When I found out a band I like was playing downtown, I decided I was going to go, whether or not I had someone to go with. Just in case, though, I bought an extra ticket. When I offered it up to my friends and guys I'm dating, Mr. Dimple was the first to respond. That meant he won. A few hours later, though, I got an email from the Anarchist saying (half-jokingly) that he couldn't believe I didn't ask him, since I knew he liked that type of music. I told him he should still get his own ticket and then he could hang out with us.
Was that rude of me to Mr. Dimple? Quite possibly. I know some guys who are okay with polyamory in the abstract don't want to be confronted with it in the form of meeting the Other Significant Others. There was no way I was going to un-invite Mr. Dimple, though, and the Anarchist seemed so bummed that he didn't have anyone to go to the show with.
Mr. Dimple came over to my house a few hours before the show. We'd planned to go out to dinner, but hadn't decided where, when he told me that he was in a sort of foul mood and that a “really good hamburger” would help. I knew just the place- the bar/restaurant down the street from me. The food was good, the beer was cold, the waitress was hot- the perfect combination. It was already a great dinner, when the waitress asked if we wanted dessert. As she rattled off the list of possibilities, she ended with the “salted caramel cupcake, optional with or without bacon.”
She must have seen my eyes light up. I looked to Mr. Dimple for support, but he just laughed. “You want one,” she told me. “Salted caramel cupcake with bacon? Yes? Do it. You know you want to.” Now that is the kind of peer pressure I can get behind!
It was absolutely amazing. Sweet and savory and salty and greasy. The problem is, I now know there is such a delicious creature lurking just a few blocks away from my house.
When we got back to my place from dinner, I pointed out that my roommates were both gone. I seduced Mr. Dimple with the words, “I have condoms this time.” That was all it took.
Mr. Dimple likes to say that he hates the stereotype of Irish men having small penises (I'd never heard that as a stereotype, but okay.) I don't have the heart to tell him, though, that he doesn't exactly prove it wrong. Still, it's all in how you use it. The funnest (not funniest!) part is how long he orgasms. It goes on forever! By the end of it, I was giggling with the near absurdity of it. Most of his skill lies in the oral arts, though- and that's not a complaint. Every girl needs a guy who can blow her mind while he blows her....you know.
The show was great. Mr. Dimple and the Anarchist didn't really say anything to each other, but it didn't seem like either felt terribly awkward. I kept in mind that I was on a date with Mr. Dimple, though, so he was the one I showed affection to. My favorite part was when I (slightly drunkenly) tried to adjust my halter top. When I looked up, both of them did the quick eye-shift towards the ceiling. “You can look,” I told them, “you've both already seen them!”
Just like the last time he stayed the night, Mr. Dimple originally needed to get the car back to his girlfriend pretty early the next morning. In the middle of the show, though, she sent him a text. “I can take the train to work tomorrow,” it told him. “But she better be hot.” Now that is love!
He did spend the night, and since we weren't in a hurry when we got up the next morning, Mr. Dimple offered to make me breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast- it's what I usually have, but it tastes even better when you have a cute guy making it for you. When he finally left in the late morning, my roommate pointed out that it was the latest a guy had ever stayed in the morning. The Dreamer used to have to get up ridiculously early for work, and last time Mr. Dimple was over he had to leave early, too. It's kind of nice to get an early start on the day, but sleeping in and having a lazy morning together definitely has its perks, too.
Showing posts with label the Anarchist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Anarchist. Show all posts
Monday, May 3, 2010
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.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday Part 2- Steak and BJ Day
When we went out earlier in the week, I mentioned to the Dreamer the concept of Steak & BJ Day. For those of you who don't know, it's on March 14, exactly one month after Valentine's Day. Since Valentine's is all about what women supposedly want (flowers, hearts, chocolate), Steak & BJ Day is what the guys want- namely steak and a bj. It's their reward for remembering Valentine's, basically.
Even though the Dreamer and I weren't together over Valentine's Day, celebrating Steak & BJ Day was definitely a priority. I was out of town on the 14th, so we picked Saturday night as the makeup. Now, officially the woman is supposed to cook the steak for the guy, but I'm not a griller. Instead, we went out. He was a little worried about the price of the steaks, but I told him it just meant I'd be expecting more for my birthday in a couple months.
After dinner, we had tickets to a burlesque show at a local club. Just to show how small the world really is, the Dreamer had mentioned to me on Wednesday that he'd been wanting to see these performers. I mentioned it to the Anarchist the next day, who told me that he is friends with one of the side acts, and they were performing Saturday! I got on the phone to the Dreamer, bought tickets, and so on Saturday we found ourselves standing outside a club with a bunch of hipsters.
