Where I Have Been

Yep, I’ve been MIA for quite some time.  Now I’m going to tell why!


On 11 September, I got into a car accident that totaled my car and broke my left arm and wrist.  Not cool.  The other driver was at fault, uninsured, unlicensed, and without the benefit of the English language – which I guess is only a problem if the police can’t understand you.  Which they couldn’t, and a translator was eventually dug up from the nearby projects.  Delightful.  As with most sudden disasters, you still have a few nanoseconds for thought.  I realized collision was inevitable, and thought: “put your right arm down so it isn’t injured; cover your face so no cuts or chemical burns; and OH GODDAMN I really liked this car…”  CRASH.  The first thing I thought of after that was how and when to tell Kansas City without alarming him while he was at work over something he couldn’t do anything about anyway.  I had covered my face with my left arm, and airbag or no, it broke when slammed against the wheel.  It had a cool perfectly circular slice in the center of a wide array of bruising, stamped there by the emblem on the middle of the steering wheel.  But aside from that and seatbelt burn against my neck and chest, I was fine.  The car was clearly totalled, as its engine was clearly misshapen enough to never again function.  I sat on the sidewalk, calmly told the paramedics I’d take myownself to the ER, thanks, just an ice pack will do for now, and waited for the police, the wrecker, and – wow – my mother.  Mom saved the day by running right to me and taking me to the hospital, where they laughed at my self-diagnosis of broken arm … until they read the xrays.

So I had a cast for four weeks, which was removed just today.  I’m FIRED UP about things like taking showers that don’t involve garbage bags and being able to do my dishes and tie my sneakers.  And let me tell you, it was damn near impossible to have sex with that fucking thing on my entire forearm, although assorted partners (The Dom, the Kid, the Communist, Eve) were kind about the injury.

In the meantime, though, some stuff happened.  Teacher broke up with me (good for him!).  I broke up with Programmer (good for me!).  Eve and I jumped back into … well, not bed, but something together.  And I met the Dom, who is a whole BALL of (delicious, tantalizing, jesus that man has some hands) problems.  Also met the Foodie, who’s an interesting can of worms himself.  And Kansas City and I, well.  To follow this with “That’s going well,” would be so understating it that I’m not sure I can think of proper verbiage for it right now.  It’s also my bedtime, as I have an exam tomorrow that I expect to score 106% on.  But see – all this is coming.  Stay tuned!

Guest Post – Long Distance Longing, Part 2

My dear friend Ani LeClerc read my post on long distance love yesterday, and pointed out a missing element.  Here it is, straight from her (ever so delectable) mouth:
Anitya Leclerc - http://www.anityaoncam.com

Ani Leclerc’s devastating hotness. See more at http://www.anityaoncam.com!

So recently the wonderful Seven Dates a Week wrote a post about long-distance relationships that was about as great as you might expect. Except, she left out one glaring issue: the sex. Just how DO you develop and maintain a sexual connection over a distance? It’s definitely a challenge, but as a professional cam girl who’s had lots of long-distance fun, for work and for play, I am here to help!

1. Get supplies.

Staying in touch in the modern age—especially staying in sexual touch—requires a certain level of telecommunications tech to be maximally enjoyable. You will need a reasonably fast computer (you want one of those anyway, though, right?), and broadband internet (but none of us are on dialup anymore). You’ll want an HD webcam and video recording software—even if you’re shy, and we’ll get to that later. You’ll also probably want some audio recording software. Anything that does voice memos, like maybe your smartphone, will do. Sign up for a cloud storage provider like Dropbox so you can easily share large files. You will thank me later for suggesting you get a wireless headset for hands-free phone calls. Download and install Skype. I don’t like to recommend specific products or software, but trust me on this one: no other program is as readily available and also as reliable and easy to use for video calling.

