really tricky one–having too nice of a car might say the guy is a spendthrift, or that he has self-image issues, but having an absolutely awful car says he doesn’t really care about looking good or being comfortable (again, this translates to other realms of the guy’s life). On top of what kind of car he drives is the issue of its condition. My ex, for example, drove an expensive sedan, but he kept so much trash in it, I used to say he should open the windows, then have a garbage truck come scoop it up and shake it clean periodically. Yeah, I can be a bitch, but you probably get my point–it was unconscionable how he treated that fine, luxury automobile (which truly was the ultimate driving machine!).

Looking forward, I know God has someone in mind for me. I don’t know who it’s going to be, but three times in a row now, He’s demonstrated His power in delivering guys literally to my doorstep. The first time was with Date 17, the guy from high school who emailed me out of nowhere. The second time was when Date 29 was late to pick me up the other night–while I was walking my dog, a tall, super good-looking, single, age-appropriate neighbor stopped his car in the middle of the road, cut off his cell phone conversation, and jumped out of the car to talk to me. I was like, Wow!!! Not that I think this guy and I have any sort of future potential, but I took it for a message from above, kind of like God was saying to me, This date who’s late? He’s not the one, but I’ve got someone better lined up for you, and he’ll be along shortly, when the time is right. Third, I got a text from a now-divorced mom friend of mine while at church today: she’s dating a wealthy, good-looking guy who has a wealthy, good-looking (and tall!) friend who wants to meet me.

Of course, and then there’s Date 14, as well, texting me out of nowhere. Not sure if he was sent by God or the devil, but I’ll leave you with one guess as to what might happen with him later this afternoon, given that it’s still December and my perfect guy has yet to come along.

Like I’ve said, we all need Jesus.

Dates 20.9 & 20.10: Last Call

Of all the guys I’ve been out with, Date 20 is the one I could most see myself marrying at some point down the road. Unfortunately, I don’t think he shares my viewpoint. After our last date, at the end of which Date 20 perfunctorily informed me I snored, we had texted briefly, but then communication between us fizzled and disappeared. And then my birthday passed with no acknowledgment, electronic or otherwise, despite Date 20 being well aware of the date.

[Side note: The birthday thing? It’s kind of a test. Without giving it away, I’ll just say I have an extremely easy-to-remember birthday, since its date is kind of a novelty. That said, I wondered who, of all the guys I’ve been out with, would remember (and/or make the effort) to say happy birthday. As it turned out, Date 23 wished me well before the fact but not on the actual date, and Date 5 said happy birthday because I wound up texting him that night, telling him it had been my birthday during the course of conversation, but only Date 27 texted me specifically, complete with all sorts of cutesie little happy-face and decorative icons, to say he hoped the day was a good one. Everyone else either forgot or decided saying anything would send a message they didn’t want to convey.]

Anyway, when Date 20 let my birthday pass without sending any greetings, I figured we were done for good. Oh, well, I inwardly said with a sigh. I’d been figuring things were done between us, but it still sucked to have it spelled out so clearly in such definitive terms.

About a week later, however, I received a text from Date 20: Happy belated birthday! he said. Kind of pissed he had missed the actual date and kind of figuring he was only texting me because he wanted sex, I texted him back a one word answer: Thanks. No smilie, no exclamation point, just a period afterward.

My therapist, my sister, and my friends were all so proud of me for holding my ground. Too bad I broke down after less than forty-eight hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about Date 20, so I texted him late Friday night, telling him so. Less than thirty seconds later, my phone rang. Date 20 was on his way home from a family gathering. We chatted by cell until he pulled into his garage, and then he called me back from his land line, since cell reception isn’t the greatest at his house.

All together, we talked for almost two hours that night. Even if he didn’t want to be with me long term, it was clear that we’d both missed each other, as our conversation was warm and genuine. At the end of the call, he asked if he could come over Saturday night and take me out to dinner at one of the restaurants near where I live. I said yes, and I could barely sleep after we hung up, I was so excited at the prospect of seeing him again.

Saturday night, I let him into my apartment and we hugged in the doorway. I had decided I wasn’t going to have sex with him that night, since I wanted to know if he had reasons besides getting in my pants to see me, but that resolve faltered when he started to kiss me. He just smelled so good, and I loved the insistent way he kissed and grabbed at me as we made out. Left literally breathless, there was no way I could say no when he suggested we move things inside my apartment.

That said, we didn’t even make it to the bedroom–we did it on my couch. Besides feeling awesome in a sexual way, I found myself emotionally engaged in the act, knowing my hunger for his body wasn’t just physical. When he climaxed inside me, I know this sounds mega-cheesy, but I was fighting back tears of joy. Luckily, though, I was able to hide them when I started crying for real, but I knew what the tears meant: as suspected, I was in love with Date 20. This phenomenon had happened to me twice before–once with my high-school boyfriend and once with my main college boyfriend, who eventually became my husband.

Oh, shit, I couldn’t help thinking. This is bad.

