Pie + Bacon = LUV

Several weeks ago, I began chatting online with Spice. He's a 28 year old computer nerd and general geek- right up my alley! But Spice is different in a couple very important ways. For starters, he's also poly. He lives with his girlfriend, whose other significant other is often over. That's right- there are three levels of OSOs. Spice, his girlfriend, her other boyfriend, and that boyfriend's wife. My roommate calls it “the family tree,” which is as good a description as I've ever heard. The limbs branch out and intersect, without necessarily coming back in on each other.

So like I said, Spice lives with his girlfriend. They were once primary partners, meaning they were deeply involved with one another. Now, it seems that they are no less deeply committed, but the nature of their relationship has changed. You see, Spice got really sick several years ago. He eventually received a kidney transplant and got better, but there were some scary times which led to some realizations about both him and his girlfriend. In the end, they decided to still be together, but not in the same way. This means that Spice is in the unique position of already being in a dedicated poly relationship while still looking for a primary partner.

I knew all of this going into our date Friday night. Now, I've done a lot of long-distance online dating, and the first few weeks reminded me of that. Online relationships often lead to quick connections, since you can spend time talking deeply, but the danger is that you only know what they put forward online. Since I was enjoying talking to Spice so much, I was nervous that he wasn't going to live up to it in person. The only way to find out was to go out.

We met for sushi. If you're anything like me, eating sushi is rife with opportunities for low-level humor, of the “that's what she said” persuasion. Yes, I still enjoy “that's what she said” jokes. I'm not too proud to admit it! Even better, Spice does too. We spent the entire dinner talking and laughing and giggling at jokes. It was like we already knew each other; there was none of that first date awkwardness.

Halfway through dinner, he realized that we'd gone somewhere that didn't really have dessert. I'd prepared for that, though, and suggested we walk over to the nearby Trader Joe's and pick up a pie. I have to give credit for that idea to my awesome roommate. Her suggestion was that we eat it on the street somewhere, which sounds wonderfully romantic, but when we bought the pie I realized we didn't have anything to eat it with. So I invited him back to my house.

(A side-note: while at Trader Joe's, Spice needed to pick up a couple things. He explained that there isn't one convenient to him, so it made total sense. He grabbed coffee and buttermilk, but the awesome part was the bacon. He grabbed two packs of the applewood-smoked bacon. Then two more. Then two more. I was nearly rolling in the aisle! Don't worry, he saw the humor in it too.)

After eating the pie we sat together on the living room couch, with me curled up into him. No surprise, it shortly led to making out; it was glorious. I couldn't get enough of his lips. As I remarked to him at one point, it's a sad thing that after two people start sleeping together, they often stop just making out. It should be more than just a means to an end- it's worth enjoying just for what it is.

We did eventually head up to my bed, but nothing happened beyond more making out and a bit of foreplay. Is it still foreplay when it doesn't lead to more? He texted his girlfriend to let her know he was staying over, and we cuddled up to fall asleep.

Until about 4am. That time, it definitely was foreplay. We had to fumble around in the dark for a condom, but eventually everything was in place. Things were a little bumbling, as first times often are, but he was clearly concerned with making sure I was enjoying myself. I most definitely was.

I “enjoyed myself” again in the morning. This time, being able to see what we were doing and not half-asleep, it was even better. His hands were tender yet demanding as he held me; his skin was smooth yet firm to my lips.

We finally dragged ourselves down to breakfast. I was out of almost everything (I'm a master at putting off going to the grocery store), so we had pie and bacon. I loved it.

Spice and I have continued to talk online every day since then. I have to say, whereas I felt smothered by Isaiah, I anxiously await each conversation with Spice. We're going out again this week, so you can expect to see his name again.

Ending the Imbalance the Only Way Possible

I'd been thinking a lot since my last date with Isaiah. It was painfully clear that he liked me way more than I liked him, and that he was looking for something more serious than I can offer right now. I mean, I just got out of a serious relationship less than a month ago! I don't think it's unfair to want some fun right now without commitment.

Like I've said before, Isaiah is very nice. I believe he really tried his best to give me space and not rush things, but that wasn't possible for him. He kept saying “I'm committed to giving you everything you need, including time and space.” All I could hear was “I'm already committed to you.”

So Tuesday night, I called to have “a talk.” I explained that I could tell we were in two different places. I also told him that it was clear we were looking for different things, and although I think he's wonderful and really do like him, I'm not anywhere close to being ready for a relationship.

He got very quiet.

When he finally talked again, there was obvious pain in his voice. He wanted to find a way to make it work (again that line about being committed to giving me time and space.) I explained, though, that it wasn't enough for me. So it was decided that we were done, though he asked that I call him if I ever change my mind.

I've had to have these types of conversations before, and they're never easy. I don't know if it's something about the kind of guys I choose or the kinds of relationships I get into, but that power imbalance between one person who is head-over-heels while the other is still only mildly enthused is never a good place to be.

It Was Nice in the Beginning...

Sunday night, I met the Triathlete for dessert. I'd suggested brunch, but he was off running, swimming, and biking that morning. I've known of the Triathlete for a while as we have several mutual friends, but it wasn't until I recognized him on OKCupid that I got the chance to actually “talk” to him.

He picked me up at my house, right on time, and we headed down the street to an awesome bar/restaurant that serves all locally-sourced foods. He couldn't resist the allure of the salted caramel cupcake with bacon, and I had a delicious peach crumble. If only it had been a la mode.

I had a lot of fun talking to him, and I thought we had a nice balance going of talking and listening. I hate those dates where it feels like one person is doing all the talking. Especially when I'm that person. I hate feeling like I'm on a job interview and I have to give the “right” answers. But it wasn't like that with the Triathlete. I think it helped that we already knew a little bit about each other. Or maybe more accurately, I knew a little bit about him, including his accordion playing and museum work. (I'm starting to wonder if I have a “thing” for accordion players.)

As I write this, though, I'm starting to wonder- how much did he actually ask about me and my interests? We talked about my thesis, and we talked about our political views (I know, never something that should come up on a first date, but we were both in agreement so it wasn't horribly uncomfortable,) but I can't remember talking about “me.” Hm.

We sat at the table for about three hours, sharing a couple beers, and then we decided it was time to head out. We got the check, and I asked my usual question- “do you want to split?” He said sure. I was honestly taken a little aback. It's not that it was a trick question at all- I was totally willing to pay my half- but he'd had twice as many drinks as me, and he let me pay for half the bill. Maybe he didn't realize it? I don't know.

So we walked back to the car and he drove me home. As we arrived at my house, he parked, but kept his seatbelt on. In the words of a teenage girl, he was like, “okay...” and I was like, “okay...” and then he was like “okay...” some more. Finally, I asked for a hug, and he unbuckled his seatbelt and gave me one. There was no attempt for a kiss.

Obviously, this entire exchange left me confused. The date had seemed to have gone well, but the end was just so...strange. I immediately got online to some of my guy friends to get their take on it. There was no consensus- comments ranged from “maybe he's just awkward” to “maybe he doesn't kiss on the first date” to “maybe he wasn't feeling it.” Since I wasn't sure which one of those it was, I decided to go out on a limb and message him again the next morning on the dating site. My message was brief, just a “I had fun, let's do it again?” type of thing.

Then I waited.

Finally, several hours later, I got a response back. It said (very nicely) that he'd sincerely had fun talking, but he wasn't up for another date. The kicker was his closer- “I'm sure I'll see you around.”

So, in case anyone was wondering, I do occasionally strike out.

Twice in One Week

While I was sitting in the Houston airport during my layover on my way home from Seattle, Isaiah called. He asked if I was free Wednesday night for dinner, which I was. He offered to cook, and I have an awesome kitchen at my house, so we decided he would come over and cook here. Or at least, that was the plan- until Wednesday morning, when I noticed my roommate was still home at a time when she would normally be at work. I asked why, and she told me she had pneumonia.

Now, I've never had pneumonia myself, but I can't imagine that it's pleasant. Furthermore, I can't imagine that I'd want to have some random guy my roommate just started dating traipsing around my house while I'm sick with pneumonia. So I called Isaiah and put the kibosh on our dinner plans.

When I told him, he suggested that I come to lunch with him and two of his friends that day instead. I did, and it was really fun- his friends were both really nice and the sushi was great. Afterwards, he invited me back to another friend's house where he is staying for a few days to do a project for her. He offered a shoulder rub, which turned into making out, which turned into screwing in the kitchen. Sorry, Isaiah's friend- I promise we cleaned up everything we touched.

That was Wednesday night. Friday, I had invited Isaiah to join me for a performance of a friend's band. The performance was at 7, but he wanted to get together at 1 and “hang out.” I managed to push that back to “sometime in the afternoon.” So when I was out with two of my friends on Friday afternoon, they suggested he come meet us. He did, things were nice, etc., but I couldn't help but wonder when we'd finally get a date that didn't involve friends.

He came back to my house afterward to kill some time before the show. I'm sure you can figure out what that entailed. Before I realized it, it was 6:45 and I was nowhere near ready to get out of bed and be seen in public. So I missed the show.

And it was probably worth missing the show for. He's very enthusiastic in bed, and definitely has longevity. But that doesn't quite translate into mind-blowing sex. Don't get me wrong- he's good. Just not top-ten.

As we were laying in bed talking, he mentioned wanting to call me his girlfriend. That freaked me out a LOT. I just got out of a relationship two weeks ago! I'm definitely not in a hurry to get back in another one. Plus I don't know if I like him that much yet. He's a very nice guy, and I do have a fun time with him, but there is just something about it that I'm not feeling. I don't know if that's because I just ended things with the Diplomat, or if it's something about Isaiah, but I'm not going to make any big moves right now.

