You know, I'm a very reasonable guy. I'm pretty damned tolerant. I listen. I give pretty decent counsel. I'm free with the sharing of what I've learned from my life's experiences, and more often than not, I acquired my father's habit of giving the shirt off my back when someone I care for is in genuine need. I treat my lovers as friends, and while I may treasure some more than others, I try to never be an ass to any of them.
Sure, I've been stood-up. Sure, some affairs just don't end well, no matter what you do. But, you know, some people. And what better time than April Fool's Day for some dating misadventures from the omfg label. Share my pain as I relate three nightmarish tales where the limits of my patience were supremely tested.
I was walking home from work and had passed a local bar that occasionally has some cool open mike nights. The Little Voice told me that I wanted a beer, and so even though I wasn't really sure I did, naturally I listened to him. My intuition was itching.
I took a stool at the bar that was neatly situated in a dark nook, and it wasn't until I after I ordered when I noticed the black leather woman's coat on a seat near me. I had just had my first sip when its owner, a slightly rubenesque brunette with Italian looks and a black clingy dress, returned to her seat and ordered a whiskey sour. I was leafing through a weekly zine, checking out upcoming concerts. We made eyes, we smiled, smalltalk happened. No biggie.
I've finished my pint when I realize that her smalltalk is starting to sound like flirttalk. What do you do, you have a nice voice, would you buy me a drink, you're goodlookin, are you single, I just had this problem with my stupid boyfriend who I just ran out on and do you know a cheap hotel in the area where I could spend the night?
I did, and I told her where it was. And we kept talking. A drink or two later and she was asking me if I had 'a really nice cut cock' and moves my hand from my glass to the rough but warm and very damp pantyhose between her thighs. I found myself hailing a cab. She told me her life story. I started hearing weird contradictions. Child, no child. Beatings by boyfriend, great boyfriend. New to the area, used to work downtown.
At my place and she's apprehensive. Ok, says I to myself, it wouldn't be the first time I held someone's hand as they were going through nonsense; maybe this wasn't a pick-up after all. So I make tea and listen. She grabs my dick through my jeans and kisses me. You ok, like, you sober? She leads me to my bed. Ok, fine.
She's thick but solid, with a really nice and broad posterior that would look perfect in an oil painting. She tugs down my jeans, pushes my chest until I'm laying back, and moves her long brown hair to around my thighs as she starts stroking and licking my dick. I'm tense, because so far this has been pretty weird, but I force myself to relax as I slip on the condom.
She insists that I not wear one. Suddenly, even my alarm bells start ringing, but I rationalize to myself. 'Ok,' I think, 'if this is the start of something with a new partner whom I'll see again... maybe. But it's the first night, she already seems a little loopy, so... I don't think so.'
No bareback, no fuck, she says. She hates the things. Allergic. To non-latex ones too.
That's too weird, I think.
But I adapt, and soon she's experiencing my hands as she rests on elbows and knees on the bed. My cock isn't getting attention, but I'm having a perfectly fine time probing and sliding my lube-drenched, gloved, index finger around and inside her dark, crinkled, virgin rosebud. I'm slowly spiralling my finger inside her ass to the last knuckle, and soon she's silently open-mouthed and eye-blinking in discovery. How could I not have a good time introducing a woman, whom I just met, to assplay?
But by now it's 4am, and we're getting exhausted. We stop. And we talk. And the contradictions continue. I have to work in the morning. I slowly realize that I've been Really Gracious and Really Patient and Really Giving, but now I'm at overload. Time for that hotel for you, honey. 'Ok, but let me tell you this', she says. I listen. Ok, time for that hotel for you, honey... why don't you call a cab? 'Ok, but...'
I was gentle until it became obvious that I needed to be firm. I kicked her out. And I didn't make it to work the next day. I haven't heard from her since. Good.
Meeting her was part of my bizarre and unsatisfying winter, and God yes, it was through Craigslist. When will I ever learn?
