Mar 112017
 

Today I am recovering from one of the more confusing sexual encounters I’ve had… pretty much ever.

Before I get into it, I do want to spell out that I am very much into consensual sexual acts of all sorts. Key word is consensual. And most risqué acts are discussed ahead of time to make sure both parties are into it.

I’m also one to run like a bat out of hell if it’s not consensual, and I do not take lightly any kind of ignoring of the word “No” or forcing oneself on another (unwanted).

This makes last night even more confusing.

I met this guy at the bar. He seemed nice and so I went home with him, and his best friend who had her boytoy in tow.

On our way out the door, I stopped at the restroom. When I rejoined him outside, he had just started eating a cup full of peanuts and showed them to be bragging about his nuts. It was cute how he was doing it, but I’m allergic (like ER allergic). When I said I was allergic, he swung the cup behind his back, flinging peanuts far away from us behind him.

“Why are you talking about peanuts? You’re silly.”  and then you could see the thought cross his face…

“This means no kissing right. I need to wash out my mouth.”  For about an hour until he’d brushed his teeth and washed his mouth, you’d see his thought of kissing me run through his mind, and he would quickly move onto something else instead.

As soon as he got in my car (I was driving), he was all hands and it was heavily distracting me from driving. So I asked him to stop. He said no.

Since this is one of those “What you can’t be serious?” things, I wrote it off as him being funny.

Once we got to his place, he served drinks and we (just him and I) went into his bedroom for privacy. He started taking off his clothes so I followed suit.  He walked over to where I was and began kissing my neck (he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet) and pushed me down on the bed. I still had my pants on, and he was kissing down my stomach and biting at my crotch.

So I started to stand up and say that I was going to take off my pants. He put his hand around my throat, gripped me solidly, and pushed me back onto the bed. I was about to complain, and he let my neck go.

So I tried to rise again. Again, with quick reflexes, he put his hand on my neck and gripped tighter this time, pushed me back onto the bed. I stayed that way this time until he moved away from me.

He pulled down the covers slightly so I took the hint that I was to get into bed. I removed my bra and he began kissing my breasts and then biting my nipples.. and then biting them harder. He did not stop until I yelled “ow” very loudly, and even then he took his time letting go.

It became quite clear that while I didn’t think he was actually going to hurt me (well not really, plus he was a small enough guy that I could overpower him if I wanted) the activities we’d be doing would be entirely his decision.  I debated on whether I was fine with it.

He slapped my breasts. It was startling and I didn’t like it but it was over as fast as it began, and he’d distract me with something else or refuse to let me talk.

“I’ll be right back. By the time I get back, you’d better be naked.”

I joked. “Of course,” because I was already removing the rest of my clothes.

“I mean it. Not a stitch of clothing.” Then he walked out of the room. He didn’t come back for a while. I waited obediently naked under the covers.

When he did come back, he threw off my covers and inspected me quickly before starting in on my nipples again, and then kissing me.. and then starting to eat me.

There was no checking in with me on whether or not it was ok, he just did what he wanted. And other than the very sore nipples, I wasn’t really complaining. I was torn between shock and heavily turned on, so much so that I barely thought about my safety or what he’d want to do next.

He put on a condom and began fucking me at that point and his hands roughly treating my breasts with the random slap.  Again, when I began to complain about it, he’d not let me talk.

A couple more slaps later, I finally had had it and told him no more slapping. I wasn’t being silenced.

“If you want to slap something, you can slap my ass.”

He turned me over and spanked my ass several times.

Then he asked me to ride him. I tried, but he’d gone soft. Too much drink I suspect because he passed out cold shortly after and snored like a freight train.

Had we discussed my preferences ahead of time, I would not be confused at all about this encounter.

It was literally the hottest one night stand I’ve ever had, and that’s even counting him passing out before completing sex.

However, we didn’t have safe words or any discussion of anything. So my brain is telling me I was assaulted, while my vag is trying to convince me to see him again.

Nov 022011
 

YourTango posted a story today (or it came across my proverbial desk today) about some new vibrating device that allows for mutual orgasms during sex.

 

Their Facebook post about it asked “We-gasm: Myth or Real Thing?”

 

My first thought was.. uh.. Is mutual orgasms during sex that rare? And then I got worried.

 

One, I worried that mutual orgasms were that rare and I’d already used up all the mutual orgasms that I was allotted in my lifetime. (So scary of a thought that I’d rather just be celibate if that’s the case.)