I'm most worried that he wants to hang out daily, while I'm still in the “twice a week may be too often” phase. I need a lot of space even while in a relationship, but especially in the beginning stages of one. When I'm most infatuated with a guy, it'll come out in me wanting to talk to him daily. But there's no way I want to see the same person every day. That was even an issue while the Diplomat and I were spending just about every other night together- I felt like I didn't have enough alone time. Am I unusual in this? What's your sweet spot in how often you see someone you're dating?

In the Immortal Words of Ms. Joplin- Get it While You Can

This weekend, two of my friends got married in Seattle! As a former wedding coordinator (one of my many previous incarnations,) they asked me to lend a hand to make sure everything went well for their day. It was very much a friends and family affair- seven of us took a trip to the farmer's market in the morning to pick up flowers, the bride's aunt tied the bouquets, and the officiant was one of the bride and groom's closest friends in Seattle who was ordained on the internet.

And that officiant. Oh my. The groom had told me ahead of time that the officiant, Antimony* was available, but he hadn't warned me that he was gloriously tall, cute in that needs-a-haircut kind of way, and amazingly sweet. I noticed at the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal brunch that Antimony was showing me a bit of attention. My suspicions were confirmed (in a good way) when he walked me partway back to my hotel afterward.

It was the next day at the wedding, though, that the we really connected. As the officiant and the official reception emcee, Antimony and I were in constant contact. Even when we weren't doing work-type things, we were hanging out- including sharing bites of the ice cream that the bride and groom had brought in instead of cake (brilliant idea, by the way!) Still, that was as far as it went- some smiles, a bit of touching on the arm, and once I'm pretty sure I laid my head on his shoulder. He wasn't making any moves and I wasn't really willing to put it all out there during our friends' wedding, so things kind of stalled. Then he mentioned that he was flying to Michigan on the red-eye that night, and I figured that was the end of things. I'll admit, I was more than a little disappointed.

When everything was packed up afterwards, I noticed Antimony hanging around even though it was just me and the parents left putting things into cars. I decided it was my last chance, regardless of him flying out that night, and that there was no harm in rejection, so I asked if he would walk me back to my hotel again. He did. When we got there, I asked if he would come up and see my fancy hotel room. He did that too.

As we were looking out the window at the awesome view (I told you it was a fancy hotel room) I laid my head on his shoulder again, and he put his arm around me. As I looked up to smile at him, he leaned down and kissed me. It couldn't have been better if I planned it. He was a very passionate kisser, with his hands on my waist and in my hair and a delicious electricity between us. When we finally broke the kiss, I took a step back and offered him something to drink. He replied, “I'd rather have another kiss.” Believe me, he didn't need to ask twice.

The next thing I knew, we were sideways on the bed, his arms around me and my legs around him. Even with our clothes on, we rotated through several positions while making out- me on top, him on top, my legs over his shoulders, both of us sitting up- and with each change in position, another piece of clothing came off.

We were down to our underwear as I straddled him. That is, until I began kissing my way down his chest and stomach, until I finally got to his boxers. I wanted to see what I'd been feeling, and I was not disappointed. Neither was he, as I kept kissing my way down a little further.

Eventually he pulled me back up to him so I was straddling him again, this time pulling off my panties in the process. With a few strokes, I was in heaven. It was like Antimony was shaped especially for me- he hit all the right places. We're not just talking good sex- we're talking AMAZING sex. Had I known in advance how my body was going to react I would have put a towel down, as the sheets quickly became a sopping wet mess. Afterwards, we lay there close together, my head on his shoulder, talking and laughing and marveling in what we'd both just experienced.

And that was just round one. Before I knew it we were kissing again, and I could feel him pressing into me. I climbed back on. This time, he got tired before finishing again (not that I blame him in the least- he was doing most of the work) so we collapsed back down onto the bed. “I hope you know we're not finished,” he told me. And we weren't. The final round was my favorite. It was a bit slower than the first two, but no less passionate. We held each other close as he moved inside of me until we'd both reached our ends.

For the last time, we lay with his arms around me and my head nestled in his shoulder, caressing each other and watching the sky slowly get dark outside the window. We both had to fight the urge to fall asleep and make him miss his flight to Michigan. Finally, as the street lights came on, we got dressed and I showed him out.

Long live weddings, and the amazing friends who have them.

(*A note on the nickname: Seattle Barista = SB = Sb = Antimony! Yay Periodic Table of Elements!)

Jumping Back In

Even as things were getting serious with the Diplomat and I was slipping into “accidental monogamy,” I remained in contact with several of the guys I had been dating. For the most part, these were interactions as friends, like when the Pirate came to the burlesque show with me over the weekend. Mr. Dimple is another one whose friendship has grown over the past few months. When I told him I didn't think I wanted to be sleeping with other people back in May, he took it totally in stride and never forced the issue. He was also the first person I talked to when I discovered the Diplomat's cheating.

Mr. Dimple's live-in girlfriend went out of town for a few days, and he invited me to come hang out for the day on Thursday since my internship was over. Don't worry, his girlfriend was totally cool with it- unlike some, they are upfront with each other when they're seeing other people. She and I have even hung out. The invitation was mostly as friends, though, and I was looking forward to hanging out with him.

Since his girlfriend had taken their car to go out of town, I drove down to his house. I'll admit, in going to his house for the first time I was most excited to meet his dog. He has an adorable, sweet Rottweiler (I think?) mix that is a total love-bug. The dog and I were instant friends. It may have something to do with the treats I gave him.

We picked up some Thai carry-out, which we took back to his place to eat while watching streaming netflix. Oh, how I love you, streaming netflix. We laughed our assess off at the debauched comedy of Louis CK, and then got comfy together on the couch as we started what turned out to be a bad-movie marathon. Sitting next to each other turned into leaning on him, which turned into laying together on the couch. Still, it wasn't until the end of the last movie that we started making out.

I had forgotten what an amazing kisser Mr. Dimple is. Just the right amount of pressure and tongue- he sent shivers down my spine. Just as I had been nervous before my date with Isaiah that I wasn't ready to go out with a new person, I had been wondering when I'd be ready to have sex with somebody after months of monogamy. As his hands founds his way to my bra clasp, I knew I was ready to jump back in RIGHT THEN.

And man, was it a good way to do so. We didn't even make it to the bedroom- he just bent me over the back of the couch. His hands were everywhere I wanted them to be, and his mouth moved from my shoulders to my neck to right behind my earlobes, and back again. When it was over, I collapsed into a sweaty, giggling heap on the couch. “I really needed that,” I explained, and promptly let myself fall over onto his lap.

I finally got around to collecting myself enough to get dressed and ready to go. With a huge hug, a friendly kiss, and a contented grin, I headed home.

Things I Miss About Having a Boyfriend

Things I Miss About Having a Boyfriend:

Sharing the gigantic, comfy bed in a hotel room

Sleeping on his shoulder during the flight

Kissing goodbye at the airport

Calling after a flight to let him know I've arrived okay


I'm in Seattle this weekend for a friend's wedding. It's the trip the Diplomat and I were supposed to be taking together.

Getting Back on the Horse

With the implosion of things with the Diplomat, the vultures immediately began to circle. I had two booty call offers that weekend, but I chose not to take either one. Instead, I went to see a burlesque show by myself on Friday night. I was able to just enjoy myself, being by myself. Though the Pirate joined me halfway through the show, there was no pressure to make it a date.

I had been talking to a new guy online just before the breakup, and he chose that week to finally ask me out. I was really nervous about whether or not I was ready to go on a date with a new person, but I ultimately decided that I wanted to give it a shot. Worst case scenario, I could be that crazy woman that breaks down in the middle of dinner shouting “I just can't do this!”

We agreed to meet for drinks on Wednesday night, which also happened to be my last day at my internship. What I didn't realize is that my coworkers had planned to take me out for happy hour that night as well. When I found that out, I was stuck. I could cancel the date and go to happy hour, meet my date later that night, or invite him to come to happy hour with us. I took the last route.

That's right, I changed plans on a first date to bring him to happy hour with six coworkers. I'm a bad person.

Isaiah was a good sport about the whole situation. One of my coworkers teased that it was the first test- if he couldn't deal with me changing plans to something crazy at the last minute, we probably wouldn't last. He got along well with all of us, and was laughing and talking with everyone. On my end of things, it took a lot of pressure off the first date. I didn't feel like I had to fill the silences or come up with endless interesting conversation, because there were other people who had things to say as well. I'm sure it wasn't quite so easy for him, but at the end of the day, I liked it.

As people began to dwindle away from the happy hour, Isaiah and I decided to go down the block to a nearby cafe and get some dessert. We split a brownie sundae, and had really interesting conversation about music (he's a bass player), the fluidity of sexuality (we're both somewhere in the middle of the Kinsey scale), and how hot that Old Spice commercial guy is (he can imitate Isaiah Mustafa's booming voice perfectly- thus this date's nickname). He was really easy to talk to! It also helped that he is super hot- tall and muscular, with medium-length dreds. At one point I touched his arm, and it took all my willpower not to rub all the way up to his bicep.

Things were winding down with dessert, and as I was about to ask him to walk me to my car, he suggested we go down to the neighborhood park. I was really not wanting the date to end yet, so I agreed. We found the little playground at the side of the park, and sat down on the swing-set. How much cuter can you get on a first date than brownie sundaes and a swing-set? I was killing myself with the sugary sweetness of the whole situation, and loving every minute of it.

He did walk me back to my car after that, and as we were saying goodbye we kissed. The entire date I'd been thinking to myself, “This is going so well. Please don't let him turn out to be a bad kisser!” I was worried over nothing- that boy knew what he was doing.

Ideally, I wouldn't suggest that someone go on a date just a week after a hurtful breakup. But I've never been one for following my own advice. He may be a rebound, or he may be around for a while- only time will tell. Either way, having a good date with Isaiah was a wonderful reminder that life goes on.

