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.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, April 26, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, April 23, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, April 19, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
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.
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.
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.
“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.
Saturday pt 1- I'm "The Hot Chick He's Seeing"
Saturday afternoon, one of my roommates was having a party to celebrate a big event in her life- her conversion to Judaism (Mazel Tov!!) She made sure to invite the Dreamer, since he's “her favorite.” He came over for the party and chatted with people for a while- I was very impressed with him, especially since he's usually shy around people he doesn't know. As things started to wind down, I asked if he would go to Ikea with me to buy furniture for my new office. He has a truck and big muscles- two vital ingredients in furniture shopping.
While on the way there, I brought up the topic of his first date with a new girl. This was also the first date he's gone on since we got together, so I was most interested in how he handled telling her about our dating situation. Much to my chagrin, he hadn't.
“Did you tell her you had a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Did you at least tell her you are seeing someone?”
“No.”
I sat in a rather stony silence for a few minutes, before pointing out the obvious- “you have to tell her.”
“I will,” he assured me, “I just have to figure out how to do it.”
I tried not to freak out. After all, this is a new situation for him. In general, non-poly people try to hide the fact that they're in another relationship when they're dating someone, not be open and upfront about it. But as I ranted about in my post when I was the other woman with the Blues Man, it is absolutely vital to me that everyone know what is going on; a poly relationship (or any relationship, really) can't survive without open communication and honesty.
When I simmered down a bit from the initial shock, I asked him, “do you generally refer to me as your girlfriend when you're talking to people?”
“No,” he admitted.
“So what do you say?”
“Usually just the hot chick I'm seeing.”
Now, as far as titles go, I suppose that is one I can live with. But what's the point of being boyfriend and girlfriend if you don't want to tell people about it? I went through a long relationship where the guy was very hesitant to tell anyone about it- even his family- not because he was afraid of how they'd react, but just because he didn't like the feeling of them being “in his business.” I couldn't stand it; it made me feel hidden, which led to worries of his unhappiness in the relationship and my inadequacy.
I know that these are my issues, not the Dreamer's, but if you're going to date someone, you also have to in some part date their baggage. I explained this to him, and he said he understood and wasn't trying to hide me. It still put a damper on the trip, though.
While on the way there, I brought up the topic of his first date with a new girl. This was also the first date he's gone on since we got together, so I was most interested in how he handled telling her about our dating situation. Much to my chagrin, he hadn't.
“Did you tell her you had a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Did you at least tell her you are seeing someone?”
“No.”
I sat in a rather stony silence for a few minutes, before pointing out the obvious- “you have to tell her.”
“I will,” he assured me, “I just have to figure out how to do it.”
I tried not to freak out. After all, this is a new situation for him. In general, non-poly people try to hide the fact that they're in another relationship when they're dating someone, not be open and upfront about it. But as I ranted about in my post when I was the other woman with the Blues Man, it is absolutely vital to me that everyone know what is going on; a poly relationship (or any relationship, really) can't survive without open communication and honesty.
When I simmered down a bit from the initial shock, I asked him, “do you generally refer to me as your girlfriend when you're talking to people?”
“No,” he admitted.
“So what do you say?”
“Usually just the hot chick I'm seeing.”
Now, as far as titles go, I suppose that is one I can live with. But what's the point of being boyfriend and girlfriend if you don't want to tell people about it? I went through a long relationship where the guy was very hesitant to tell anyone about it- even his family- not because he was afraid of how they'd react, but just because he didn't like the feeling of them being “in his business.” I couldn't stand it; it made me feel hidden, which led to worries of his unhappiness in the relationship and my inadequacy.
I know that these are my issues, not the Dreamer's, but if you're going to date someone, you also have to in some part date their baggage. I explained this to him, and he said he understood and wasn't trying to hide me. It still put a damper on the trip, though.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Friday- The Return of McCool
The Pirate and I hadn't gone out in a while; he'd been out of town, my weekends had been booking up a couple weeks in advance, the usual. Because of that, when we discovered we were both free on Friday we decided to go out, even though we didn't have any specific ideas of what we would do. Friday during the day we texted ideas back and forth, finally setting on seeing a band at a club downtown. Imagine my surprise when I saw on McCool's facebook page that he was also planning to attend the same show! I sent him an instant message that I would also be there, and that we should find each other and say hi. After all, it's been three months since our one date, and everything since has been over the internet.
As usual, the Pirate was late in meeting for dinner. I'm beginning to think I should just plan to be 20 minutes late whenever I go out with him, as then maybe we'll arrive at the same time. Regardless, we had fun catching up about what had happened in our lives in the last month. I'd lost a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and gained a different boyfriend; he'd gone on two trips out of town, bought a new bike, and planned his next tattoo that he was actually going to get the following morning.
When we walked over to the bar/club where the show was, we discovered that neither of us had enough cash for the door, and the only ATM was actually inside the club! So we pooled our funds to pay for his, so he could go to the ATM and come back with some for mine. As he walked in, though, the bouncer looked at me and said “you can just go in if you want.”
“Are you sure??” I asked incredulously. I'm not used to being the girl that gets special treatment by the bouncer (unless maybe it's the Blues Man). It's pretty neat!
The Pirate got us drinks and we stood to watch the show. The band was beyond amazing, and I was enthralled. Even so, I was looking around to try and spot McCool. Finally I found him standing with a group behind us on some stairs. I texted him “Ha! I found you!” “What? Where?” he replied.
Now, lest you think I was totally rude for texting one guy while on a date with another guy, let me offer up a pitiful excuse. The Pirate and McCool both work in the same industry, though different aspects. So I was actually interested in introducing them, if for no other reason than potential networking. Is that a good enough reason? Probably not. Oh well.
McCool and I texted a few more times until he saw me checking my phone and thus figured out it was me. We waved, but I stayed with the Pirate until he needed to go get more drinks, and then I walked back with him to McCool's group. I introduced them, and stood chatting while the Pirate went to the bar. McCool's friends were really nice, and an interesting mix of gothy rock nerds. Just how I like them. The Pirate also hit it off with the group, and when the show was over suggested we all go do karaoke. The Pirate wanting to do karaoke- shocking, I know.
At the karaoke bar, McCool and I kept flirting through texts, even though the Pirate and I were having fun together. Finally towards the end of the night, I texted McCool “this could be you, you know. You know what you have to do.”
“What's that?” he asked.
“Pick a date.”
“April 9.”
Ah, what a clever boy. April 9 was that night. “You want me to go home with you tonight?” I clarified.
He just winked.
Of course I wasn't going to leave the date I was actually on to go home with McCool, but the idea was tempting. The Pirate and I left not long after, and McCool and I shared two very long hugs goodbye. I told him I expected an invite the next time he went out with his friends, and he said he'd keep me updated.
By that point, I had tons of pent-up sexual tension, so thankfully I had someone to help me work them out. The Pirate took me upstairs, bent me over his bed, and had his way with me. It was sweaty, rough, and totally hot. Falling asleep, I was glad my morals hadn't been compromised by leaving with McCool instead. There would hopefully be another chance for that.
As usual, the Pirate was late in meeting for dinner. I'm beginning to think I should just plan to be 20 minutes late whenever I go out with him, as then maybe we'll arrive at the same time. Regardless, we had fun catching up about what had happened in our lives in the last month. I'd lost a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and gained a different boyfriend; he'd gone on two trips out of town, bought a new bike, and planned his next tattoo that he was actually going to get the following morning.
When we walked over to the bar/club where the show was, we discovered that neither of us had enough cash for the door, and the only ATM was actually inside the club! So we pooled our funds to pay for his, so he could go to the ATM and come back with some for mine. As he walked in, though, the bouncer looked at me and said “you can just go in if you want.”
“Are you sure??” I asked incredulously. I'm not used to being the girl that gets special treatment by the bouncer (unless maybe it's the Blues Man). It's pretty neat!