 

Two, I worried that I was some sexual freak of nature.

 

I’m still worried about option two there.

 

You see, my best orgasms have always been during intercourse and they’ve all been mutual orgasms. Sure sure, I’ve had bad sex.. I’ve had sex without orgasm.. I’ve had orgasms at the wrong time failing the mutual orgasm.. But my best orgasms have always been during actual intercourse.

 

It’s the only time I can really free myself up enough to let loose and enjoy. Where my mind, heart, soul, and body work together.

 

Theoretically, I might achieve a similar experience if someone else was holding a vibrator for me.. but I don’t think so.

 

You see, one of the biggest parts of it for me is having that other person there.. hearing them enjoy themselves.. feeling them live inside me.. their scent.. their sound.. their energy.

 

It’s animalistic.. it’s companionship.. it’s affection.. it’s raw.. uncensored.. in the NOW.

 

Or maybe… maybe I’m a freak of nature who’s g-spot is easily accessible.

 

Though I do have some tips on how to screw up sex with me:

 

1. Unless we know each other well, and I know you don’t really mean it. Use words like “Slut, Whore…” you’ll also want to use words like dirty and trashy. Also if you can call me fat.. that would give you bonus points for ruining sex.

 

2. Be absolutely quiet about how close you are to cumming, and only tell me after you’re done. (This will also ensure that I will never want to have sex with you again.)

 

3. Call me one of your ex’s names. (though really, if I’m only into you for the sex this won’t affect anything except I may throw a faux-punishment into the mix for you)

 

4. Take hours with foreplay. I’m ready to go, and you’re still just kissing my neck.. should I just do my nails until you’re ready? Oh wait, then we’ll just have to start over.

 

5. Have your body trained to only get hard if you’re getting a blow job. NEXT.

 

6. Tell me it’s ok for me to go ahead and cum when you don’t, and then you cum immediately afterward so I can’t even work up another orgasm to mutually orgasm with you. (This frustrates me to no end. Seriously, stop doing that shit.)

 

7. Insist on me being on top. I just cannot orgasm while on top. Maybe if I had a monkey bar above me to hold onto? I don’t know. I just cannot relax enough on top or get in the right position where it’s good for you and me at the same time. The few times I’ve even come close to orgasm while on top, I’ve … er… fell off. Literally. Which is a little dangerous as I ended up with a goose-egg on my head and totally ruined any desire I had for an orgasm.

 

As for what I do on my part for a mutual orgasm? Hmm.. let me see..

 

First let me explain that a mutual orgasm is like bliss for me. It is always my end goal .. yes even if I’m using a guy for sex.. because I feel like a super-woman-sexy-rockstar when I accomplish it.

 

As most of you know.. orgasms are partly mental and partly physical. I’m quite certain you could probably force an orgasm physically if you knew how.. just as you can train yourself to mentally orgasm (or orgasm on command – yes you can train a human body to orgasm on command just like you’d train your dog to roll over).

 

Sex for me is always a combination of the two but mostly mental. As long as you’re not totally distracting my mind from orgasm – aka doing something horridly wrong – I can usually get there. I have in essence trained myself to control my own orgasms… to some extent. I’ve also at times enlisted help.. but thats another story for another time I think.

Maybe I’m the only girl that works this way.. maybe I’m just a kinky freak of nature.. or ??  I don’t know. Are mutual orgasms that unusual?

Jan 202011
 

The following is an old post from 2010. I held off on posting it because I was not in my right mind – as you’ll see by the end of the post – and I wanted to wait until the anger passed to post it.  Then I wanted to wait until the guy himself was essentially forgotten from my blog, lest he suffer any backlash from what could simply be my own psychosis altering perceptions…

It was this (plus a few other things) that convinced me to stop dating all together for quite a while last year, and it is this “thing” that rears it’s ugly head every time I do date.

I don’t expect this to make a whole lot of sense to those of you who have not been through sexual abuse, and I believe this is the most personal piece I’ve put up here.

I’m posting this for two reasons:

1. I have held myself to be as honest about my dating life as much as possible on this blog, especially with those things that nag me… those things that are like therapy for me to be open and honest about.. the things that in some way, might help someone else who has been in the same boat.

2. I have to post it for myself. I’ve been needing to post this, much like people sometimes feel the need to talk to their therapists. I have been waiting. I have not forgotten this post. At least once a week since I wrote it, I have asked myself “Should I post it? Is it time yet?”