The show was great, but the best part was the Dreamer offering to buy my beers since I'd bought his dinner. Since it was a hipster bar, they had Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. Yum! I'm a total lightweight, though, so the Dreamer had to be responsible enough to be able to drive home that night. At one point, though, I reached into my purse, pulled something out, and put it in his hand. He looked down at what it was, blushed furiously red, and shoved his hand in his pocket.
It was a red g-string.
I leaned over and whispered to him, “I was thinking, what could be better than a blow job? A blow job in stripper clothes!” He enthusiastically agreed.
By the time we left the club, I was drunk. Not falling down drunk, mind you, but definitely inebriated. He loaded me into the car, helped me up the stairs to his room, and started to help me sit down on the bed before I reminded him about the stripper clothes. I made him close his eyes while I quickly changed into a red and black polkadot number.
After I told him he could look, I asked, “do you like me skirt?”
“That's not a skirt!” he said, “it's a strip of material!”
In other words, he liked it.
I sat him down in his desk chair and gave him the best lapdance I could in my compromised state. Unlike a strip club, he was allowed to touch. Of course, Steak and BJ Day wouldn't be complete without the bj.
The next morning, we slept in late and decided to go to my favorite local diner for breakfast. We had the rest of the day to spend together, so we decided to go to a movie. First, the Dreamer wanted to show me the next apartment he's getting.
Like I've mentioned, he's currently living with 4 other guys in a big rowhouse. Lately, though, he's been feeling uncomfortable being a 30 year old professional without his own place. So he's moving soon into a two bedroom apartment with only one roommate. The place is gorgeous, and I couldn't help but notice that the two bedrooms aren't adjoining. Yay for not having to whisper while having sex!
We went to see the movie, then decided it was such a beautiful day, we needed to spend part of it outside. We grabbed some beer from a corner store and went to my place to hang out in the backyard. When he finally left late that night, I couldn't help but remark on how great it felt to spend almost an entire weekend with him.
Even though the Dreamer and I weren't together over Valentine's Day, celebrating Steak & BJ Day was definitely a priority. I was out of town on the 14th, so we picked Saturday night as the makeup. Now, officially the woman is supposed to cook the steak for the guy, but I'm not a griller. Instead, we went out. He was a little worried about the price of the steaks, but I told him it just meant I'd be expecting more for my birthday in a couple months.
After dinner, we had tickets to a burlesque show at a local club. Just to show how small the world really is, the Dreamer had mentioned to me on Wednesday that he'd been wanting to see these performers. I mentioned it to the Anarchist the next day, who told me that he is friends with one of the side acts, and they were performing Saturday! I got on the phone to the Dreamer, bought tickets, and so on Saturday we found ourselves standing outside a club with a bunch of hipsters.
The show was great, but the best part was the Dreamer offering to buy my beers since I'd bought his dinner. Since it was a hipster bar, they had Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap. Yum! I'm a total lightweight, though, so the Dreamer had to be responsible enough to be able to drive home that night. At one point, though, I reached into my purse, pulled something out, and put it in his hand. He looked down at what it was, blushed furiously red, and shoved his hand in his pocket.
It was a red g-string.
I leaned over and whispered to him, “I was thinking, what could be better than a blow job? A blow job in stripper clothes!” He enthusiastically agreed.
By the time we left the club, I was drunk. Not falling down drunk, mind you, but definitely inebriated. He loaded me into the car, helped me up the stairs to his room, and started to help me sit down on the bed before I reminded him about the stripper clothes. I made him close his eyes while I quickly changed into a red and black polkadot number.
After I told him he could look, I asked, “do you like me skirt?”
“That's not a skirt!” he said, “it's a strip of material!”
In other words, he liked it.
I sat him down in his desk chair and gave him the best lapdance I could in my compromised state. Unlike a strip club, he was allowed to touch. Of course, Steak and BJ Day wouldn't be complete without the bj.
The next morning, we slept in late and decided to go to my favorite local diner for breakfast. We had the rest of the day to spend together, so we decided to go to a movie. First, the Dreamer wanted to show me the next apartment he's getting.
Like I've mentioned, he's currently living with 4 other guys in a big rowhouse. Lately, though, he's been feeling uncomfortable being a 30 year old professional without his own place. So he's moving soon into a two bedroom apartment with only one roommate. The place is gorgeous, and I couldn't help but notice that the two bedrooms aren't adjoining. Yay for not having to whisper while having sex!
