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.
First of all, I love this song. If you’re a hip hop fan, make sure you listen to this by Ludacris. This post is two fold, partly about sexting and partly about that first meeting. And the lessons I’ve learned from both.
Sexting–the phenomenon that has replaced phone sex. The phenomenon that has gotten many a celebrity and political leader in trouble. How many times have we started chatting and almost immediately been asked for a dirty pic. One day, thinking too many men were beginning to see little Ellie, I searched for a random vagina online. I cropped that bad boy (girl) matched it to my skin tone, and sent it on to dude. (This made Marley laugh harder than she ever has). I have also done it with ass. In a discussion with some girls today, we talked about dick pics. I have received so many, they start to look alike. One of the girls mentioned that guys wouldn’t mind knowing that we show our friends their little friends. Well boys, I gotta tell you, 90 percent of the time, we are showing it to our friends to laugh. The other ten percent of the time we are showing our friends because we are extremely impressed.
Meeting–I have a new rule thanks to Lorna. If a guy hasn’t suggested meeting me within a week, he’s gotta go. Something is wrong there. Marley suggested today that some of these dudes just join dating sites to have someone to chat with. I thought about that further and realized she has a good point. I took it a step further and said most of the ones I’ve talked to are trying to get free porn. Think about it, they get to talk to a live chick and see dirty pics. They have no plans of meeting you but they have no issue with sexting you and jacking off to your pics. Some even send videos of just that. I guess there are some lonely guys out there too. I chatted with V for about three weeks. He was witty, he had all the right answers (I asked him what he was looking for on the app, he said “You, I did not know it at the time but it’s you”) I literally had to force V to meet me. He flat out said “Okay, but only for an hour. And don’t think we are going to go any further than meeting.” He showed up sloppy as hell and was one of the weirdest people I’d ever met. As Lorna says “it’s too easy to hide behind text.” I did not talk to him for much longer than that.
Advice? Stick with the week rule. And remind gentlemen that there are sites they can pay for to get what they are wanting from you. Unless of course you are drunk and horny, but be in control sista.
When Blondie sang this in 1979, there was no such thing as googling someone. To find her love, Debbie Harry had to “drive by her lover’s house”, “Follow your bus downtown”, and “walk down to the mall and hangout by the wall.” Now it’s as simple as a click of a button if you have enough information, such as the phone number they’ve used to connect with their Facebook account. You can even find them with minimal information such as googling their profession and first name in the hopes of a Linkedin profile. My point is, gone are the days when you’d need to sneak a peek at their wallet or their phone when they are in the bathroom to gain info.
Stalking can be either good or bad. In today’s age of meeting up with virtual strangers, it can be the safe thing to do. I’m a life lesson in this. I chatted online with a guy I thought would be hot to meet for a morning quickie. And he was hot. He had the nicest 9 inch cock I’d ever seen by pic. The morning I paid him a visit, physically he did not disappoint. The more we kissed, the rougher he became. I learned the term “skull fucking” that morning and through my mind ran the thought that this was the first dick I was going to have to bite. I could not breathe. He then turned me around and pounded me so hard I bled like a virgin. This was my online hook up turning point. I swore I would never pay anyone a visit again without extensive online research or meeting them first. I googled this guy a little too late. He’d recently been released from prison in another state for assault charges. Something that definitely I would have and should have known going in.
You always have to be prepared for what you find in your stalking. RG asked me to come over tonight. I checked his Facebook page out of curiosity. (We are not friends and weirdly his cover photo is a pic of his celebrity twin.) He posted the other night about feeling incomplete. He posted today that last night he had a date with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Yes, I am well aware we are just having fun. But there was an itty bitty part of me that was pissed he had a date last night and wanted to fuck me today. By the way, I did not go.
In today’s digital age I guess you have to take the good with the bad. It protects us from criminals but we might prejudge someone based on how many cat pics they post on their Snapchat.
UPDATE: RG took the post about his beautiful woman down and KG Ultra is still hot on me.
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?