The Pirate got us drinks and we stood to watch the show. The band was beyond amazing, and I was enthralled. Even so, I was looking around to try and spot McCool. Finally I found him standing with a group behind us on some stairs. I texted him “Ha! I found you!” “What? Where?” he replied.
Now, lest you think I was totally rude for texting one guy while on a date with another guy, let me offer up a pitiful excuse. The Pirate and McCool both work in the same industry, though different aspects. So I was actually interested in introducing them, if for no other reason than potential networking. Is that a good enough reason? Probably not. Oh well.
McCool and I texted a few more times until he saw me checking my phone and thus figured out it was me. We waved, but I stayed with the Pirate until he needed to go get more drinks, and then I walked back with him to McCool's group. I introduced them, and stood chatting while the Pirate went to the bar. McCool's friends were really nice, and an interesting mix of gothy rock nerds. Just how I like them. The Pirate also hit it off with the group, and when the show was over suggested we all go do karaoke. The Pirate wanting to do karaoke- shocking, I know.
At the karaoke bar, McCool and I kept flirting through texts, even though the Pirate and I were having fun together. Finally towards the end of the night, I texted McCool “this could be you, you know. You know what you have to do.”
“What's that?” he asked.
“Pick a date.”
“April 9.”
Ah, what a clever boy. April 9 was that night. “You want me to go home with you tonight?” I clarified.
He just winked.
Of course I wasn't going to leave the date I was actually on to go home with McCool, but the idea was tempting. The Pirate and I left not long after, and McCool and I shared two very long hugs goodbye. I told him I expected an invite the next time he went out with his friends, and he said he'd keep me updated.
By that point, I had tons of pent-up sexual tension, so thankfully I had someone to help me work them out. The Pirate took me upstairs, bent me over his bed, and had his way with me. It was sweaty, rough, and totally hot. Falling asleep, I was glad my morals hadn't been compromised by leaving with McCool instead. There would hopefully be another chance for that.
Wednesday- In Which I Learn about Electronics Packaging
I have realized that I definitely have a “thing” for the geek uniform of shaved head and facial hair. It's not a conscious thing, but when I see guys like McCool or the Blues Man I'm attracted to them, and only later do I realize that they are in that category. When I saw photos of Mr. Dimple on the dating website, I had the same reaction.
We'd originally planned to meet for dinner Thursday night, in the city where he lives about an hour from me. I had a job interview closer by on Wednesday morning, though, so I suggested we move the date to lunch on Wednesday. It was a good thing I did, as he discovered he'd double booked on Thursday night. Apparently, keeping track of plans isn't his strong point.
He chose a Thai restaurant he really likes. I haven't been able to find a pad thai that lives up to my standards yet, so I was excited to try it. Unfortunately the pad thai wasn't great, but Mr. Dimple was.
The first thing I noticed when he walked through the door was his giant grin. Well, that and the aforementioned geek uniform of shaved head and facial hair. It just does something for me, I can't help it! The next time he grinned at me while we were sitting down, my eyes were drawn to the big dimple that popped up. It made me want to lean across the table and kiss his cheek right then.
Surprisingly, I showed some self restraint. We had a great time talking over lunch, though, and kept telling terrible, off-color jokes to make each other laugh. He also explained to me his research that he is completing to finish his PhD dissertation. It's in “electronics packaging,” and would you believe it? It has nothing to do with how Amazon.com chooses to put your new DVD player in a cardboard box!
When we got up to leave, he discovered a common problem for most men that date me- I am taller than he was. Especially in my 3-inch heels. That isn't something that concerns me at all, but for some men, it really makes them uncomfortable. I had to tease him about it, of course, saying “I like to wear heels to intimidate men.” “I'm not intimidated,” he told me, and I'm pretty sure he meant it.
We stopped to say goodbye at the curb, and I stepped off while he was still standing on the sidewalk so that he could feel taller for a minute. I'm kidding. Or am I? Either way, he noticed and laughed about it, and I told him we should just carry a stool around for him. He gave me a big hug, but I hesitated in going in for a kiss, and so did he. So we separated and went to our cars.
When I got there, I couldn't resist teasing him a little more, so I texted “what, no kiss?” I got a “I could ask you the same thing!” in return. Touche, Mr. Dimple. Touche.
We'd originally planned to meet for dinner Thursday night, in the city where he lives about an hour from me. I had a job interview closer by on Wednesday morning, though, so I suggested we move the date to lunch on Wednesday. It was a good thing I did, as he discovered he'd double booked on Thursday night. Apparently, keeping track of plans isn't his strong point.
He chose a Thai restaurant he really likes. I haven't been able to find a pad thai that lives up to my standards yet, so I was excited to try it. Unfortunately the pad thai wasn't great, but Mr. Dimple was.
The first thing I noticed when he walked through the door was his giant grin. Well, that and the aforementioned geek uniform of shaved head and facial hair. It just does something for me, I can't help it! The next time he grinned at me while we were sitting down, my eyes were drawn to the big dimple that popped up. It made me want to lean across the table and kiss his cheek right then.
Surprisingly, I showed some self restraint. We had a great time talking over lunch, though, and kept telling terrible, off-color jokes to make each other laugh. He also explained to me his research that he is completing to finish his PhD dissertation. It's in “electronics packaging,” and would you believe it? It has nothing to do with how Amazon.com chooses to put your new DVD player in a cardboard box!
When we got up to leave, he discovered a common problem for most men that date me- I am taller than he was. Especially in my 3-inch heels. That isn't something that concerns me at all, but for some men, it really makes them uncomfortable. I had to tease him about it, of course, saying “I like to wear heels to intimidate men.” “I'm not intimidated,” he told me, and I'm pretty sure he meant it.
We stopped to say goodbye at the curb, and I stepped off while he was still standing on the sidewalk so that he could feel taller for a minute. I'm kidding. Or am I? Either way, he noticed and laughed about it, and I told him we should just carry a stool around for him. He gave me a big hug, but I hesitated in going in for a kiss, and so did he. So we separated and went to our cars.
When I got there, I couldn't resist teasing him a little more, so I texted “what, no kiss?” I got a “I could ask you the same thing!” in return. Touche, Mr. Dimple. Touche.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Weekend of Canceled Plans
I was supposed to have a party Saturday night, but it was canceled at the last minute. Instead, the Dreamer came over to hang out for a while. We didn't feel like going out anywhere and I wasn't up for cooking, so we ordered a pizza. Then we sat on the couch and watched a House marathon. I ended up falling asleep on him before he finally decided to go to bed. At least this time he actually stayed through the night.
The next day, the Diplomat and I had plans to go sailing. The thing about sailing, though, is that it requires the cooperation of the weather. When it was realized that there was going to be no way that we could sail (no wind = no sailing, who knew?), we decided to go run some errands and pick up things that he needed for his new house.
There was only one problem with that plan- we'd forgotten that it was Easter Sunday. Nothing was open. We were finally faced with the choice of finding something to do or giving up and going home when I suggested a Vietnamese restaurant near my house. I figured Chinese places are always opened on Christmas Eve, so maybe Vietnamese would be open on Easter. I was right!
Over dinner, I brought up a topic that had been bothering me since the night of the Diplomat's birthday party. The guy who had uncomfortably cornered me earlier in the night had said something interesting later at the second bar. He had asked about polyamory, and what that meant. After I explained it, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “you know the Diplomat isn't okay with this, right?”
Now, I don't think anybody else could speak for the Diplomat, but it was completely possible that his friend knew him better than I did. So I asked him about it.
“I consider this the experimental phase in my life,” he told me. I'm still not quite sure how to take that- is he saying that he is okay with polyamory now, but won't be later? That it's only a “phase” for him? It's okay if that's the case, I suppose- it's not that I have plans to marry him and have babies- but it's just the first true example I've seen of someone using polyamory as an experiment, rather than a choice that was carefully come to after lots of deliberation and self-searching.