Mind the Red Flags

So I disappeared for a bit there. My apologies. The Diplomat and I were getting really serious, and it didn't seem right to be blogging about it. When I say really serious, I mean conversations about where to live and how many kids to have and when we'd want to get married.

That was all brought to a crashing halt last week, when I found out that he had been secretly dating another woman. The problem isn't the dating, it's the SECRETLY dating. The most important thing to me in a relationship is honesty, and he was being dishonest not only to me, but to her.

How did I find out? It's not a proud moment for me. I read his email. That in and of itself should have been a big enough red flag for me to end the relationship. When you can no longer trust your partner without feeling the need to spy on them, there is a serious problem. What made it even worse for me was that he and I had had a conversation not even a week before about how I was having trust issues, and I thought we really needed to work on them. Instead, he was apparently planning dates with this other woman.

But in speaking of red flags, I have to kick myself for not minding the biggest one I've ever had in a relationship. Back in May, the first time I ever read his email account, I discovered that he and his friends had been saying really terrible things about me behind my back. We're talking name calling, body-bashing, downright hateful things. And yes, the Diplomat was not only allowing these conversations to take place, but participating in them.

I of course confronted him about what I had seen. He was horribly embarrassed (as well he should have been,) but more because I had found out about the behavior than the way he'd been acting in the first place. He apologized profusely, cried—the whole nine yards. And I forgave him. I chalked it up to a stupid decision on his part to try to impress his idiotic friends. I felt betrayed, yes, but I thought it was something we could move past.

Clearly, I was wrong. I realized how wrong I was when all I could think about were the things he'd said and my overwhelming desire to look at his email again to know if he was still doing it. That's why I was looking at his email last week, when I discovered him cheating.

I don't blame the other woman at all. He was lying to her just as much. In the emails I found, he carefully avoided mentioning me in any way. So the next day, after he and I broke up, I sent her an email. It said that I was not mad at her, but that I wanted her to know what was going on. I explained that I was almost certain that she had no idea I existed. She was kind enough to reply later that day to confirm my suspicions- her response said, “I am so sorry. I never would have gone out with him if I knew he had a girlfriend.”

With that one line, she confirmed everything I knew to be true. The Diplomat had been swearing that they were just hanging out as friends and that nothing had happened, and like most people who have just ended a relationship with someone they love, I wanted to believe him. Because of her response, though, I know he was lying to me. I don't know if anything happened between them. I don't want to know. But whether or not they ever got physical, he was cheating on me.

A little over a week later, I am still dealing with those feelings of betrayal. We'd had a trip planned for this weekend, which I am now taking alone. I also had a first date last night with someone new. Even so, it's still fresh and it still stings. I'm confident that each day, though, will be a little easier than the day before. It is that thought which is getting me through.

Enter the Slum Lord

As I have hinted at before, I've been spending a lot of time with the Diplomat lately. Part of the reason for that was just the way the circumstances fell- I was swamped with schoolwork so I couldn't spend a lot of time going out. Even so, it was a conscious choice to keep seeing the Diplomat even as I was telling everyone else I was busy. I really like spending time with him. He's smart, he's funny, he's sweet- and those are just the beginning. Lately, every time I spend the night at his house he makes breakfast in the morning. That may not sound like such a big thing, except that he doesn't (or didn't) usually eat breakfast. There have also been multiple occasions when him making breakfast turned into him bringing me breakfast in bed. I'm getting spoiled, let me tell you!

Still, with all this time that we were spending together, I had only met his friends once. When he asked me to go out with him to Korean BBQ with a bunch of his college friends, I was apprehensive but I agreed. The first time I met these people, I got way too drunk and acted like an absolute fool. Even worse, I didn't find out about how I'd acted until after. That's the thing about getting drunk, I suppose- you think you're totally pulling it off, while everyone around you is scared. Apparently, and I am still ashamed to even admit this, at one point I was rubbing on the Diplomat's friend's leg. What kind of person does that?? Not the person I thought I was.

So like I said, I was nervous to be seen around these friends again, but I figured if the Diplomat and I are going to keep dating, I'm going to need to be able to face his friends.

We were the first ones to the restaurant (it seems the Diplomat and I are the only ones that feel bad when we're not punctual.) Then his friends started trickling in. They included his two best friends, one of whom lives out of town now, the other best friend's sort-of-girlfriend, a bunch of the guys they went to college with, and a couple people they play on an indoor soccer team with.

Things got off to a rocky start. When the best friend that lives in town, Slum Lord, walked in the room, the first words out of his mouth were, "Hi Date Slut. Move over." W.T.F?? I was immediately put on edge. (And for the record, I did not move over.) That man seriously rubs me the wrong way. He acts like everyone should do what he says, just because he says it. He's rude and abrasive, especially to women. For god's sake, he refers to his sort-of-girlfriend as "38," because that's how old she was when they started dating. Call me a femi-nazi if you must, but that is just not okay.

Even with Slum Lord being dickish throughout dinner, the experience was mostly enjoyable. I felt like I was being really quiet, but I still managed to get to know some of the Diplomat's soccer friends a little better. When dinner was over, they decided to go to a nearby bar for drinks. I was getting tired and feeling cranky, but I put on my best brave face and tried to enjoy it as much as I could. And I did enjoy parts of it. The Diplomat's best friend that lived out of town seemed like a lot of fun, and I wish we'd gotten to hang out more. The soccer friends were sweet. His other college guy friends didn't say two words to me, but the Diplomat said afterwards that he thinks it's mostly because they're intimidated by women. What I really appreciated the most was when I texted the Diplomat to let him know that I was ready to go home, he made his polite excuses and bowed out for us instead of brushing me off or blaming it on me. That meant a lot to me.

That was several weeks ago, at the beginning of finals time. The weekend before I went out of town, the Diplomat invited a bunch of his friends over for ribs at his house. These were mostly people he plays soccer with- in fact, they might have all been soccer friends. I'm not entirely positive. Regardless, Slum Lord was there again. When I expressed my disinterest in seeing Slum Lord again, the Diplomat predicted that things would be better this time around, as Slum Lord tends to be less of a chauvinist around this group of friends.

The Diplomat was right, and things actually went better with him this third time around. He wasn't nearly as dickish. There was still some clear animosity between us, though. I think I shocked him at the end of the night when most everyone else had left, when I turned to him and asked point-blank, "Why do you hate me?" He said, "I don't hate you, I just don't trust you yet, and I don't like change." I think that sounds like a cop-out. I think it would have been much more honest if he'd said, "I don't like you for my friend," or, "You acted like a total ass the first time we met," or, "I hate everyone until I get to know them."

Either way, he's the Diplomat's friend. That means it doesn't matter how I feel about him, I'm not going to say bad things about him to the Diplomat or try to keep them from hanging out, or any of those other ridiculous things some girlfriends do. It does mean that I am going to be nice when we do hang out, and maybe someday we'll actually kind of like each other. But I'm not holding my breath.

Booty-call Buddies

McCool and I still haven't managed to get together since the one night of amazing sex. We've talked, though- I just can't ever get him to commit to a time to see each other. While our conversations had been sporadic at best, right after his hear attack they picked up a lot. My first instinct was to try and help however I could, and that mostly meant keeping him company online while he was recovering in the hospital.

Somewhere in the course of those conversations, we got on the topic of what can only tenuously be called our relationship. He professes to still want to see me, but it has finally sunk in that he is never going to make time for me. Still, I'm not one to give up an amazing bed partner without a fight.

With that in mind, we discussed the possibility of becoming each other's “designated booty call.” After all, we both like sex, and we both like each other. It makes perfect sense, right?

Unfortunately, the first few times he tried to test the new system came in the midst of my end-of-semester craziness. As much as it pained me, I had to turn him down. I was in a self-imposed exile that was only lifted for the Diplomat. Finally, though, I couldn't stand it anymore and needed a break. I called McCool, only for him to say that he was hosting friends for a Lost party and couldn't get together.

Call me crazy, but a booty call only works when the two people can managed to both be free at the same time. On the one hand, this makes me feel a little better-it means that we really do have incompatible schedules. The fact that we only went out two and a half times wasn't just him being a jerk. Still, I'm left with a bad taste in my mouth about the whole situation. If he really liked me that much, he could have made time for me.

I'm willing to continue giving this booty call thing a chance now that the semester crush is over. If he's always the one making the successful calls, though, I don't see the arrangement lasting long.

Saturday- The Day of Mistakes

As much as I would like to be able to report that the Dreamer is out of my life, that's not the case. For starters, he is ostensibly my fellow employee and semi-boss at my part-time job. Probably not the best position, you might be thinking-and you'd be right. While I've tried to remain generally friendly, he's been pushing for a bit more.

The first indication I had that he was still hoping for something between us was the week before finals. I got a text from him while I was in a night class asking me out for a drink. I turned him down on account of school, but asked why he wanted to get together. He claimed innocent intentions, but the whole situation smacked of an attempted booty call.

Then not long after, in fact the same day as I went to the Bird Man's house, he showed up at my office. I was working alone on filing- I'm generally the only person there on Saturdays, and he knows it. I didn't mind him coming by, though it was a bit uncomfortable. We tried making small talk, neither of us really willing to put forward our own personal happenings since the breakup.

Eventually we ended up with him sitting on a couch in the office while I perched on the arm of it. Being that close to him, all I could think of was how much I missed pressing up against his broad chest. I think he was having thoughts in a similar vein, as he soon offered me a shoulder rub. When it was done, instead of going back to the arm of the couch, I sat down next to him.

As we joked and flirted, I kept staring at the flecks of green in his eyes as they caught the light, and before I knew it, I'd leaned over to kiss him. Almost instantly I was straddling him on the couch as we made out. His hands quickly found their way under my shirt and pulled it over my head. As he lifted my breasts free from my bra, my mind was overcome by his smell and the feel of him pressed against me.