2. Turn on your imagination.

OK, so you can’t have physical sex with your long-distance partner, at least, not as often as you’d like. But you can certainly tell each other all about all the things you would do, or actually will do, as soon as you see each other next. (As per SDAW’s post, you’ve got a plan, right?) If you’re shy, you can start in email or chat and maybe work up to a phone or Skype session. As you get more comfortable with each other, you should absolutely bust out the sex fantasies you’ve been too shy or lazy to share with local partners in the past. Talking about something especially intense, like a super hot and dirty fantasy, can make even ordinary instant messages the hottest thing that have happened to you in years. When you finally get to see each other in person, you’ll have worked yourselves up to the kind of properly mind-blowing fuckstravaganza that long-distance lovers deserve.

3. Discover your inner pornographer.

Filthy emails and sexts, dirty pictures, or recorded audio and video serve several purposes in a long-distance relationship. Having trouble sharing your fantasies? It can be easier to put it in an email. Does the thought of phone sex intimidate you? Why not practice by recording yourself having an orgasm while telling your partner what you’re thinking about? Your partner’s positive reaction to your naughty MP3 might give you the confidence boost you need to move on to something more interactive. Even if you’re already a full-blown exhibitionist like me, making porn for your long-distance partner is a great solution for those of us who are thwarted not only by distance, but also by time zones. (I live 9 hours ahead of my current love interest, and I lived 13 hours ahead of a previous boyfriend!) It can be hard to find the time to play together, but you can still inspire and tease one another by trading porn—written, audio, and visual.

4. Learn each other’s bodies.

It can be hard to have great sex in long distance relationships, because we just don’t have the same amount of time to touch, explore, and experiment with our partner’s bodies the way we would if we were dating someone local. If you haven’t met in person before (just hit it off online), the first time you see each other can be incredibly scary because of this, especially if you want to jump straight to all the sex you haven’t been having. However, if you followed my advice and got Skype + a high-quality webcam, you can do a lot to get comfortable with your partner’s body from afar. Watching your partners (and showing off for them in turn) can teach you what gets each other off, as well as being incredibly hot to watch. When you do meet up, you’ll be so used to seeing each other naked on screen that it will almost be like you were together the whole time.

5. Fulfill your need for physical touch.

Whether your relationship is monogamous or polyamorous, expect that there are at least some needs you’re going to have to meet locally.  It’s possible to do a lot of getting off together, even at tremendous distances, and be quite sexually satisfied. However, recreating cuddles is damn near impossible. Don’t let the rest of your social network fall to pieces while you care for a long-distance relationship, because you’re going to want to hug your friends a lot. Go for it, because friends are awesome and so are snuggles.

All right, you modern sexual peregrines: go get it! Be safe, have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Anitya Leclerc - see more at http://www.anityaoncam.com!

Don’t do anything she wouldn’t do …

Isn’t she wonderful?  See more of her (a lot more) at her website or follow her on Twitter!  

Long Distance Longing

long distance longing

Kansas City and I are separated by 733 miles, if you look at it one way.  We’re separated by 22 days and 7 hours, if you look at it another.  Any way you look, we’re apart at the very same time we want to spend every moment together – and we’ve put some strategies in place.  It turns out that although you can’t keep it from sucking, you can substantially improve your long distance love experience.


Want more?  (Of course you do.) See here for the guest post my dear friend Ani wrote.  She felt the lack of discussion on sex in LDRs couldn’t go unanswered, and of course she was quite right.

My First (and Worst!) OKCupid Date

Worst First Date

When you finally decide to take the plunge and leap into the online dating pool, you don’t expect your first experience there to be your worst … but that’s just what happened to me.  Read all about it in my Singles Warehouse post!


Now, ladies and gents, just remember: if your date “has something to show you” in his or her car, run like hell … or at least be ready to.

Meet Kansas City

jcnfountainAfter Kansas City left Tuesday morning, I drove in circles on the highway, killing time.  My bedroom was still full of him, my shower, my kitchen, my brain.  KC and I met for the first time Sunday night – but we already knew each other.  As we lay entwined while Monday became Tuesday, counting hours of sleep vs. hours together, he whispered to me: “I loved you the whole time.”  I nodded, brushed his lips with my thumb.  His hand followed the path on me from shoulder to hip that had become familiar in just a day and a half, and pulled me closer. Warning: the following is going to sound a little like lines from When Harry Met Sally.  I can’t help it; it’s the truth.  I haven’t mentioned Kansas City before, because dating him wasn’t within the realm of reality.  At least, that’s what I thought.

