(Not) Thinking of You

You told me we’re not doing this anymore and so, I’m not thinking about you.

I’m not thinking about the first time we met in Grand Central Station and how your eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas. I’m not thinking about the way you pressed me up against a window in a Manhattan hotel room and kissed me for the first time. How the sparks between us were so intense they could have kept Times Square lit for a year. I’m certainly not thinking about how intensely in sync we are in bed together or how we came together almost every single time.

Another thing I’m not thinking about is how I met you in Cincinnati for your 30^th birthday. How we stuck our heads in those silly cutouts at that festival or how I laid my head on your shoulder while we watched them feed otters at the aquarium. I’m not thinking about how you held me close and told me you never wanted me to leave Ohio. Or how that café we had dinner at was playing The Smiths. I’m not thinking about how you held me in the pool as I wrapped my legs around your waist and my arms around your neck and how you kissed me and I felt like this was the first time in a long time that I knew I loved someone again.

I’m not thinking about seeing your silhouette looking down at me from the waiting room of a Japanese train station as I got off a 9 hour train ride to see you. Or how our glasses banged together like two teenagers when we finally got up the nerve to just thrust our mouths at one another after months of being apart, and how we tossed them off comedically and continued making out. I’m absolutely not thinking about how you woke up the next morning and the first thing you did was put your arms around me from behind and kiss my shoulder before you went to work.

I’m also definitely not thinking about how, when I was lying in my underwear on a bed in a hotel in Houston, you emerged from the bathroom, calmly walked past me, ran your fingers up my torso, went to the door to put on the “Do Not Disturb” sign and proceeded to ravage me sweetly. Or how you adjusted the flower in my hair with the utmost care so that you could see it head on. How at midnight on New Year’s you said, “Well, I guess we’re supposed to kiss now”, pulled me to your waist, parted your lips and placed them softly against mine. I’m not thinking about how when I said I’d miss you, you replied “I never miss you; I have good aim.”

I’m not thinking about the hours we spent talking on the phone or the IMs or the webcam chats or the sexting or the emails we’d send each other at work. About all the smiles and laughs and hugs and forehead kisses and handholds. Or the hours I spent crying over you and missing you from 9000 miles away. Or about the phone call you made from the airport in Minnesota where you told me you were no good for me, that I was too smart, that I should find someone better.

I’m not thinking about any of those things at all.

Because we’re not doing this anymore.

Double Dipping

I went through a bit of a dry spell after my first ONS, but much like my first two-timing experience, I once again found myself with more men than I could handle. I envisioned myself this pimptress (is this even a real word?), juggling several guys all at once. But once all the balls (no puns please) were up in the air, I found myself in the end standing with empty hands.

So what else is Facebook good for if not as a way to reconnect with your best friend from high school's ex boyfriend who you had a mild crush on and almost ruined your friendship over when you may or may not have been flirting with him? Well, that is exactly what happened to me. "Gene" (Not his real name, obviously.) sent me a friend request and then a message asking me how I'd been. He noticed that I was now living in CT and he was living in the area as well and asked if I'd like to get together some time and reminisce. Sure, why not? Sounds like an awesome idea - I agreed. Then, spent the time beforehand debating if it was a date or not. I hadn't seen him in years and didn't even know if I would be interested. When I showed up, he was with a male friend so, whew! I figured it wasn't a date. Relieved and relaxed, I was just ready to drink some beers and shoot the shit with them and catch up on the past 8 years. Then his friend left and things suddenly started creeping into pseudo date territory. We left, hit up another bar, then decided to get some food and go back to his apt a few blocks away.

We eat and start watching some TV and then, the theatrics begin. Gene starts telling me how he had a crush on me in high school and gets closer on the couch. He even went so far as to tell me he used to jerk off thinking about me. (I will chalk that up to a very drunken TMI slip of the tongue. I guess maybe he thought he was complimenting me?) Which of course leads to him kissing me and telling me how he "always wanted to do that". I'm not really looking for anything serious so I'm ready to get down to business in the bedroom, to which he tries to slow things down and tell me that he thinks we could have something good going on here. (To which I rolled my eyes and he couldn't see because we were in the dark. He really could have gotten an Oscar for this performance.) I was like um... whatever? Are we gonna bone? Are we not gonna bone? Because I have work in the morning.

