Roadblocks

I have struggled a bit (a lot) trying to find inspiration and motivation to blog again. Have you noticed? I feel like lots happened, and nothing happened at the same time. It’s been five months since my last post, and while I never stopped dating completely, I did take it very easy. It’s been a summer of festivals, parties and there have barely been weekends that were not planned completely full. And, I’ve bought a house in another city! Especially that one feels huge to me. It (I thought) meant having to make a final decision between settling down and continue to travel the world. Only a few weeks ago I realized one does not cancel out the other. So I made a big commitment, but I feel like it will force a much needed change.

The biggest reason I didn’t feel motivated to write was because nothing changed, and I felt like I had not progressed even a little. I am still single, got frustrated, disappointed and even upset all over again. I spent a lot of time thinking about the whole dating thing, all things I’ve written about before here. My Facebook feed is flooded with engagements and marriages this summer. People flutter from one relationship to the next and I’m still where I was five months ago. But sometimes, just sometimes I am quite pleased with that, especially when I remember to have fun with it. But a lot of times I get a little bummed, when I haven’t managed to overplan my weekends and I sit alone on a Friday night. I think we all know how that feels. FOMO, anyone?

Anyway, it’s not like nothing happened at all. There’s a few things worth mentioning just because they’re good stories.

During the heatwave this summer, I set up a date with swimming pool guy. He had a pool in his backyard. I saw possibilities, try and blame me. We went back and forth a bit and settled on a swimming date only a date later. Not in his pool, but we went to a lake close by. He came and picked me up by car which is something I normally wouldn’t do, but I could not muster the thought of riding my bicycle in the heat. We both brought stuff to fill a picknick basket, and off we went. We found a quiet spot, took off our clothes and jumped in. I didn’t really care getting in bikini on a first date. Conversation was easy, yet at times a little awkward. He wasn’t much of a talker. When we finally made out I found out he wasn’t a great kisser, but to be honest, I just wanted to get laid. So we got dressed, he got a good look, and I made him drive back to my house.

We skipped etiquette, stumbled onto my balcony, and got naked pretty quickly. When he asked if I wanted to take my panties off myself or if he could rip them off, I told him to do it. I wasn’t wearing anything special. I was not disappointed, he was very rough about it. It didn’t take him long to figure out what turned me on. He put his hands around my neck, and there wasn’t much I wouldn’t let him do. We took it inside where he went all out. The fact that it was so freakishly hot added to the whole dirtiness of it. We were both drenched in sweat, not in the least place because we took hours. More specifically, he took hours. HOURS. And then he didn’t, and I was over it a little. It was three in the morning, and I had work the next day. He didn’t seem to mind much, we jumped in the shower, and he asked if he could stay.

We had a quiet breakfast in the morning (which I made him, why?!) and then took off. When he texted me later, he said that he thought the sex was amazing, and fantastic and hot and he’d like to see me again for that, but that he didn’t feel a spark. I told him I was fucking tired of people yakking about sparks. That I was sure he had enough ladies in his contact list to fuck, but that I wasn’t going to be one of them. I was tired of being good enough only to fuck, and at that point I didn’t want to be another fuckbuddy. Looking back now I could have kept him on, but I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t want to do that anymore.

So I’m back again, continuing to be in good spirits I hope! It feels like I’m always talking to someone, one of these days it has to happen right? I am leaving the best story for the next blog. I’ve been super high and super low on that one, but it’s a long story.

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Mediocrity

I had been meaning to write a final post before the year ended, but the truth is I spent the last two weeks either drunk or hungover. I don’t work between Christmas and New Year’s, so naturally it was spent socializing. I’m paying the price for it today! Sick and back to work tomorrow. Anyway. I normally write one post per date, but wanting to wrap it up I will include all three I had over the last fourteen days.