I have to stop waiting. I have to stop being considerate of his feelings. I have post this so I can move on.. for me.

*************

I keep replaying scenes from the weekend in my mind. These scenes when first played were biased with “love” and caring. Tainted with hope of something promising, and excused by “Well we’re just learning about each other.”

But even then, with those descriptors, I found myself after each event becoming more anxious, more angry, and more withdrawn.  I found myself less excited about the next sexual encounter with him.

The more I look back over what actually happened, the more I get this nagging feeling.. this red light.. telling me caution. It’s strange. But despite all his chivalry.. all his natural aggression to protect me.. despite his need to be my hero.. I kept feeling this nagging.. this undercurrent of caution.. that he was a misogynist.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t fear him. Or at least not outright. I trusted him not to hurt me physically, and I suppose emotionally..

It’s possible that my own personal psychosis has completely made up this side of him. But I don’t think so.

You see.. he couldn’t really get hard unless I was subjugated. The more humbling the position, the harder he seemed to get.

But like I said, this could be all my own psychosis.

See.. as I’ve mentioned before.. I was orally raped when I was 18 (or 19 or somewhere around there). As such I have issues with sucking cock, blow jobs, licking the red banana.. whatever you want to call it.  My head in a guy’s  privates.. well its a little bit of a land-mine.

I have since the oral rape had good… or should I say.. non-traumatic, experiences with it, but those have been very few and far between and there are rules that must be adhered to or I will flip out. Since I require a lot of trust in my partner in order to do it, my opportunities have been pretty scarce. Those that I manage to trust enough, often refuse to let me try or didn’t much care if I did.

Our first time together.. this guy and I.. I trusted him. I don’t know why, but I did, and he knew full well ahead of time my “rules” for oral.

We were fooling around in bed, and I wanted to try, so without a word, I leaned over and took him in my mouth. Just for a few seconds. It was good. I felt good that I could do it for that short time, and he said he felt honored that I trusted him that much. It was a very sweet moment.

The next time we were together though, he pleasured me with his fingers then laid on his back. While I appreciated his efforts, I didn’t request it. Had he asked me, I’d just have preferred to go straight to fucking, but he seemed to enjoy torturing me with orgasm after orgasm.. and what girl is going to complain about that?

This is when the ugliness began to rear its head. He began to talk about how he thought that being nice to a woman outside the bedroom.. by doing certain favors, tasks, etc.. then earned him treats sexually (and by treats he meant blowjobs). My alarm bells went off, but I ignored it. He was sweet and loving, and couldn’t be serious. But it stuck in the back of my mind.

He then laid on his back, and began to talk to me about blow jobs… He talked about asking me to do it, and how to ask me for it. (“There has to be a way to ask for it” he said)

How did we get from me doing a short few second trial to him feeling it was ok to ask for it?

My chest got tight. I didn’t know how to answer him. It was a reasonable question, and it’s not unreasonable to ask for things in bed. I should be able to field such kinds of questions. Reasonably. Rationally.

It’s like the question itself starts a war inside me. A war that no matter which choice I choose, I lose.

It’s not reasonable. It’s not rational. And for the most part it has nothing at all to do with the person asking, and it’s impossible to put this internal war into real words to explain it to them (or even to you now).

With that question, releases as well the following thoughts… most of which are phrases from previous men on the subject:

“It’s a common blow job, it means nothing.”

“So you get yours, I get nothing?”

“Oh come on, you can do it. You haven’t even tried.”

“Get over it already.”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“It’s only fair after what you got already.”

“You’re just being silly.”

“Turn about is fair play.”

“God, you’re pathetic. How will anyone want you?”

“Really? No? You’re that broken?”

“You’re not going to get over this if you don’t even try.”

How can anyone say no with that running through their head?

While I was “umming” and “uhhhing” over how to address this issue, he asked me to do it. I did.

It was ok, and I was glad I managed to half-way do it.. but I felt pressured. I resented him asking. I resented not being able to tell him no. I hated myself for not being able to take joy in it. I hoped though that the next time we got together that things would be better.

Our next encounter, he wanted to perform oral on me. (I had been on my period previously, so it wasn’t an option until this encounter) He’d been wanting to do it the other times, but due to my physical condition.. it wasn’t an option. Eeek that reads like he wanted to do it while I was menstrating.. no no.. he likes doing oral just not on menstrating women. (And if he did want to do oral on menstrating women..*shiver* Eww I’m sorry I have my limits.)