So yeah. We boned. It was fun and pretty decent and lasted longer than I expected since he was giving me all this 16 year old boy runaround talk on the couch. I left and went home and then spent a week playing the "Is he gonna call? Why hasn't he called?" game. Gene finally texted and invited me to hang out at his friend's house after his band practice. Which led to another semi-coupley BBQ get together. I couldn't tell if he wanted us to be fuck buddies or if he wanted to date me. (And I really wasn't in the mood for serious dating.)

Meanwhile, while I was out one evening with two of my girl friends (twins!), I was introduced to their brother's really cute friend (Who is to be referred to as Awkward Math Teacher or AMT for short - I'll explain later.) who had just come back from teaching English in China. (And I had just gotten rejected from a program to teach English in Japan.) Hoping to bond over a few drinks, we all decided to do a round of shots. Unfortunately, for AMT there was pineapple juice in the shot and he's severely allergic to pineapple. So he had to leave and go try not to die.

Of course my friends tried to play matchmaker: "Oh! Isn't AMT cute? You guys would be cute together! He really liked you!" He met me for 5 minutes, seriously? It took a few weeks but eventually, they managed to get us in the same place at the same time: Extremely drunk at a bar crawl. As I stood at a bar ordering a beer, he drunkenly walked over and asked if I wanted to do shots in a slurred tone. All I could do was smile and giggle. So he took my beer, drank it and then took my hand and led me out of the bar - and across the street to the hotel him and my friends' brother were staying in.

Personally, having sex with someone you've barely exchanged more than two sentences is not usually my thing. But throw a bunch of Red Bull/Vodkas into the mix (my Kryptonite) and just about anything will go down. (Including me. Yes, I walked right into that one.) I woke up in the morning to more sex as we tried to keep quiet with my friend's brother & gf sleeping in the next bed. Then, I played the "Where the eff are my clothes game?", shoved my panties in my purse, and found myself walk of shaming right into breakfast/lunch with AMT, my friends' brother, his gf, and another couple they were friends with. Here I am in my same clothes, hair a mess, smelling like booze, while everyone else looks fresh as a daisy. (Especially the Abercrombie poster couple sitting with us.) Fan-fucking-tastic.

So AMT drove me home while we made awkward conversation and my parents definitely watched me get out of this guy's car. (They learned not to ask questions anymore though.) We went out a few more times but there was one big problem: He was a Math teacher and incredibly awkward with absolutely no personality I'd try to get him to talk and it just wasn't working. He kept suggesting movie dates, but I really wanted to get to know him and I figured the only way to get him to talk was to try loosening him up with some booze. (Typical Irish though, I suppose.)

Meanwhile, Gene is trying to be all serious with me, asking if I was sleeping with anyone else. No, of course not - I lie - but I am dating other people. Which I guess gave him the ok to give up psuedo-dating me and just booty call me instead. (Sure, I'll come over your place at 12:30 in the morning, no problem.) Then, after an unfortunate incident involving my gag reflex, I didn't hear from him for a while and just said, Fuck it, not worth it. He did try to contact me again a few months later and was all "Hey, what's going on? Haven't talked to you in a while" (on Facebook no less), to which I replied, "Nothing. Moved to Philly." and deleted his ass off my friends list.

Back to AMT: After several attempts to try and get some chemistry going, I decided to up the ante one night when we went out for dinner. I wore my cutest skirt, took my panties off in the bathroom and let him find out on his own. It drove him nuts! He was all, "Wow. You're so sexy in that skirt." Finally! The response I'd be waiting for. But, as quickly as the fireworks were lit, they fizzled out. On more than one occasion. (He may or may not have had some kind of erm, performance issues that may or may not have been alcohol related.) And so, I stopped hearing from him and just gave up on the whole thing all together. It just wasn't meant to be.

