Some troll on IG thinks my tits are “terrible.” God, I love men.
The Neighbor ended things with me on February 11th and I waited until March 27th before I sat across a live man again. Since then I have been out with 11 men on approximately 29 different occasions in 10 weeks.
I’ve had sex with 4 of them 12 times and did a whole bunch of oral fun with a 5th man. I can’t even count the number of men with whom I’ve interacted with online and text. I’d guess 100+ if you include brief replies, shut downs, and quiet fades.
I’m sure one of you could crunch those numbers better than me, but according to my poor math skills I have close to a 50/50 chance of sleeping with a man when I go on a date and I spend a little less than half my waking time on a date.
Except that isn’t even remotely true.
Less than half the men I’ve gone out with have seen me naked or gotten to touch me and I have a very lustrous life outside of meeting strangers for drinks and the furtive hope of chemistry. This isn’t all I do, but it is my past time.
I was on another date with the Bad Texter on Tuesday and it’s the first time we’d seen each other since he left for London the morning of my texting mistake 3 weeks ago. He asked what I’d been up to. It was so good to see his smiling, bearded face and light sherry-colored eyes. But I couldn’t answer him, not honestly.
I couldn’t tell him I woke up the other day with cum dried in my eyebrows or how I’d been on a ton of terrible dates or how I’d hit 10,000 followers on my Instagram account that’s connected to a sex blog that is a true labor of love and a huge part of my life.
In that moment I realized I have an arguably very large and secret double life, so I only answered, “Not much. I’m pretty boring.”
The truth is I’ve been very busy over the last 3 weeks and particularly the last 70 days. Let me fill you in.
Blake – He was the first man I went out with after The Neighbor. We hung out about 3 times and on our first date he asked me what my deal breakers were. Not what I held to be true about other people, but what a man would find about me to be a deal breaker for him.
The first thing that popped into my brain was, “Well, I have a secret fucking sex blog, so there’s that,” but what I said instead was, “I need a lot more attention than what a single man can give me. He’d need to allow me to get feedback from elsewhere.”
I was up front about my sexual proclivities, he gave me some nice bruises once, and then he very oddly opted himself out one day as he spun out in a frazzled mess and broke a date citing stronger feelings for me than I had for him.
Tall eHarmony Guy – We texted for a month leading up to our date scheduled for March 28th and spoke once on the phone. He’d offended me twice and shown himself to be insecure and close-minded, but I liked that he was watering a little seed with me with his daily check-ins and obvious interest.
The day of our date I met with Troy and Jack beforehand for drinks even orchestrating our destination to be within drop-off distance of the shitty restaurant TeG had chosen. An hour before we were to meet he texted to say that the first reservation available was at 10pm.
He thought I was seeking perfection when I told him I wasn’t interested in driving around with him – a stranger – looking for another restaurant at 7 pm on a Saturday during a festival weekend. He figuratively huffed off out of my life and phone and I merrily waved goodbye.
The Little Marine – He was intense and we clicked until suddenly we didn’t and I left him face down and naked, crushed, on his black sheets. He knew I wasn’t returning.
He was diligent in scheduling sex and I obliged a time or two, but something was off. Our sex was never as good as that first time when I realized that desirable sex did, in fact, exist outside my broken heart.
It ended for two reasons: 1) he was pressuring me to schedule too much and I found myself leaning towards untruths about my availability and 2) our last date was a semi-disaster. He arrived drunk, rushed me out of the hotel bar across from his apartment, didn’t listen to a goddamned word I said, and at some point smacked my ass in the basement hallway of his building. It wasn’t the smack that bothered me, but the aftermath.
He insisted it’d pissed me off, I asserted only surprise. He wouldn’t drop it, even after I begged him to. My attraction for him was evaporating as quickly as he formed his words of rebuttal.
We attempted sex — I was there to get fucking laid, after all — but it didn’t work. Neither of us were into it. He didn’t want me to go, but I said I had to. He asked what he could do differently, could he have avoided this. My simple reply was, “You could have listened to me.”
David – The fireman with the giant hose. We met for beer and made out in my car a little so I could feel his beer can cock for myself. The sex has been subversive, challenging, and unimaginably hot for me, but I struggle to communicate with him. I avoid arguments because, like with The Little Marine, an argument is a sure sign of an imminent exit and I still really like fucking this giant, crudely funny man.
Ray – A man I met on Tinder who explicitly stated he wasn’t looking for anything physical. Intrigued, we met for a casual meal where I discovered it’s actually possible to have zero chemistry with an incredibly good looking man. We haven’t spoken since, though I’ve seen him at my favorite coffee/bar place a couple of times.
Incidentally, Ray was the man I was off to meet the night I ran into The Neighbor for the first time in weeks which tipped the scales for us in so many ways.
Ginger Viking – Tall and with a beard the color of a redwood, GV talked at me animatedly for 2 hours one day across a picnic table. He was funny and had an easy energy and I didn’t even mind that he spoke mostly about his masters degree program. I was able to interject here and there.
He sent me lots of cock shots before the Sunday morning he came over to fuck. He grabbed me in the entryway and kissed me with a loose, wet mouth, and backed me into my bedroom. We peeled off our clothes, he rolled on a condom, put it in for 3 to 5 thrusts then froze.
Apparently, he’s a quiet cummer.