Anyway, he gets done doing oral on me.. and then without really asking.. he moves into 69 position. Him on top of me.. his junk dangling in my face…his body pinning me down.

“Is this ok for you?”

“uhh.. umm…”

It was less of a question and more of a suggestion or statement. It wasn’t ok, and eventually I told him so.

— side note: I honestly don’t get how anyone likes 69. How in the hell is that effective? I’m sorry, but I cannot multi-task like that. If I’m giving, I’m concentrated on giving and their reaction. If I’m getting, then I’m losing control. I cannot lose control and concentrate on someone else’s pleasure at the same time. If you love 69, please email me and explain how to do it. —

Once he got off of me, he laid on his side and again asked me to suck him. I tried, with much the same emotional crapola running through my head as before… but with much more resentment and much less ability to do it.

Again as he had all the previous times.. he couldn’t stay hard for actual sex, and since I can’t finish a blow job to its completion. I ended up giving him a hand job. Disappointed, resentful, and angry. (I like actual intercourse, and besides the pressuring to perform blow jobs, I wasn’t getting laid.)

The next day we tried again.  I instigated, because he was leaving soon and I wanted to actually have sex.

He gets me warmed up with his hand.. I orgasm a few times.. nothing huge but good anyway.. Then he rolls over and asks for a blow job. (seriously? you’ve got to be kidding me!)

He saw my reluctance, then said:

“Ok, well come join me in the shower then.”

I didn’t want to. I had no idea what he wanted me to do in the shower, but I didn’t really want to and I knew it wouldn’t be actual sex. I’d already showered, and was clean. My hair was blown dry, and I had put my makeup on just a few hours before.

But he insisted. “It’ll be fun. Come on.”

I made up lame excuses. I say lame because they were excuses. Like 69, I’m not a big fan of sharing a shower, let alone trying sex in a shower. I’ve been there done that, and more often than not one of us falls down and gets hurt. (Not to mention I do things in the shower that I’d rather not have my lover watch.)

I eventually relented.

We get in the shower.. he washes.. then asks me to blow him.. in the shower.. with the water running.. with him standing and me kneeling.. the same position as when I was orally raped, only now I’ve got the fear of getting water in my nose. I made him turn off the shower.

This was my first attempt ever at that position. I congratulated myself for even attempting it, but when we were done.. I was unbelievably angry and insecure.

He walked out of the shower as if nothing was wrong.. didn’t really ask how it was for me. Packed up his stuff and went home.

I was angry at myself, and I was angry at him for asking. I was so angry that I could have written a book about what an asshole he was. My mind jumped to all the things he did wrong that weekend. All his inadequacies, and had I not known him better, I could have easily written him off as a “using me for sex asshole”.

But it was all me (ok mostly me). I didn’t put up complaint. He didn’t even have to insist, just look at me expectantly like it was normal to expect a blowjob… like making toast. I didn’t even tell him that asking me was causing me issues. I grinned and bore it.

Like a good girl.

And I found myself hating him. I hated myself.

Crazy right?

The anger continued all night. All I could taste and smell all night was balls, despite showering and eating, and washing again, and brushing my teeth, and eating more… all I could taste and smell was man balls and I couldn’t get clean from it. The memories flashed back, the feelings, the sensations.. and the anger built up.

The next day when I’d calmed down a bit, I called him. He hadn’t called me or contacted me that day, but I needed to make sure he knew what I was going through and that I couldn’t have him asking me for oral or expecting it the next time we got together. I had to stand up for me.

I told him what I’d been feeling. He said a brief sorry. I think it was genuine.. I’m sure he didn’t know what to say. But the call ended quickly, and he didn’t contact me again.. or ask how I was.. for days.

I became a complete basketcase. Clingy. Needy. Insecure. Crying at the drop of a hat. Angry for no reason. Moody like an 80’s Ally Sheedy… no… probably more akin to Lindsay Lohan (without the need of drugs and alcohol). And it wasn’t until I completely went psycho, that he finally called to check on me… and I cried like a baby the entire conversation.

So in light of these recent events.. I’ve added a new rule to my oral sex recovery plan.

You can’t ask me for a blow job. You can’t expect it. You get no say on if it happens at all.. well except for telling me no.. I’ll let you tell me no on that.