The first time I “met” Kansas City, nine years ago in an online writing community, we hit it off right away and often shared our lives over IM and email.  Eventually we lost touch, each wrapped up in our own long-term relationships and educations and careers.  The second time we “met”, three years ago (due to utterly unbelievable online coincidence), we were thrilled to rediscover our friendship.  And we fell in love.  Hard.  Over email, text and phone, we re-learned each other and couldn’t get enough.  There were only a few obstacles: the distance.  His monogamous girlfriend.  We shelved things after a few months. So when we got back in touch for the third time, even though we were both single, we kept the romance quiet and became best friends instead.  We shared everything: work, school, relationships, family, and everything else.  In our more honest moments, we talked about love – but we were also honest about any kind of “us” being practically impossible.

And then we met for the fourth time, five days ago.  Finally face to face. We planned it about two weeks in advance.  I let myself believe it about two days in advance – and a constant low thrum of excitement and nervousness vibrated from my chest to my lower belly.  KC rang my doorbell and started down the five steps to my apartment, and I had to step hard on my heart to keep it from beating out of my chest.  The sun was shining behind him so I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t even need to.  The space between us was electric.  “Hi,” I said, trying to keep breathing, looking into his eyes and at his smile splashed across his face like he’d just seen his first rainbow.  “Hi,” he said.  And I started a sentence about nothing that I never finished. With the words, “Come here, you,” KC pinned me to the wall with his mouth to mine.  If there’d been a film crew, they’d have been rotating around us to give you that world-spinning feeling.  KC’s hands were on my hips, on my shoulders, in my hair.  I realized my own hands were flat on the wall behind me, and solved that problem by pulling his hips against mine and holding him there tightly.

We rushed and we meandered, silently arguing with ourselves and each other over whether to take our time or just finally end all the waiting. As KC hesitated for a moment, arms around my shoulders, hips pressed tight between my thighs, looking down into my eyes, I knew I loved him.  As always.  I closed my eyes as the feeling spread through me, hot and golden and so, so good.  Kansas City said my name, and I opened my eyes, drank in his face.  “I love you,” he said.  And he slid home inside me for the first time. We spent the weekend half in bed, laughing and kissing and fucking, talking about absolutely anything that came to mind.  We wandered hand in hand through the city, discussing my history here and just being together.  We sat on a fallen tree and watched the river, nestled into one another, wishing it wouldn’t end in only a day.  We stayed awake most of Monday night, holding each other and telling truth.

When he drove away from me the next morning, he took my whole heart with him. I spent one day in a mess of emotion, thrilled and ever so in love, frustrated at being separated, and confused by all of it.  But my usual reaction to intense, overwhelming emotion is a burst of logic and pragmatism.  And by Wednesday night, KC and I had planned a schedule of visits through December.  We looked at maps together and picked a halfway point, six and a half hours from each of us.  And we’ve already begun talking about how to combine our lives in the fairly near future – who moves where and when.

It’s terrifying, to start planning life changes like where to live and where to go to school based on the very beginning of a relationship.  Part of me says: we were together for 36 hours, of course it was perfect.  But I have both logical and non-logical reasons I know this is the right thing to do.  Every time I think how foolish this is, I immediately feel another tumbler click into place on my internal certainty meter – the instincts I rely on to make all real, important decisions.  This part of me has no ability to make sense.  It just knows.  I have rational reasons as well.  As a woman in my 30s, I’m too old to wait for things to “just work out”.  I’ve begun making things happen in my personal life lately, including a new direction for my career.  It feels good to be more involved in my life’s trajectory, and chasing what I want?  It’s the best feeling in the world.