The Diplomat took me home after dinner, with the promise that next time, we'd make sure it wasn't Easter Sunday when we went out.
The next day, the Diplomat and I had plans to go sailing. The thing about sailing, though, is that it requires the cooperation of the weather. When it was realized that there was going to be no way that we could sail (no wind = no sailing, who knew?), we decided to go run some errands and pick up things that he needed for his new house.
There was only one problem with that plan- we'd forgotten that it was Easter Sunday. Nothing was open. We were finally faced with the choice of finding something to do or giving up and going home when I suggested a Vietnamese restaurant near my house. I figured Chinese places are always opened on Christmas Eve, so maybe Vietnamese would be open on Easter. I was right!
Over dinner, I brought up a topic that had been bothering me since the night of the Diplomat's birthday party. The guy who had uncomfortably cornered me earlier in the night had said something interesting later at the second bar. He had asked about polyamory, and what that meant. After I explained it, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “you know the Diplomat isn't okay with this, right?”
Now, I don't think anybody else could speak for the Diplomat, but it was completely possible that his friend knew him better than I did. So I asked him about it.
“I consider this the experimental phase in my life,” he told me. I'm still not quite sure how to take that- is he saying that he is okay with polyamory now, but won't be later? That it's only a “phase” for him? It's okay if that's the case, I suppose- it's not that I have plans to marry him and have babies- but it's just the first true example I've seen of someone using polyamory as an experiment, rather than a choice that was carefully come to after lots of deliberation and self-searching.
The Diplomat took me home after dinner, with the promise that next time, we'd make sure it wasn't Easter Sunday when we went out.
Friday pt 2- Mistaken Identity
Friday night was also the Diplomat's birthday celebration. He was having a joint party with two friends at a bar, and we met up to drive together. Because of the whole night and day spent with the Blues Man, though, I was hardy even running on fumes. I called ahead to the Diplomat and warned him that if he wanted me to be at all functional that night, I was going to need some coffee. He met me at the door with it- major points for him (and a major caffeine boost for me).
I was a little nervous about hanging out with the Diplomat's friends, as I had no idea what to expect. They were all very nice, though! I love meeting new people- I tend to get along with almost anyone, especially when there is beer involved. There were a disturbing number of men in the bar, though- there were probably not even a half dozen women there for the party, including a birthday girl!
I found out that one group of friends there with another of the joint birthday-ers were grad students at the same university as me, though they are in computer science. One of them in particular was super cute, and I flirted with him for a while. It was really funny when he pointed out his faculty advisor to me, who was also there. The advisor told me I should race the other guy to finish our programs, as maybe he'd finally be rid of him.
The Diplomat and I had a lot of fun, and he really came to my rescue when one of his friends cornered me and was asking all sorts of weirdly personal questions, especially for someone you'd literally met less than an hour before. I leaned over to the Diplomat, whispered “save me,” and he made up an excuse to have me come up to the bar with him. Phew, disaster avoided.
As the Diplomat and his friends decided to leave the joint party head to another bar, I tried to find the cute CS guy I'd been flirting with earlier, but I only saw his friend. I didn't want to lose my chance, though, so I asked if he would give my number to his “cute friend that was wearing a black shirt.” He said no problem, and I wrote it down on a piece of paper. Then I headed outside to catch up with the Diplomat.
Outside, I saw the CS guy standing with another group of people. Then his friend who had my number came outside, with the slip of paper in his hand. He leaned over to talk to....the faculty advisor! I heard him as “who's this?” and the friend pointed me out. I couldn't very well go over and say “oh, that wasn't meant for you,” so I decided to roll with it. I can say, though, I've never managed to give my number to the wrong guy before! At least I saw that it went to the wrong guy- it would have been horrible to go out with the advisor thinking it was the CS guy until I got there and saw him. I haven't heard from him yet though, so I doubt anything is going to come from it.
One of the Diplomat's friends gave us a ride back to his place, and I collapsed into his bed. I'd been up for 23 hours at that point- sex could wait.
I was a little nervous about hanging out with the Diplomat's friends, as I had no idea what to expect. They were all very nice, though! I love meeting new people- I tend to get along with almost anyone, especially when there is beer involved. There were a disturbing number of men in the bar, though- there were probably not even a half dozen women there for the party, including a birthday girl!
I found out that one group of friends there with another of the joint birthday-ers were grad students at the same university as me, though they are in computer science. One of them in particular was super cute, and I flirted with him for a while. It was really funny when he pointed out his faculty advisor to me, who was also there. The advisor told me I should race the other guy to finish our programs, as maybe he'd finally be rid of him.
The Diplomat and I had a lot of fun, and he really came to my rescue when one of his friends cornered me and was asking all sorts of weirdly personal questions, especially for someone you'd literally met less than an hour before. I leaned over to the Diplomat, whispered “save me,” and he made up an excuse to have me come up to the bar with him. Phew, disaster avoided.
As the Diplomat and his friends decided to leave the joint party head to another bar, I tried to find the cute CS guy I'd been flirting with earlier, but I only saw his friend. I didn't want to lose my chance, though, so I asked if he would give my number to his “cute friend that was wearing a black shirt.” He said no problem, and I wrote it down on a piece of paper. Then I headed outside to catch up with the Diplomat.
Outside, I saw the CS guy standing with another group of people. Then his friend who had my number came outside, with the slip of paper in his hand. He leaned over to talk to....the faculty advisor! I heard him as “who's this?” and the friend pointed me out. I couldn't very well go over and say “oh, that wasn't meant for you,” so I decided to roll with it. I can say, though, I've never managed to give my number to the wrong guy before! At least I saw that it went to the wrong guy- it would have been horrible to go out with the advisor thinking it was the CS guy until I got there and saw him. I haven't heard from him yet though, so I doubt anything is going to come from it.
One of the Diplomat's friends gave us a ride back to his place, and I collapsed into his bed. I'd been up for 23 hours at that point- sex could wait.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Friday pt 1.5- Relationship Negotiations
Normally I try to keep events in this blog in chronological order, but I think it's important to resolve the ones left at the end of my last post.
The Blues Man and I kept texting throughout the weekend, mostly back to flirting and discussing random topics. He had promised to tell his girlfriend about what had happened between us, though, and I wasn't going to let him forget it. He texted me Tuesday afternoon saying that he'd done it.
From what I could piece together from his texts, she was understandably not very happy about it. I got the impression that she was feeling betrayed, even though they'd ostensibly agreed before that they were allowed to date other people. But being given theoretical permission and acting upon it are two very different creatures.
In the end she told him that we could date, but not have sex.
A few minutes after that text, I got another one from him asking if he could call. I was in an office full of our classmates, so I had to step out to talk. He said he was still discussing things with his girlfriend, and she wanted to know what “dating” meant. I very eloquently explained that to me, dating is “hanging out and having fun and stuff.” “You know to her that's going to mean sex,” he pointed out.
“If she says we can't have sex, we won't have sex,” I assured him. “But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it.” That's when I got on my polyamory soapbox.
I am all for guidelines of safety (e.g. no sex without a condom, no sex until you've both been tested, etc.). I even understand guidelines of comfort (e.g. I want to meet the other person, if you think things are getting serious between you and your Other Significant Other you have to tell me, if I have serious concerns about your OSO you have to give them honest consideration, etc.). What I don't understand are artificial limitations on what kinds of things can develop between two people. Those things can't be controlled.
So, let's look at examples.
Guy A, who you may recognize as the Linguist, is married and has 2 kids. He and his wife have an agreement that they can both date whoever they like. The only rule is that they are not allowed to date people who wish to break up their original relationship. If I started talking about him leaving his wife, for example, it is his responsibility to end things with me. That is totally fair, if you ask me.
Guy B, obviously the Blues Man, is in a long-term relationship with a woman. She agreed to allow him to date other people, but on the provision that he is not allowed to sleep with them. The reason she doesn't want him to sleep with anyone else is because she feels it would make that relationship as important to Guy B as his relationship with her is.