Because I knew Date 20 liked me, but he wasn’t really emotionally available, so I was wasting my energy. But I’ve never been able to help being an optimist, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt that night as he took me out to dinner. Not to mention the fact that he treated me extremely well while we were out together that night, making it way too easy to get my hopes up.

At one point in the evening, we even ran into one of my friends at the restaurant. I introduced Date 20 to her, and I could tell she was happy for me. I was proud to be with him; hanging out as a couple felt right, further cementing my notion that Date 20 and I were meant to be together.

As we said goodnight later on, however, I knew the real test would come in the weeks ahead, when I found out whether he was going to ask me out again. As suspected, communication between us again dwindled to nonexistent.

Two weeks later, though, I texted Date 20, asking him a question related to some upcoming travel I was about to embark upon. He answered enthusiastically and I thanked him but didn’t push for us to get together, figuring he’d ask if he wanted to see me. A few hours later, he texted, asking if I’d like to join him for a hike.

It was great seeing him that afternoon, and we had fun hiking together, but when we made it back to our cars afterward, he hugged me goodbye instead of kissing me. Not wanting our relationship to only be about sex, I didn’t ask him back to my place, and he didn’t ask me to dinner. Instead, I drove away and he sat there in his car, checking stuff on his phone while I crawled along in the stop-and-go traffic our hike’s timing had left us fighting at its conclusion.

The next day, I texted him to say I’d had fun, thanking him for asking me to join him, but his reply was brief and somewhat curt. Maybe I’ll hear from him in a few months, when he gets horny enough, but you know what? I don’t need to have my chain yanked like that, so I’m feeling pretty done. Because, this hot and cold thing? It’s the pits.

I may still have feelings for Date 20, but I deserve better.

Viewing Myself through the Lens of Date [-4]: Domme Potential?

Although I mentioned Date [-4] briefly in my last post, I was kind of pissy about it, since I highly suspect “he” was actually Date [-1/-3], and not a new person. That said, I didn’t want to give him/her the satisfaction of my detailing their dishonesty, lamenting over why they wouldn’t just meet me in person and get it over with already. But here’s the thing: in this incarnation of his/her online dating persona, s/he pretended to be a submissive guy who wanted me to take charge and basically show him the ropes.

Interesting dilemma, that. As a deeply submissive woman, I know what kind of charge we subbies crave. Out of curiosity’s sake, while planning for our “date,” I tried on several outfits, trying to cultivate a stern yet sexy look that I suspected would make Date [-4] cream in his shorts. Taking it a step further, wondering if he really, truly wanted me go there with him, I got out my flogger and waved it around threateningly while making nasty demands. All the while, I watched myself in the mirror to see if I could really pull off being so authoritative in the bedroom.

Oddly enough, I got rather turned on by the whole process. Imagining myself whipping his bare, pinky-white ass, leaving angry red marks from the thin strips of pliable leather, I felt somewhat empowered. Could I really do this? I wondered. Should I start dating submissive guys?

I’ve heard plenty of stories about this particular breed of men. How they’re usually high-powered executives. How they’ll pay $500 an hour to have a hot chick stomp all over them in stiletto heels. Joking around with my sister, I asked her what she thought the practical applications of dating such a guy could be like.

“You will buy me dinner,” I said in a bossy tone of voice.

“We’re going out of town for the weekend,” I continued, “and you’re going to book the reservations.”

“I need diamond earrings. Now!” she barked, and we both dissolved into laughter.

Joking aside, I have to ruminate over whether that submissive side would bleed into other aspects of a romantic relationship. Would the dominant person always be responsible for planning dates? Would she have to pay the bills (albeit out of his checking account!)? Would she always have to initiate sex? Does submissiveness in a guy translate to laziness?

Maybe, maybe not. I’m submissive, but I’m a total go-getter in terms of achievement. At work, I’ve always been an exemplary employee, taking charge when the job requires it and deferring to orders as needed.

Anyway, we’ll see. There’s a younger, somewhat submissive (real) guy I’ve been messaging with on the dating site for awhile now, and I think we might finally go out. True to stereotype, he’s a financier who probably has an MBA or something. Way too many years between us for me to take him seriously, but I have to say this: when we finally go out, I hope it’ll be on a cool night, so I can wear my boots.

Date 13.1: Out of Order

Sometimes, I have to write. That’s my disclaimer, just in case my agent happens to pop by to check in on how one of her favorite deadline-deliquent writers happens to be doing in the dating world. Yes, I should be working on edits, and I have been (along with copyediting for hire, since the money’s more immediate), but a girl needs a break every once in awhile.

Anyway, all that said, I was on a date the other night (20.2, which I’ll get to another day), and there was Date 13, sitting at the next table! No doubt, the world is way too small, but the situation was somewhat incriminating. Date 20 could tell I was uncomfortable, so I felt led to gloss over why, specifically, having this particular young stud hang out with his man-posse (probably his gym friends) over yonder made me ill at ease.

So here we go, then, with an examination of the half-truths offered in explanation of the situation:

1. I went out with him once.

“Went out with” is a rather generous way to put it. Actually, what happened was that a girlfriend and I went out for drinks one night at a restaurant bar reputed for its (wealthy) over-40 clientele. While there, none of the silver-haired fellows with whom I’d probably be a better match (since their kids are older, like mine) even glanced in our direction. Two young guys walked into the bar, however, and sat at the table right next to ours.