Dec 142010
 

So after my date with “Barks At Dogs”, I wanted a drink. I’d already planned on going out with Chrissy to a bar, and meeting a bunch of friends, so I headed to the bar.

I arrive and it’s drink specials night. $1 wells. Normally when they say $1 wells they mean mixed drinks. If you order a vodka on the rocks, most places will charge you double. Not this place. Vodka on the rocks for a buck.

I then decided to see how many I could down before the drink specials ran out at 10pm. Yes, I decided to get smashed, and announced it to everyone there.

The party included Chrissy, a couple girls I don’t really know, an Asian/Pacific Islander guy, and Ken.

I’ve known Ken for a while now. I met him at the same time that I met the guy I talked about in my “Confuzzled” post.

Ken is a sweetheart. Nice. Passive. Do anything for you. He’s one of those guys you write off as friends, because you’re pretty sure if you actually did try to date him you’d just end up hurting him.

As such, I wrote Ken off very quickly when I first met him. He’s also a little odd which doesn’t help matters any.

Ken, being the nice guy that he is, decided to help me in my drinking endeavor by buying me a few drinks himself, and encouraging me to drink up.

By 10pm, I had a good buzz going. I didn’t count how many drinks I had, but based on my bill. I know it was at least 14 vodkas on the rocks.

I didn’t stop at 10pm though. Ken bought me more drinks after that, and I didn’t turn them down.

He was being sweet, nice, and attentive. After my date earlier, he wasn’t looking so bad.. but I had no intentions of being more than friends with Ken.

This is where things get fuzzy. I’m missing pieces of what happened exactly, but since I was too drunk to drive myself home.. somehow I went home with Ken. I honestly don’t even think at that point that I had any intention of being more than just platonic with Ken.

But.. me + alcohol…

I honestly don’t remember leaving the bar, but I do remember walking to Ken’s car. I vaguely remember riding in the car on the way to his place. I woke up this morning with absolutely no clue where in Austin I was, a very rare thing as I always have a backup plan. But I obviously trusted Ken because I did not pay any attention to where he was driving me the night before. (of all the times in my life that I’ve ever been drunk, this is the only night that I have had this much trouble recalling things.. soo not a good sign)

I remember him parking, and myself opening up my car door and puking my guts out. (Sexy right?) And puking. And puking. I remember Ken clearly taking care of me, being sweet about everything, and telling me I’d be ok.

I don’t remember walking up to his apartment, but obviously I did since I woke there this morning.

I do remember knocking over his DVD shelving. His alphabetized collection falling haphazardly all over the floor. I remember trying to put them back on the shelves in the right order, and him begging me to stop. He wasn’t mad. He just wanted me in the bedroom.

I just don’t remember the point where it went from platonic to romantic at all.  I do clearly remember feeling platonic at the bar. I do clearly remember what we did next was not platonic, and it was just as much my idea as it was his. I just don’t remember how it got to that point.

I did find some texts on my phone this morning. Evidently, we were texting each other at the bar calling each other “Sweetie” and “Sweetheart”… (yes you can puke now)

But I’m very glad things went romantic, because Ken has a side to him in the bedroom that is HOT.

Outside the bedroom, Ken walks around as if he’s not really at ease or very self-assured. He seems sweet, innocent, passive. In the bedroom, he wasn’t really any of those things. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to do it, when to do it, and more. He’s also packing a pretty good pistol. (He’s a little bit like the married guy on “Cougartown”)

It’s the best sex I’ve had since my “Night of Sexual Healing” a little over a year ago, and boy did I need to get laid.

I woke up this morning feeling sick, icky, yucky, and happy… if just a little confused on where I was.. but I wasn’t confused at all on who I was with. The surprise of being happy with Ken was strange.. and I wonder if maybe I should have gotten drunk with him earlier.

Then he came back from taking his dog for a potty-walk, and we started again. The tone was different from the night before… better different. It was fun. It was sensual. It was amazing.

As he drove me back to my car this morning (after taking me out to get some breakfast), I learned more about him. I thought he was much younger than me. He’s actually just a little older. He someday wants to get married and have kids.

He might just be a keeper… maybe. I’ll have to get to know him better to tell for sure.  And I wouldn’t have even given him the time of day, had I not gotten drunk. Strange huh?

Now just to find out if he feels the same. It’s possible I might just be that drunk chick he brought home once, and decided never again.

Aug 222010
 

Fooled Again.