Now, Guy B's parameters are completely artificial. No rules can control what feelings develop between two people, and the decision to have sex should be made between the two of them as to its appropriateness and timing. I'm not saying the original partner shouldn't have some influence, but to have the complete decision-making power on this is absurd.
If you were an outside partner entering into a relationship with these men, which would you rather be in? The one where you're allowed to have an actual relationship that develops as it will, or the one where you have to constantly worry that you're breaking the rules set by his other partner? Or even worse, that the rules will change without you being able to have any input in them?
Now in this case, I'm really interested in dating the Blues Man. If I wasn't, I'd just say screw it, it's not worth it. I don't want to pretend that I'm fully okay with this, though, and I let him know it. If I have to operate within her rules to date him, I will. But this is definitely the exception for me, not the rule.
The Blues Man and I kept texting throughout the weekend, mostly back to flirting and discussing random topics. He had promised to tell his girlfriend about what had happened between us, though, and I wasn't going to let him forget it. He texted me Tuesday afternoon saying that he'd done it.
From what I could piece together from his texts, she was understandably not very happy about it. I got the impression that she was feeling betrayed, even though they'd ostensibly agreed before that they were allowed to date other people. But being given theoretical permission and acting upon it are two very different creatures.
In the end she told him that we could date, but not have sex.
A few minutes after that text, I got another one from him asking if he could call. I was in an office full of our classmates, so I had to step out to talk. He said he was still discussing things with his girlfriend, and she wanted to know what “dating” meant. I very eloquently explained that to me, dating is “hanging out and having fun and stuff.” “You know to her that's going to mean sex,” he pointed out.
“If she says we can't have sex, we won't have sex,” I assured him. “But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it.” That's when I got on my polyamory soapbox.
I am all for guidelines of safety (e.g. no sex without a condom, no sex until you've both been tested, etc.). I even understand guidelines of comfort (e.g. I want to meet the other person, if you think things are getting serious between you and your Other Significant Other you have to tell me, if I have serious concerns about your OSO you have to give them honest consideration, etc.). What I don't understand are artificial limitations on what kinds of things can develop between two people. Those things can't be controlled.
So, let's look at examples.
Guy A, who you may recognize as the Linguist, is married and has 2 kids. He and his wife have an agreement that they can both date whoever they like. The only rule is that they are not allowed to date people who wish to break up their original relationship. If I started talking about him leaving his wife, for example, it is his responsibility to end things with me. That is totally fair, if you ask me.
Guy B, obviously the Blues Man, is in a long-term relationship with a woman. She agreed to allow him to date other people, but on the provision that he is not allowed to sleep with them. The reason she doesn't want him to sleep with anyone else is because she feels it would make that relationship as important to Guy B as his relationship with her is.
Now, Guy B's parameters are completely artificial. No rules can control what feelings develop between two people, and the decision to have sex should be made between the two of them as to its appropriateness and timing. I'm not saying the original partner shouldn't have some influence, but to have the complete decision-making power on this is absurd.
If you were an outside partner entering into a relationship with these men, which would you rather be in? The one where you're allowed to have an actual relationship that develops as it will, or the one where you have to constantly worry that you're breaking the rules set by his other partner? Or even worse, that the rules will change without you being able to have any input in them?
Now in this case, I'm really interested in dating the Blues Man. If I wasn't, I'd just say screw it, it's not worth it. I don't want to pretend that I'm fully okay with this, though, and I let him know it. If I have to operate within her rules to date him, I will. But this is definitely the exception for me, not the rule.
Friday pt 1- The Blues Man Falls from Grace
After staying up all night texting with the Blues Man, we decided to go out to breakfast. We live on opposite sites of town, so we met at a diner in the middle. That would have been a great idea, except that somehow we'd both forgotten it was Good Friday. Well actually, it's not surprising we'd forgotten, since neither of us is Catholic. But that's besides the point. The place was busy, but we still got a booth, sat down, and started talking.
Now, the Blues Man is Jewish, and it was during Passover. That meant no leavened bread for him. For those of you who don't know, leavened bread encompasses almost every type of bread there is- anything that's risen instead of being hard and flat like a cracker. So of course, I had to torture him by ordering banana pancakes. Mmm! When the waiter asked for the Blues Man's order, it was almost like a poorly written comedy sketch. “Cheese?” “No cheese.” “What kind of toast?” “No toast.”
Poor guy. Going to a diner during Passover must be like dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean.
We sat at that booth for three hours, talking about nothing and everything. We discussed religion, politics, gossip about our classmates- all those “taboo” topics that you're not supposed to touch. And surprisingly, we got along on almost all of them! It even turns out that we're studying different aspects of the same event!
Breakfast went so amazingly well that I jumped at the chance to continue it by going to his apartment to hang out. We ended up (no surprise) laying on his bed and making out while listening to music. It was a total throwback to high school, except for the part where you had to worry about your parents catching you. Ah, the joys of being an adult- ice cream for breakfast, pizza three times a week, and making out on your bed without fear of being in trouble. We're both huge flirts, though, so conversation quickly moved into doing something more than just making out.
After another couple hours of teasing, touching, and kissing, things started to progress. The Blues Man has a big, bushy, 1970s-style beard, which he had been telling me the night before is great for increasing certain, shall we say, pleasurable activities. I'm not going to insist that every man I date grow one, but I will admit, it added a nice dimension to things. You know how a bit of facial hair makes kissing more fun? Well apparently a lot of facial hair makes other types of kissing more fun, too.
I'm not ashamed to say that by this point, I was practically begging to get to the next step, but the Blues Man kept laughing and saying there was no rush. “True, but I still want it!” I told him. “I can't just give it all up without a fight,” he replied. A master at the teasing, this one.
I did finally get my way. It was great, except for the pillow talk afterwards. You see, he had failed to mention that he has a girlfriend.
I was pissed. Not only did he fail to tell me this before we hooked up, or even before we kissed, or even before he agreed to go on a date with me, when it would have been MOST important, he tried to play it off like it was no big deal. If she was on board with this kind of thing and I wasn't interested in actually dating him, just hooking up, I might not have minded so much. But I'd made it pretty clear from the start that I wasn't looking for just a friend with benefits.
The situation was made even worse by the fact that apparently his “lady-friend” didn't know that he was going to be dating anybody else. He said they'd recently had a conversation about them both being allowed to, but that he hadn't actually done it yet. And they hadn't broached the topic at all of sleeping with other people.
Understandably, the mood was shattered. I didn't stick around too much longer after that, and I started texting him on my way home. First and foremost, I said, he had to tell her what had happened. If she was okay with it, I'd love to keep seeing him, but I couldn't do it in secrecy. I truly believe that the only way to have a good relationship is to be completely upfront with everyone involved. That goes double when there are multiple partners in the picture. He agreed that he would, but I'll be honest, I wasn't sure.
I finally resorted to calling my best girl friend and asking what she thought. She told me that if he wasn't willing to tell his girlfriend what happened and to not do something like that again, he wasn't the kind of guy I want to date. She's absolutely right, of course. There's a fine line between polyamory and cheating, and it's crossed as soon as you enter into secrecy.
Now, the Blues Man is Jewish, and it was during Passover. That meant no leavened bread for him. For those of you who don't know, leavened bread encompasses almost every type of bread there is- anything that's risen instead of being hard and flat like a cracker. So of course, I had to torture him by ordering banana pancakes. Mmm! When the waiter asked for the Blues Man's order, it was almost like a poorly written comedy sketch. “Cheese?” “No cheese.” “What kind of toast?” “No toast.”
Poor guy. Going to a diner during Passover must be like dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean.
We sat at that booth for three hours, talking about nothing and everything. We discussed religion, politics, gossip about our classmates- all those “taboo” topics that you're not supposed to touch. And surprisingly, we got along on almost all of them! It even turns out that we're studying different aspects of the same event!