My girlfriend immediately called the one with the gargantuan set of muscles. Fine by me, I nodded in agreement, since the other guy was hot, too, and a little quirkier, which tends to be my type.

Maybe up close they realized we were a lot older than them or maybe they were just shy, but after ten minutes of their sitting right next to us (there were lots of empty tables–they didn’t have to choose that one) and not saying anything, I made an excuse to strike up conversation. Unfortunately, the ploy I used (inquiring about muscle-guy’s physique, saying my teenage son wants to bulk up but I don’t know what he should be eating) kind of backfired on me, since he wound up being a personal trainer who then wanted my business. No matter, though, because it did the job–my excuse of a question got the four of us talking.

I think I’ve mentioned this girlfriend of mine before. The preacher’s daughter? you might be wondering. Um-hmm. Yeah, that’s her. Anyway, she invited the guys back to her house with us for drinks! They seemed like nice enough guys, but I was still shocked. Because, how did we know they weren’t going to attack, kill, or rob us? We’d never met them before!!! I guess my girlfriend and I were both hammered enough to figure there was safety in numbers, though, because we wound up leaving my car parked near the restaurant, taking off in the quirky guy’s Mercedes for my girlfriend’s hillside custom luxury home.

Once there, we drank, played pool, spilled wine, and started to watch a movie. Muscle-guy kept pulling my girlfriend into the other room to put the moves on her in private, which I guess she rebuffed. In the mean time, I was having a great time playing footsie with the quirky dude (who turned out to be one of the muscle-guy’s personal training clients, as it happened).

His moves thwarted, muscle-guy declared he had to get home, demanding he and the quirky guy immediately leave. “Want to come with us?” the quirky guy asked me.

“Will you be okay if I go?” I asked my girlfriend.

“Please!” she said. “We’re both grown women. Go have some fun.”

So I did.

After we dropped off the petulant muscle-bound guy, Date 13 drove me back to his place. Only 34 years old, he had a head full of gorgeous dark hair, beautiful creamy skin, and that personal trainer he employed? Dude knew his stuff, because Date 13’s bod was rockin’!

I can’t remember if we had sex three or four times, but I do recall how fun it was. Definitely dominant, he kept pinning my hands back, plunging himself into me like he wanted to hurt me. And when he went down on me? Dude was relentless, repeatedly making me cry out with how aggressively he sucked my clit.

Okay–I know I said I wasn’t going to get too graphic here, so I apologize. Basically, I just want to relate the fact that the sex was hot, and I definitely would have been down for more. Date 13 climaxed repeatedly, so I thought he might have shared that opinion, but maybe he had a heart-to-heart with his cat afterward (she was making racket all night, the way my also-Siamese cat does when she wants someone to get lost) and she gave me the thumbs down, since although he accepted my friend request on facebook, he never ended up calling.

2. I’m not sure, but I think he might be on steroids or something.

Here’s where the story gets interesting, in my opinion: the next morning, Date 13 took me out to Starbucks on the way to pick up my car. While in Starbucks, we ran into one of his gym buddies, a majorly hot 50-ish guy of the ilk I wished I were dating (seriously thinking about joining their gym in the future!). The two of them made friendly, casual conversation. I was a little embarrassed, since being with Date 13 so early in the morning was somewhat walk-of-shameish (despite my being dressed in workout clothes, since I’d brought them to my girlfriend’s house and then brought them to Date 13’s when we left together), but whatever. The interaction with this acquaintance made Date 13 seem like a normal, regular, mild-mannered guy.

As we were leaving the Starbucks parking lot, however, a minivan driven by a family approached us going the wrong way according to the shopping center’s signage. The man at the wheel of the Honda Odyssey shrugged an apology, waving for us to pass, clearly indicating he realized he was in the wrong and sorry for any inconvenience. Date 13 rolled down the window of his Mercedes.

“Wrong way, asshole!” he yelled, then sped past the minivan on our way out of the parking lot.

Needless to say, sitting in the front passenger seat, I felt like I wanted to disappear. People make mistakes in parking lots, you know? It’s not that big a deal. The fact that Date 13 had to berate this guy for making a wrong turn seemed like a huge red flag to me. Shocked and befuddled over what had happened that morning, I later asked Date 5 what he thought of Date 13’s parking-lot behavior.

“Maybe he just really needed his coffee,” he said, which made me laugh so hard I think I snorted.

Whatever the case, it was obvious Date 13 probably has some anger issues. Maybe he knows it, and he’s embarrassed over what happened, or maybe he’s just not that into me, so even though he asked me for my number as he was dropping me off, he never had any intention of calling. Hard to say. Whatever the case, I didn’t like the idea of sitting there having a glass of wine, trying to get to know Date 20 while Date 13 lurked in the background with his weight-lifting cronies, so Date 20 and I wound up going inside the restaurant, abandoning the patio to its studmuffin mafia.