He wrapped his arms around me as he picked me up and laid me on the floor, kneeling above me. Had either of us had condoms, there is no doubt in my mind that we would have had sex. When I told him I didn't have any, he barely acknowledged the statement. He instead pulled doff my pants and took off his own, his eyes filled with lust.

I'll admit to two fleeting thoughts. The first was the temptation to have sex anyway. This thought I immediately discarded. The second was that he might not stop. I reminded myself, though, that for all the problems the Dreamer has exhibited in the past, disregarding my right to say no has never been one of them.

We didn't have sex on the office floor. Instead, I had him sit back on the leather couch while I gave him a blowjob. When it was done, I retreated to the bathroom with my clothes.

All that was going through my mind was how stupid I'd been. Those thoughts were confirmed when I came out and saw him again. All those overwhelming feelings of missing him had vanished entirely. I was simply left feeling annoyed that he'd interrupted my day so dramatically, and though I did my best to hit it, all I wanted was for him to leave.

There is no worse feeling than regret over one's own actions. I was upset with myself, not him, for acting that way. Rather than the self-confident woman who doesn't need him around and is thriving quite nicely without him, I came off as needy and wanting him.

My fears that he would interpret that afternoon as a sign of my continued interest in him were confirmed this week. I was out of town when he texted me to ask if I would go see a movie with him. I turned him down, but the entire situation makes me uneasy. While the Dreamer isn't a bad guy, I feel much better off without him.

Saturday- Kissing a Friend

During the last week of classes, my laptop died. While this would be bad news for most people, for me it was devastating. I had a final exam to take, and semester papers to turn in. Thankfully I'd backed up my hard drive a few days before, but there were still some files I needed.

This is where having a cadre of computer geek friends comes in handy. I had one diagnose the likely problem. From what he could tell, it looks like the motherboard is fried. That's the best bad news I could get, to be honest. It meant my files were okay on my hard drive- but I had no way to get to them.

When my friend the Bird Man heard that, he immediately suggested I bring my laptop over. The plan was for him to put my hard drive in his computer and copy the files over for me. I jumped at the opportunity! So after work on Saturday afternoon, I headed down to his house.

While the computer was the main reason for the trip, there was also a promise of margaritas on his deck. We also ordered pizza, and while we waited for it he performed laptop surgery. The patient came through great, and I was able to get everything I needed (including all my Date Slut files!) We plopped on the couch with our drinks and pizza, and what would happen to be on tv but one of the greatest movies of all time- The Goonies!

At one point, somewhere around two margaritas in, I got the sudden urge to do a somersault. The Bird Man said he didn't know how to do one, so I cleared some space on his living room floor, leaned down, and executed a very drunken somersault. Then I got the Bird Man to do one too! That just egged me on- next, I wanted to do a cartwheel.

There was no way to do a cartwheel in his living room without breaking his stuff (and likely myself) in the process, so we went out on the deck. My cartwheel definitely needs more work.

We went back inside just as Robin Hood: Men in Tights was coming on. We sat on the couch, still giggling from the impromptu gymnastics, when I noticed that he had inched a little closer to me than he'd been before. To see if I was just imagining things, I pointed it out, then scooted over myself.

Now, just to make things clear, I had absolutely no ulterior motives when I went over to the Bird Man's house that day. In fact, I think the most flirting I'd ever done with him was one night over gchat when I was tipsy. But between the giggling, the margaritas, and the computer fixing, I'd definitely turned the corner into new territory. So when he leaned over and kissed me, my immediate response was to tell him, “well that took you long enough!”

I had planned to go home that night so I could be good the next morning and work on some more papers, but I didn't feel like I was in a position to drive, so I asked the Bird Man if I could crash on his couch. He said sure, but that I was also welcome to crash in his bed.

That comes off as making the Bird Man out to be more suave than he really is. He's just your typical friendly computer programmer, who most girls don't look at twice because of the dorky demeanor and nerdy laugh. The statement about sleeping in his bed took a few false starts and some stammering to get out. Still, it was nice. I made it clear to him, though, that I wasn't going to be doing anything other than sleeping.

I still consider the Bird Man to be just a friend, but I don't know what he's thinking about things. I definitely regret kissing him after the fact, that much is sure. I've avoided bringing it up, though. I know I need to have that conversation, and I will...I'm just in no rush. I wish some things, when ignored, would just go away.

Catching Up, or Why Grad School Controls My Life

I apologize for my lack of posting in the last few weeks- I've been swamped with work for the end of my semester. Grad school can be a bitch that way!

First things first, McCool is okay. He's back at home and seems to be recovering well. It looks like it's just a case of him losing the genetic lottery.

I haven't been going out a ton lately, for the same reason I haven't had time to post. I did have another date with the Mad Scientist that ended in him coming back to my place. He was amused that I had “his brand” of condoms. You may call it wishful thinking, but a girl shouldn't be without at least a few Magnums!

The Mad Scientist really is a good kisser. I'd go so far as to say that he's a great kisser. But the actual sex is just...okay. I suppose the enthusiasm with which he approaches it counts for something, but I was seriously worried that we were going to wake up my housemates with the way my bed was squeaking! I think I need to tighten the bolts now.

I think he thought I was joking when I told him he could spend the night, but I had to leave by 7am to get to school. Sadly, I was not. I let him sleep in while I got ready, then woke him up and rushed off. He's called me a couple times since then. It's so strange to be dating a guy who willingly calls! I can't remember any other guys like that.

Also at the beginning of the month, the Diplomat went to Spain and France for a week. That is, he went to Spain, and was supposed to go to France, but his flight was grounded with the ongoing spewing of that-Icelandic-volcano-that-no-one-can-pronounce (hey, it takes about as long to say that as to actually say Eyjafjallajokull.) Because of that, he came home a few days early.

He was originally scheduled to be back Thursday evening, and the plan was for me to go to his house and make him dinner. With the change, though, he was getting back on Tuesday, when I have class. When I got there after, HE had made ME dinner! I couldn't believe it. Of course, that meant I had to repay him with a little something special. I was impressed he could perform after 10 hours on a plane, but perform he did.

The other big thing he did while he was gone was to finally grow the beard I've been bugging him to try. He just seemed like the kind of guy that could pull it off, and I was right. He's gotten nothing but compliments since, and I've of course taken all the credit.

There's much more that has happened, but I am going to have to take some time to try and sort it all into coherent stories. So look forward to a posting binge this week!

Good thoughts needed

Hey everybody-

I found out that McCool had a heart attack on Friday, despite being 32 and otherwise in good health. He's still in the hospital for testing to find out what caused it. If everyone could send some good thoughts and healing vibes his way, I'd really appreciate it (though he'd probably go on a rant about why the universe doesn't work that way.)

Thanks.

Sunday- Booty Call

I had tentative plans with the Blues Man on Sunday for an actual study date. No, that's not a euphemism. We both have a lot of papers to finish before the end of the semester, so we were going to get together to work on them. It feel through, though, and so I found myself sitting in my house Sunday afternoon, growing increasingly horny.

That's how I found myself texting the Diplomat for a booty call. Of course, I actually like spending time with the guy, so it was more like “I want your body. Oh, and let's have dinner, too.” The Diplomat has been over to my house a few times, but only to pick me up. I wanted him to see how I live, as sappy as that may sound. For god's sake, he'd never even seen my bedroom or office!

Well, that was quickly remedied when he came over. I gave him a tour of the house, and somehow it managed to end in the bedroom (imagine that!) It's been so hot here lately that we ended up a sweaty, sticky mess. In other words, it was fantastic.

I'd promised dinner- this was a high-class booty call, after all- so we went downstairs to make it. This was also the first time I'd cooked for him, and he's been doing such fancy meals for me, I was intimidated. I was also almost out of food- I missed the farmer's market on Saturday where I get most of my food for the week, and I hadn't gone to the grocery store to get some other stuff. That meant I had to fall back on one of my “whatever's left in the fridge” staples- homemade flatbread pizzas. Not terribly impressive, but he seemed happy with it, and I thought it tasted good.

By the time we were done eating, it was getting late. We'd gotten horribly sweaty earlier, and the heat from the oven had created a furnace in the kitchen that was cooking us alive. That meant there was only one solution- a cool shower. This wasn't the first time the Diplomat and I have showered together; even so, there's something undeniably sex about seeing a partner naked and glistening with soap and water. That's not to mention how much fun it is to rub against each other when you're all slippery. In other words, I'm a big fan of showering together for reasons other than having someone to wash your back.

Afterwards, we went to my room to get ready for bed. We completely disregarded the fact that we'd just cooled down, and we heated things up again. Then we lay in bed together, touching as much as we could without feeling like we were going to suffocate from the body heat, and started talking.

“Something has changed,” he told me. “Since we went sailing, things have felt different.”

I had to agree. It's not that I think our sailing trip changed things, but that it was about that time that I started looking at him differently. Maybe it had something to do with splitting up from the Dreamer that allowed me to see what else could develop, but it's definitely gone beyond “just hanging out” recently between me and the Diplomat. I told him so (leaving out the part about the Dreamer, of course). Still, I was surprised by his next question.

“So would I be off-base if I referred to you to my friends as my girlfriend?”

If I'm going to be completely honest, I have to admit that I was relieved. I'd considered broaching the topic a couple times in the last week or so, but after the way things went down with the Dreamer, I was afraid to bring it up. I feel like in that case, I had pushed him into more of a relationship than he was wanting, and it all blew up in my face. So this time, it's really exciting that we're on the same page. We talked about what “being serious” meant to us, and what we want out of a relationship. We talked about still dating others, and that both of us are absolutely wanting that. But I was also careful to explain that doing so doesn't mean to me that he and I are any less committed. In other words, I tried to learn from the mistakes I'd made in dating the Dreamer.