Breakfast went so amazingly well that I jumped at the chance to continue it by going to his apartment to hang out. We ended up (no surprise) laying on his bed and making out while listening to music. It was a total throwback to high school, except for the part where you had to worry about your parents catching you. Ah, the joys of being an adult- ice cream for breakfast, pizza three times a week, and making out on your bed without fear of being in trouble. We're both huge flirts, though, so conversation quickly moved into doing something more than just making out.
After another couple hours of teasing, touching, and kissing, things started to progress. The Blues Man has a big, bushy, 1970s-style beard, which he had been telling me the night before is great for increasing certain, shall we say, pleasurable activities. I'm not going to insist that every man I date grow one, but I will admit, it added a nice dimension to things. You know how a bit of facial hair makes kissing more fun? Well apparently a lot of facial hair makes other types of kissing more fun, too.
I'm not ashamed to say that by this point, I was practically begging to get to the next step, but the Blues Man kept laughing and saying there was no rush. “True, but I still want it!” I told him. “I can't just give it all up without a fight,” he replied. A master at the teasing, this one.
I did finally get my way. It was great, except for the pillow talk afterwards. You see, he had failed to mention that he has a girlfriend.
I was pissed. Not only did he fail to tell me this before we hooked up, or even before we kissed, or even before he agreed to go on a date with me, when it would have been MOST important, he tried to play it off like it was no big deal. If she was on board with this kind of thing and I wasn't interested in actually dating him, just hooking up, I might not have minded so much. But I'd made it pretty clear from the start that I wasn't looking for just a friend with benefits.
The situation was made even worse by the fact that apparently his “lady-friend” didn't know that he was going to be dating anybody else. He said they'd recently had a conversation about them both being allowed to, but that he hadn't actually done it yet. And they hadn't broached the topic at all of sleeping with other people.
Understandably, the mood was shattered. I didn't stick around too much longer after that, and I started texting him on my way home. First and foremost, I said, he had to tell her what had happened. If she was okay with it, I'd love to keep seeing him, but I couldn't do it in secrecy. I truly believe that the only way to have a good relationship is to be completely upfront with everyone involved. That goes double when there are multiple partners in the picture. He agreed that he would, but I'll be honest, I wasn't sure.
I finally resorted to calling my best girl friend and asking what she thought. She told me that if he wasn't willing to tell his girlfriend what happened and to not do something like that again, he wasn't the kind of guy I want to date. She's absolutely right, of course. There's a fine line between polyamory and cheating, and it's crossed as soon as you enter into secrecy.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Thursday- Text Dates?
As someone who has had her share of long-distance relationships, I often wonder what exactly defines something as a “date.” There is something that has become ubiquitous about dinner and a movie, but that isn't the only thing to do on a date. So, if it isn't the activities that make something a date, is it something about how those activities are done? Isn't a date at its core just two people spending time together in order to get to know each other better? It's an imperfect definition, but I think that's what it is.
A few months ago, I began texting with the Nigerian, who is actually the Anarchist's neighbor. We'd met in passing, and he asked the Anarchist for my phone number. The first day, we sent a couple hundred texts back and forth, spanning the period of the entire day. We talked about everything from our backgrounds to life goals to food likes and dislikes. Not only were all the basic topics from a first date covered, we delved deeper than one probably would. That's the benefit of having an 8 hour date instead of a 2 hour one. At the end of the day when I was going to bed, the Nigerian thanked me for a great “text date.”
Things with the Nigerian didn't work out, but that phrase has stuck with me.
Thursday night after getting home from the terrible date with Ill-Fitting Suit, I was lounging outside with my housemates when the Dreamer texted me asking if I wanted to go to Ikea with him. If you know me, you know that question might as well have been rhetorical. After a trip there and a short stopover at Home Depot to get him some stuff for work, we went back to my place and went to bed.
Around 2am, he woke me up. His toothache was killing him, he couldn't sleep, and he wanted to go home. He couldn't let himself out, though, so I had to get up with him to unlock the door and then lock it back. Right as I was about to climb back into bed, my phone rang- he'd forgotten his glasses. So I had to get back up, bring them down to him, and go back to bed for a second time.
This time, though, I couldn't fall back asleep. I got on Facebook to try and kill some time before trying again. I had a message waiting for me from the Blues Man.
The Blues Man is actually one of my colleagues at school. He's a leftist-leaning Jewish drummer, which seems like a strange combination, but he totally makes it work. I'd been eying him since the first class, but only recently worked up the nerve to ask him out. Over Facebook, of course. It's the new way to pass notes in class. We agreed to go out the following Saturday, but kept messaging back and forth anyway.
I responded to the Blues Man's message and went about doing other internet-type things, when another message from him popped up. After a few more messages and responses, he pointed out that we could move off the internet, and gave me his phone number. So we started texting.
That night, we texted from about 3am until 7am, constant banter back and forth. In the course of it, we talked about work, school, our families, our friends- no topic was off limits. It didn't help that it was the middle of the night, when I get a lot freer with my willingness to share. It was so much fun! Truly, I felt like I could talk to him about anything, and was so comfortable with him it was as though I'd known him for years.
Around 7am, I asked him if he wanted to meet for breakfast. It seemed only appropriate, since we'd spent the entire night building up a delicious romantic and sexual tension. He agreed, and we made plans to meet up a few hours later.
Was this a date? I think so. It was everything you'd hope for in a great first date- witty banter back and forth, opening up about your pasts, playful flirting. The only thing it lacked was a kiss at the end.
Thankfully, that came at breakfast.
A few months ago, I began texting with the Nigerian, who is actually the Anarchist's neighbor. We'd met in passing, and he asked the Anarchist for my phone number. The first day, we sent a couple hundred texts back and forth, spanning the period of the entire day. We talked about everything from our backgrounds to life goals to food likes and dislikes. Not only were all the basic topics from a first date covered, we delved deeper than one probably would. That's the benefit of having an 8 hour date instead of a 2 hour one. At the end of the day when I was going to bed, the Nigerian thanked me for a great “text date.”
Things with the Nigerian didn't work out, but that phrase has stuck with me.
Thursday night after getting home from the terrible date with Ill-Fitting Suit, I was lounging outside with my housemates when the Dreamer texted me asking if I wanted to go to Ikea with him. If you know me, you know that question might as well have been rhetorical. After a trip there and a short stopover at Home Depot to get him some stuff for work, we went back to my place and went to bed.
Around 2am, he woke me up. His toothache was killing him, he couldn't sleep, and he wanted to go home. He couldn't let himself out, though, so I had to get up with him to unlock the door and then lock it back. Right as I was about to climb back into bed, my phone rang- he'd forgotten his glasses. So I had to get back up, bring them down to him, and go back to bed for a second time.
This time, though, I couldn't fall back asleep. I got on Facebook to try and kill some time before trying again. I had a message waiting for me from the Blues Man.
The Blues Man is actually one of my colleagues at school. He's a leftist-leaning Jewish drummer, which seems like a strange combination, but he totally makes it work. I'd been eying him since the first class, but only recently worked up the nerve to ask him out. Over Facebook, of course. It's the new way to pass notes in class. We agreed to go out the following Saturday, but kept messaging back and forth anyway.
I responded to the Blues Man's message and went about doing other internet-type things, when another message from him popped up. After a few more messages and responses, he pointed out that we could move off the internet, and gave me his phone number. So we started texting.
That night, we texted from about 3am until 7am, constant banter back and forth. In the course of it, we talked about work, school, our families, our friends- no topic was off limits. It didn't help that it was the middle of the night, when I get a lot freer with my willingness to share. It was so much fun! Truly, I felt like I could talk to him about anything, and was so comfortable with him it was as though I'd known him for years.
Around 7am, I asked him if he wanted to meet for breakfast. It seemed only appropriate, since we'd spent the entire night building up a delicious romantic and sexual tension. He agreed, and we made plans to meet up a few hours later.
