Blue eyes. Over 6 ft tall. Beard. Possesses the ability to give amazing orgasms. Nope, I’m not describing some sort of superhero. I’m describing the last two (non-family) important men in my life, both KJ and CS. This is where the similarities end. I really shouldn’t be making comparisons between the two as relationships I had with CS and my current relationship with KJ is vastly different. But I can’t help it.
The main reason is probably that CS is back in my life, by text, on a daily basis. We’re friends with a tiny bit of flirtiness, and we know where the line is. Of course if I’m going to be honest with myself, there are times when I’d still love to hear his voice, as it probably remains my favorite voice to listen to.
CS matches my wit better than KJ. KJ matches me better emotionally. But there’s no such thing as a Build-A-Bro workshop in a mall. KJ is truly a male version of me, while CS balanced me. I’m not trying to “decide” between the two as that decision has already been made. I know who I am with and want to be with. Maybe with the friendship with CS, I’ve got the best of both worlds now.
I’ve always had two theories, one of which I have disproven to myself. The first is that there really is no such things as friends with benefits. I’m sticking to that. Usually one person catches feelings and the other doesn’t. Or, in my case, after months of swearing we didn’t want a relationship, KJ and I fell for each other. The other theory that I’ve disproven is that exes can’t be friends. I do still have a slight emotional attachment to CS, but at the same time like where we are now. And if I’m being super honest, there are times when I really miss him and would love to see him again. But don’t know if that would be wise.
Totally unrelated to the post but it’s a big deal so I had to include. Congrats to my man, my KJ, of thirty days of sobriety today. I’m so proud of him, and I can still see when he struggles. For example, we went to a huge event with two other couples last week with 40,000 people, who were openly walking down the street drinking. He was shaking thirty minutes in but refused to leave because it was something I wanted to do. Little did he understand that his well being is way more important to me than being at any event, Our relationship has its ups and downs. It’s not easy. But he’s truly killing this sobriety thing.
I laid in bed last night coming up with the whole new blog entry in my head. Except, today I’m writing something different than I envisioned. Alanis Morrissette was going to be my theme song today. Because the little demon in my head was trying her (my demon is a chick that I picture as Elizabeth Hurley in the movie Bedazzled) best to convince me that CS was out getting fucked by someone else. (He wasn’t). I got in my own head and came up with a whole post about getting played emotionally this time and how much worse it was than being used for sex. And then I was wrong. So I had to blog about what’s in me that causes my vivid imagination to make up the worst case scenarios instead of just laying back and using a toy while thinking about the way it felt when he kissed me that afternoon.
I haven’t mentioned much about CS yet, I think for fear of jinxing it. And this post isn’t really about him, but about me. But here’s the background: He’s 6’3, hot, and has a big dick. He is great at foreplay and keeps my mind blown and head spinning at the multiple orgasms. We talk almost everyday, which is where Usher comes in, (actually on the phone, heller 1994!), connect like hell mentally too, and is the first guy that seems to be as crazy about me as I am about him. He’s my guy, I’m his girl. (We mostly forego the boyfriend/girlfriend label as we are at the age where we are getting asked to leave bars for getting fingered rather than the homecoming dance.) He drove to my “Cheers”, met my friends. On a side note, we are waiting to have sex. Which is terrifying. and exciting. I keep having this whole Baby from Dirty Dancing moment in my head. Because I think that’s how I might feel afterwards.
So what’s the problem? Me. I have Post Traumatic Swiping Disorder. (There’s a whole market you haven’t tapped for DSM-IV diagnoses American Psychological Association). On the outside, I’m fairly confident. I’m pretty hot for my age. I’m fairly smart. I’ve got my shit together. But such bad dating experiences has my inner, insecure needy bitch surfacing as soon as I stepped into some feelings. CS has had such extreme patience and understanding but I know it can be frustrating for him sometimes. Because for the first time I didn’t hear from him for hours, I’d already envisioned me on the couch crying with chocolate ice cream and watching a girly movie, instead of taking him at face value when he said he was truly busy. How do you overcome such bad experiences and not take it out on the next? I think the antidote is just time. And trying to vent to my girlfriends when crazy, inside, demon bitch tries to take over.
If you’re lucky you have a Cheers. I do. My weekly bar where the bartenders are like brothers. I love my bar. Tandy started out being a regular with me. We have Jesus dressed up like Don Johnson. Dred guy that can sing the fuck outta some Korn along with his Barbie looking girlfriend who is one of the sweetest bar girls I know.
My bar however is cursed. I have never had a successful date there. Or one that turned out to be successful.
Guy 1: I was really into TJ. We chatted for weeks. All day, everyday. He was cute. He was successful. He was my age. After three weeks of chatting, he met me at my bar. At about 1 A.M. (He was a gum smacker though). He walked me outside and we ended up making out like crazy. He really is a terrific kisser. We ended up screwing in the backseat of my car like teenagers. Laughed like hell about it, texted until 4 AM. Then, he disappeared.
