After the first date with the weirdo with the giant balls, I decided to get online and look around. My friend T suggested I check out POF – Plenty of Fish for those of you not in the know.
After making a lovely profile I sat back and waited, but not for long.
There were pictures of penises, sure, and some awesome “hey gurl, how u doin, u so dam fine” and other misspelled nonsense flooding in. There was the guy who said one of my pictures made me look like the Bride of Chucky, and had even scared his dog. Assuming he was kidding, I called his dog lame. He blocked me. Guess he really liked his dog. But there were some potentials there as well.
I started off slow and just chatted online for a bit. The first night there was a guy who seemed pretty nice from Kennesaw. We chatted a bit, but he quickly moved into wanting sexy chat, which I wasn’t into. Then there was the guy who seemed nice, but felt he needed to tell me early on that he was only into anal and oral because he was small (only about three inches hard, according to him). Wonder if that typically works on chicks?
Occasionally I would give a guy my number, thinking that if he was a total creeper I could simply block him. Nine times out of 10 I wished I hadn’t done that. I never had to block anyone, but I’ve seen more pictures of dudes cumming in the last year than I ever thought possible.
But then I met a local dude. Let’s call him something feminine and delicate, like Blaine.
So Blaine and I talked online, then texted, and then talked on the phone. Natural progression. We set a date and met. He wore a necklace (like one of those thick cloth or braided rope ones) with a dragon medallion on it, but other than that he seemed nice. His wife of many years had cheated on him and he had divorced her. He was worried that he had never really been in love and that something was wrong with him, and he desperately wanted a relationship, according to him.
He drew me pictures of daisies (my favorite flower), and said things like “if only we’d met each other when we met our ex’s, think of how different our lives would be.” He was nice, maybe a little too nice, but I thought nice might be a good thing.
We did the first date, had some food and then went to the park. We chatted for a couple hours without any weird pauses. At one point some deer came out of the woods behind us, which was pretty awesome. Kind of like in that movie “Funny Farm,” where they try to sell their house by bribing the townsfolk to not act like assholes, and have them do things like let deer go to frolic when potential buyers come to their home.
The good night kiss was good enough. He said something corny – “I was wondering if your lips would be as soft as they look. And I was right, they are.” No shit, moron. I have gorgeous lips, of course I keep them moisturized.
After the abysmal first stab at dating, I even got back out of my car and ran to his window for one more good-night kiss. Surely this would be a good thing between us, right? Well I’m writing this, aren’t I, so take a guess how it turned out.
Second date I forgot where we went – I think for sushi, then we made out and he went home. Third date I went to his house for Chinese and “Avatar.” This was the big three – the sex date. We ate, watched the movie, made out a little and then he got up, took my hand and led me to the bedroom. As he’s lighting a fucking million little votives (I was beginning to wonder if he was going to fuck me or sacrifice me), he asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. Most girls would get off on this brand of teen movie romance. Me, not so much.
We get down to business; he leaves on the dragon necklace, which was a little off-putting. While nothing to write home about, at least his balls looked normal and his penis wasn’t some sort of little gherkin dangling between his thighs. I could work with this. And I did my best, but the foreplay was sorely lacking, and I just could never really get into it totally. And when he came he did this high-pitched “he, he, he – not like a laugh, like that sound several times.” I did not cum, but the thought of him being selfish was drowned out by the sight of him crying. Yep, you read that right. CRYING, immediately after getting off. A little awkward sitting naked on the sheets I am sure his ex-wife picked out, while he bawled his eyes out.
Seems Blaine was still a little hung up on the ex-wife who had those white-trash squinty eyes like trailer park dwellers and Taylor Swift. He felt that everywhere he looked he could see her and he couldn’t get over how she was mean and would make him go down on her to get her off (and not ever go down on him), then allow him to penetrate her for up to five minutes before telling him to fuck off, going into the bathroom for a soak, and sexting his friends.
But I thought that maybe he just needed a little time. Maybe this could work. So I taught him how to make fudge for a family gathering, I listened to his endless diatribes on Air Soft (which he loved), we played pool and I TRIED to get into him. I even came over Thanksgiving night because he said he was lonely and sat watching him play Xbox. But he was so damn depressed all the time, and I think it made him a pretty shitty lover. That and the “he, he, he” sound he made when he was about to cum. The only way I got off with him was by assisting him in the process.
I broke up with him on my birthday, after we’d had a near-brutally boring date for sushi. He cried – sobbed actually – complained about never having been in love and made random statements about how he didn’t want to live in a world where people could hurt each other this way.
I promised that he would find someone someday, and that I would be his friend. And I was for a while. He’s now in a relationship with a woman who wants to stay celibate until marriage. Weird, since she has a kid, but whatever. I think sexless might be the best way for him. Cause if he’d cried every single time we had sex I might have killed myself. As it is, he only cried the first time, so I guess that’s okay and not totally weird.
Who the fuck am I trying to kid? That’s totally weird. Good thing he found a girl that wants to go to church and save herself for marriage – I mean, she’s already got the kid, so why bother. Incidentally she is white-trash squinty too. I guess he must have a type. And that type would be non-hot white trash bitches who don’t mind their men weeping during sexy time. To each his own.
50 Shades of Dating 