Was this a date? I think so. It was everything you'd hope for in a great first date- witty banter back and forth, opening up about your pasts, playful flirting. The only thing it lacked was a kiss at the end.
Thankfully, that came at breakfast.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Thursday- The Difference Between a Lawyer and a Catfish
From the moment he began messaging me on the dating website, I knew this guy wasn't going to work out. Still, for some misguided reason, I agreed to go on a date with him. I mean, after 4 months of messages, I almost felt like I owed him at least one date. Plus you never know, right? Maybe he would have come across better in person that he did in his profile.
He didn't.
He showed up in an ill-fitting suit. Admittedly, he did tell me he'd be in a suit since he was coming straight from work, but I'd thought a lawyer would have had to know how to dress himself. I was clearly wrong. I'm sure it didn't help that Ill-Fitting Suit is a public defender, so it's not even like he's making the big bucks that I thought were the only reason one became a defense attorney for in the first place. Not my place to judge his chosen profession, though.
He's picked one of his “favorite local hangouts,” and it was a local pub with a median clientele age of probably 25. That would have been fine, except he was close to 20 years older than that. If there's a sure-fire way to make yourself seem insecure about your age, that's it. When we sat down at a table, he told me that the reason he liked it was because he knew all the waitresses.
“Like Kelly,” he said, the one we had that evening. “She knows that when I tip her an absurd amount, it's not because I'm trying to sleep with her. It's just because I have extra money and want to give it to someone that needs it.”
Oookay then.
At least the food was good. I had a burger with pepper jack cheese and jalapeno slices- heavenly. The conversation kept veering into awkward places, though. Like when he started telling me about how he liked to cook from his mother's recipes. Sweet, right? Except when he told me about how when she was on her deathbed, it took her a while to die from the cancer, so she was able to write down all the recipes for him and his siblings. “When I cook them, I can feel her standing over me saying 'no, you idiot! Do it this way!'” I know that's just how I want my food prepared- with the undead presence of an Italian mother berating the cook.
Then he started telling me about how he was planning to take one of his dogs back to the breeder. “That's horrible!” I said. “How long have you had him?”
“3 years. But my other dog is getting old and sick, and I've had her longer, so I'm going to give the Newfie back to pay more attention to her.”
Great.
Lawyer- check. Mommy issues- check. Serious ethical differences (which I should have figured out with the whole defense attorney thing)- check. It was like he was created from the checklist of my nightmares!
I let him walk me back to my car and gave him an awkward hug. When I drove away, he was standing on the corner talking to some random guys hanging out in front of the library. I wonder if he was looking for new clients.
As my mom always said, what's the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?
One's a scum-sucking bottom feeder.
The other's a fish.
He didn't.
He showed up in an ill-fitting suit. Admittedly, he did tell me he'd be in a suit since he was coming straight from work, but I'd thought a lawyer would have had to know how to dress himself. I was clearly wrong. I'm sure it didn't help that Ill-Fitting Suit is a public defender, so it's not even like he's making the big bucks that I thought were the only reason one became a defense attorney for in the first place. Not my place to judge his chosen profession, though.
He's picked one of his “favorite local hangouts,” and it was a local pub with a median clientele age of probably 25. That would have been fine, except he was close to 20 years older than that. If there's a sure-fire way to make yourself seem insecure about your age, that's it. When we sat down at a table, he told me that the reason he liked it was because he knew all the waitresses.
“Like Kelly,” he said, the one we had that evening. “She knows that when I tip her an absurd amount, it's not because I'm trying to sleep with her. It's just because I have extra money and want to give it to someone that needs it.”
Oookay then.
At least the food was good. I had a burger with pepper jack cheese and jalapeno slices- heavenly. The conversation kept veering into awkward places, though. Like when he started telling me about how he liked to cook from his mother's recipes. Sweet, right? Except when he told me about how when she was on her deathbed, it took her a while to die from the cancer, so she was able to write down all the recipes for him and his siblings. “When I cook them, I can feel her standing over me saying 'no, you idiot! Do it this way!'” I know that's just how I want my food prepared- with the undead presence of an Italian mother berating the cook.
Then he started telling me about how he was planning to take one of his dogs back to the breeder. “That's horrible!” I said. “How long have you had him?”
“3 years. But my other dog is getting old and sick, and I've had her longer, so I'm going to give the Newfie back to pay more attention to her.”
Great.
Lawyer- check. Mommy issues- check. Serious ethical differences (which I should have figured out with the whole defense attorney thing)- check. It was like he was created from the checklist of my nightmares!
I let him walk me back to my car and gave him an awkward hug. When I drove away, he was standing on the corner talking to some random guys hanging out in front of the library. I wonder if he was looking for new clients.
As my mom always said, what's the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?
One's a scum-sucking bottom feeder.
The other's a fish.
Wednesday- The Christening
When the Diplomat and I were discussing when to reschedule our date, I'd first suggested we just push it back a week to Friday. (Mondays aren't generally a good day for the sex date, after all!) He couldn't do that, though, because he was closing on a new house and moving in on Saturday morning.
Wednesday was the day of the closing, and also his birthday. He'd posted up a message asking if anyone was free around noon that day to celebrate with him, and I was, so I jumped at the chance. He was supposed to be over around noon after closing, but as usual, it didn't happen on time, so he was a little late. It wasn't a big deal, though, since he let me know beforehand that he was running late. I really don't have a problem with other people being late, as long as I know what is going on and am not just sitting around waiting for them.
For lunch, the Diplomat recommended a restaurant downtown. It was a beautiful spring day, so we got a table outside and ate our sandwiches on fresh, crusty bread. When those were gone, we got dessert, of course. He asked if I wanted to go in and pick, but I let him surprise me with it. He chose some sort of chocolate espresso napoleon, and while I'm not usually a big chocolate fan, it was really good.
We happened to be in the neighborhood of his new house, so I asked if we could go over and see it. He brought a camera along to take pictures for his family, but I insisted on taking it from him when we got to the front door. I made him pose in front of it, and almost got him to smile (he's not a big picture smiler, as you may imagine). I even snapped one as he opened the door for the first time. I'm a big dork, I know, but that's the kind of picture I would want after I bought my first house!
He showed me around the place, and it's been really nicely maintained. I've heard a lot of horror stories recently of people buying houses were the previous owners clearly didn't care about its condition, either because of looming foreclosure or what have you, but it's obvious he didn't have this problem. He gave me a tour of the house from bottom to top, ending in the upstairs bedroom that spans the entire top floor.
Now, I'm sure you know what's going to happen next. New house? Empty room? Two days after the sex date? That's right, that house needed a good christening!
I think I've mentioned in a previous post that I always carry condoms with my in my purse, and this kind of situation is exactly why. It would have completely ruined the spontaneity of the moment to have had to run to a store to go buy some condoms, and there's no way anything was going to happen without one. And, thanks to my habit of carrying two condoms instead of just one (you never know, after all! The only thing worse than having to stop a progression towards sex because you don't have condoms is having to stop sex in progress because you don't have a spare if one breaks) we were able to put his friend's advice of “suck it up and go a second time” into practice.
Of course, it was a completely empty house, so there was no trashcan, towel, or even toilet paper to help clean up with afterwards. I don't think I've gone out in public post-coitus like that since high school, but it was totally worth it.
Wednesday was the day of the closing, and also his birthday. He'd posted up a message asking if anyone was free around noon that day to celebrate with him, and I was, so I jumped at the chance. He was supposed to be over around noon after closing, but as usual, it didn't happen on time, so he was a little late. It wasn't a big deal, though, since he let me know beforehand that he was running late. I really don't have a problem with other people being late, as long as I know what is going on and am not just sitting around waiting for them.