He rolled off of me, said he needed a nap, but didn’t leave for another 2 hours wherein he told me all about his multiple DUIs and subsequent non-drinking life.
He recently hit me up for some “non-mommy time,” but I have let this one slip away. Premature ejaculation and quiet cumming are not fatal flaws, but quitting once you’ve orgasmned and not giving me anything, even a sign of pleasure, is. Also, all the jibber jabber.
The Bad Texter – This man is figuring prominently in my thoughts these days. I met him May 1st and felt an instant connection. He’s very tall, bearded, ginger, and about as guarded as a mother fucker can get. He’s also 75 lbs overweight. I’ve never been so attracted to such a large man and when he touches me I feel small and safe, two things that rarely occur together. The former, sure, the latter almost never.
We’ve been out 4 times and we haven’t fucked. Tuesday night I straddled his face and pulled his hair, his big paws clawed at my back in long, heavy swipes. I came with my head against the giant, padded headboard his mama made him.
I climbed off of him and sucked his uncut cock and could feel the foreskin slide in my mouth. He moaned my name, coached me. I came up to kiss him and asked where he wanted to cum, he could do it anywhere, I said. He whispered, “In your mouth,” then even more softly whispered, “and on your face.”
I knelt below him and looked up at his towering, hulking body. His face was glazed with passion as he watched himself disappear into my mouth. I leaned back and let him finish all over my face and held his pulsing cock in my mouth.
We lay together then, me cuddled up in his nook, and he threaded his big fingers through mine for many minutes on end. I couldn’t remember the last time a man played with my hand.
We’re going to see each other again on Sunday.
Randy – The exceptional date who has proven to be a nice young man, but is apologetic about his sexuality. He liked me a lot very quickly and I have been gentle with him to put distance between us. I am not here to teach anyone about the coolness of their bodies and sex.
Chase – My sexual brother, who as I predicted, told me just last night that he’s going to stop playing around. He and the Bad Texter are the only two men who have shared the conversation with me. I’m going to miss him.
Mat – His name was misspelled from birth — that should have been an indicator of something. He withheld very important information, such as having 4 children with his ex, and never once asked me a question.
The entire experience pushed me far off balance, but I have recovered.
McSweeney – This Monday’s date blamed me for over-dressing and discussed power-lifting for the first 20 minutes of our date before sticking his head up for air. When I was able to interject he would react negatively or argue with me about my own beliefs and feelings. Oh, and then more power-lifting talk. Good times.
We kissed by my car. He must know by now that it’d be his first and last with me. His cologne was cloyingly musky.
The Chemist – Wednesday’s date. Let me just share what I told a friend about him:
shorter than me WITH cowboy boots, thinks his mother is a shitbag, told me how much money he makes, he’s got Crohn’s but doesn’t care because he knows he’ll die from it anyway, he dips, he didn’t ask me one question, he argued with me about metaphysics v existentialism, hates bjs and thinks they’re degrading to both parties, has an exfiancee who put all the dicks in her unbeknownst to him, hasn’t seen/talked to his parents in 12 years…
That’s just what I wrote to her. He is also in the process of getting his face tattoos removed. I’m sure I’ve forgotten more gems from the evening, but that’s plenty of red flags for me.
Take from these tales what you will. I’m certain there’s a How not to get laid message in there somewhere.
I might have a date with someone else tonight, maybe another Friday and Saturday and then the Bad Texter is Sunday. This could possibly be the busiest dating week of my life, but I feel light as a feather. The force is strong with this one, as the saying goes.
Dating is inherently awful. The Chemist called it something like the “reconciliation of vulnerability,” that we all just assume we’ll be hurt by the strangers we continue to meet online. I call it an exercise in futility because no matter what it is you’re looking for — be it love or lust — you’re offering yourself up for rejection and to attempt to avoid it is futile. I also have my double-life to think about. I’m lying right out of the gate if you include omission as a fatal character flaw.
I really like the Bad Texter, but the current rules of dating mean that he’s probably talking to half a dozen girls on any number of platforms and therefore I don’t have 100% of his attention. Ever. It’s certainly true of me.
Focusing on one man doesn’t increase my odds of a successful connection, either. That’s the sad part. We all play the field because it’s deceptively easy (thanks, online dating!) and it seems like the right thing to do, but what we’re really waiting for is the Big Kahuna, the one that takes us out of the churning waters of singledom and into the kiddie pool of a stable relationship.
Having said that, I don’t know that I’m fit for a relationship. I wonder all the time if I mean that for right now or for always because the idea of letting my guard down, of actually being vulnerable enough to say, “Hey, I need this from you,” and risk this person not stepping up and therefore forcing me to end it with him as any healthy adult should and would makes me itch. Also, double-life.
I’ve told the Bad Texter his way of communicating has really bothered me. That was a baby step to real vulnerability, but I can’t say that I’ll be able to go further. The Neighbor is a closed book, but if I could rewrite our chapters I would have left him last summer without question, but I was incapable of admitting to myself that what he was doing was unacceptable because then I would be forced to end things and it is nearly impossible for me to stick up for myself like that. The loss of someone I love, despite them not treating me well, is akin to raw abandonment.
I don’t want to find myself trapped in that place again and until I trust myself enough to admit to when things are indeed not ok, then I will be swimming in the deepest pools of men I can find, because here I am a strong swimmer.