I know what I want when it comes to relationships.  I want a partner in crime.  Someone who understands me without needing explanation, someone I am always having fun with, someone with whom communication is effortless.  Someone who is game for adventures and challenges and even struggles, because we can do anything together.  When I meet someone like that, I fall in love.  Quickly, deeply, and authentically.  I’ve met four people in the past fifteen years who made me feel like that.  Recently I met a fifth.  He’s worth chasing.  This feeling is worth chasing.  In fact, I won’t be happy unless I do it.  My happiness is worth chasing.  So here I go.

Meet the Communist


The communist party don’t stop!

 The Communist and I met under circumstances you might call “different”.  (You can read about it here.)  I didn’t much expect to see the Communist again after that first night, but we kept in touch with a text message or two every few days.  The first night he invited me over, we sat on his couch talking for hours while he decided if and how and when he should kiss me. I got tired of it, and kissed him instead.

The Communist kisses me hard, mashing his mouth against mine and biting my lower lip a little harder than a nibble.  He leaves tiny toothy bruises on the tops of my collarbones; he grins to himself when his kissing my neck makes me catch my breath and whimper.  He waits for me, always, to start the undressing, and sometimes I am only half finished with the buttons on his shirt before he pulls my top off over my head and unsnaps my bra.  The Communist’s skin is remarkably soft and smooth, and I am amazed over and over again at how good he feels under my hands or pressed against me.

He plays me music every time I visit, and tells me things about the bands, the songs, the genres, that he thinks I ought to know.  It’s Billie Holiday, Young MC, Mozart, the Pogues.  I have to remind him at least once during each of these educations about our age difference.  “This was a great drinking song in the late eighties,” he says, tipping his glass toward my beer bottle.  “Mmm,” I say, dropping my icy hand on his forearm over the big red and black tattoo splashed with the words JUSTICE and EQUALITY.  “I was eight when the eighties ended.”  He wraps his fingers around mine.  “Come here and kiss me,” I tell him, and instead of moving, he just gives me a cheshire grin.  I crook my finger at him.  “Come here,” I say, and he meets me in the middle.

Three cats live with the Communist, and they are fancy breeds, exotic and strange in comparison to my own Maine coon mix.  They have exotic and strange names, but I have been calling them something else.  One is a Devon Rex, with wiry curly fur … so I called her Curly.  Of course the others are now Larry and Moe.  The Communist is a bit peeved at my reactions to their strange faces.  I don’t exactly find them beautiful, but I am constantly intrigued by their unusual looks.  “Most people,” he says pointedly, “would just adjust to their majesty.”  I look up at him from underneath my eyelashes.  “Their majesty,” I repeat. He listens to me with a skeptical look on his face.  He is, half the time, inscrutable, with uncanny self-possession.  “What are you thinking?” I’ll ask.  His response is almost always to raise his eyebrows at me and half grin.

He tells me stories of his days in the world of comics, his time at boarding school as a kid, his days of “working with the party”.   He shakes his head slowly if I mention politics, and I usually distract him quickly, sliding my fingers underneath his.  The Communist makes an art of hand-holding, somehow, and it is one my favorite things. He is careful, still, calm and self-possessed even when turned on.  He has whispered to me during sex exactly one time, even though I talk to him.  I give him his name, occasionally, and his response is to kiss me.  “You have a wonderful tongue,” I tell him.  He gives his wry smile.  “The Democrats didn’t think so,” he says.  I laugh, and throw one arm across his chest while he starts again to play the notes of tonight’s Beethoven against my back.

Lust Leads to Love?

Sex on the first date – it seems like we want to have it much more often than we actually let ourselves have it.  New science says we should give in to those urges, though, and hey – who am I argue?!  Check out my post at Singles Warehouse for the lowdown.


I’ve long been an advocate of sex when you want to have it, be that first, fourth, or fourteenth date … and it’s always nice to discover you’ve been right all along.

Fuck and Break Up


Reflecting on my most recent breakup (with the Architect), I found myself wishing I’d taken him to bed one last time.  While thinking about it, I realized something that surprised me: sex had been part of at least 75% of my breakups in the last five years!  So, naturally, I wrote a post about it, over at Singles Warehouse.


Go on, say goodbye nicely now … with your tongue, teeth, fingers, cock, and cunt.  You’ll thank me later.