For lunch, the Diplomat recommended a restaurant downtown. It was a beautiful spring day, so we got a table outside and ate our sandwiches on fresh, crusty bread. When those were gone, we got dessert, of course. He asked if I wanted to go in and pick, but I let him surprise me with it. He chose some sort of chocolate espresso napoleon, and while I'm not usually a big chocolate fan, it was really good.
We happened to be in the neighborhood of his new house, so I asked if we could go over and see it. He brought a camera along to take pictures for his family, but I insisted on taking it from him when we got to the front door. I made him pose in front of it, and almost got him to smile (he's not a big picture smiler, as you may imagine). I even snapped one as he opened the door for the first time. I'm a big dork, I know, but that's the kind of picture I would want after I bought my first house!
He showed me around the place, and it's been really nicely maintained. I've heard a lot of horror stories recently of people buying houses were the previous owners clearly didn't care about its condition, either because of looming foreclosure or what have you, but it's obvious he didn't have this problem. He gave me a tour of the house from bottom to top, ending in the upstairs bedroom that spans the entire top floor.
Now, I'm sure you know what's going to happen next. New house? Empty room? Two days after the sex date? That's right, that house needed a good christening!
I think I've mentioned in a previous post that I always carry condoms with my in my purse, and this kind of situation is exactly why. It would have completely ruined the spontaneity of the moment to have had to run to a store to go buy some condoms, and there's no way anything was going to happen without one. And, thanks to my habit of carrying two condoms instead of just one (you never know, after all! The only thing worse than having to stop a progression towards sex because you don't have condoms is having to stop sex in progress because you don't have a spare if one breaks) we were able to put his friend's advice of “suck it up and go a second time” into practice.
Of course, it was a completely empty house, so there was no trashcan, towel, or even toilet paper to help clean up with afterwards. I don't think I've gone out in public post-coitus like that since high school, but it was totally worth it.
Tuesday- Bedtime
Tuesdays are my long days- I start work before 8am and don't finish until 9pm. By the end of it, I'm understandably dragging. Still, when the Dreamer texted me as I was driving home that he had a horrible toothache and didn't have any orajel, I immediately offered to bring him some. I thought I had some at home, so I went there first, but couldn't find it. I soon gave up in the search, said “screw it,” and went to Walgreens for a new tube.
When the Dreamer opened the door, the first words out of his mouth were “what's wrong?”
“Nothing,” I told him, “I'm just tired.”
He cocked his head to the side, looked at me, and said “come to bed with me.”
That was just what I needed to hear.
When the Dreamer opened the door, the first words out of his mouth were “what's wrong?”
“Nothing,” I told him, “I'm just tired.”
He cocked his head to the side, looked at me, and said “come to bed with me.”
That was just what I needed to hear.
Monday- The Diplomat Scores a Goal
Since I'd canceled the date with the Diplomat on Saturday night, we rescheduled for Monday. Now, it was the third date, and you all know what Michael Scott says. The third date is the sex date. Plus he had invited me over to cook for me- how much more obvious can it get? I was totally okay with that, though, don't get me wrong.
When I got to his house, he greeted me at the door but then had to run back to the kitchen, where he was tending to his risotto. That's right, he was making risotto! I know my foodie friends all claim it's not so hard, but I think they're just saying that to try and show off. I know it's not something I would even know where to begin with.
He had a little table set up in the corner of the living room with two chairs and a bottle of wine. It was sweet in that “romantic empty restaurant movie trope” way. It's rare enough to get a man to cook for me; to have him go all out on the set up was even more amazing.
Speaking of amazing, the food was delicious. But then he asked if I wanted dessert (for my obvious answer, see the tags at the end of this post.) He went to the kitchen, then brought back...homemade chocolate mousse.
If it hadn't been the sex date before that, it was now. By the time I finished my delicious, creamy, light-as-air chocolate mousse and my second (or was it third?) glass of wine, I was in that giggly, tipsy, bubbly mood where everything in the world seems great. It's also the tipping point for me between innocent flirt and “no really, let's go make out on the couch” flirt. So that's what we did.
Now, I know that I said the first time I met the Diplomat, he was overly reserved. So much so that I nearly didn't go out with him a second time. But given a few dates, some wine, and some positive reinforcement, that man can shed his inhibition. We made out for a little while on the couch, slowly shedding clothing until it got to the point of “maybe we should move this to the bedroom.” I'd been nervous because he seemed so much more submissive than I generally like in bed, but he was able to step it up just enough that it worked for me.
I've gotta tell you, women should be dating more soccer players, even not very good ones. Any man who can run like they have to for extended periods of time has the...ahem...requisite thigh muscles and stamina to do a good job in bed. After we cuddled for a while, he told me the best advice he'd ever been given about sex. I'll paraphrase it here: “you may be tired and want to go to sleep, but suck it up and do it a second time.”
How about a hearty amen to that!
By that point, it was nearly midnight, and I had to be up at 6am to get to class on time Tuesday morning. The Diplomat offered to wake up with me (he had to go to work anyway) if I wanted to stay there, and I was tired enough that I took him up on it. I don't think we took up even a third of his massive king-sized bed. I got a totally new perspective of him the next morning, though, when he “happened” to have a spare unopened toothbrush available for me to use. Only two kinds of guys have spare unopened toothbrushes available- the smooth players and the oral health nuts. I'm just going to hope that the Diplomat falls into the former category.
When I got to his house, he greeted me at the door but then had to run back to the kitchen, where he was tending to his risotto. That's right, he was making risotto! I know my foodie friends all claim it's not so hard, but I think they're just saying that to try and show off. I know it's not something I would even know where to begin with.
He had a little table set up in the corner of the living room with two chairs and a bottle of wine. It was sweet in that “romantic empty restaurant movie trope” way. It's rare enough to get a man to cook for me; to have him go all out on the set up was even more amazing.
Speaking of amazing, the food was delicious. But then he asked if I wanted dessert (for my obvious answer, see the tags at the end of this post.) He went to the kitchen, then brought back...homemade chocolate mousse.
If it hadn't been the sex date before that, it was now. By the time I finished my delicious, creamy, light-as-air chocolate mousse and my second (or was it third?) glass of wine, I was in that giggly, tipsy, bubbly mood where everything in the world seems great. It's also the tipping point for me between innocent flirt and “no really, let's go make out on the couch” flirt. So that's what we did.
Now, I know that I said the first time I met the Diplomat, he was overly reserved. So much so that I nearly didn't go out with him a second time. But given a few dates, some wine, and some positive reinforcement, that man can shed his inhibition. We made out for a little while on the couch, slowly shedding clothing until it got to the point of “maybe we should move this to the bedroom.” I'd been nervous because he seemed so much more submissive than I generally like in bed, but he was able to step it up just enough that it worked for me.
I've gotta tell you, women should be dating more soccer players, even not very good ones. Any man who can run like they have to for extended periods of time has the...ahem...requisite thigh muscles and stamina to do a good job in bed. After we cuddled for a while, he told me the best advice he'd ever been given about sex. I'll paraphrase it here: “you may be tired and want to go to sleep, but suck it up and do it a second time.”
How about a hearty amen to that!
By that point, it was nearly midnight, and I had to be up at 6am to get to class on time Tuesday morning. The Diplomat offered to wake up with me (he had to go to work anyway) if I wanted to stay there, and I was tired enough that I took him up on it. I don't think we took up even a third of his massive king-sized bed. I got a totally new perspective of him the next morning, though, when he “happened” to have a spare unopened toothbrush available for me to use. Only two kinds of guys have spare unopened toothbrushes available- the smooth players and the oral health nuts. I'm just going to hope that the Diplomat falls into the former category.
The Weekend with the Dreamer
I've been such a bad poster! Between schoolwork and going on dates, I haven't had time to write about them! It's left me with a two week backlog, which I am going to try to rectify ASAP.