We went to see the movie, then decided it was such a beautiful day, we needed to spend part of it outside. We grabbed some beer from a corner store and went to my place to hang out in the backyard. When he finally left late that night, I couldn't help but remark on how great it felt to spend almost an entire weekend with him.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thursday- Taking Back Dessert, Pt. 1
What, you thought I was just kidding when I said I was doing it?
Thursday night, the Anarchist and I had tentative plans to go to a drag show. When it came down to it, though, I just wasn't in the mood to be social. Instead, I suggested we go get dessert.
At some point in the last week, the weather has suddenly made the jump from winter to spring. Beautiful 70 degree days, warm-ish nights- it's all I can do to keep myself indoors to get work done. This beautiful weather has also started off the season of ice cream. Unfortunately, this meant when the Anarchist suggested gelato for dessert, we weren't the only ones with that idea.
The place was packed and the line was long, but we started talking to the couple in line behind us and debating about which gelato flavors we were going to try. I finally decided on cardamom and pistachio. I think cardamom gelato needs to be added to my death row meal. It's creamy and spicy and sweet, all at the same time. I'm salivating just thinking about it!
As we were driving back to his house, the Anarchist and I were talking. I don't remember what I was telling him about, but I kept getting halfway through my sentence only for him to interrupt me. I'd start again, and he'd interrupt again! Finally I snapped at him- “can I PLEASE finish my sentence?” Let me tell you, that's the quickest way to ruin an evening. He apologized, but it's been a constant problem with him. It's hard to tell sometimes if he's even listening; he'll get really quiet while I'm talking, and then go off in a completely different direction of conversation that has nothing to do with whatever I've just said.
Honestly, he'd make a really crappy boyfriend for me. We still have enough fun in other ways, though, that I like hanging out with him most of the time. They can't all be perfect, after all.
Thursday night, the Anarchist and I had tentative plans to go to a drag show. When it came down to it, though, I just wasn't in the mood to be social. Instead, I suggested we go get dessert.
At some point in the last week, the weather has suddenly made the jump from winter to spring. Beautiful 70 degree days, warm-ish nights- it's all I can do to keep myself indoors to get work done. This beautiful weather has also started off the season of ice cream. Unfortunately, this meant when the Anarchist suggested gelato for dessert, we weren't the only ones with that idea.
The place was packed and the line was long, but we started talking to the couple in line behind us and debating about which gelato flavors we were going to try. I finally decided on cardamom and pistachio. I think cardamom gelato needs to be added to my death row meal. It's creamy and spicy and sweet, all at the same time. I'm salivating just thinking about it!
As we were driving back to his house, the Anarchist and I were talking. I don't remember what I was telling him about, but I kept getting halfway through my sentence only for him to interrupt me. I'd start again, and he'd interrupt again! Finally I snapped at him- “can I PLEASE finish my sentence?” Let me tell you, that's the quickest way to ruin an evening. He apologized, but it's been a constant problem with him. It's hard to tell sometimes if he's even listening; he'll get really quiet while I'm talking, and then go off in a completely different direction of conversation that has nothing to do with whatever I've just said.
Honestly, he'd make a really crappy boyfriend for me. We still have enough fun in other ways, though, that I like hanging out with him most of the time. They can't all be perfect, after all.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday- Anarchists eat fancy food?
This has been a busy week. Six dates so far, with four different people...where to begin.
Thursday night the Anarchist was back in town from a conference, so it was the first time we'd gotten together in a week. I think this was our fourth date, but I could be off- they tend to be long and multi-faceted, which makes it hard to keep them straight. What to say about the Anarchist. I like to describe him as the proto-hipster- the person all the hipsters would love to be. Don't think that makes him an actual hipster, though, he'd kill me if I gave that impression. It's just that he's a chain-smoking, glasses-wearing librarian who has crazy hair, a bushy beard, and a penchant for Baltic music. He's big into labor movement issues, lives in a building with a collective, and decorates with protest posters. Did I mention he plays the accordion? In a marching band! It's awesome.
This time it was a toss-up between an Afghan restaurant I'd mentioned I'd wanted to try and a French restaurant he'd just heard about. Since our last date was for Ethiopian food, we went with the European option. It was a very nice place; I felt a little underdressed in my jeans, but I'm (sadly) not used to going out to nice restaurants without advance warning. Even so, the reason I stood out wasn't because of my jeans, it was because of my date. Unless we're walking around the "artsy" neighborhoods, people tend to look at him. Not in a mean way, mind you, he's just a “stands out in a crowd” type of guy.