The Teacher, Red Delicious, and Bi-Girl Syndrome

reddelheartThere’ve been all KINDS of exciting developments between now and the eight first dates I managed to complete in ten days’ time recently.  And this is the one I’m happiest about:  The Teacher slept with someone other than me!

He arrived at my apartment on Monday afternoon with a great big grin on his face.  This is one of the most endearing things about the Teacher, the look on his face when he sees me.  “You look nice,” he said, and we went straight to bed.  “So,” he said, “you want to hear about my date?” Of course I did.  His description of the afternoon they spent together was quite detailed, and I was getting bored.  “Get to the sex part!” I teased him, knowing that sex on the first date was highly unlikely for the Teacher.  And he blushed a lovely scarlet.  “That was later,” he said.  “Baby!” I yelled, “WOO HOO!”  I covered him in kisses.  “You know,” he said to me, “condoms aren’t THAT bad.”

I was amused.  The Teacher and I haven’t used condoms, see, since our first night together.  I let him make that decision with the full knowledge that I had other partners.  Since he doesn’t sleep with anyone other than me, and birth control is already double-covered, he felt it was fine to go without … so he’s had sex while wearing one exactly twice.  “Also,” he said to me, smiling at my joy on his behalf, “I got to be the experienced one.”  That made me throw back my head and laugh.  “I love you,” I told him, and for the first time, he didn’t echo me immediately.  I smiled inwardly.  I have little doubt about the Teacher’s feelings for me, and I respect his choice to save that for his new girl.  They are great for each other, from what I can tell, and I hope it works out.

I feel great about this, even though it will probably lead to the Teacher dating his new girl exclusively and the end of our (sexual and romantic, at least) relationship.  I’ve been on the receiving end of this sort of breakup before.  Single fellas meet me and think I’m wonderful, cannot believe I am also single, and are sure that my having other partners won’t bother them.  Most are pretty excited about the freedom to pursue other girls while also enjoying a relationship.  Ultimately, though, most of these single guys meet someone who wants the same thing they want – an impenetrable twosome.  It’s not that I don’t see the appeal.  It’s just that I’m quite picky about who I twosome with.  So the fellas move on with their new exclusive girls, and we always part on good terms.  Occasionally I have mixed feelings about it, but not this time.  I can see the Teacher marrying this gal, and I hope I dance at their wedding.  Aww.

Enough about his dating life, though.  This blog is ALL about me.  And I’m two things: uncertain and excited.  I’m positive you know what I’m talking about: that kind of interest in someone new that’s uncomfortable and thrilling and uncomfortably thrilling.  Red Delicious and I met for dinner last week, and almost immediately fell into the kind of conversation two people have when they have eighteen things to say.  She was warm, funny, honest, and instantly accessible in the way that people only can be who are comfortable with themselves one hundred percent.  Authenticity is the one thing I’m non-negotiable on.  Red Delicious has it in spades.  She also has gorgeous long auburn hair, and piercing green eyes that glow when she’s delighted.  We have tons to talk about, and we’ve laughed most of the time we’re together, on our two dates.  I love being so engaged in a conversation, and I love talking to someone smarter than me.

Thursday, we gave a hug and went happily our separate ways to our cars after goodbye, having already planned for Tuesday.  And last night, well, I think I muffed the goodbye there.  We’d driven in her car to a coffee shop, and she was dropping me back at mine. Without thinking, I jumped out and leaned down to say what a good time it had been.  Even before I had that sentence finished, I was frustrated that I hadn’t stayed in the passenger seat for a minute longer and taken a look in Red’s eyes – because I’d have loved to end the evening with a kiss or two.  We also failed to make a future date, even though I think we both would like to – again, probably my fault for leaping out of the car.