See, I should have seen this coming. Actually I did see this coming, I just ignored it.

I mean…

No man can possibly “Love” you and know for certain that he will want you “no matter what” from simply talking to you online.

Or at least no man in his right mind.

There were other signs. Like being so excited to meet me, planning romantic dates, and yet he wasn’t so into me that he ever felt the urge to read past posts on my blog.

Not to mention that he’s recently divorced and hadn’t had sex since his ex.

So… yeah.. I’m pretty damn stupid and I should have seen this coming.

Sadly, I’m not as pissed about feeling used for sex, as I am at myself for allowing myself to believe this guy genuinely liked me and wanted to be with me.

The signs were there. He wanted to be in love, and he was desperate for someone to love him back the same way he loved on them.

He’d worn me down to believing in us, but not enough to throw all caution to the wind and fall head over heels.

Back in the day, I used to fall in love easily. Infatuation mostly. I’d fall fast and hard and get massively hurt. I don’t fall that easy, or I try not to anymore.

But he’d worked on me. Weeks.. Months.. of constantly asking me how I was, talking, chatting, 6 hour phone calls. He was there. He’d claim he wanted what I wanted. It was suspicious, but he was persuasive.

By the time we’d finally met, I was convinced that he really did like me. I also knew that he secretly wanted a relationship, but would agree to whatever I would allow.

The chemistry was great… the sex itself was not. It was something to work on… but had the sex been great, I highly doubt I’d have been able to resist “His & Hers” towels.

We had a conversation style where honesty just happened. So at the end of the weekend, I told him that I wasn’t ready to be exclusive, but I still wanted to see him.  I could tell it wasn’t what he was hoping for, but that he still wanted to pursue us.

He seemed sold on me.. or so I thought..

Then silence. No messages. No phone calls. I’d gotten so used to him contacting me that I got worried. So I called him. He claimed to be busy.

The next day silence. He’s not contacting me. I wigg out. He finally tells me he met a girl online and has a date in two days. This is not unusual talk for us, as we’ve discussed his dates in the past. I expect to hear every detail as I did before.

Only he’s quiet. I wigg out. He calls to assure me that he’s there for me. And wasn’t this what I wanted? (dating other people yes.. being ignored and left out while you do it? No.)

48 hours after parting with me, he meets a girl online. 48 hours later he’s on a date with her. Then on his facebook he posts that “within 48 hours he’s gotten this job he wanted, and just met someone special.”

This job was something we’d both been waiting to hear if he’d gotten. He never contacted me to tell me the joyous news. He honestly hasn’t contacted me at all.

10 days ago, you couldn’t keep him from talking to me. Actually, 7 days ago, you couldn’t keep us apart.

Now he’s head over heels in love with someone else. His facebook is all about her, and posts from her… and he’s even friended her friends and hopes to meet them soon.

It’s no wonder women hate men, I’m already more bitter than I have been in … well probably a good decade.

And I hate myself for falling for him at all.. and I hate that I’m filled with anger.. and I hate him for breaking me down and giving me hope, and letting myself open up to the idea of a relationship.

I was perfectly happy with finding something casual.. and non-committal.. and now..

And now I want someone to hold me at night. I want to grow with someone, be with someone special.

And I especially hate him for that.

Aug 012010
 

Friday, I lost 600 lbs of stress. I honestly didn’t think I was that stressed out, but I guess you can have a ton of stress and mentally block it out.

I met with lawyer for my business stuff, because I wanted to make sure I had everything filed that I needed filed… legally. I didn’t want to wake up in few months or a year to find there’s some kind of whatever I didn’t file, and now I’m looking at jail-time or owe the government $5,000 or something in fees. Turns out, I’m good. Phew.

Immediately after that, I got a message that relieved the rest of the stress. This honestly was the much bigger stressor, but combined the two were extremely massive.

But let me start near the beginning.

A few months ago, I ran into and found interesting a guy on Twitter. He seemed smart. He was opinionated (after my ex, opinionated sounds pretty good, it may not be in the long run, but its something new) and had a bit of something “je ne sais quoi” so to speak.

Then he blocked me. WTF? right? I can’t remember the details but I ended up winning myself back into the good graces, and we started a Twitter friendship. We’d chat, and harmlessly flirt.. as he’s going through a divorce, something I can relate.

Then a few weeks ago (maybe longer).. things started to change. He began to flirt a little more seriously with me. He’s not that far away from me, so meeting isn’t an impossibility or at least not a huge deal.

