I recently went through another one of my idiotic attempts to foster a connection with a woman. As you may have guessed? It went about as well as any other fucking time I’ve tried this. Since she told me to ‘fuck off’ in so many words, I’ve been feeling a bit…forlorn if you will. I try not to let this shit get to me, especially since I’m SO used to it…but I’ve been walking around with my head down, my shoulders slumped, and my hands in my pockets for the past few days with that sad ‘Charlie Brown’ music playing in the back ground of my life
This sort of depression hasn’t set in for quite awhile, however I genuinely liked this girl. Not in a ‘Lookit me! I’m getting laid’ kind of way, or a ‘I don’t want to be alone because I’m afraid I’ll have a heart attack in my sleep and want someone there to call an ambulance’ way either. But in a ‘what’s gonna happen next’ kind of way. After weeks of fucking and going out to bars…I thought that we were connecting on a decent level.
I wasn’t in love with her, but I WAS excited at the prospect of seeing her again. This girl was new to me in a lot of ways. I find most girls I date to be boring and predictable, but this one came along and I just liked the way she fit. She was exciting, and beautiful in a way that happens rarely in nature. She had a sadness underscored by a general love of life. Her eyes told a story that her lips never could, and her smile was the warm embrace that arms can’t fulfill. I liked that mystery, that anticipation of finding out more.
But, sometimes as much as we hope for a connection with someone…they’re just not ready for one. When she told me that she just wants to be single, like most of you, my first thought was ‘it’s not that she doesn’t want to date it’s that she doesn’t want to date me’. I get it; I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.
The odds are that I’ve been looking at this thing from a fucked up angel. I’m good at that. I tend to read into things a bit, and think way too much. I have a jaded point of view because I’ve been in a lot of relationships that ended…poorly. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve mostly had decent break ups, many of my ex’s are still kind of good friends. I don’t like drama, so when I get dumped, I tend to not stalk. Women think this means that I would make a good ‘friend’, when in truth…it sucks. The last thing any man wants to hear about is the ‘new fuck’, and friendships with ex’s ALWAYS eventually come to that conversation. It’s not so bad when WE do the breaking up, but hey…look at me, how many times do I do the breaking up?
That being said, I’ve seen a lot relationship-wise, and because of fuck-ups in the past, I was trying to look at this new girl in a different light. I really liked her; her whole attitude is very free and fun. She’s not very dramatic, and her eyes are the color of fantasy.
I’ve lived with women, I’ve had a fiancé’, I’ve been in long term relationships, loving relationships, purely sexual relationships, I’ve been on dates that didn’t work out, and ones that did, I’ve been cheated on, and I’ve been the other man, I’ve been with just awesome wonderful girls, and filthy godless who-ers, criers, thieves, alcoholics, women that were too immature for me, and some that were too old. Sounds like an eclectic group right? Well they all had ONE thing in common…I felt good being with them. I do with ALL the women I date in one way or another. There was something about every damn one of them that JUST made me comfortable being around them. And isn’t that the point of ANY relationship?
This one kind of hurt. Although my hearts not quite broken, it is sprained and I’ll have to limp around on it for a while. So, in an effort to put a cast on it, I’ll give you a little background because as my readers know…for me writing is like taking a big relieving dump.
Rebecca contacted me after reading my short story titled ‘Cheating: The Legacy of My Father’s Big Dork’. Now, I think I was pretty fucking clear as to the kind of relationship I was interested in having with a woman in that article. We IM’d, texted, and eventually talked on the phone. We went out on a date, and she started spending the night here. No sex. She told me she wanted to wait, and as I am a gentleman and I liked her enough to be patient, I didn’t push the issue. Sure when you read my stories, I come off as an asshole, but the reality is that I’m not. I’m not pushy, and I can be patient with the right girl. If I don’t like a girl? I tell her to fucking step. Why waste both or our time?
Hanging with her those first few weeks was like going out with someone I’d known a long time. That’s a huge plus in the dating category. I think it’s a ‘comfortablity’ thing, and I was very comfortable around her. After a week or so, we went out and got drunk and came back to my place, and we ‘attempted’ sex. I say ‘attempted’ because I was horrible at it. I couldn’t stay erect, and I faked an orgasm. Yes, guys can do this; I just pulled out and exited the bed quickly while making an ‘oh, god’ sound. WHY? Because I was fucking embarrassed. There is that point when you’re fucking that you KNOW it’s enough. I passed that point, and stopped as a courtesy to her.