....

They say when it rains it pours, but sometimes, I guess I'd rather just be in a drought.

Boys, Boys, Boys

As a member of the female species, at some point in your life you start to garner attention from members of the opposite sex, some good, some bad, some warranted, some completely disgusting. Growing up I was the “Ugly Duckling”, a victim of bad genes that caused me to go through a sophomore year sporting both braces and glasses. Then, eventually, as I ventured into adulthood, I began to take control of my sexuality. It had its advantages and disadvantages. With the inception of social networking sites, I got to throw it in the faces of tons of guys who had ignored me in High School as I pressed the “DENIED” button on their Myspace friend request and deleted their “Whoa! You got HOT!” messages. I also got to use my God-given gifts to wrap a modest slew of guys around my finger to get what I wanted, when I wanted: rides, drinks, free meals, purses, and random money. (Not a gold digging amount by any means, but more like the ‘Can you lend me $100?’ which I never have to pay you back –type.) But, beauty was a gift and a curse.

I found myself with a series of stalkers in the past. One such nuisance in particular being my asshole, life ruining ex-boyfriend, who I can’t decide if it’s simply desperation on his part or a secret sense of satisfaction knowing that every time he calls or messages and I don’t answer that he is raining on my happy parade. Almost two and a half years since we ended our relationship and he persists to try to get me to communicate with him in some way, shape or form. It starts out nice and needy: “I need to talk to you. Please call me sometime this week.” And then, like someone flipped a switch, his Mr. Hyde side comes out and the threats and nonsense talk begin. (Usually some babble about how much of a cold hearted bitch I am – that’s his favorite term for me.) I refuse to give into these pathetic and childish little games he likes to play and it’s rather unfortunate that he has nothing better going on in his life that he still feels the need to try and get in touch with me or to try and push my buttons.

Stalker #2 is much tamer. I met him through Craigslist (big mistake) when I moved to Philly because I was trying to find friends. We exchanged emails back and forth for a bit and finally met up one night, both drunk and out with our friends, for about 5 minutes. To make up for this, we decided to hang out the next day and go shopping. I couldn’t decide if he was really hungover, really dull, or both. But I honestly got tired of having to lead the conversation with him and so decided to avoid hanging out with him again. Until Thanksgiving weekend. I was bored and home and he wanted to go out for drinks, so I decided to join and figured I probably wouldn’t have to pull my wallet out all night. I was right. We drank until last call then got burritos and went back to his house to watch some TV. Well, we always know where that leads. One second we’re watching pawn selling on TLC, the next, we’re making out and headed towards his bedroom.

There was no sex involved but lots of hot and heavy followed by intense cuddling. I mean, really intense. Like, this guy seriously wrapped himself around me all night and caressed every inch of my body lovingly and kissed me all over. It was really, really bizarre. The weirdest part of all is that he looked like the low-rent version of my Stalker ex. Both tall, built, Italian, dark hair, blue eyes. They could have been Fraternal twins. Except stalker #2 had NO personality – something confirmed by our drinking time in the bar that night. (Although he did loosen up a bit after a few Jack & Cokes.) In the morning I finally managed to break free from his Bear hug so I could go home and get ready for my date with another guy that night.

A few weeks later, I made the mistake of getting ridiculously drunk at my office’s holiday party and went home and decided to let my stalker come over and hang out. Big mistake. First off, I showed up at my front door wearing red lace lingerie under a fleece Rubber Ducky bathrobe and wearing a Captain’s hat. I figured that would scare him off. It didn’t. When he came into my room, we sat on my bed and I drunk rambled and almost started crying. That didn’t scare him off either. He hugged me to make me feel better, then we made out and got naked. And then again, all night with the Bear hugging. Only, it had started snowing out overnight so the heat kicked on full blast. My room already reached sauna-like temperatures, so that combined with his hot, large naked body pressed against mine plus my dried out wine hangover, I thought I was going to die. As I woke up in the morning, still suffocating, a heavy snow had begun to fall outside overnight and was accumulating rapidly and I still had this guy in my bed. So what do you do when you want to get someone out of your house? Why, you do what any normal person does: Have sex with them so that they leave. And that’s just what I did. And I haven’t seen my stalker since, even though he persists to text me randomly every weekend to see what I am doing or to invite me over to just hang out and cuddle. Fuck. That. Shit.