Then about a week or so ago, he jokingly mentioned that he could use a 4 day never-leave-the-bedroom sex romp. I jokingly offered my services. We teased and flirted about it.  Then one thing lead to another and he asked if I’d like to meet.

He offered to come down to Austin. Get a hotel room for a couple nights, and we’d meet and go out. It seemed overkill for a first meeting, as one night in a hotel would probably be sufficient as no one ever really turns out to be exactly like you think they are online. Sometimes they’re better, but often they are not. But it seemed harmless to meet him if he came down, so I agreed.

He was adamant that he was ok with not seeing my picture beforehand, and that he didn’t need to know anything else about me. Insisting that everything he needed to know for him to meet me, he already knew from my blog. He didn’t care about looks at all. It was sweet in a kinda creepy way.

He told me how well he knew me, and expressed several theories of who I am and what I’m like, and what I need. Most of which were wrong, as the picture he painted of me was of a sweet little innocent girl.. and that is hardly me. I tried to set him straight, but everything I said, he seemed to twist to fit his idea of who I am, rather than adjust his idea to fit the real me.

(Red Alert.. Caution alert now level 1)

This got me scared. Been there done that before.. I started to remember experiences of my past where I’d met men like this. It did not go very well, as these guys were borderline stalkers. I hoped I was wrong, and that he was just excited to meet me. I decided to limit my contacting him, but respond if he contacted me.

He then suggested that he say 3 nights in town, not just two. Maybe he’d take a day off of work for me. Sight Unseen for our first visit.

He had talked previously about being poor and that money was tight, and now he was getting hotel rooms and taking time off of work.. for me?

Should I mention that he’s not seen a picture of me? I know very little about him at this point? This was our second phone conversation… or around there?

(Red Alert.. Caution alert now level 3)

He told me he wasn’t just out for a sex romp.. which is relaxing because we’d not met yet… but he insisted that I was a romantic. He told me a lot of things about myself, and said pushed a lot of buttons that said he was out for a relationship…

And he implied… if not outright said.. that I wanted a relationship too, and that I’d want a relationship with him.. despite my emotional/psychological aversion to the the very idea of it.

He talked with me about sex, and told me that when he has sex it means he’s in a relationship, and not an open one. If I have sex with him, we’re locked in a relationship.. I can’t still be dating around. Sex = Commitment.

(Red Alert.. Caution alert now level 5)

I made mental notes.

“DO NOT have sex with him. Period. No matter how fabulous he may seem. If you do, leave your ID in your car, so he can’t find your address and stalk you later.”

In honesty, sex was way off the table. WAY OFF the table. Gone. Which was pretty funny considering that sex was what prompted this whole thing anyway.

He got put in the friend zone with a temporary friend tag. If we hit it off when we met, that tag could be removed, but for now thats where he was safest since sex was off the table.

He then talked about taking me for a winery tour.. a romantic jaunt in Austin.. then getting us individual hotel rooms in a town nearby the wineries.. (for Austin, this is a romantic weekend getaway, and not something you can “flee” easily from should it go bad.)

He talked about romantic sunsets, and settings. He spoke in lovey dovey terms.

He’s still not seen me yet, and insists he doesn’t need to see any pictures. He’s certain that he’ll like me as I am… almost as if he’d love me no matter what. Its a sweet idea, but in reality that doesn’t happen. He still insisted.

(Red Alert.. Caution alert now level 7)

I now start limiting my availability to him. Not replying right away. Sometimes not replying at all. Each communication is making more uncomfortable, and I wait for him to calm down and settle back into reality.. where he was a few months ago.

I also set up a NiteFlirt account (see the call me button) so I never have to give out my number again to anyone un-vetted. CYA – Just in Case – Safety First

He starts telling me just how long he’s been following me and how he’s not been able to get me off his mind for months. That I’m this vixen that’s been taunting him. He makes up pet names for me.

He’s full of flowery speech and talks very romantically. Almost lovey dovey.

Anytime I balk at what he says, or show that he’s moving too fast.. he backs away and reassures me.. then comes back the next day or a couple hours later.. full boar.

(Red Alert.. Caution alert now level 9)

I am now nearly breaking out into hives every time I see him message me. I’m still thinking I’ll meet him if he shows up in Austin, but plan to arrange a public meeting and probably bring a few friends for safety.  I mean if he’s driving 4 hours.. and I’d already promised.. its only fair… plus he used to be a nice sensible guy.. so maybe there can a friendship in it once his romantic feelings are washed out of it.