The first date I had was with a guy from Tinder (of course). We met for drinks and got along fairly well, and while he ticked all my physical appearance boxes, hipster beard, undercut, tall, I hated his smile. That sounds terrible, but when he smiled, he looked like a six year old boy. He was much more attractive when he put his serious face on. He’d been married at the age of twenty five and divorced by twenty eight, and has a history of depression. All things I could live with, though the depression part would worry me. It was getting pretty late, and he said I could sleep on his couch if need be. The prospect of sex still sounded pretty good to me, so I agreed. When we got to his place, I was thoroughly impressed. He lived right downtown but away from the noise, and had a very stylish masculine apartment. Very industrial, but with a few cool touches like a rope swing in the living room. Impeccable taste. And then he said ‘I will go get a pillow and covers for you.’ I stood there, utterly flabbergasted. What guy lets a women he brings home sleep on the couch?! When he got back into the room, he looked at me and kind of seemed at loss for what to do or say. But by that point, I was angry and done. I have an excellent, expensive bed at home and somehow I got suck on this guy’s couch. I told him to go to sleep, got out my phone and ignored him. He left. I typed out the story to my friend so she’d have something fun to read when she’d wake up, and I settled on the couch. Then ten minutes later, he comes back into the room, scurries around, grabs my coat and goes to the balcony to smoke. I pretended to be asleep. He’d missed his window of opportunity. Before I fell asleep, I decided to sneak out in the morning. When I woke up at nine, he was still sound asleep in the bedroom. But when I picked up my phone, I saw he had sent me a message saying he’d had a good time half an hour after we’d gone to sleep. I mean. for fuck’s sake. He’s sleeping ten meters away in the other room and he sent me a fucking text?? So I snuck out. Hours later he messaged me he hadn’t noticed my leaving. I pretty rudely replied that that had been my intent, and that no one had ever made me sleep on the couch, ever. He confessed he never meant for me to accept the couch, but he was too drunk to turn that situation around. A man that is not assertive enough to get a woman to sleep in the same bed with him is a no go for me.

Date number two was with a musician, one that actually looked like my musician ex as well. He came to my town for drinks and when I saw him, I thought he was alright, but another one of those too sweet. The night was alright, he ended up missing his train so came home with me. We were both ridiculously drunk. As in when we got home, we had to sit on the floor and try to drink water. We tried to have sex. As in, he tried, but had had too much to drink to get it up. He did a stellar job in sixty-nine so I’ll forgive him for it, but the next morning I wanted him to leave. He told me what a great time he’d had about four times. Don’t like that. I’m not here to validate you. Also, once is enough. It creeps me out. Thankfully he left at nine, texted me again to say the same thing and did it again on Tinder(!) the next day. I let him down gently a few days later.

Date number three was on the day before New Year’s eve. It was a spontaneous one, I was being challenged on my being impulsive, so I had to prove it. I went to his city for drinks, and when I walked in I was relieved that this one was finally attractive to me. He seemed to be a bit awkward in the beginning, but he had a good smile and was eloquent. We went on to the next bar, and I found out he lives in one of the fanciest areas, has paid off his apartment in full, has quit his job and money wise, is able to sit on his ass for the next year. He’s thirty two. I was impressed. As the night went on, I caught him on a few yawns. After about an hour of that, I told him I was gonna go home. Either he was tired or bored. He was tired, but promised to switch to water because he didn’t want me to go. So we had a few more drinks, and eventually went home. We hadn’t even made out. His apartment was huge. And fancy. He gave me champagne. Eventually we made out on the couch and took it to the bedroom. We fooled around for a bit and before I knew it, he’d put on a condom. Not even sure if he was fully hard but before I knew it, it was over. I think it lasted shorter than ten minutes. He took care of me afterwards, but I was a little surprised, though I hid it. I hope the alcohol was to blame, and I also thought I smelled a hint of weed on his beard. We fell asleep, or he did, and I found out he’s the cuddling kind. Yay. The next morning I made the mistake of going to the bathroom and when I came back, he was dressing. No morning sex. Crap. It was a little awkward, so I didn’t stay for breakfast, though we’ve been texting a bit, so he might be a little interested. I might go and find out this week.

So that’s how I wrapped up the year. I’d say having sex on the last day of it would be a good omen for this year, but at the same time I am done with mediocre dates and worse, mediocre sex.

And then let’s not forget about my poker player. He’s still on my mind. A lot. We texted a bit two weeks ago, I asked him how his move was going, he replied with a photo essay including a photo of his dad. I should probably, at some point, tell him he’s on my mind. Just casual like that. I’d like him to come back, I want to see him again. I want to know if he thinks of me.

Once you go black

I had two dates this week! The first one was with a guy whose hair was even redder than mine. Two pale people sitting in a bar… I met him at a super cute cafe. Lately I haven’t been so excited about dates anymore since I always wind up with guys that are nervous and find myself having to work hard to make them feel at ease. I’m tired of these type of dates. I like my men assertive. It seems like they are equal to fairy dust.