I’m gonna backtrack a little bit to that date I had the night after my hibernation session with Stalker #2. I went out one night with some gay friends and I persuaded one of them to take me to the “Straight Bar” so I could try and get some. Well, when you walk into a bar full of White, Straight people with a big, Black, Straight-acting Gay man, things don’t really go so well. He sensed this and left me there by myself. I went and sat at the bar to drown my pathetic-ness in some beers since the Straight bar was pretty much dead for almost Midnight on a Saturday and I clearly was going home alone. Then, a guy came to the bar to get a drink and began chatting me up, asking me why I looked so sad. I told him that I was new to the area and all my friends were Gay and abandoned me there. So he offered to buy me a drink and invited me to hang out with him and his group of friends. I happily obliged and we went to another bar after, then back to one of his friend’s apartments. We talked and had a good time and then it got to be about time that I left so I headed out to go catch a cab. This guy was such a gentleman! He walked with me and took the cab ride with me, (Turned out he was staying at a friend’s place a little ways past my apartment.) and even PAID! Plus, he asked for my number – I gave it to him, figuring he wouldn’t call. But sure enough, following the “Swingers” code, he called me that Tuesday to ask me out for the weekend. I said yes and was very excited. I had a real date!

We went to a very nice French bistro in Philadelphia’s fancy Rittenhouse Square. Wow – This was just about the nicest date I’d ever been on! Usually I get taken to TGIFridays or something! We had 2 bottles of wine, escargots, crème brulee, and a meal in between. Then he took me home and I invited him in to watch some episodes of “Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, which he’d never seen before. Then, of course, we made out. But that was as far as it went. I wanted to keep it classy. He left and called again for a 2nd date again on Tuesday. This time we were going to a nice Thai BYOB near my house. He bought 2 bottles of wine but we only drank one and headed to a local bar afterwards. But at the bar, things got a little weird. After drinking and talking and having what I thought was a good time, he tells me “Oh I can’t always be paying for things.” And I was like, um… ok? Then don’t take me to expensive restaurants? I said “Oh sure, that’s fine. I understand.” We finished up our drinks and left to get our car from the parking garage. However, that is the last thing I remember: I woke up in bed naked next to him in the morning not remembering what happened. When I told him this, he seemed a little nervous and uneasy. He told me we had apparently had sex, and what I sure was jokingly, that we did it twice and that I said he was the best I’d ever had. I felt bad and wanted to get him out of my house, so I went to my drawer, got a condom, and had sex with him so he could leave.

Skip to the post-Stalker date: We went to TGIFridays (!) and then to a house party (double !). I got to meet his friends who seemed cool. We watched movies, had some drinks. Then we got onto the conversation of the sex-I-didn’t-remember. Well, apparently he hadn’t used a “rainjacket” because he didn’t have any. (Seriously? Who calls a condom a rainjacket?) And we both had an “Oh Shit.” Moment and decided it would be best if he took me home. Again, I woke up naked in bed next to him – this time in the middle of the night and even more “OH SHIT!” The next morning, with condom wrapper on my dresser this time, I didn’t even bother. I rolled over to tried to give him the hint that he should GTFO and finally he said he had to leave. I kissed him goodbye and then prayed to god for the next few weeks that I got my period. It came and I breathed a sigh of relief. I also didn’t hear from him again until shortly before Christmas when he sent me a text message asking if “Anything happened regarding what we talked about last time we hung out.” I texted him back and told him not to worry about it and I never heard from him again. And that’s my date rape story!

It’s really hard to date in this world. Guys are hit or miss. Forrest Gump was right: Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.