I learned a long time ago that you can be too quick…and you can take too long. My move, as is the case with many, is to switch positions when I start feeling the horse’s coming up to the finish line. I also have a move where I’ll go down on a girl, bring her RIGHT to the tip of orgasm…and then climb back on top like Short Round mounting the elephant in ‘Temple’. I repeat this a few times, not to many or she’ll get frustrated, but a FEW times, and then BAM! I grab that clit with my lips and begin pounding it like Rocky on Tommy Gunn at the end of ‘5’. This move usually elicits an orgasm so big, that she nearly rips my hair out my head, and crushes my face between her legs like the guy in the vice in ‘Casino’. (WAY too many movie references in that paragraph)
When we got back to my place, she attacked me in my kitchen. This was a surprise attack, and I had NO idea it was coming because she’d been so standoffish up until this point. If I’d known pussy would flow that day, I wouldn’t have drank so much. We ended up having a 5 hour love fest in my bedroom, where I’d eat her out for a while, we’d fuck for a while, then we’d have a smoke, and talk about stupid shit, and then we’d go back to fucking for a bit. Unexpected sex is great, but that experimental first time on TOP of that? I was having the time of my life.
But eventually, my dick wound down and didn’t want to work for me anymore, and THIS kind of put me in an awkward position, which was ironic, because that was the ONE position I DIDN’T want to be in.
Ever since that night, I wake up with night terrors thinking about her trying to climb on top of my limp dork. (Fucking SHUDDER). How fucking humiliating. Let me just be clear here, this failed sexual gratification on my part is in NO way her fault. She has a body that STILL gives me a hard on NOW just thinking about it.
The first time you’re with someone sexually usually isn’t that good. Granted, it’s not usually as bad as I made it, but when you think about it, you don’t quite know what the other person likes yet, you’re squeamish about asking them, and you don’t know how to talk to them. Do you say ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me’, or ‘ooohh baby, that’s it’. NOT that I would say either of those things mind you, but you build a ‘sexual rapport’ with someone over time. The first time? You’re kind of just dipping your toe in the water to see if you can jump in.
Other than that, I can explain my limpness away as any number of things. Whiskey dick, stage fright, TOO much masturbation. That IS a real thing. I haven’t been laid in a minute, and when you whack off twice a day? It can desensitize the pennis (yes, I called it ‘pennis’ on purpose. Fuck spell check.). I think I have cal louses on mine.
Whatever the case, I didn’t ‘bring it’. And I think I’ve been made to wear a scarlet letter ever since. I was hoping for ‘make up’ sex. Not ‘make up sex’ as in ‘we had an argument’, but as in ‘I failed a test, can I take it over’,
After that night, She still stayed over, and we’d still go out and at one point (after drinking again), she started kissing me, but I stopped her because she didn’t LOOK like she wanted too…she looked like she was LETTING me. BIG difference. I won’t have my dick talked down to.
In a relationship, we find ourselves with certain girlfriend/boyfriend rights and privileges, I didn’t feel it my right to ASK certain questions, or to impose on that ass because I wasn’t her boyfriend. I was waiting for her to make a move, otherwise I felt like an invader. It was as if she was saying ‘ok, you’ve been nice, so here’s some ass’. As much as I wanted to ravage her, take her all in, look at her body in the candlelight and feel the sweat develop on her back as we fuck, I didn’t want to be GIVEN sex, I wanted to HAVE it. Sex used as a ‘barter’ system is communist sex. It ain’t that kind a party. I’m not saying that she was DOING that…that’s just how I felt.
I like the woman; I’m not going to fuck her when she doesn’t WANT to fuck. There’s that first part of any relationship, when it FIRST gets going and you’re fucking ALL the time. Like you can’t wait to get a hold of each other. And I hung around like an asshole waiting for it. I felt like that guy who nobody invited to the party, and he’s just sitting there on the couch, but everyone’s afraid to ask him to leave. THAT is a feeling I do not like.
There comes a point when the ship has passed and you’re either ON it, sailing off into the night, or you’re in the fucking ocean swimming after it like a turd in the public pool. I’m a turd right now.
Look, she was honest with me from the beginning in that she didn’t want to be in a relationship. I thought that if I hung in there, and treated her like my heart told me to treat her, it would work itself out. But sometimes, hell most times, life doesn’t work out the way you want it too. I’d never been in that kind of non-committal relationship and I didn’t quite know how to act. I censored my contact with her, spoke only when spoken to, and was more skittish about fucking her than Scooby Doo in a haunted house.
The point is that defining a relationship can be a harrowing experience. Some might say that it takes the spontaneity away from the proceedings; some find it necessary to form a mental contract in order to imbue an unspoken comfort between both parties. Personally, I’ve never found that saying ‘we are now a couple’ was appropriate. Usually, after a whirlwind knee trembler and a couple of ‘oh my god’s, SAYING you’re my girlfriend is kind of redundant. We bang, we go out to eat, we see movies, we go to bars, and we talk about how fascinating we find each other to our friends…we’re dating. No need to put a label on it.