The standard ritual: she posts ad, I read ad, I email, she emails back, we chat, we agree to meet. This isn't about dating; it's about fucking, but it's also true that she's told me enough about her dogs already that I'm almost as interested in meeting her cool hounds as I am to seeing what she's all about.
She's pretty and friendly and laughs nervously when she sees me. I've brought doggie treats and that cinches it for her that 'I'm cool.'
And what she's all about, it seems, is an aspiring career in porn. She shows me the hardcore sites where she can be seen sucking black cock. (She teaches me something I probably could have guessed but never really knew before: you know those hardcore sites where women are just coated in gobs and gobs of cum? It's not cum. No man on earth... well, almost no man on earth... can cum by the half-pint. All that jizz is really, usually, liberal amounts of Liquid Silk lubricant.
I blink my eyes a lot and laugh, the naughtiest side of me wondering if I've hit some jackpot. We talk casually about my job, this blog, her gay brother in prison who murdered a violent homophobe, her mother out in the boonies, and how much she loves sucking dick. Her eyes glaze over when I tell her that I'd really enjoy a long, wet, noisy blowjob. I sit on the edge of her ridiculously small and unstable bed. I lay back. She takes me in her mouth.
And does virtually nothing. Some lip movement maybe. Slight sucking. Sure, she's looking up at me, giving me dark Korean eyes as I view my dick inside her mouth... but, um.
Now I'm totally confused. Aspiring porn actress? Loves blowjobs? Where? No, seriously... where?
Ok. This isn't happening. So, again, I adapt, again, I get Really Gracious. We both get naked, start to cuddle and caress, and I'm enjoying stroking her folds and caressing her bum gently. We're relaxed, it's fun. Things progress to the cock-wrapping and her laying to raise her generous butt in the air as I prepare to fuck her.
And she starts asking me more about my job. I try to dismiss it, but she's casually talking to me in a way that's miles from anything related to hot sex. She was wet, I know that for a fact, but this smalltalk brings my brain into a complete spin-around and leaves me in flaccid dickdom.
Would I have been as determined had I not already been in a long stretch of dating wierdness in my life? Maybe not. But the Korean still had enough spark in her for me to enjoy a last-ditch attempt at play, if only to somehow salvage the evening. I asked her if she liked toys, and she smiled with a beamy smile and directed me to her favourite vibrator. She lay back on her terrible bed, and I idly stroked my cock as I watched her tease her tender clit, her flushed folds as she jilled before me. She didn't take long to cum, and she shook sensually when she did, all the while enjoying the sight of my cockstroking and my eyes taking the sight of her in. She was really quite pretty to watch.
Afterward, we chatted about her dogs, but clearly there was nothing else there. So yes, I had sex, sort of, with a porn star. And I learned then and there that just because someone may make sex their business, that doesn't necessarily mean that they're genuinely any good at it.
Oh. My. God.
I've alluded to her before.
Between she and the Korean, I think I may have finally learned my lesson about Craigslist. Probably. I hope.
Repeat standard Craigslist hook-up ritual. Only, this time, the Iranian does something that I think only a Typical Craigslist Guy would do: start asking for an almost-immediate meeting. Like, later that day, the first day when contact was initiated.
It was she who was responding to a listing that I placed, this time. Ok, fine, maybe she really liked my listing... but still it seemed a little weird, out of character for a single woman seeking a partner, and this time the listing wasn't strictly about sex.
I was deep in my last-winter phase, so my attitude was that I was possibly going to hook up with someone who had Application To Partnership potential. Maybe, given that context, I let some of my guard down and upped my tolerance level. If I did, the Iranian taught me the stupidity of my ways. But I digress.
She was eager to meet, and after a flurry of emails and a phone call or two over the day following, we set up our date. We met at her downtown condo situated right the middle of the gaybourhood, which I saw as a nice plus. She introduced me to Persian cuisine at an excellent and charming restaurant, which became another plus. She told me about her career as an artist and her world-travelling as an ESL instructor, which were a huge plus. In my post-Shayne healing, I was starting to really feel like some weight was being lifted, that maybe I had actually met a possible partner with potential for me, and I was really starting to enjoy myself. It was really, really nice.