The Diplomat had to leave early the next morning, as usual. I had laughed earlier in the week when my roommate remarked upon how rarely my guys stay over past 8am, but it's so true. Still, better that than a guy who never leaves!

Friday- How to Get Mega Brownie Points

This was the weekend of concerts, as I had plans to see another show on Friday night with the Diplomat. The venue was near his work south of town, so in the interest of not backtracking a zillion times to meet up in town, I instead drove to his office and we went together to the show.

Unfortunately, I'd been having stomach pains all day. I don't know what's causing them, but they're becoming more frequent. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they're debilitating, but they're definitely distracting and painful. I didn't want to miss the concert, though, so I sucked it up and went anyway. Plus I was really looking forward to seeing the Diplomat.

We found seats and sat through the first two acts, with the Diplomat continually checking in to see how I was doing. I could tell he was worried about me, but I was really enjoying the show. I stayed seated while everyone else stood for the big act; I was worried about making my stomach worse and ruining the entire night. By the very end I was feeling about 90% better, though, so I jumped around for the encore.

The Diplomat offered to let me drive his car on the way home; it's a manual, and though I learned how to drive one years ago, I'm worried that I'm forgetting. I figured the crush of post-concert traffic was probably not the place to refresh my memory, though. We picked up my car, and we both drove over to his house. Parking was TERRIBLE. He found a spot, then got in my car with me to help me find another. He lives in a part of town that is really old, so it's all parallel parking on the street. I'm not the greatest parallel parker to begin with, and when the only spot I can find is less than a foot longer than my car, I'm screwed. Thankfully, I was able to ask the Diplomat to do it for me. He squeezed in, and made it look so easy!

He had dinner all but ready at home, and whipped together a guacamole to finish it. It was so good. I would seriously not complain about eating guacamole every day. He'd also made more butterscotch mousse for dessert.

We were completely exhausted by the time we were done, and went up to bed. We had nice, sweet, slow sex, and fell asleep tangled up in each other.

I had to work the next morning, so the Diplomat set his alarm for us to wake up. He didn't have to do that- he had nothing to wake up for- but he wanted to get breakfast together in the morning before I left. When the alarm went off, I made some pitiful excuse about not wanting to wake up yet. He told me to go back to sleep, so I did.

An hour later, he woke me back up. “I got breakfast,” he told me. And he did. He'd gone out to a local pastry shop to pick up fresh croissants, and he made cappuccinos. I've had guys do sweet things for me, but letting me sleep in on a Saturday morning and bring me breakfast on a day when he didn't even have to be up definitely takes the cake.

We went back to his room after breakfast, and let's just say I was late to work that morning. There were no toys, no handcuffs, no kink- just good sex. I can't think of a better way to start the weekend than cuddling with him in bed, his hands running through my hair and feeling his warmth. And if he keeps up the breakfast in bed, I foresee it happening a lot.

Thursday- He Blows My...You Know

When I found out a band I like was playing downtown, I decided I was going to go, whether or not I had someone to go with. Just in case, though, I bought an extra ticket. When I offered it up to my friends and guys I'm dating, Mr. Dimple was the first to respond. That meant he won. A few hours later, though, I got an email from the Anarchist saying (half-jokingly) that he couldn't believe I didn't ask him, since I knew he liked that type of music. I told him he should still get his own ticket and then he could hang out with us.

Was that rude of me to Mr. Dimple? Quite possibly. I know some guys who are okay with polyamory in the abstract don't want to be confronted with it in the form of meeting the Other Significant Others. There was no way I was going to un-invite Mr. Dimple, though, and the Anarchist seemed so bummed that he didn't have anyone to go to the show with.

Mr. Dimple came over to my house a few hours before the show. We'd planned to go out to dinner, but hadn't decided where, when he told me that he was in a sort of foul mood and that a “really good hamburger” would help. I knew just the place- the bar/restaurant down the street from me. The food was good, the beer was cold, the waitress was hot- the perfect combination. It was already a great dinner, when the waitress asked if we wanted dessert. As she rattled off the list of possibilities, she ended with the “salted caramel cupcake, optional with or without bacon.”

She must have seen my eyes light up. I looked to Mr. Dimple for support, but he just laughed. “You want one,” she told me. “Salted caramel cupcake with bacon? Yes? Do it. You know you want to.” Now that is the kind of peer pressure I can get behind!

It was absolutely amazing. Sweet and savory and salty and greasy. The problem is, I now know there is such a delicious creature lurking just a few blocks away from my house.

When we got back to my place from dinner, I pointed out that my roommates were both gone. I seduced Mr. Dimple with the words, “I have condoms this time.” That was all it took.

Mr. Dimple likes to say that he hates the stereotype of Irish men having small penises (I'd never heard that as a stereotype, but okay.) I don't have the heart to tell him, though, that he doesn't exactly prove it wrong. Still, it's all in how you use it. The funnest (not funniest!) part is how long he orgasms. It goes on forever! By the end of it, I was giggling with the near absurdity of it. Most of his skill lies in the oral arts, though- and that's not a complaint. Every girl needs a guy who can blow her mind while he blows her....you know.

The show was great. Mr. Dimple and the Anarchist didn't really say anything to each other, but it didn't seem like either felt terribly awkward. I kept in mind that I was on a date with Mr. Dimple, though, so he was the one I showed affection to. My favorite part was when I (slightly drunkenly) tried to adjust my halter top. When I looked up, both of them did the quick eye-shift towards the ceiling. “You can look,” I told them, “you've both already seen them!”

Just like the last time he stayed the night, Mr. Dimple originally needed to get the car back to his girlfriend pretty early the next morning. In the middle of the show, though, she sent him a text. “I can take the train to work tomorrow,” it told him. “But she better be hot.” Now that is love!

He did spend the night, and since we weren't in a hurry when we got up the next morning, Mr. Dimple offered to make me breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast- it's what I usually have, but it tastes even better when you have a cute guy making it for you. When he finally left in the late morning, my roommate pointed out that it was the latest a guy had ever stayed in the morning. The Dreamer used to have to get up ridiculously early for work, and last time Mr. Dimple was over he had to leave early, too. It's kind of nice to get an early start on the day, but sleeping in and having a lazy morning together definitely has its perks, too.

Monday- That Cute Anarchist Bartender

I met the Mad Scientist at the anarchist party last weekend; he was the cute bartender that kept checking me out. We texted a few times Saturday and Sunday, and made plans to go out after my class Tuesday. I got a phone call Monday night from my professor telling me my classes Tuesday morning were canceled, though, so I asked the Mad Scientist if he wanted to move our date up a day.

First he suggested a super hipster bar that I've been to before. When I called him out on the hipster-ness of it, he laughed and asked if I'd rather see his favorite dive bar instead.

The place was a total dive, but that was exactly what I was hoping for. There's nothing better than a corner dive bar to get to know someone over a few drinks. I found out that he's 27, and is starting a PhD program in chemistry at the well-known local university in the fall. In the meantime, he's working at the anarchist collective's coffee shop and bartending under the table. It's very anarchistic, I suppose. He worked on his master's degree in England, and has traveled a lot. He's totally the lefty, social activist type- he's even a vegetarian.

As we were sitting at the bar talking, he kept pausing and giving me a look. I couldn't place what it was, until he finally leaned in and kissed me. I don't think I stopped grinning afterwards. He also had me giggling and blushing the whole time. He's very much the strong, silent type, but it's covering a razor-sharp wit that I can't get enough of.

We planned to move on to another bar, but it was closed. Instead, he suggested going back to his place for some beers. I giggled and agreed. When we got there, he asked me if I was the kind of girl that was going to call him 40 times the next day.

“No,” I assured him. “Only 25 or so.”

“That's the sweet spot,” he told me, grinning.

For a Mad Scientist, he's unfailingly polite. He asked me if I wanted to go back to his bedroom, and I readily agreed. We made out on his bed for literally hours. He's such a good kisser. In between kissing and caressing he would give me massages- I was falling, hard. Finally I told him I wanted him. “But do you want me tonight?” he asked. When I told him I wasn't sure, he told me I should make sure I am first.

Seriously, what kind of guy does that? I know, I know- the good kind. I guess I'm just not used to being treated right.

I spent the night, and we cuddled together under the blankets. You know how when you're sleeping with someone, you'll sometimes wake up just a little bit in the middle of the night when you're rolling over? Well, whenever that happened he'd whisper to me, “hey, gorgeous.”

We ate Amish blueberry muffins in bed the next morning. Then he had to get to work, so we parted ways.

I can't wait to see him again.

Sunday- Another Sunday with the Diplomat

Every person has his or her quirks. Things they really like, things they really don't. One of the things I really don't like is taking my car in for an oil change. There is no rational reason for it, I just can't stand taking the time to bring it in, waiting for it to be done, having them try to upsell me, all that jazz. When the Diplomat suggested working my very overdue oil change into our date Sunday, I jumped at the opportunity. I dropped off my car, then we headed up to Ikea to pick up some things for his new house.

It was a new experience to go shopping with someone who has almost total impulse control. Not being an impulse buyer is one thing, but he took it to a new level. Not only did he not buy anything because it looked cool, he didn't buy anything that wasn't on his list, even if it had a useful purpose. I wish I had that much willpower- it'd save me some money. We left right as I got the call my car was ready to be picked up. We went and got it, then headed back to his house for dinner.

For dinner, the Diplomat had made chili. Now, I love chili. It's delicious and filling. But the fact that he'd made chili shows a fundamental difference between guys and girls- guys don't think about how the food they eat on the date is going to affect them after. Beer and wings? Big greasy cheeseburger? No problem. For me (and I think most girls) on the other hand, the food I eat is directly affected by what's going to be happening later in the night. If we're just going out for dinner, I can handle a burger- the date's usually over by the time my stomach decides it hates me. With chili, though, and especially chili on what was likely to turn into an overnight date, there was no escaping it. I was going to have a stomachache later.