This recent exploit took me down into the bowels of relationship confusion however. She had all the mea culpa that one would expect to hear of a girlfriend, but she told me from the beginning that she was enjoying her single life, and wanted to keep it that way.
One moment we’d be lying in bed together in the candlelight, and the next she would be telling me how cute the bartender at her favorite hang-out was. One moment she would call me and invite me to go fishing with her, and the next she was telling me that she has a crush on the DJ at her local bar. One moment we would be ON a date, and while ON the date, she would be buying a drink for the bartender she professes to find so cute.
I don’t think that she was intentionally giving me the ‘Three’s Company’ comedy of errors routine and none of these things by themselves are inherently bad, IF you are in a relationship with that woman. Although talk of ‘I’d totally fuck that guy’ is usually reserved for celebrities and fantasy men when you’re dating someone, a little ‘he’s cute’ talk doesn’t bother me. If we’re dating, I expect and request that kind of honesty. If we can’t talk about finding other people attractive, we keep it inside until our fantasies are acted upon. But, if we can talk about it, laugh about it, share it…it becomes an adjective instead of a verb within the confines of the relationship.
I find this new dynamic to be somewhat ironic. If I were DATING her, her flirtations wouldn’t bother me because I would hold a certain amount of trust in the relationship, however, since there is no commitment, basically she can fuck anyone she wants whenever she wants, and I don’t have the right to say ‘boo’ about it. This is my conundrum.
She would also say things like ‘I spent the night at Tim’s last night, and I didn’t put any underwear on this morning’ and ‘I went out til’ two and was talking to the DJ I have a crush on, and we had breakfast at six’. AHHHHH, I’m not her boyfriend, so I can’t ask her to elaborate on shit like that, and she doesn’t divulge any other information of her own free will! WTF? WHY weren’t you wearing underwear at Tim’s? What the fuck happened between 2 and 6?
When you’re in the ‘Twilight zone’ of a non-committal relationship this kind of behavior can be hard to decipher. Why am I here? That’s the common question one must ask. If she finds all these other guys so hot, guys who obviously have certain character traits in common, which I don’t share, what the fuck is she doing spending time with me? And since I can’t ASK what the fuck happened between 2 and 4, I’m going to naturally assume that DJ Diddles over there got some stank on his hang low. THIS caused my vaginal fright. I don’t see her as a hookerish girl, but I don’t want to fuck her 6 hours after some other guy had his filthy pethis inside her.
I think that later on she had an attack of conscience and TOLD me that nothing happened in either case, without me having to ask. Although she tells me that she’s not looking to fuck anyone, and I assume this means that WE could continue fucking, she doesn’t want to be beholden to any one man. Translation: IF I have an opportunity to fuck the DJ, I want to. Well, ok then…go fuck the DJ.
This whole thing has played out like a find your own fate adventure novel. On one side, I can take the path of the improbable ‘I just want to be single’ line. If I do, I have to accept that she’s going to bang whatever douche bag buys her an appropriate amount of drinks and kind of looks like Jesse from ‘Breaking Bad’. This puts me in the awkward position of ‘not caring as long as I’m getting mine’. I’m not that guy. When I’m with someone I tend to dote. I put all my energy into making every second of that relationship something the other person will remember fondly. Granted, it doesn’t always play out that way, but when you meet someone that you find worth your time, worth your energy, worth giving yourself to, you expect a certain amount of ‘not fucking other guys’ in return. Call me crazy.
Plus, who the fuck WANTS to be single? It’s like saying ‘oh yeah, I can’t wait to die alone’. Saying that you want to be single is like saying that you want to take the bus to work every day instead of driving a car. Sure it’s more economic and better on the environment, but you’ll eventually end up armpit to armpit with guys who smell like piss and vitamins, and women who have so much cat hair on them that they look like they’re wearing a Chewbacca costume, and you know that cute form fitting black turtleneck you just bought from ‘Discovery’? Yeah, you’re the bus ‘lint roller’ now.
Look, I’ve been in a lot of relationships, some good, some great, and some more mentally exhausting than a ‘Special Olympics’ edition of Jeopardy. But the one thing I can tell you is that each time a relationship ended, I waited an appropriate amount of time and then tried again. Hell, there HAS to be ONE of you god damned women I can successfully date.
Between war, disease, economic strife, and the smaller shit in life we have to eat: crap job, loud neighbors, car accidents, family deaths, what’s the ONE thing that keeps us going? The hope of seeing that loved one. That ONE person who’s going to tell you that it’s all going to be all right. That ONE person who will hold you in their arms at night until the wrinkles in your forehead go away. That ONE…that one who will give you strength AND comfort to keep trying to make your lot on this volcanic rock a little better. It’s not the getting there that keeps us going; it’s who’s pushing you up that hill.
