Date Fourteen: By The Way, Melinda.....

How did our species actually continue to propagate with men like the ones I've met?  Toothless and tactless they approach women with ungainly swaggers and idiotic comments they think will make us want to hop right into bed with them. Baby, are those jugs real?  As if that is going to endear a woman to a man in record time.  I'm sure there's a woman out there who will unsnap her bra and offer them up for the testing, and it is she who has created the monsters I've met so far. If women turned and ran when approached with such idiocy perhaps the idiots would rethink their pick up lines.  Some lines just make me want to cry for the man's mother.  She would be so embarrassed if she knew just what her son was saying to the fairer sex.

He was a personal trainer from Australia.  The former DJ in me loves a nice voice and add that sexy accent and I was intrigued.  I broke the rules I established after Fire Slave Dave for this one and we spoke on the phone for a week or so before we actually met.  I liked him.  The first conversation lasted 4 hours.  Very unlike me to do that, but we hit it off and the conversation went along smoothly and naturally.  Time got away from us as we spoke.  He was fun to talk to and the accent, well, it was very sexy. 

My own body image got in the way for a few days and I canceled the first date.  He's a personal trainer for an Ultimate Fighter and countless other people who are on a mission to create the perfect body.  My idea of a perfect body is not the same as his, I was sure.  Chocolate chip cookies are a staple in my diet, as are tacos and chili relleno burritos from the local taco shop.  I'm by no means a fat girl, but I'm not bone skinny either.  I embrace my curves.  He had seen photos of me and was aware of my physical stature, but a part of me felt I wouldn't be the type of girl a personal trainer sees outside the gym.  The last thing I wanted was to become his latest "project" as he made me run alongside the car on the way to dinner in an effort to turn me into a size zero.   After a few conversations he made me feel more relaxed about his standards by saying skinny girls are high maintenance.  So we met.

We got into our cars, got on our cell phones and headed down the same street towards one another until we came to the first place we both recognised...TGIF's.  He reminded me of Clark Kent with sexy glasses.  I had seen photos of him and made that comparison and he thought it was pretty funny.  He said he had Superman underwear and he promised to wear them that night.  Yes, I know you must be wondering, he's younger by 6 years.  But please note, they are getting older!

We sit and chat for a bit, order dinner and he convinces me to peek under the table to see his Superman underwear.  I do and I laugh, loudly.  He seems a little nervous and that lightened the mood a bit.  He wasn't tasteless about it, as he just pulled the waistband out of his jeans and let me get a look at the bold red and blue colors indicative of the caped crusader.  Or is that Batman?  Anyway, I'm liking him.  He compliments me on my appearance and I feel much better about not being a size 5.  

I see him looking at my legs when I get up to go to the bathroom so I ask, "Are you a leg man?"

Remember, he has an Australian accent.....

"No, I'm into vagiiiiiinas." 

The word vagina is pretty coarse spoken by an American, but have an accent like his and the word didn't gracefully trip off his tongue.  It sounded almost foreign and I'm sad that I can't mimic it for you in person.  What happened to the nerves he had half an hour earlier? 

"Oh."  I guess I sort of set myself up for the next thing he says.

"And by the way, Melinda,  I've got a nine inch cock."  He says it with pride.  "It's long, but it's thin."

At this point I've almost finished dinner and have the fork and knife still in hand.  I slowly set them down on the plate that I then push away from me.  I fold my arms on the table and I lean forward.

"Thanks, but wouldn't you have rather I had found that out on my own?   Seen the joy on my face and the twinkle in my eye as I clapped my hands with glee when I unwrapped that little present? You've ruined the surprise and now that I know what I'm getting, I don't want it any more."

I reached for my purse as he sputtered across from me.  I pulled a $20 out and dropped it on the table.  He started to laugh nervously.  I was a whole lot of shocked that someone would announce something like that at meal time.  And the first meeting to boot.  It was inappropriate and arrogant and it felt like he was auditioning for the position of porn star. 

"Wow, just look at the time!  Guess I'll be moving on."  I gather up my dignity and scoot out of the booth.  He gets up.

"Let me walk you to your car." He says.

"Fine."  We walk out and I go to my car.  There's no stalling for a kiss or a hug goodbye.  He opens the door for me and I laugh at his gentlemanly gesture after such an off the wall remark about the size of his penis. 

"Thanks."  I get in.

"Call me."  He says.  

Sure, when pigs fly.

Kryptonite Immunity!

Whenever I felt lonely I found myself turning to Kryptonite for comfort.  Sure, it's purely physical, but I left feeling satiated and somewhat content.  It's days later that the emptiness filled my soul.  Two months has passed since our last meeting and feeling low, I call him.  His voice sounds excited to hear from me.  He's got a big smile on his face and I can nearly see it through the phone.  I'm heading to an art event, but we make plans to meet afterwards.  I call when I'm around the corner.