After we finished and were still sitting on the couch, we started making out. What is it about sitting on the couch on a date that turns almost immediately into making out? The condoms were upstairs, though, and neither of us felt like going to get them, so I knelt in front of the couch instead, if you catch my drift.

The Diplomat is quickly turning into The One Who Cooks (tm). For dessert, he'd made a butterscotch mousse. I thought the chocolate mousse was good, but this was out of this world. As I ate, he wrapped me up and started rubbing my shoulders. I love a good massage. Then that turned into him whispering in my ear.

“I want you to go upstairs, take off all your clothes, and kneel on the floor. You're going to close your eyes, put your hands behind your head, and wait for me. Do you understand?”

I absolutely did. It was even hotter this time than the last.

The entire point of going out on Sunday was to watch the first episode of the show Treme. As a thunderstorm started outside, we got glasses of red wine and cuddled back together in the bed. We laid there together while we watched. When it came to an end, with a glass of wine in me and the rain falling outside, I was ready to fall asleep.

The Diplomat went downstairs to lock the doors and turn out the lights, when the next thing I do, he was rushing up the stairs and throwing on clothes. “I'm having my first homeowner crisis,” he told me. “My basement is flooding.”

I felt terrible, but there was nothing I could do. He found the clogged drain in the backyard that was backing up into the basement, which stopped it from getting worse. Still, there was at least an inch of water in the majority of the basement. I helped him carry a few things upstairs that hadn't yet gotten wet, while he tried to figure out what to do next. Finally he came to the decision there was nothing that could be done until the morning, and we went up to bed.

The good news is after a quick romp in the morning, he was able to get what he needed at Home Depot. Getting to see first-hand the joys of homeownership definitely hasn't left me in a hurry to get there myself. Give me a 24-hour maintenance man any day.

Saturday- Knock on Wood

Saturday night was the third date with Mr. Dimple. When he discovered I had a Saturday night free, he asked, “can I have it?” with no specific plans in mind. A few days before our date, though, we were discussing our mutual love for bad scary movies, and that's when it hit me. A bad horror movie marathon!

He was supposed to come over at 4, but he texted me that he was running a little late. Me being Ms. Practical, I asked him how late, and would I have enough time for a quick shower? He said yes, so I got in. Right as I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower to dry myself off, though, my phone buzzed with a new text. He was outside.

“Ahhh!!” I yelled to my roommates. “He's here and I'm not ready!” One was already planning to take the dog outside, so she went out to meet him while I got threw on clothes as quickly as I could.

The first order of business was to go to the liquor store to pick up refreshments for our marathon. (It doesn't hurt that I love any excuse to go perusing through the microbrew section.) We ended up with a bottle of red wine- the color of blood, after all!- and a bottle of a Flemish red ale called Duchesse de Bourgogne. Incredible beer, by the way; I absolutely recommend it. When we got back, I threw together a curry for dinner and we flirted while I got more and more tipsy. Then we decided it was time to watch some movies.

The first one we put in was the original House on Haunted Hill. It was terrible, but that was kind of the point. We spent most of the time making MST3K-type comments and laughing. I also spent a good amount of my brain cycles admiring how comfortable he felt to sit next to.

Next was The Brain that Wouldn't Die. Now that is a classic piece of American cinema, let me tell you! I was laughing so hard by the end that I thought I was going to trigger an asthma attack. My roommates came home from dinner at the end of it and were cracking up just watching us crack up. It was fantastic.

As the movie came to an end, I turned towards Mr. Dimple; almost as if he read my mind, he pulled me onto his lap and we began making out furiously. He has this way of applying just the right amount of pressure when he puts his arms around me- it feels strong and secure without being uncomfortable or squeezing too much.

When we finally came up for air, I reminded him that I had dessert in the kitchen. “I'd rather have you,” he replied. That was exactly the right thing to say. We picked up our wine glasses and empty bowl of popcorn, I turned out the lights, and we headed upstairs.

Things progressed from there. When it got to the point we were in our underwear with him on top of me, I remembered- I was out of condoms.

It was bound to happen. With all my bragging on here about how prepared I am, I'd forgotten to go to the store after using the last one.

“It's okay,” he told me, as he stripped off my thong and worked his way down my body. It was more than okay, that's for sure.

When we were starting to fall asleep, he pulled me close to the heat of his body. It was perfect.

He had to leave early the next morning to get his car back because his live-in girlfriend needed it. I offered to make him breakfast before he went, though, and we chatted over eggs and toast and tea. When he left, he wrapped me up again in his strong embrace. That, I can never get enough of.

Friday- In Which I Try to Eat Sushi While Drunk

One of the problems with dating so many people as I am is that with only so many hours in a day, and only so many free days in a week, people slip through the cracks. That's what had been happening with the Anarchist- either I was already busy with school or other plans, or he was doing stuff for the big May Day even happening next week. That's right- not only is he an anarchist, he's also a human rights advocate. Hot.

We finally got our schedules in line for Friday. We didn't set any specific plans, though- just picked the date. I've found that really helps to satisfy my desire for plans without upsetting my love of spontaneity. In other words, I have issues. He said his friends at an anarchist publisher were having a sort-of cocktail fundraiser party, so we decided to go to that.

Now, I had to no idea what to expect at an anarchist cocktail fundraiser. Are anarchists even allowed to have fundraisers? That seems very un-anarchist-like. Fight the power!

When we walked in, I immediately noticed the guy behind the bar was checking me out. Every time I glanced over, he was looking at me. Not in a creepy, lecherous way, though. I think it helped that he was really cute. Apparently the way anarchists do a fundraiser is to have a lot of booze and suggest that you make a donation to drink it. Or not. And you can have the bartender mix your drink. Or you can just dig the cherries out of the jar. Whatever, man! It's anarchy!

Actually, it was pretty fun. All the people were really nice, even the mega-hipster with his fu manchu and muttonchops. It was an...interesting combination. But I spent most of the time talking to that cute bartender. It turns out that he has a MS in Chemistry, and is considering getting his PhD. Let me tell you, there is nothing hotter than a science-y guy getting an advanced degree (eg: Mr. Dimple.) After flirting for a while, he finally asked me, “so are you and the Anarchist an item?”

Strangely, that isn't the first time I've been asked that about the Anarchist. Well, to be more accurate, last time it was him that was asked. That time the Anarchist ended up giving my number to the Nigerian (after asking my permission, of course). So I explained that no, we weren't an item, though we do date occasionally.

“Hmm,” he told me. “Well, I think you should very subtly give me your number.” I laughed at the apparently need for secrecy, but complied. Cute, anarchistic chemists don't come around every day!

Not long after, the Anarchist and I left the party. By this point, I was pretty blitzed. One and a half manhattans and a whiskey martini will do that to me. Now, if I'd been thinking straight, I probably would have suggested we scrap out plans to go out for sushi. I clearly wasn't, though.

Eating sushi while drunk- not easy. I managed to get most of it in my mouth, at least! I had been planning to go home after dinner, not spend the night at the Anarchist's house. But the farmer's market I go to every Saturday morning is less than three blocks from his house. That meant I was very easily persuaded to go back to his house.

Now, let me be honest. The Anarchist is good in bed, there's no doubt about that. The problem is, there is no way for him to climax from sex. He claims that he can occasionally, but I call shenanigans. The problem is, he has a certain way of masturbating that is nothing at all like having sex. I've known several other guys with the same problem- you get used to the way that doing something certain feels, and nothing else you do can reproduce it. My favorite sex columnist, Dan Savage, has also talked about this topic, more than once.

My point isn't to bring up the Anarchist's specific sexual intricacies, but more to point out that it's easy to forget that each of us is different. It's so often considered a female problem to not get off with sex, but that's not always the way it is. I keep reading in feminist blogs, especially lately, about how only 1/3 of women can even have a vaginal orgasm. Thankfully, I belong to this group; on the other hand, though, it makes it hard for me to imagine being on the other side of things. Just food for thought, I guess.

Or maybe I'm saying to all those guys that are so used to masturbating- go find yourself some women to screw before it's too late.

Wednesday- Take Me or Leave Me

The Diplomat told me during out date Sunday that he had missed seeing me. My schedule is such that I book up a week or more in advance, especially for the weekends. Since I don't have class until late on Wednesdays, I suggested we meet for lunch.

His office is about 40 minutes away from me, but only about 10 minutes from a restaurant that has some of the most amazing tacos I've ever eaten. I picked him up at his office and drove us. Amazingly, we found the restaurant without too much difficulty.

The Diplomat eats some of the strangest things I've ever seen. I'm not talking monkey brains strange, at least not that I know of, but he ordered beef tongue tacos. When we went out for pho a few weeks ago, he'd gotten one with tripe. It doesn't gross me out to be with him while he's eating them, but I definitely don't ask to try a bite. I wonder how much of it comes from his childhood living in different countries across the world. He told me his favorite was spending his middle-school years in Zimbabwe.

When we were eating, I was reminded of my first impression of him on our first few dates. He definitely comes off as quiet and reserved, even though I know that he has another side to him (as he showed me on Sunday night.) Sometimes I worry that I'm running over him with my outgoing enthusiasm. That leaves me debating whether I should hold back a bit, or just trust that he likes that about me.

Of course I always go with the latter; I won't change who I am for anyone, especially a guy. I am who I am, whether you like it or not.

Sunday- I'm on a Boat

(Yes, I realize how entirely un-original the title of this post is. I'd apologize, but I don't care! I still think it's funny.)

Apparently one of the Diplomat's favorite activities is to go sailing. He doesn't have his own boat; instead, he belongs to an organization that allows their members to take out the group's boats almost whenever they want. We'd planned to go on Easter, but the weather had been less than cooperative.