It’s amazing to me the lengths that we’ll go to, as human beings, to NOT be lonely. We’ll lie to ourselves, punish ourselves, break all of our own rules, and ignore the advice of close friends. All in an effort to just have someone listen to our stories…hold our hand in the mall…and occasionally look in our eyes and tell us that somebody needs us. So DON’T tell me you WANT to be single hon…because I just ain’t buying it.
That being said? This girl has more ‘guy’ friends than any woman I know. Anything a woman might look for in a relationship she has access to from a bunch of different guys whom she doesn’t have to commit to. How unfair is that? No offence to her, but she’s either a social retard, or a brilliant relationship chess player because, and ALL guys will agree with me on this one…every guy who is her ‘friend’ wants to fuck her. Who needs a boyfriend when she has thralls?
The one thing she’s NOT getting from them is romance, and I tried injecting some into her life. Flowers, candles, telling her how beautiful she is…it all just rolled off her back. I pulled out the big guns and got nothing.
Personally, I can’t sit around and play ‘friend’. I’ve already established a desire for her in my mind that just won’t be satisfied by sitting on the bench. Plus, we all know that when you meet someone you truly like, you date them. It really is that simple. So how the hell am I supposed to feel when two weeks from now she tells me she met a really cute guy and she’s totally in love with him? It’s going to happen, and my ego is barely hanging on from my disastrous ‘Amber’ fiasco.
So now we come to the ‘alternate path’ in our find your fate romantic adventure…the more plausible: ‘she’s just not into me’ path.
Look, I’m not hot, I get it. We’re into what we’re in to. Granted, it’s been a long time since I was rejected based on my looks, but it’s my own fault for trying to date a woman who’s above my pay grade. She’s too hot for me. The more I think about it, Rebecca may be the most cunning woman I’ve ever met because for a SECOND, I actually believed that she ‘just wanted to be single’.
But the simple fact is that she has a type, and I ain’t it. I never had an opportunity to give her my ‘A game’. When we did have sex she was usually drunk which leads me to believe she has some kind of hang up about sexuality or closeness, something that I was willing to be patient with. It was something I thought we could overcome together (so to speak). But I guess that was part of the wall I always felt was between us. There were things she wasn’t comfortable sharing with me, and because of that we were always at an arm’s length from one another.
I truly hope that she meets someone that can break her out of that shell, someone that she can open up to and give herself over to, because I can tell you from experience that life fucking sucks if the only person you have to share yourself with is your dog.
As a heterosexual man, I’ve been living with a false hope of finding a woman who I feel comfortable enough to just take my shirt off in front of. I’m sure she exists, but how many training wheels do I have to put on the fucking bike until I can finally find my balance?
Growing up, I had a mother who did everything she could to get rid of me, and a sister who hated my guts. My first ‘fuck’ relationship left me for my best friend at a party, the first woman I truly loved decided to marry another guy because he had a job at UPS and I worked at a gas station, my first ‘love’ relationship cheated on me with the bass player in a ‘Rush’ cover band, and my most recent ex cheated on me 3 fucking times. I have to say…as far as women are concerned? I have every reason to be a misogynistic, gravel hearted, chick hater.
But that’s just not me. EVEN after all the shit feelings that women have put me through, the countless hours of crying hard into a pillow as a kid, of screaming at the night sky as a teenager, the scars on my knuckles from punching a wall and hitting the stud in my twenties, I still have held onto that false fucking hope that I’d meet the one that made me want to look at her and say, out of breath from running up hill all these years…’finally.’
Look, everyone has problems; nobody understands that more than me. I fucking get it. None of us are perfect. At times, it’s those problems that give a woman a unique quality, which leads to unique situations and conversations. THAT’S what it’s all about right? Finding someone different. I don’t want to have the SAME fucking douche bag conversation about banal everyday shit. I want someone who makes me think, who challenges my intellect, who makes me ask questions I’ve never asked before.
I was on my way to feeling that way about the hippie chick, it wasn’t that I loved her, she never gave me the opportunity to, but I liked her enough to not have any hard feelings about this end.
Speaking of which, I guess I should tell you HOW it ended.
Sunday we spent the entire day together Downtown. We ate, we drank, we shopped, and overall I thought it was a great date. Sunday night we went out to bars with her friend Kirsten. Another home run. Had a great time. Needless to say, I was out drinking until 3, and got home at around 7. I went to work at 8, and when I got home at 5 Monday night, I got the heave ho. She told me that I don’t deserve this, and blah, blah, blah. I honestly couldn’t tell you exactly what went wrong on Sunday, as I had a great time. She bitched about my driving, and ‘mother fucked’ me when I snored in the morning, but I didn’t think that anything ‘dumpable’ happened.
So, I have to assume that the girl just isn’t into me. Hell, I’ve had relationships last for YEARS after a BAD date…this was a good one, and I got dumped. Fuck you life.