I spent a lot of time with the Dreamer the week before last. He needed to borrow a tall ladder from my roommate, so he came over Saturday to pick it up. I'd had a date planned with the Diplomat but wasn't feeling well, so when the Dreamer came over, I invited him to stay for dinner. I know, it might seem strange that I wasn't feeling good enough to see the Diplomat but wanted to see the Dreamer, but that's the difference between a boyfriend and someone I'm dating. When I don't feel well, I want my boyfriend there to cuddle with.
My roommate's friends also came over that night for dinner. The Dreamer was really nervous at first about interrupting them and (in his words) “bringing the party down” because he was exhausted after a long week of work, but we convinced him to stay, and all ended up having fun. I was feeling well enough by then to have some of the fancy cheese and delicious red wine- it would take a lot for me to not be well enough for that! Unfortunately, we also had champagne to toast one of my roommate's new jobs. Red wine + champagne = not a good combination. I thought I was going to spend the rest of the night with the Dreamer holding my hair back.
He had to leave in the morning for some more project work (thus the ladder-borrowing), but came back Sunday evening for some fun- dyeing easter eggs! None of us (me, the Dreamer, or my roommates) are “believers,” but just like Santa doesn't belong only to the Christians, we decided we could enjoy the fun of easter eggs without having to believe in any of the easter things to go along with it. Before he got there, my roommates and I went out for clown cones at Baskin Robbins. The Dreamer wasn't answering his phone or my texts about when he was coming over, and I was starting to get annoyed, so I almost purposely didn't get him a clown cone. I changed my mind, though, so I wasn't a totally heartless girlfriend.
Red wine, easter eggs, and clown cones. Three ingredients in the making of a great weekend.
I spent a lot of time with the Dreamer the week before last. He needed to borrow a tall ladder from my roommate, so he came over Saturday to pick it up. I'd had a date planned with the Diplomat but wasn't feeling well, so when the Dreamer came over, I invited him to stay for dinner. I know, it might seem strange that I wasn't feeling good enough to see the Diplomat but wanted to see the Dreamer, but that's the difference between a boyfriend and someone I'm dating. When I don't feel well, I want my boyfriend there to cuddle with.
My roommate's friends also came over that night for dinner. The Dreamer was really nervous at first about interrupting them and (in his words) “bringing the party down” because he was exhausted after a long week of work, but we convinced him to stay, and all ended up having fun. I was feeling well enough by then to have some of the fancy cheese and delicious red wine- it would take a lot for me to not be well enough for that! Unfortunately, we also had champagne to toast one of my roommate's new jobs. Red wine + champagne = not a good combination. I thought I was going to spend the rest of the night with the Dreamer holding my hair back.
He had to leave in the morning for some more project work (thus the ladder-borrowing), but came back Sunday evening for some fun- dyeing easter eggs! None of us (me, the Dreamer, or my roommates) are “believers,” but just like Santa doesn't belong only to the Christians, we decided we could enjoy the fun of easter eggs without having to believe in any of the easter things to go along with it. Before he got there, my roommates and I went out for clown cones at Baskin Robbins. The Dreamer wasn't answering his phone or my texts about when he was coming over, and I was starting to get annoyed, so I almost purposely didn't get him a clown cone. I changed my mind, though, so I wasn't a totally heartless girlfriend.
Red wine, easter eggs, and clown cones. Three ingredients in the making of a great weekend.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Friday- Choking the Smurf
I'll admit, I went into the date already not in the best of moods, but I still wanted to give the guy a fair chance. We'd chatted online and talked on the phone once and I'd enjoyed them. So I ordered a glass of Sangria, put on a smile, and made the best of it.
Unfortunately, the best of it was that Sangria.
We went to a trendy cafe/bar/tea shop he suggested. When I got there, I discovered that it was a live music night. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but we somehow managed to sit directly below a hidden speaker. Every time the trio hit the chorus of their songs, the music got so loud it completely drowned out our conversation. That left us to stare uncomfortably at each other, waiting to be able to finish our sentences.
That is, when we had sentences to finish. We also spent a fair amount of time in that awkward silence where you both look at your hands and try to steal glances at your watch without the other person noticing. When we did find things to talk about, they were often disjointed and strange. At one point we got on the topic of Smurfs. Let me tell you, this man knew way too much about childhood cartoon characters. I tried to make that passing joke about what color does a Smurf turn if you choke it, and he had an actual answer! “Purple,” he said. “They had an episode once where a Smurf was choking, and it started to turn purple.”
Choking the Smurf just sounds like a bad euphemism for masturbation, if you ask me.
The problem was, this man was gorgeous. He's half Chinese and half white, and at least 6'2”. He had those impossibly broad shoulders, longish, tousled hair, and a huge smile. And he showed up in a motorcycle jacket and band tee! I just wish he'd had the personality to match the body.
The kicker was towards the end of the night, when he started talking about his ex-girlfriends. He started by telling me about the time he was making out with a girl at a party, and she bust out crying. I laughed uncomfortably, and I guess he took that as a sign of encouragement. He then began complaining about his ex-girlfriends that wouldn't put out.
Record screech.
Yeah, that's right. He might as well have come out and asked, “Will YOU sleep with me, or am I going to be complaining about you to a future date?” I don't think so.
So, Smurf Guy, you need to work on your skills. I even told him as much when I emailed him a few days (and two missed calls from him) later to say that I wasn't interested in a second date. He asked me why, and in the interest of sparing the world from yet another hot but useless man, I answered honestly. “You need to work on letting your personality show through [subtext: you are bland], work on finding common ground with your date to talk about [subtext: at least pretend like you're interested in them as a person], and don't complain about your exes on a date [subtext: seriously. Don't complain about your ex-girlfriends on a date!!!].
P.S. Anybody who likes Spiderman more than Batman should be immediately suspect. That's all I'm saying about that.
Unfortunately, the best of it was that Sangria.
We went to a trendy cafe/bar/tea shop he suggested. When I got there, I discovered that it was a live music night. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but we somehow managed to sit directly below a hidden speaker. Every time the trio hit the chorus of their songs, the music got so loud it completely drowned out our conversation. That left us to stare uncomfortably at each other, waiting to be able to finish our sentences.
That is, when we had sentences to finish. We also spent a fair amount of time in that awkward silence where you both look at your hands and try to steal glances at your watch without the other person noticing. When we did find things to talk about, they were often disjointed and strange. At one point we got on the topic of Smurfs. Let me tell you, this man knew way too much about childhood cartoon characters. I tried to make that passing joke about what color does a Smurf turn if you choke it, and he had an actual answer! “Purple,” he said. “They had an episode once where a Smurf was choking, and it started to turn purple.”
Choking the Smurf just sounds like a bad euphemism for masturbation, if you ask me.
The problem was, this man was gorgeous. He's half Chinese and half white, and at least 6'2”. He had those impossibly broad shoulders, longish, tousled hair, and a huge smile. And he showed up in a motorcycle jacket and band tee! I just wish he'd had the personality to match the body.
The kicker was towards the end of the night, when he started talking about his ex-girlfriends. He started by telling me about the time he was making out with a girl at a party, and she bust out crying. I laughed uncomfortably, and I guess he took that as a sign of encouragement. He then began complaining about his ex-girlfriends that wouldn't put out.
Record screech.
Yeah, that's right. He might as well have come out and asked, “Will YOU sleep with me, or am I going to be complaining about you to a future date?” I don't think so.
So, Smurf Guy, you need to work on your skills. I even told him as much when I emailed him a few days (and two missed calls from him) later to say that I wasn't interested in a second date. He asked me why, and in the interest of sparing the world from yet another hot but useless man, I answered honestly. “You need to work on letting your personality show through [subtext: you are bland], work on finding common ground with your date to talk about [subtext: at least pretend like you're interested in them as a person], and don't complain about your exes on a date [subtext: seriously. Don't complain about your ex-girlfriends on a date!!!].
P.S. Anybody who likes Spiderman more than Batman should be immediately suspect. That's all I'm saying about that.
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