Anyway, the redhead was calm and easy to talk to, though he was nervous. He kept touching his face. We had a coffee with apple pie, switched to wine and got along just fine. His job isn’t super interesting, but he’s spent some time abroad as well. He keeps ordering drinks and while I’m not bored, my mind wanders off to the fact I still have to take a train home and I already know I’m not super interested in seeing him again, so I kinda want to get home. Once we call it a night, he actually pays the whole tab. That hasn’t happened in a while. Only two days later he sends me his phone number through a Tinder message, and I give him mine. He still hasn’t texted, so I’d be happy to accept we were just being polite.

Then I had a Tinder date last night. I was not excited about that one either, and even considered canceling a few hours before. He had come across a little needy, a few lame jokes… the works. But I went through with it. Happy I did! He was already at the bar when I arrived, and was better looking than I had been afraid of. His smile was fantastic, very boyish. We did a small pubcrawl, ran into a few colleagues of mine, which was too quick a meeting to be awkward, and when his last train home time was coming up I suggested he stay with me.

We went back to my place, had another wine for show and quickly moved to the bedroom. After we hurriedly undressed and he shoved his dick in my mouth it became very clear very quickly that the ‘once you go black’ saying was definitely true for this one. The man was huge. I’ve never seen a thicker dick. Foreplay was minimal, which I didn’t mind as his skills needed improving, and at that point I just wanted to get fucked. And did he. He was rough, hair pulling, choking and all. Good stuff. After a thirty minute break, he was ready to go at it again. He was going at it so hard I had to tell him twice I needed a minute. Also, because he took a super long time coming, and eventually didn’t. Guess the break wasn’t long enough.

After a bad night’s sleep, he was clingy which I only like if I’m into someone, we had another quickie. After a shower, I kind of ended it quite abruptly. It was clear we didn’t have much else to talk about. He was being super nice and I could tell he cared, but I am just not a happy chirpy person in the morning. If I like someone I want them to stay but if not, I get super awkward. He was a nice guy, and if he calls I’d go out with him again but if not, I’d be cool with that too.

Done Chasing

My Tinder sexdate from last Saturday happened! Up until an hour before, he was still texting me, and I could tell he was anxious. I told him we’d go for a drink, and if either of us didn’t like it, there was still plenty of time for him to get home. I was getting a little irritated myself, but when he got on the train, I went to pick him up. When I arrived at the train station, he was already there, and relieved to see me, as he’d been worried the bag-lady at the door was me. We went to a bar and while I could tell me was a little nervous, it was fine. He was a talker and I think he’s  just naturally a nervous person. He looked like his photos, though he was a little shorter than me and maybe he looked a tad older than his thirty three.

We had a few drinks, and when they cranked up the music, he wanted to leave. He paid (!) for the drinks, and off we went to my place. Had another drink, and thankfully he didn’t wait too long before making his move. After making out for a while he said he was glad I was a good kisser. Great. Off to the bedroom. We quickly undressed  each other, and after he pushed me down on the bed, he immediately went down on me. I remember the times when you wouldn’t do oral on one night stands, but I ain’t complaining. Unfortunately he didn’t excel, and so when I got bored I flipped him on his back, and it was then I realized he still had his briefs on. Even more, when I took them off, he wasn’t hard. Oh boy. My efforts by hand only got him half hard and he then told me to not worry, sometimes it took a while. Okay. I switched it to a sixty nine, and while he licked me, he put a finger up my ass. I came right then and there. I love ass play and loved that he’d picked up on it somehow. In the meantime, he had gotten very hard, and I could taste the pre-cum. Time to stop. I got him a condom, and he fucked me in missionary.

He fell asleep quite quickly afterwards, and even though he’d told me he was a spooner, I don’t think he touched me all night. In the morning, after a bad night’s sleep for me, I wanted him to go. He wasn’t into morning sex, which is fine, but then I want you out the door by nine. He did not. He took forever getting up, wanted to talk about the sex, and finally got up at ten thirty for a shower after I’d told him to a few times. He was gone by eleven. All in all, definitely a good experience, no different than picking someone up at a bar, and I’d do it again. He texted me that night he’d had a good time and good sex, so I guess it worked for him too.

Then, the guy I had a date with on Friday night has been in touch as well. I say in touch, but really it’s been me. I am the one to initiate messaging, and even though he responds super quickly and enthusiastically at that, I don’t think I’ll message him again. If he wants to see me again he’ll have to make some effort, and if not, that’s fine. I’m not gonna chase after him.