And she was hot. Petite with short dark hair, trim, firm, with a flat tummy and an obviously perky little behind. Sensual, riveting, dark eyes. Soft skin. A gentle voice.
Back at her condo, and she's sharing photo albums. Lots of photo albums. Photos of her and her family, her mother who does work for the United Nations, she and relatives in Iran, there she is actually wearing a burka, check out this great place in Greece, here's a friend who lives with her from time to time, aren't men horrible people, oh the men in Iran are such pigs, hey would I like to see some really sexy pictures?
Maybe I was like a kid who had been given some chocolate by the crazy man, because after such a terrific dinner together, it took me a second to register some of the vile side-remarks I started to hear saying. Men are what? Did she actually say paki? Wow. Ok.
But soon I had a flurry of other photo albums being placed in my hands. The Iranian obviously loved to model, perhaps not surprisingly for an artist. Her walls were adorned with multiple paintings and photographs, some of which were of her and shot by others, several of which were sensual to say the least. But, over the evening, the albums seemed gradually more and more lurid, until we were sitting on the bed together as I gazed on delicious images of her lithe, half-naked form.
My cock was straining. I ignored the Little Voice that whispered that maybe it was just a little odd for a woman to share this, or least so much of this, on a first date. But by then she was moving closer, and her kisses melted me. Was I being seduced?
I'm an adult, a mentally powerful man. I decided that if I was, I was going to enjoy it. I deserved the pleasure.
Her golden brown skin completely entranced me. I had never had sex with an Arab woman before, and she defied every stereotype that I had heard. She was taut and lean, shaven bare and smooth. Her arms coiled around me like soft, warm velvet ribbons, and her small hands were deft as she cupped my full and heavy balls. My lips and palms grazed across her tiny bronze ass in ecstacy, and her soft labia swelled juicily in my mouth as my tongue danced across her teeny button and slowly wiggled inside her core.
This time, entranced and fully believing that this was the first night to a new and prosperous partnership, I did fuck bareback, and as her legs wrapped upward and around the small of my back, I screwed my eyes shut and gasped quietly as my urgent cock slowly sunk inside her to its root. It was the single most pleasureable moment of my entire winter. Her body was perfect and she felt so good. I stroked my cock steadily inside her, her legs tight around me, her nails at my back, my balls slapping against her, until I felt myself thicken more and twitch until I filled her with torrents.
I am convinced that that fuck was my one, true, generous reprieve from all of my angst from last season. It was an indulgent moment, and while not the smartest of moves, as it was happening all I knew was bliss for the hour or two it lasted.
Because it crashed down right after.
I spent the night. It was nice. The next morning, I showered, she got ready for an interview, I grabbed some breakfast out, and returned home feeling like a new man. And then the emails began.
One sentence emails, a half-dozen of them. I replied. Ten more. I would reply. A flurry of more, some cryptic, some simply odd. I tried to reply... but now this was taking my morning up and I had things to do. I was cordial, but had to get on with my day.
More emails. Then phone calls. Nice, pleasant at first. Totally enjoyable. But I had a day to get to... More calls. Now, literally, every ten minutes. And it was afternoon. Nothing else was getting done. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok?"
Threatening emails. Threatening voicemails. Hateful, racist, demanding comments. For the next three days, I was fielding a world of ire from someone who, I was soon convinced, badly needed therapy. I told her so. My patience was completely breached. "I'm really very sorry to actually say this, but now I regret ever having met you. Now go away. Goodbye." In the end, I had to redirect all emails from her into the "spam" file, and considered restricting her access to my voicemail. I've never been stalked before. Eventually, she stopped.
I got tested. I turned out fine.
I haven't heard from her again. Thank God.