Guy 2: Guy 2, who I can’t even give a fake name because I don’t even remember his real name, was recently divorced and quite a few years younger. Everything I said, he compared to his ex-wife. For example, I mentioned I had a 125 pairs of shoes. He immediately said his wife had 130. It bordered on obsessive. The only saving grace to this date was it was made about 30 minutes into chatting. No wasted time.
Guy 3: Guy 3 was nice, but not much personality. He turned his nose up at my bar. But alcohol makes anyone more interesting. I went home with him. He was trying with me, I will give him that. Offered me use of his condo in Florida and season tickets for baseball season (months away). I saw why. Size is of course not the only thing that matters. Skill does make a big difference. And attitude. It wasn’t the fact that the condom was too big that was a huge turn off. It was the “Please, more gently” as I was blowing him. I will give it to guy number 3 though. He does still keep in touch. It is to complain about everything in his life but he does keep in touch.
Cursed bar girlfriends but I won’t dump it. However, the embarrassment of bringing so many different guys so many weeks in a row has caused me to take a break.
Blog lesson for this Sunday: Bringing a date to your home bar is the same as bringing someone home to meet your family. Don’t do it until you’re comfortable enough to bring them around Uncle Harold who has no teeth and mashed potatoes are hanging off his chin. And to my own personal Sam and Woody…… Love ya’ll
These lyrics have nothing to do with this post necessarily. It’s just the fact that you cannot go see a live band without them playing this Journey classic. Marley and I had our girls night out last night. It was a blast.
It was a smoky bar, big but with the old biker dive bar feel. The crowd ranged from a guy who probably took his first date to see Wizard of Oz when it first came out to a kid who I am sure grew his first pubic hair only last week.
Marley looked fabulous, she can fit in anywhere with grace. I looked like the kinda chick you’d fuck in your backseat. We got on the dance floor. I bumped into a Brendan Fraser from the 80s, curly locks falling over onto one eye.
So here begins the story of GK , named because neither Marley or I can remember what his real name is. In tradition of ancestors from years past, I met a guy in person. Picked him up in a bar. How unbelievably old fashioned of me. I offered to buy him a shot, he does not drink liquor so he in turn bought me one instead. I am all for that. There’s a big but here with GK. He violates the first of three rules Lorna and I came up with.
Thou shalt not drink bitch beer.
Thou shalt love dogs.
Thou shall go down and be a good eater
GK was drinking Ultra. The ultimate bitch beer. As bad as drinking a pretty mixed drink. He also had not much of a personality but stood there with his arm around my waist as if we’d been together for years. I actually made the comment to Marley that he gave me the impression that he would cry during sex.
I walk GK out to his car. We made out like crazy. He tried to convince me to come home with him. But here again is where I reiterate one of my most important blog points: Never ever ever pick a man over your girlfriend. Marley, bless her heart, does understand the draw of a cute guy. She offered to drop me off at his place provided she was allowed to snapshot his drivers license. He didn’t answer his phone so it did not happen.
I did receive a message at 4 AM from him. Then again at 9:30 AM. Then again at 11 AM asking me to come over. I eventually texted back around 5 saying no. He then asked me to come over tomorrow and he’d help me with my homework. Then an hour later texted me again to ask if I still liked and wanted him.
Girls, maybe we can be as complex as men say. We don’t hear from men (no RG since Thursday night) and we are sad. We hear from them too much, we see them as needy and clingy and whiny little princesses. Where’s the line?
Ah…. Memorial Day weekend. First official day where I feel summer in the air. This would also be my last summer in my thirties. The big 4-O was a coming….. what the fuck? How did I get here? I have to commemorate this last summer before the transition from MILF into Cougar. Luckily for me, I swiped right and BOOM-I had a match. He was a 32 year old videographer who also dabbed in professional photography. A date was set. A boudoir photo shoot. YAAAASSSSSSS……….. I packed a bag full of thigh high boots and lacy lingerie. My friend Tandy came in and did my hair and makeup. I was prepared. I was going to meet a perfect stranger at a hotel and let him take half-naked pics of me. Gosh darn I’m so smart.
He comes in the hotel room with all professional equipment. I come in with three bottles of booze and my slut wear. He poses me. I think I’m looking like a playboy model but chances are I’m looking like one of those Facebook memes that shame people.
Somehow we end up on the bed (you never saw that coming did you dear reader) where he informs me he does not have sex on the first date but we certainly would once he delivered the pictures and I informed him that this was not a date.
Buzz, buzz–his phone vibrates. “Oh shit, my mom had a heart attack and a car accident and I’ve got to go.” Wow, I should have taken this as an omen to get out of online dating. My first thought is what kind of person uses this as an excuse? My next thought is what if his mom dies and he will never again be able to receive oral sex because it will always remind him of what he was doing when his mom died?
How did this story end? I never received my pictures but I never saw them posted online anywhere so that is always a positive. He ignored my texts and requests for pics for weeks before I finally gave up. Three months after, I received an apology text from him saying that his mom really did die and an offer to redo the pics.
My advice? Stay clothed and always make them pay for the hotel room.