Honestly from the get-go, I found myself trying to convince him NOT to date me. He’d just triggered that “caution” button from the start of his pursuit and I wanted to bring him back to some kind of rationality. But nothing I said phased him at all. There was no emotional mace no matter how much I tried.

Then Friday, he posted on twitter about meeting me in a few weeks. On top of everything else, I interpreted it as being “tagged”.. or claimed. I did not read it as the words that it was, but as if he wrote..

“Hey everyone I am going to date Maruska. She’s mine. Hands off.”

I hit the ceiling.

I decided to try one more time to get him back to some kind of rational thought, and scolded him for his behavior.. quite honestly telling him that he was legitimately scaring the crap out of me, and he needed to knock it off. I threatened to block him, and I was serious.

I was sad that this all went down like this. I used to like him, and from the pictures I’ve seen of him, he’s quite an attractive guy.

Once he grasped the gravity of the situation, and that I was serious.. he replied obviously hurt. His regret for doing anything to upset me or make me uncomfortable was genuine and heartfelt.

I’d gotten what I wanted. He was done with flowery love notes. He was done with flowery love talk. But he was hurt.. and that wasn’t what I wanted.. which is why it’d taken me so long to be so brutal in my communications.. I just felt that I had no other options, as he’d not really been listening or hearing me in my other ways of addressing the issue.

So I called him. We talked a little bit. He apologized profusely, and for once .. for the first time since we’d started this thing, he was being honest, rational, and himself.  For the first time, we’re both just being ourselves, and he was being real with me. He was listening. I relax, and start to like him again. I start remembering why I liked him at the start. I’m no longer afraid. (Though if he switches back to lovey dovey psycho, I’ll be back at level 8 instantly.)

Summary: What went wrong? He was overly excited, and projected his excitement onto me. He moved onto his dream of this relationship, dragging me along, and wasn’t allowing me to find it for myself. I didn’t have time to catch up to him. For every step forward I took, he took 3.  I’m kicking and screaming to be allowed to stay at step 1.. and he’s already dragging me to step 6. So I then started misinterpreting things he said. Not understanding when he was joking and when he wasn’t. Communication Failure.

There’s a time for flowery love talk.. for sweet gestures.. and romantic thoughts.. but if the object of your affection isn’t on that page with you yet.. it can go horribly wrong fast.

If you really want someone to fall in love with you.. you have to give them time to move at their own pace. Relax, and just enjoy. Don’t try so hard.

I’m actually now looking forward to meeting this hunk of man. I’m just hoping it stays that way. 🙂

Jul 282010
 


Other than the dress, the accessories have history for me. I honestly like ritzy things with history, but these are special because I can see my grandmother wearing them. She was raised dirt poor with an abusive alcoholic father. I can’t blame the guy for drinking though. He was a musician who came to this new world hoping to find opportunity, and ended up stuck in the middle of nowhere farming with 5 young kids and a dead wife (she died shortly after arriving in America). He was also Czech, which at the time was worse than being a Polish and so work wasn’t easy to find, and socially the entire family was persona non grata.

My grandmother pulled herself out of that, and did her best to become a lady. Even when she was 80, she was hell bent on anything lady-like, and socially worked herself into good standing in the community. She often wore fancy dresses and went to refined social engagements. (Despite her bitching about the vanity of the other women in the group.)

These few accessories that I managed to inherit, bear memories and I think part of her spunky spirit. I love any excuse to wear them.

So dressed in my vintage attire, I went to the party. Luckily I wasn’t alone and many others dressed similarly. It felt a little bit like a prom, though no music was playing.  We admired each other’s costumes, and saw each other all dolled up.  It’s amazing the changes some heels, pearls, and well-styled hair can do.

I looked fabulous. I felt fabulous.

But most importantly, I felt randy.  I felt sexy, and I wanted nothing more than a sexy romp in the “cloak room”.. not that there was one.

I was wearing lady-like pearls. Lady-like shoes. In a lady-like dress. With lady-like pristine gloves.

And all I wanted was to find a secluded spot to be taken like slut.

It was an odd feeling. Funny with the irony of it.

But one of these days, I’m going to get all dolled up and get taken “advantage of” in a coat room. It’s just going to have to happen. (I’m not sure I’ll give the guy a choice.)