The Stud texted me last night to ask how my weekend was. I told him I’d had a date and a sleepover, which is his euphemism for sex. If he tells me about his little adventures, why wouldn’t I? And then I didn’t hear from him for a day. When I texted him this evening to ask what was up with that, he sent me a bunch of messages about himself. Not one question about my being sick (which he knew) and what not. And then he said he would be a little busy for the next couple weeks when I asked about meeting up. Call me suspicious, but in my mind, that’s an excuse for ‘I don’t really want to.’ And then he told me he had finished the business case for the sponsoring thing, and just needed to translate it. Well well. I feel like I am being used. So the plan is to wait for the case, respond to it professionally but inconclusive, and then wait for him to come up with a meet-up plan that is worthy of my looking at his business case. And if he doesn’t in the very near future he will get a piece of my mind.

I hate being used, and I have a sneaking suspicion he is in it for just that. Have the fucking guts to say it then.

I am very close to being done with him if won’t make some serious effort soon, and I am done chasing all these men. I’m over it. I’m tired. I deserve better.

Be a dick about it

You remember John. The one I shouldn’t have. I never used to see him at work and yet this week, I’ve run into him three times. Hello’s exchanged, no biggie.

Yesterday, I sent out a group email to my relay race team to ask for their leg times as I needed to compile them for a sweepstake. (Anyone wanna take a wild guess at who the slowest runner was?) So the answers start trickling in, as did John’s. He had avoided the ‘reply to all’ and sent me a private one to say that he had delegated the task of keeping his times to someone more responsible, which would be anyone else but him. I though it was as a positive sign, and sent him a ‘responsibility was debatable anyway :)’ email. He replied with a ‘Think the whole team was very irresponsible.’ Full stop. I took it as an asshole way to cut me off and to reprimand me for thinking I could hint at it. Which I wasn’t, by the way.

I took an hour, had a shower, and decided not to be harsh like I intended but send a reply he could take two ways. And lo and behold, he took it well. Maybe I had misinterpreted his previous message. We exchanged a few more about nothings, until 11pm when he said I should stop working as he was going to, and enjoy the last hour of my Tuesday. So I guess we’re on good terms again. Which is good, because we’re all supposed to have drinks sometime soon. Still, I don’t feel so good about the whole thing, I feel like the air is heavy. I’d feel so much better if we just had that drink, got a little drunk, made a stupid joke about it and get it out of the way. How very girlish of me. Or maybe he could just flat out hate me and that’d be clear enough. Hate the hot/cold. Anyway.

Last Saturday, I went out with Selma, who needed to get laid. Her words. She told me it had been two years, and she needed some. I am very much not used to her talking that way, so I was amused, to say the least. We have had conversations about why it seemed easy for me to do whatever I wanted and why I’m not bothered by casual sex, and she’d always said she wished it was the same for her, but she just couldn’t. I guess she got over it. She had spotted a guy she wanted, and then chickened out. And I figured out why she takes two years as well. This woman is difficult! As soon as she’s approached, she shoots them down with sarcasm. Not good. Eventually, I struck up a conversation with the guy at the bar, and at the end of it, he invited himself and his friend over to our table. I gave Selma advance warning, and told her to be nice.

A few more hours pass, and somehow (and this is where it becomes somewhat vague) we decide to go to my house as I live the closest. I am being told, in two separate conversations, that both men are only coming along for me. That’s not good. I’m not even flattered, because the guy Selma’s after turned out be 22, and a whiny little bitch. So I shut him down and focus on his friend. Who’s not incredibly hot, but he’s nice and he has something to say. At my place, a bottle of champagne gets opened and things go downhill from there.

I get summoned into my own bedroom by the friend, and leave Selma and her guy to it in the living room. So the friend is Asian looking, shorter than me and sadly, the small dick prejudice was true for this one. But Oh. My. God. He was incredible at everything else. In one of my posts I’d written that I’ve never been lucky enough to encounter a man good at oral sex. Until now. Seriously, I am still smiling when I think about it. He had too much to drink to get it up, which meant he completely dedicated all his time to me. I am talking hours of oral and hand jobs. I lost count of the amount of orgasms I had. At some point Selma and the other guy left, and I never even noticed. I was dragged all over my own house, and I’m sure I left a trail. Those couple of hours, he was a god. I get weak in the knees just thinking about it now. Lucky me. He woke me up after 1,5 hours of sleep, and this time, got it up. He was still small. And again, lucky me because he was out for anal sex.

Right after he left I got a text from Selma, that she’d finally gotten laid. The whiny guy had taken her home and somehow she’d had the guts to invite him up. Good for her, guess that’s out of her system now. I’d say that was a night well spent! As for my oral god, don’t know his name, didn’t get his number, he disappeared into the early morning, and I am completely cool with that.