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August 08, 2006
My Men
Over the past month my experiences with new "gentlemen callers" has run the gamut from ambivalent to irritating to OH MY GOD DO IT AGAIN. If you can't tell, I prefer the latter of the three options.
First, there was Mr. Just Not That Into Me, who I met for the shortest date EVER. I met him at a local coffee joint, drank an iced latte, engaged in polite chatter, and was back in my car in a mere 40 minutes. Thankfully, I was Ms. Just Not That Into Him, so no one's feelings were hurt.
Also that weekend was my first date with The Octopus, so called because a mere hour into our first date he was holding my hand, gently caressing it in a very "making love to your appendages" sort of way. I was a little weirded out, but decided to roll with it. At some point when I'm in a relationship (and WHEN WILL THAT BE?) I'd like to be with a guy who isn't afraid to show a little PDA. On the other hand, I don't need a clinger, which is apparently what I got. I turned into Ms. Frigid, totally cold and even rather rude in an attempt to make him lay off the affectionate touching.
None of it was overtly over the line—just arm around the shoulder, holding hands, etc. variety—but it made me REALLY uncomfortable. Four dates over four weeks resulted in a frank discussion in which I laid out for him my reservations, namely that while there were moments when I found him attractive and rather delightful, his attitude of "I deserve to touch you now" repulsed me. I did not mince words and spelled it out directly: he had a much better chance of getting me into bed if he would just BACK THE HELL OFF because otherwise I was going to have to break his arm. Or other appendages.
At this point in the discussion, I truly believe that The Octopus had a legitimate chance of recovering. And then, he did it. And I quote:
"I'm a guy. We think it's a good first date if we get a blow job at the end of the night."
This was his defense. He claimed that he was just "testing the waters" with the hand-holding, and wasn't trying to create a false sense of intimacy (my main problem). Instead, he was trying to get me into bed in the shortest amount of time possible.
On the one hand, I respect a guy who knows what he wants (scroll down for more); on the other I have to say that The Octopus could not have tried a worse tactic. If I want a "sex first" relationship, I certainly don't want to cloudy the waters with obnoxious clingy behavior. I tried to convey this—and even tried REALLY hard to get into the mood, figuring that at least a nice physical diversion would be better than going home alone—but it just wasn't working. An hour of ultimately unsatisfying groping later, and I mercifully escaped to my car and the long drive back from VA. As he let his front door slam shut behind me (I think he was irritated I wasn't spending the night), I knew I would never be going out with him again, and it was like a breath of fresh air.
Thankfully, that disaster of a date was Friday night and on Saturday I embarked on a new adventure with Mr. Bad Apologies: my friend's wedding in Charlottesville. While I had originally hoped to bring Mr. Friends With Benefits (who has since faded into oblivion—not really gone, but no longer in "active" status), I decided that Mr. Bad Apologies was the next best bet. He's a fun date, good dancer, excellent dresser, and can distract the other single women at the party and thus reduce my competition for the available men.
Well, let me tell you that he paid off—in spades. I identified my man of choice during the ceremony itself. A quick interview with the bride during the subsequent cocktail hour determined that he was "dangerous", which further intrigued me. Several glasses of wine and I was thoroughly enjoying myself at my designated reception table (at the opposite end of the room from Mr. Dangerous). Nonetheless, I managed to finagle a dance, exchanged a few witticisms (that sounded MUCH better in my head than on tape, as I came to realize when I reviewed the video footage), and ultimately ended up making out with him next to the pool where Mr. Bad Apologies took a 2 a.m. plunge in only his underwear.
I'll skip The Next SEVERAL Hours (which blew my mind in many, MANY different ways). When we rejoin the story in progress it's 9 a.m. and Mr. Bad Apologies has graciously packed up our hotel room and rejoined me back at the reception location (where Mr. Dangerous has a room). Mr. Bad Apologies sneaks me a fresh dress (but no toothbrush) and I am able to rejoin the morning-after brunch with only a hint of shame. And in a truly heroic gesture, he drives the entire way back to D.C., allowing me to nurse my post-sex, post-alcohol, post-other-questionable-behavior hangover in peace.
To sum up: BEST WEDDING EVER.
Comments
Well done. Well done.
Posted by: KT at August 8, 2006 10:32 AM
Woot! I know, not much to say--but you captured the weekend well. Until the podcast is unveiled, of course. I, for one, had an excellent--if a bit hurried and now cloudy--escape of a weekend. Thank you!
Posted by: Mr. Bad Apologies at August 8, 2006 04:25 PM