We play very well together.  We laugh and enjoy each other mentally and physically. Contented, we drift off to sleep.  His phone rings at 1 am.  He answers.  He gets out of bed.  He's gone for a while, in the living room, calling someone "Babe".  The conversation I picked up on was from a woman who went on a date, had just arrived back at home and was calling to give him an update. I'm not sure why I'm getting angrier by the minute, but I am.   It feels disrespectful to me. He doesn't hear me when I get out of his bed and I leave, slamming the door behind me.  I drive the 30 seconds it takes me to get home, pull into my driveway and my phone rings.  It's him.  

"Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"   I'm angry.  Mad, even.  Mostly at myself because I've left my best underwear at his house.

"I'm on my way back.  Meet me at the door with my underwear."  I hang up on him.  I drive back and he's not at the door with my knickers.  He's baiting me into going back into the house.

I enter his house and go to his bedroom to get my underwear and I find him propped up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the sheet over his naked hips.  Sexy pose, but suddenly, I'm immune. I took the moment to tell him exactly how I felt. How angry I was at being a secret and how shameful it makes me feel.  How rude it is to take a phone call when you have someone in your bed.  And I finished with how he's missing out because there's a side to me that he'll never know.  All the while I'm crawling around on the floor looking for my bra and panties that were thrown helter skelter a few hours ago.  

He apologized.   He actually apologized.  And it was too late.  Something in me had clicked.  I was done.  That apology meant nothing to me.  It rang hollow in my ears and heart.  He tried to get me to come back to bed, but I was done.  WE were done.  I've built up an immunity to his brand of kryptonite.   I went home and went through my closet searching for one of his shirts I had worn home one night.  I went to the kitchen and found the coffee mug I had left with one morning.  I put the reminders of him in a bag and put them in the trunk of my car along with a few other items that were destined for donation.  I didn't even flinch when I handed them over to the Salvation Army.  

Someone sent me a text with what looks like the x-ray of a man's head.  Inside the head is an animated penis flopping up and down and written below it is the caption:  Your MRI came back positive.  You're a dick head.  I sent it to him.  I haven't heard back.  I know I won't, but damn! I certainly feel better!  I've finally conquered kryptonite!  

 

Emmanuel: The Penis Stroker

I hate dating online, but I like it too.  My work schedule doesn't allow me the day light hours necessary to go out with friends and meet men in the normal way. I get off work, go home and unwind, just like everyone else.  Except I work swing.  When I get off work, the world is asleep and I'm wide awake.  When I finally go to bed, dawn is just breaking. I hate it.  Love the job, hate the hours.  

I come home from work and settle in with the computer to check email and my facebook. I'm so addicted to that site.  Then I spend some time looking at men at Plentyoffish.com .  I have to say, that out of all the sites I've been on, this one is the best. Mainly because it's free and it has a chat program built into it.  I can be looking at profiles and get a chat request.  I wait patiently for the screen to load, waiting to see who's on the other end.  A web cam can be viewed from the chat screen, too. Sometimes when I get a chat window come up, there's someone on their web cam looking back at me.  Keep in mind, they can't see me. 

I'm already chatting with a friend I've made from the site and a new screen loads.  I'm shocked at what I see.  A man...duh.....stroking his penis on his web cam.  I see the name...Emmanuel.  I'm so caught off guard that I click the screen off and send him back where he came from.  I'm certain he won't send another chat screen because he'll figure I wasn't interested.

I'm wondering  if I see some one's penis, does that mean I have to count them as a date?  Because if I do, that's really going to push up my numbers.  I have had men send their penis via text message and over web cam before.  I have a collection.  So far, 6 on my phone and 2 via web cam.

So Emmanuel is proud of his manhood.  He strokes it and somehow thinks this is going to impress me.  When I think about reversing the situation and it having been a woman stroking herself and a man watching, the man would be doing all he could to get a clearer picture.  A woman on the other hand, sees a stranger taking care of things like that and we instantly think, "Ewwwwwww!".

The Emmanuel story continues.....

A few weeks later, I'm chatting online with the same friend I was chatting with when Emmanuel made his appearance.  A new chat screen pops up and when it loads I see myself looking at the profile picture of a nice looking man.  I click on the photo and it takes me to his actual profile where I can decide whether or not I want to chat or not.  I notice the name.  Emmanuel.  OMG!  It's the penis stroker!  

"I recognize your name."  I type.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Didn't your mother tell you that you'd go blind doing that?"

Silence from him for a few seconds and I wait it out.

"What are you talking about?"  he writes.

"I'm talking about a few weeks ago when you showed me your dick." 

Silence for a full minute before he responded.

"You think that was me?"

"YES!" I write.  "You had your hand on your dick and you were going to town...fess up.  it was you, wasn't it?"

*crickets*     and then he writes,

"I'd rather it have been YOUR hand on my cock."

My jaw hit my chest....My fingers are flying across the keyboard.  "IT WAS YOU!  YOU ARE SO NASTY!"

and that was when he hung up on me.