Since I’ve done dozens of them, you’d think I’d have this first/second/third-date-type stuff down.  I’d like to say that this one can be chalked up to a simple execution error, but I think it’s more of a trend.  After all, when the Biomed Engineer (we dated for six months this winter) dropped me off at my car on our second date, we accomplished the front-seat first kiss, awkwardly twisted torsos and all.  I’m a bit of a first kiss expert, even, and I can usually read my date’s face well enough to know if they’re thinking along the same lines I am.  If they are, I have no trouble making the first move.  Unless, of course, my date is a woman.  Everything else is the same – I want a kiss, I can tell that she does … and I fail to make it happen.

I’m a little bit baffled by this shyness.  “Shyness”, even, since I am the farthest thing from shy.  I’m almost never dumbfounded this way with a man.  So … why?  I have no doubts about my bisexuality.  In high school, I had one boyfriend and one girlfriend.  Ever since, I’ve had bunches of each.  The only thing I can come up with – and it’s a very uncomfortable thing – is that with men, I let traditional gender roles take the pressure off.  By ascribing responsibility for the first kiss to my date if he’s a man, I make it easier for myself to make the first move.  Or perhaps it’s that gender stereotypes allow me to be less concerned about a lack of desire on my date’s part if he’s a man?  Probably both.  And this stuff happens in my mind instantly, subconsciously, and it causes about thirty seconds of hesitation … which kills the moment.  Every time.  The thing is, the girls aren’t kissing me, either.

In that long moment, the women I’m with are paralyzed too with hesitation.  And these women are all bisexual, like me.  I have almost never dated a woman who sees women exclusively.  Many lesbians shun other women who also date men.  And enjoying the company of men and sex with men is part of me, no matter who I’m currently dating.  for these reasons, I am almost always dating other bisexual women.  I love it – they almost always understand me perfectly, and they are naturally the best people-watching companions ever.  So all my dates with women are the combination of two bisexual girls.  And when we want to kiss each other, intend to, even, something makes us halt and hesitate.  I’m calling it Bi-Girl Syndrome, and I’ve had it as long as I can remember, thinking back.  I can’t remember a female partner who hasn’t also had it, and it reminds me of one extreme example that makes me laugh.

My friend the Writer and I had long admired one another, and the timing was never right.  Finally all the pieces fell into place, and we went on a wonderful date and greatly enjoyed each other.  Afterward, we sat on my couch, our face inches apart for hours – and never managed even so much as a goodnight kiss.  When we talked again next, we said what a mistake that had been, that we’d been wanting to sleep together for ages, and we shouldn’t have let anything stop us.  And we made another date, that was equally wonderful … and sat on the couch again, waiting.  I couldn’t take it, all of a sudden, and stood up and pulled my dress over my head.  I reached for the Writer’s hand, and she smiled at me as I led her to my bedroom, where she undressed in about five seconds flat, with zero hesitation.  And the Writer and I had a GREAT night together.

Bi-Girl Syndrome only affects that first move – but, oh, its effects are strong.  Last weekend, when Eve and I went on our first date, we each hesitated in the span of almost an entire minute, trying to clear the BGS hurdle, and we didn’t, in the end.  Tonight is my second date with Eve, and I’m promising myself to overcome my hesitation.  READERS:  hold me to it.  ; )

First Date Weekend

optionsWithout my 9-5 and without the Architect in my life, I have a fair bit of time on my hands. It only took me a couple minutes of thinking to decide it was time to meet some new folks. Although I consistently get a lot of interest from the fellas on OKCupid, I was thinking more about ladies this time. After a little bit of back and forth messaging over the last couple weeks with several people, I had first dates set up with nine different people … and four of them were this weekend.

On Friday night, the Programmer and I went to a group gathering at a local pizzeria. I had been chatting with the Stamp Licker (which reminds me: although some of these professional labels are correct, not all of them are, by a longshot, and I (naturally) reserve the right to call each person anything I damn well want) online for a week or two, even though she first messaged me in May. I knew the Stamp Licker would be at this gathering, but she didn’t know I would. The look on her face when she recognized me was delightful. “Aren’t you…?” she said. “Yep,” I told her, and took the seat next to her to chat for a half hour or so. That conversation went pretty well … but it didn’t matter, since she and boyfriend are off to another state far far away in a couple weeks. Right then. I took the Programmer home afterward, and the combination of his tongue and fingers and a new toy of mine almost killed me with orgasm after orgasm of insane intensity. My muscles are STILL a little sore from all of that (says SDAW, with a wicked grin on her face).