It was just the two of us on the boat. Because of that he made me do a lot of the steering- I was beyond nervous! In fact, I freaked out every time the boat leaned far over to one side. He kept assuring me that it was actually impossible for this type of boat to capsize, but that didn't help much. Finally I just told myself that I would fall out before the boat fell over, and for some twisted reason, that calmed me down a bit.

We were on the water for almost two hours when we decided to head in and go back to his house for dinner. He cooked again; his shrimp was good, but his apple, cheese, and walnut salad was superb. He offered desert, but we decided to have a few after-dinner activities first.

We headed upstairs to his bedroom, and while we were standing in the middle of the room kissing he whispered in my ear, “go stand next to the wall with your eyes closed.” I giggled and eagerly complied. He stood behind me and asked, “are you going to do everything I say?” There was no question about that. I stood next to the wall and heard him opening a drawer. The next thing I knew, a blindfold was being slipped across my eyes. Then he turned me around and started kissing me more.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I love giving up control in the bedroom. There is no more extreme way of doing that than allowing yourself to be blindfolded and cuffed, which was what happened next.

The biggest surprise came after we made it back onto the bed. He had a restraint system set up, what I guess to be similar to this one (after all, I was blindfolded. Link really NSFW, by the way.) He had my arms and my legs spread with the cuffs while he continued to tease me. To put it bluntly, it was hot. I was begging for release, and I don't mean from the restraints. Finally I got it.

After we'd laid in bed for a while, the Diplomat reminded me that he had desert. I had mentioned to him once in passing that my favorite desert of all time is fresh berries with homemade whipped cream. He'd actually remembered what I'd said and decided to make it for me!

It was delicious. By the time we were done, though, we were both tired and ready for bed. He'd had enough downtime, though, that he was ready to go again.

This time, I asked him to take it slow. We untangled at the end and fell asleep.

The next morning the Diplomat had to go to work. That didn't stop us from having one last romp in the bed before getting up. It's so hard to get out of bed in the morning when you're with someone you like. Thankfully he doesn't have to be at work at a certain time, or he would have been late.

Sailing, dinner, desert; bondage, repeat performances, and morning sex? It doesn't get much better.

Saturday- Eating with our Hands

Since the Dreamer didn't get any of the painting done of Friday, I offered to do it on Saturday. For more money, of course. My momma didn't raise no fool.

I was chatting with Mr. Dimple the night before and discovered that the house was in his neighborhood. You can't pass up good fortune like that, so we decided to meet for lunch. Passing all the Ethiopian restaurants in the area the day before had given me a craving; I was thankful that he is also a fan.

When I walked up to the restaurant, Mr. Dimple was leaning on a lightpost outside. I couldn't help but giggle at the image- sunglasses, his arm crossed, one foot up. It was like something right out of The Cool Kid's Guide to Being Cool. Granted, he pretty much looks like one of the Cool Kids all the time, but in the rock 'n roll way, not the pretty preppy boy way.

We split a big combo platter of food. I was thankful he could hold his own with me- I get nervous eating Ethiopian food with someone who is timid, because I feel like I am taking all of the good stuff for myself. I also eat really fast, so it makes me feel like I'm eating a disproportionate amount. We didn't have that problem, though, and everything was devoured, even some of the injera that the food was served on. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, get yourself to an Ethiopian restaurant and try it! Alternately, this may give you a bit of an idea.)

We spent the whole meal laughing and talking. He really puts me at ease- I don't feel like he's judging me, and I can be as goofy or as highbrow as I want and he takes it all in stride. Plus there's that damn dimple...it peaks out every time he smiles and just makes me bust out into a grin.

He walked me back to my car, when I realized that I didn't know how to get to the house I was painting from the restaurant. He looked it up on his phone for me, and I sidled up really close while he did it. It was to see what was on the phone, of course. What, you thought I had some other reason for wanting to stand close to him?

Last time we said goodbye without a kiss, and we weren't going to let that happen this time. Really, it turned into three kisses- that awesome double kiss where you pull away a little bit, then go again because you're not ready to stop; then after we'd separated and were saying goodbye, I planted another one on him.

Mmm.

Friday- Handsy McHandserson

When I was out working with the Dreamer on Friday, I was a little worried about getting back late for my second date with the Linguist. We had originally planned to do dinner, a movie, and drinks afterwards, but when I found out I was going to be working that day we changed it to a movie and then dinner. In general, movies aren't a great date early in a relationship, but we were both really excited about seeing Kick-Ass.

Now, let me say that I enjoy a certain measure of PDA. I've dated guys who weren't comfortable kissing or sometimes even holding hands in public, but I think as long as you're not being obscene, it's sweet. The Linguist, though, makes even me look like a prude. While we were sitting in our seats waiting for the movie to start, he was turned completely sideways in his seat so he could look at me, and he was rubbing my arm and the back of my neck while we talked. It was sweet in a way, but come on man! I was trying to watch the previews!

We walked over to the restaurant after the movie, and when we got to our table, he actually pulled my chair out for me. Chivalrous? Yes. I'm not an angry feminist who gets upset about men opening doors for me, but it did give me a bit of pause. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Does he push the chair in when I sit down, or do I? Women aren't trained for these kinds of situations anymore! I think I need to get myself to etiquette school.

The whole time, the Linguist kept making rather overt hints that he wanted to be invited back to my place. The day before when I changed plans because of painting he joked that I would need a massage afterwards, and that he'd be happy to oblige. Saying it once was cute. Saying it again on the date made sense. But saying it 3 or 4 times throughout the night? It was getting to be a bit much.

After dinner we ended up going to a Barnes and Noble- again. Don't get me wrong, I love bookstores. But he continued on his crusade of inappropriate PDA when he started trying to make out standing in front of the sci-fi section. He really just didn't get the hint that I didn't want to make out in public! I was able to contain him enough to get back to my car, and I offered him a ride to his since it was starting to rain.

Apparently getting in the car with me was his cute to jump over the seat and jam his tongue down my throat.

Okay, that's not fair. He is a good kisser. But I felt like teenagers making out in the car, and I even told him so. He thought that was awesome, though. When he started inching his hands up my top, I insisted it was time to go. And again, he had to all but invite himself over to my house. This time he got a firm “no, I don't want that.” Hints- this man does not take them.

The next day, I got a text from the Linguist that he'd had a fun night, and that for our next one he could bring a movie over to my house. What the hell??? I've been known to invite myself over from time to time, but never with someone whose last name I don't even know. I didn't respond right away, and later he sent me another text that said, “or did you not want to see me again?”

That was it. I wrote back, “Chill. I just haven't had a chance to respond yet,” which seemed to really put him in his place. He apologized profusely, but it wasn't enough. I think the Linguist's run has ended. Now I just have to figure out how to tell him in a way that he gets on the first go.

Thursday- When Things are "Not That Serious", or Lights Out for the Dreamer

Thursday night is when things began to fall apart.

The Dreamer had asked me to do some contract work for him Friday morning, painting in a house that he property manages, and I said sure. Since we were going to have to leave early, though, I invited him over for dinner Thursday night. That way, we could just leave from my house Friday.

I had planned to make chicken tikka masala for dinner, but I have issues with cooking meat. It's a weird hangup, I know, but we're all allowed to have them! The Dreamer had agreed to cook the chicken for it, so I had that all thawed and the rice on. While we were waiting, we sat at the kitchen table and were talking. Then his phone rang.

It was one of the owners he does property management for, and the owner needed a copy of a contract that night that the Dreamer had at his house. There was no other option but to go get it. His house is only 15 minutes away from mine, but it was still an annoyance. I went with him, he got what he needed sent off, and he started driving back to my house.

About a block away, I brought up “Our Relationship.” Because of our conversation the week before where we decided not to be boyfriend/girlfriend, I was beginning to wonder if we were on the same page about what our relationship was at all. So, I asked him.

“I don't think we need to talk about this,” he told me. But I insisted.

“Well, I didn't think we were that serious.”

Here, imagine the most shocked, confused, hurt expression you can. That's what my face looked like at that moment.

I don't know how someone can mistake what we had for “not being serious.” Granted, we weren't exclusive, but that was a parameter of the relationship that had been agreed on in the beginning. He was coming over 2-3 times a week, just to eat dinner and hang out on the couch. I don't know how other people do things, but that's definitely NOT something I do with a person I'm just “casual” with.

I told him this, and he said he felt like a jerk. What I should have done was agree with him, but I had already slipped into my “make everyone else feel better” mode, and I ended up consoling HIM, if you can believe that. I told him that if he wanted to just date casually, we could do that, but it wasn't going to look like what it had been like up to this point. I think I meant that when I said it, but as I have more space from the conversation, I think I've changed my mind. I don't want to date him, even casually. It hurt. It really hurt. It was like he was saying all the effort I'd put into it, all the little things I'd done for him, all the conversations we'd had about serious problems in my life- all that hadn't been serious to him.

He still spent the night that night, and we still went out the next morning. He was so disorganized, though, that we spent 2 hours at Home Depot getting things for the project. At one point, he had me standing outside with two carts full of things he'd bought while he went back in for...something. He didn't tell me what he was doing when he did it, just to “wait for a sec.” Well that “sec” turned into 40 minutes. Forty minutes of standing outside a Home Depot, no idea what was going on, no way to leave if I'd needed to. Had I driven myself, I probably would have left.

When we got to the house we were painting, it turned out that the carpet cleaners were coming that day, so it wasn't even possible to paint. Instead, I helped the Dreamer do some landscaping at another house. When it was finally done we stopped for dinner before heading home; I hadn't eaten since breakfast. He knew of a little place with out-of-this-world tacos- at least those lived up to my expectations.

As we were eating, he told me that I was “kind of an asshole” to work with. I asked him what he meant, and he said it was because I'm really on top of getting things done, and I didn't let him “work at his own pace.” Seriously? What kind of business owner complains about his employees working too hard?

