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Protected: Small town dating

23 Feb

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It’s amazing the difference a day makes

14 Feb

Has it only been a day since that last blog post?  24 hours since I was melting into a puddle on the floor?  Since some random Carly Rae Jepsen song came on the radio and it made me think of him and I immediately said, “fuck” out loud because it meant that I kind of liked him? So much has happened in 24 hours.  All of it has happened in 24 hours.  Okay, maybe not all of it, but a whole lot of it.

No, I haven’t seen #4 again – no naked bodies.  Calm down.

First of all, let me tell you that this guy has some serious game.  Sure, I’ve not played for many years, but I’d think my skills were sharp enough to know how to respond.  He’s left me speechless a few times.  Excellent flirt.  I’m down.  Texts flying back and forth and they were good.

One minute we were flirting on text and then next thing there are some REAL direct questions about marriage, and kids.  Like, immediately.  I’m not used to the “let’s make sure we’re on the same page” conversation until way later in the game.  This was under the guise of “I don’t like the idea of sabotaging another date, but I really don’t like the idea of wasting your time if your’e looking for something more serious” excuse. He doesn’t want any more kids.  He isn’t looking to get married.  Okay, fine by me, no worries, whatever.  I told him I wasn’t planning on picking out a wedding dress and sending baby announcements.

Kids, then things got deep real quick (and I don’t mean that in a sexy way).

Like REAL quick.

Next thing I know we’re talking about life long dreams and what we’re looking for in life and love and didn’t we just make out on the front porch 15 minutes ago and now we’re having an existential conversation?  Then we went down this track where he had this total epiphany of what he really wanted, which I coached him to (because I’m a therapist in my own mind), and it’s like, how the fuck did we get here?

What happened to yesterday when I was swooning and wondering where this would go, to essentially talking him into “let’s just do a friends with benefits” kind of thing?

#4 is in no way, shape, or form ready for a relationship.  I don’t know what happened to him in the past, but there is all sorts of work he’s going to have to do on himself before he gets there.  The kind of work that even I, as a faux therapist, can’t help him with.  So basically I validated there’s nothing wrong with what he’s looking for as long as he’s up front about it. Though I think he has this strange idea that even if what he’s looking for is FWB that it would be a monogamous version of FWB.  Um, no.  That’s not how it works.

So here’s what I’m thinking: we’re not gonna date, we’re gonna just do whatever, and I’m going to go ahead and date other people. We’re not sleeping over at one another’s houses.  We’re not going to meet one another’s friends or families.

Meanwhile, the Tutor (previously know as date #3), is up for tonight’s date.

Things are getting really interesting…

Le Swoon

13 Feb

You guys!! YOU GUYS!!  That gif was totally me at the end of my date last night.  Holy Lord almighty.  Swoon.  SWOON, you guys!!  Are you swooning?  I’m still swooning.  I want to spend the entire day just melting and turning into a giant puddle on the floor.  Then I’ll pick myself back up and melt all over the place again.

God bless, #4.

We met up at a restaurant near my house.  I was early, as per usual, and was the only customer in the place.  He walked in and I thought to myself, “hot fucking damn, he is fit as fuck.”  He knows how to fill out a polo shirt.  Looked way hotter than in his pictures.  Like, I felt my ovaries beating hot.  I had to restrain myself from asking him to father my children.  He sat down and immediately faced the bar and I thought, “Fuck, he’s totes not into me.”  Whatever, we’ll have a few drinks and then I’ll go home and line up the next date.

We drank, we ate, we talked politics, family, dating, traveling, pizza, drinks.  I don’t know.  We talked, and he was interesting, and smart, and funny.  And I poked him in the arm and it was rock hard and then I thought, “stop touching him!  He doesn’t like you,” because he was facing the bar.  AND THEN he nudged my leg and I thought, “I’m going to touch his body.”  And then we talked some more, and then I poked his arm again and my ovaries started beating again.  And then he lodged his leg next to mine and my immediate impulse was to pull it away and I thought, “do not move your fucking leg.  You will leave it there touching his.”

But then he asked for the check.

[SAD FACE]

It was a little after 7:30, we’d been there for 2 hours – I could have sat there for 2 more days.  Okay, fine.  Read all the signs wrong, clearly if he wanted to leave then that meant that he was over it.  He was naturally charming, and was being polite in hanging out, and he was ready to go.  And I was bummed.  Then he said, “can I walk you home?” Obviously, I said yes.

So here’s this handsome, younger gentleman walking me home and I had that inner dialogue with my slutty self.

  • Slutty Self (SS): You should just sleep with him.
  • Rationale Self (RS): Do not do that.
  • SS: Don’t you want to see him naked? Imagine what he looks like under that shirt?
  • RS: You playing the long game here, or do you want him to touch you all over and then never hear from him again?
  • SS: Is that a bad thing?  Because look at him?  Invite him in the house.
  • RS: Do not invite him in the house.
  • SS: Don’t you want to touch his peen?
  • RS: If you wait, maybe you can touch it more than once…

There we were on my porch and he was looking at the house, and I know that he wanted to come in – but I was not going to invite him in.  Instead, he kissed me on the porch.  I wanted to maul him.  To climb him like a god damn mountain.  I restrained myself.  So he kissed me again, and my inner slut yelled to me, “you’re five feet from the couch, you could be on top of him in less than 2 minutes.”  I thanked him for a good time, bid him adieu, and went into my house where I melted onto the couch.

Of course I needed to immediately start thinking, “WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NOW?? IS HE GOING TO CALL ME?? WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN??”