The food was good. I wanted to get escargot- I mean really, where else can you eat snails if not a fancy French restaurant?- but when the Anarchist heard that I'd never had oysters, he insisted we get some. They're definitely not my thing- slimy, briny, and flavorless. Yuck. The main courses were SUPERB, though. I got perfectly cooked salmon with a beurre rouge sauce, but the best part came on the side- bacon wrapped fennel. The Anarchist got the duck leg confit, which I had also been eying. I have this problem with food, though- I can't eat anything that comes on the bone. He knows about this, so without me even asking he cut the bone out so I could try some. We both agreed that mine was better, though. One of my favorite things about him is that he loves ordering dessert as much as I do. I'm not one of those women who is shy about eating in front of a date, but I still think it's rude to insist on desert when you're not the one paying. That's not a problem with him, and the carrot cake was fantastic.
After dinner, we went back to his place to watch Shortbus. If you've never seen it, it's not for the conservative-types. It's all about sex (the main story line is a woman in the search of an orgasm) and is known for showing actual sex instead of that fake Hollywood stuff. I thought the ending was sad, but he interpreted it as happy. I think most of that was because of the marching band, which automatically makes him happy! By the end of the movie I was drunk on bourbon and Dr. Pepper (hey, a girl can't be picky when it's not her house!) so I *had* to spend the night. Darn.
Friday morning we got up and went to this local diner down the street for breakfast. It's exactly what a corner diner should be- counter seating only, one grill, women behind the counter who know their regulars by name and order. On the way back we stopped by an Indian grocery. I'd been dating a girl for a while (more about her later) who got me hooked on these Indian snack foods. Imagine chex mix with cumin. So good. After I got those, I had to get home to get ready for my second date of the day.
Thursday night the Anarchist was back in town from a conference, so it was the first time we'd gotten together in a week. I think this was our fourth date, but I could be off- they tend to be long and multi-faceted, which makes it hard to keep them straight. What to say about the Anarchist. I like to describe him as the proto-hipster- the person all the hipsters would love to be. Don't think that makes him an actual hipster, though, he'd kill me if I gave that impression. It's just that he's a chain-smoking, glasses-wearing librarian who has crazy hair, a bushy beard, and a penchant for Baltic music. He's big into labor movement issues, lives in a building with a collective, and decorates with protest posters. Did I mention he plays the accordion? In a marching band! It's awesome.
This time it was a toss-up between an Afghan restaurant I'd mentioned I'd wanted to try and a French restaurant he'd just heard about. Since our last date was for Ethiopian food, we went with the European option. It was a very nice place; I felt a little underdressed in my jeans, but I'm (sadly) not used to going out to nice restaurants without advance warning. Even so, the reason I stood out wasn't because of my jeans, it was because of my date. Unless we're walking around the "artsy" neighborhoods, people tend to look at him. Not in a mean way, mind you, he's just a “stands out in a crowd” type of guy.
The food was good. I wanted to get escargot- I mean really, where else can you eat snails if not a fancy French restaurant?- but when the Anarchist heard that I'd never had oysters, he insisted we get some. They're definitely not my thing- slimy, briny, and flavorless. Yuck. The main courses were SUPERB, though. I got perfectly cooked salmon with a beurre rouge sauce, but the best part came on the side- bacon wrapped fennel. The Anarchist got the duck leg confit, which I had also been eying. I have this problem with food, though- I can't eat anything that comes on the bone. He knows about this, so without me even asking he cut the bone out so I could try some. We both agreed that mine was better, though. One of my favorite things about him is that he loves ordering dessert as much as I do. I'm not one of those women who is shy about eating in front of a date, but I still think it's rude to insist on desert when you're not the one paying. That's not a problem with him, and the carrot cake was fantastic.
After dinner, we went back to his place to watch Shortbus. If you've never seen it, it's not for the conservative-types. It's all about sex (the main story line is a woman in the search of an orgasm) and is known for showing actual sex instead of that fake Hollywood stuff. I thought the ending was sad, but he interpreted it as happy. I think most of that was because of the marching band, which automatically makes him happy! By the end of the movie I was drunk on bourbon and Dr. Pepper (hey, a girl can't be picky when it's not her house!) so I *had* to spend the night. Darn.
Friday morning we got up and went to this local diner down the street for breakfast. It's exactly what a corner diner should be- counter seating only, one grill, women behind the counter who know their regulars by name and order. On the way back we stopped by an Indian grocery. I'd been dating a girl for a while (more about her later) who got me hooked on these Indian snack foods. Imagine chex mix with cumin. So good. After I got those, I had to get home to get ready for my second date of the day.
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