Even after the events of the last day, I invited him upstairs for a quickie when we got back to my house. In hindsight, that was a stupid thing to do- I wish the memory of the last sex we're likely to have was a happier one. Oh well, live and learn.

Monday- Worth the Wait

After meeting up with McCool on Friday night, I was even more anxious to finally get to see him again one-on-one. With his crazy work schedule, it's almost impossible for us to set plans at any point in advance. While messaging with him online Monday night, he mentioned needing to de-stress, and I immediately jumped at the possibility of getting together. I sweetened the pot with an offer of a bottle of whiskey. Even though it was 8:30 at night, he was still at work, so we made plans to meet at his house around 9:30.

I jumped in the shower and shaved as quickly as I could. One of these days, I'll learn not to shave when I'm in a rush! Ouch. Then I rushed to blow-dry my hair enough that it wasn't sopping wet, so I could feel at least somewhat presentable.

By this point my roommates were wondering what in the world all the commotion was, so I explained to them that I was going to meet McCool! ZOMG!!! At that moment, my phone buzzed with a text. “There's a problem” was all it said.

“Oh no,” my roommate told me, “he did not just say there's a problem. If he knew that my roommate was just showering and blow-drying her hair at 9 o'clock at night, he would know better than to send a text like that.”

Thankfully, the problem was only with finding parking. A baseball game had blocked off the streets near his house, but I assured him that I would figure something out, and he wasn't going to get out of seeing me that easily!

I did manage to find parking a few blocks away without any trouble, and when I got up to this floor I knew I had the right place when I saw the “Go Away” doormat. Unfortunately, once I was inside it became even more clear I had come to the right place- every room had at least one item of Steelers-branded memorabilia. How a man who is so incredible every other way can possibly like the Steelers is beyond me.

We opened up the bottle of whiskey and sat on the couch to chat. He told me that he was glad I'd convinced him to be social that night, and I couldn't stop grinning. We were both staring out the window looking at the baseball stadium when I finally leaned over and kissed him.

Now, the first time we kissed was only a quick goodbye at the end of our first date. This time, there were sparks in the air and butterflies in my stomach. Alright, so that's a little bit of an exaggeration. Point is, it was everything I'd hoped for.

I moved back to my side of the couch, where I lasted for maybe a minute. Then we were on top of each other, all hands and lips and tongues. He kept running his hands through my hair, or putting his hands on both sides of my face while we kissed. It was incredible. He had me on my back on the couch when I suggested he take my shirt off. Not long after that, he stood up, grabbed my hand, and started leading me back to the bedroom.

He laid me back on the bed with just the right amount of roughness. He nibbled my neck and ears while running his hands on my back and stomach. He kept alternating between being aggressive and a little rough, like when he was holding my hands down over my head while he played with my breasts, and being incredibly soft and gentle.

We must've made out on the bed for at least a half hour, slowly shedding items of clothing, when I finally gasped out “I want you.” He got a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he removed the final piece of what I was wearing. The man's not just a good kisser, if you catch my drift.

Then I told him it was my turn, and we switched places. It was only a few minutes when he moaned “I want you so bad.” I stopped, looked him in the eyes, and said “so take me.”

And take me he did.

It was incredible. It sounds weird, but he was firm and demanding without being too rough, yet he'd interrupt it with these periods of being soft and slow. It was the perfect combination. He made my body feel ways I've never experienced before, at least not in such quick succession. I didn't want it to end, except I wanted to feel him finish.

It was truly mind blowing. I've had plenty of good sex in my life, but this was as if he was reading my mind and had been with me for years, he just knew exactly where my buttons were and how to push them. When we were done, I finally collapsed on the bed next to him and giggled for a while.

“Was it worth waiting three months?” he asked me.

The answer was an unequivocal yes. I just don't know if I can wait that long before the next time.

Sunday- To be, or not to be a Girlfriend

Sunday afternoon, the Dreamer came back over to help me assemble all the furniture we'd bought at Ikea the day before. It was amazing how well we worked together! I'm not used to working with competent people when it comes to assembly directions, that much was clear. After getting past my initial desire to bark orders at him, we worked pretty well as a team.

Watching a man get sweaty working with his hands threw my libido into overdrive, and I was barely able to wait until we were done with the assembly before dragging the Dreamer back to my bedroom. Strangely, it was almost a repeat of the day before- all oral, no actual sex. I'll tell you what, though, I am a lucky girl to have that problem. I've known too many men in my life that refused to go down on a woman- I'm making up for lost time. He finished on my chest (that's right, I went there!) and I was SHOCKED. I had to ask him, “is it this much every time??” Now I understand why he comes for so long.

When we were lying in bed afterwards, I brought back up the topic of not calling me his girlfriend. I apologized for getting so upset the day before that he hadn't told the new girl about me, and said I'd try to keep in mind that this is a totally new situation for him. I think my understanding in that situation was what allowed him to open up about what was really bothering him- having me be his girlfriend.

The way he explained it, while he is on board with polyamory in theory, it is hard for him to move past his preconceived notions of what a girlfriend should be. “If I have a girlfriend, I shouldn't be out with this other girl. Or if I am out with this other girl, than I don't really have a girlfriend. Or I have one, but I'm cheating on her. No matter what, it isn't good,” he told me.

“But you're happy in our relationship otherwise?” I asked.

“Very,” he said.

“Well then, I just won't be your girlfriend.”

He made me assure him that I was really okay with that, and I think I was. The more I thought about it afterwards, though, the more I had to wonder how much was about him being uncomfortable seeing other women while he has a girlfriend, and how much was just him being uncomfortable telling other women that he's seeing that he has a girlfriend. I still don't know the answer to that question, and I don't know how much it really matters at the core.

Regardless, the situation has me re-evaluating what being “boyfriend/girlfriend” really means to me. Is it about moving towards an eventual marriage? Wanting to move in together? Progress toward some end goal?

I don't know the answer to that, to be completely frank. I do know that the label holds some importance to me, but not necessarily in that I want to marry everybody who I want to be bf/gf with. For me, I think it's more that it is a place of honor- you aren't just one of the rabble that I'm dating, you're my boyfriend. It denotes a seriousness of the relationship, even if not in the monogamy/future marriage type of way. I think that to me it does signify a desire for intimacy and partnership, and even for a long-term relationship. I just don't subscribe to the notion that such a partnership has to end in marriage for it to have been worthwhile.

I'm a planner, and I always have been. It's just another of my conflicting gemini personality traits- I like to have very planned outlines, but fill in the middle spontaneously. Was it too early to think long-term with the Dreamer? Of course. But that didn't stop me from doing it.

He even addressed this when we were talking, when he told me that he knows I have certain big goals that I would potentially like him to be involved in, namely having kids. He said that he wants to know if it gets to the point where he needs to put up on those or move aside so someone else can fill that need for me, which I think was honorable, though a bit selfish. Basically it came across as “let me know at the very last minute so I can decide if it's something I'm willing to do.” Still, it's better than nothing. I'm happy with our relationship right now, no matter if it has a label or not.

Saturday pt 2- Flooding the Bathroom

After the trip to Ikea with the Dreamer, I had to rush to get ready for a date with the Blues Man. I was already an hour late because of how long shopping took, but the Blues Man insisted it wasn't a problem. Then I managed to get lost twice on the way there, and when I did finally find the restaurant, the parking lot was completely full. I was on the verge of collapsing from frustration when I saw the Blues Man and gave him a giant hug.

“Don't worry,” I told him. “I just need to decompress and I'll be fine.”

We sat outside on the restaurant deck, where our poor waitress was running around trying to serve way too many tables. So when she forgot our appetizer and offered to buy it for us, we both insisted that she not worry about it. You can tell a lot about a guy based on how he treats two people- his mom and his waitress. Based on how often the Blues Man is going over to his mom's house to help her with chores and errands, I'd say he's doing good on both counts.

We were almost the last table to leave after dinner, so the waitress came over to chat for a minute while the Blues Man borrowed his lighter. That led us to joke that we should ask her to come back to his place with us, and I will admit, it was a tempting idea. Since he and I aren't allowed to have sex, though, I think it may have just ended in frustration all the way around.

After dinner we went back to the Blues Man's apartment to drink wine and watch a movie. We strategically picked a movie that didn't require too much attention, so we were free to fool around the whole time. The one benefit of not being able to have sex is the crazy amounts of oral sex. Yoga comes in handy for more reasons than just weight loss, let me tell you. By the end of the movie we both needed a shower. And I think he had a bit of rugburn.

Rather than getting clean in the shower, we proceeded to get dirtier, just this time there was soap involved. Instead of being sticky and sweaty, we were wet and slippery. At some point, though, I think I accidentally pushed the shower curtain out of the tub. Neither of us noticed until the end of the shower, so there's no telling how long it was out like that. (To be honest, there's no telling how long we were in the shower at all- my mind was on other things than looking at a clock.) The bathroom was completely flooded. The water had even begun to soak the carpet in the hallway.

We went to bed not long after, with all the towels down in the bathroom and hallway in a futile attempt to soak up the water. (The Blues Man just told me yesterday that the carpet finally dried Tuesday night.) The Blues Man is an interesting person to sleep with, to say the least. He talks in his sleep and tosses a lot, but at least he doesn't snore. The other difficulty was his lack of blankets. He sleeps with a fan on him in a freezing cold room, with just one blanket over him. Now, I'm a fan of sleeping in a cold room, but I want the warm blankets over me (to the point where I don't want to get out of bed in the morning because there's such a temperature different.)

I woke up a couple times during the night absolutely freezing. He eventually took pity on me and went into the living room to find another blanket. After that I was finally able to get some sleep.

The next morning before I went home, we sat on his balcony while he smoked his morning cigarette. Just sitting there in the sun chatting was the best part of the date. Truly, I wish I could have that every Sunday morning. Add in a cup of tea and an issue of Newsweek, and it would be perfect.