Saturday, Harry Potter (yep, I can call them whatever I want, I said) and I were to meet at 5pm over at my favorite local bar. This particular place is often suggested to me by others, which is amusing, since it’s often my first suggestion. In this case, he had picked it. I arrived an hour and a half early, thinking I’d get some work done on this-a-here borrowed laptop … but a few of my friends were sitting in a booth in the corner. I sat with them, figuring as it became closer to 5, I’d pick out a table of my own to sit with Harry Potter and chat. But Harry was a good 45 minutes early himself … and had also brought friends. We ditched them, respectively, he grabbed a fresh beer for each of us, and we sat down to talk. It was instantly clear that Harry was overwhelmed by me and my open, friendly personality. I just wasn’t sure if it was good overwhelmed or bad overwhelmed. The more we talked, the more I realized it had to be the latter. Dear sweet little Harry was a virgin with zero dating experience. He was terrified. I made up some excuse that I had to get going, and he was out the door before I had even finished bussing the table.

I sat back down to finally get to work. But then another group of my friends arrived, bit by bit, until there were twelve or so of us, gathered around the table, playing games and creating our own game. I was in the midst of drawing a “Sand Witch” card for their set when I got a text message from a gal I’d been chatting with on FetLife: “What are you up to tonight?” We’d been saying we should meet up for quite a while, it was fitting together our schedules that had stopped us. I suggested we get together around 9pm. “Great,” she said, “how about ________?” I laughed and told her I was already there, come whenever. She arrived just as my friends and I were wrapping a game – perfect timing! I said my goodbyes, and sat down with Eve (as in Adam and), yet again with a fresh beer. Eve was wonderful. Beautiful with a wild blond mane and crooked smile, open, warm, soft-spoken yet strongly confident. We were having a great time, until the boys showed up – two single fellas, to whom we appeared to be two friends without a date, I’m sure.

They sat down and chatted us up about every boring topic you can think of. We endured them for a bit and moved on to find another place to sit, no doubt bruising two male egos in the process. After a long, long conversation ranging from exes to jobs to family to current partners, Eve and I admitted it was late and she had quite a bit of driving to do. Standing outside the bar, I leaned down to hug her goodbye. There was a good 7 inches’ difference in our heights; probably more like 9 with the shoes I wore – and it occurred to me, a moment after she walked away without a goodnight kiss, that said kiss was MY responsibility, simply because of the height disparity. I always seem to freeze up when it comes to making a move with a girl – which is ridiculous, considering how shy I’m not with just about any man. Sigh. I texted Eve and apologized for the slip. She texted back with a smile: “we can take care of that next time.” My heart fluttered.

This afternoon, I met up with the IT Guy for brunch at 1:30. Just to continue the trend of the weekend, a table at the restaurant was occupied by yet more friends of mine, and the IT Guy waited politely while I said hello. IT Guy’s accent charmed me, as French accents tend to do; softening all the hard edges of his English and making his speech sound like a slow song. We talked about any- and everything; I finally had to cut the conversation short and declare that I had other things to do this evening. He was clearly interested in seeing me again, and then he suggested that I come over to his place and wait for the appliance repair guy with him tomorrow morning. Hmm. Like many of my dates, he was confusing my openness about sex with my willingness to fuck anybody at any time. Ah, no thanks. I told him I was free on Saturday during the day, and we made another lunch date … and we’ll have to see how that one goes.

I wore the same trusty denim skirt to all four dates.  It’s a dark-wash pencil with buttons down the front, and it’s positively awesome on me.  And I’m exhausted from all of this meeting new people. First dates mean being on my toes in more ways than one, and I find myself longing for the comfort of an old lover this evening. There’s just something about being with someone who already knows a little bit about what to expect, I think.  Maybe I’ll see what the Communist is up to tonight…. he hasn’t seen that denim skirt yet.

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SDAW on Twitter

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