Five minutes later he sent me a message in the dating app (because I hadn’t given him my number) thanking me for the date and saying even if I wasn’t sure about a 2nd date, that the kiss is something important to check out.  I immediately wrote back and told him I had a great time and gave him my number.  And in the first few official text messages he wrote, “You were as good a kisser as I imagined.” And that’s when I died. I am dead.

I mean, like what?  WHAT JUST HAPPENED??

Of course my head told me to take a deep breath and calm down, my throbbing ovaries were making plans for where we were going to do it, and my heart is making plans of its own.  Here’s the thing: this (if there is a this) will be a casual thing.  It will be nothing more than that.  It will burn hot, and it will burn fast.  We all know that the hotter the flame the faster it burns, and I need a slow burn. As much as I may want it to be more than casual, it will not be. So I’m going to keep going out there, and meeting other guys.  Date #3 and I are going out again tomorrow.  I will not get my hopes up (haha, who am I kidding?).  I will let this play out.

And I’ll keep checking my phone to see when he’s going to respond to the text that I sent him this morning.  It’s been 2 hours and he hasn’t responded.  I’m never going to hear from him again.

I ordered a few new bras.  You know, just in case.

Why hasn’t he responded to my text?? Oh wait.  He just did.

Squirt Squirt

8 Apr

“It’s an ego boost for any guy if he makes a girl squirt,” declared my friend, Biggie, over dinner on Wednesday night.  We were drinking our cocktails and tearing into our steak at a fancy restaurant when the conversation – as it typically does – turned to inappropriate subjects.  This dude is fucking hilarious.  He’s the same one who made the comment about things he’s learned from porn.  Zero filter, I mean none.  God only knows how we got talking about squirting but he proceeded to tell me how he had been fortunate enough to be with two girls who squirted.

It reminded me of a conversation I had a few months back with Folgers.  He mentioned he had been with one girl who did it one time.  I told him he should pat himself on the back and high five himself for that as not every girl squirted AND if he could make some girl do that who didn’t usually, then he was the man.

A few days after the first conversation I started asking my girlfriends about it.  It’s kind of a taboo subject for some reason – I don’t know any chicks who have fessed up to being able to do it.  Some of my friends thought it would be awesome if they could do it, others said they’d be mortified, and then there was Foxy.  She was too wrapped up in what would happen to the bedding and how the comforter would have to be taken to the laundromat to consider the potential magic.

We discussed whether/not we would tell the dude we were with if we could squirt.  Some of us said yes because we figured it would make the dudes work a little harder.  Some said no because they thought the dude would feel bad if he couldn’t make it happen.

Supposedly any chick can do it if she’s rubbed the right way, so to speak.  Look, I’m going to be honest with you, I have tried.  Several years ago I took a class on it and was all prepared to run home and unleash my inner gusher.  Yeah, no such luck.  Apparently, I need someone to spot me or something.  Just couldn’t make it happen for myself.  I’m of the mindset that if I could do it, I would totally tell the dude I was with because I’m sure he would think it was awesome.  Come on!  Who wouldn’t??  What dude wouldn’t feel all manly if he could make a girl do that??

So, fine readers, I ask you: squirting – hot or not?

Kiss: Keep it Simple, Slut

9 Jan

Does making out with a bunch of people qualify as a slut?  Because if it does, I totally want to be a slut.  I wouldn’t say I’ve kissed a lot of people in my 20+ years of making out with boys.  I’d say it’s probably close to 30 or 40.  Really not that many if you think about it.  I’d like to think I have at least 10 more first kisses ahead of me, if not more.

I don’t remember all of my first kisses, though I wish I could.  I do remember that one took place in a yellow(ish) Mustang in a parking lot, one in a pick up truck after I lost a board game, one beneath a bar during happy hour, one in my college door room…actually several in my college dorm room, one on the floor of my trainee’s apartment, another in a hotel room at the beach, yet another in the kitchen of my junior year apartment, one in the living room of my first apartment, one in my TV room, and that’s about all I remember.  I know there are many more, but lord only knows where they took place or the circumstances leading up to it.

For some reason the other day I started thinking about my next first kiss and if I could plan it out, where would it be.  I’ll be honest with you, if a guy I like is going in for a first kiss, in all likelihood I’m not going to throw my hand between us and tell him it’s not the right place or the right time. More than likely I’ll be on his lap before he knows what happens, but still what if…

What if you could plan out the perfect first kiss?  Where would it be?

I’d kill for a first kiss on a summer night on Vineyard Haven beach under a full moon.  Or in the spring on Westminster Bridge as Big Ben strikes the hour.  I’ll even take one during a rain storm in the middle of Rittenhouse Sqaure Park.

Guess we’ll just have to see where the next one finds me.

Cum Laude

8 Oct

I was listening to a book on tape (because I’m a nerd) and one of the characters mentioned Ivy League schools.  For some reason, this got me thinking about all of the peens I touched and from which schools they matriculated.  How about that for some nice verbiage?

There was:

  • a football player from Princeton,
  • a golf player from Duke,
  • a dude with an unsightly frat tattoo from Shepherd
  • a southern boy from George Mason
  • a blue eyed dreamboat from Bucknell
  • an engineer from Penn State (main campus),
  • a drop out from WVU,
  • a homecoming king from University of Tampa
  • more than a handful (and mouthful) from my alma mater

Plus a few more but I can’t remember for the life of me where they were from.  I’m kind of a big deal.  Those are fancy peens.

Protected: The Conference Room

21 Sep

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