Little Ginger.

I had seen her profile on a dating site, and the truth is that, after reading several of her responses to personality-related questions, had already decided that she was a little self-centered and arrogant for me. But, I had to admit, with the spiky short red hair, the thick build, and the sex-positive attitude, she was cute.

And maybe, just maybe, she reminded me of Shayne.

She checked out my profile in return, and liked what she read and saw. A few days later, she wrote to me.

"Your profile sounds like I made you out of clay. Any chance you like gingers?"

What's not to like?

"I love men, real men, and I was so turned on by your profile because you seem to be the last man on Earth who understand what that means," she added later. "Open, confident, artistic and strong with power even, but as if you can wield it with contentment, integrity and grace. I also really like it when men look like men. *sigh!* I just couldn't leaf by your page. A nagging voice told me you wouldn't be intimidated by a girl who starts the chase."

Gradually, she grew on me. She opened up deliciously, and slowly I started to really appreciate the impetuous teeny firecracker that she is.

Little Ginger is a mid20s security guard with OPP aspirations and a Daddy fantasy. She could have been Shayne's younger sister.

"I like older men, though I have yet to really have one. Forbidden fruit maybe? I'm interested in the confidence, assuredness, and allure that comes with the grace and wisdom of age. I love the masculinity, eloquence and maturity which is supposed to come with age, which is why I just had to message you. I love the cut of your jaw, the beard, your eyes.

"I have a very deep sexuality that I have yet to explore. I feel like a painter who has been given a canvice the size of a postage stamp to create an opus. It would be nice to have someone who knows how to give, and draw out depth. I am still a bit shy and naive in this area, which is why I would so like to be drawn out."

But did I want to take this path again? Granted, I can totally enjoy being a Daddy to a perky sweet young thang. Granted, the idea of escorting said sweet young thang into the wonderful world of kink hardens my cock and tightens my chest. Mentor the little wench over my knee? Sign me up.

Sounds like a Top man's dream, no? But still something felt amiss. My psychic radar just wasn't convinced.

A few phone calls and I had her in giggles. A few textmessages later, and she was telling me how she was dying to press her face to my wide chest and drink in the scent of me. I knew she would drench at that, whatwith the essential oils I wear.

Facebook photos showed me the bulldog tattoo she proudly wears on her wide, freckled back. Her brastraps were also clearly in view on these pics, which probably prompted her to teasingly command me to stop looking at them when I commented. The po' thing. And, sure, in getting a sense of her look, I could easily see myself tugging her waist firmly with my arm as I rained my cupped hand down on what I was sure would be a pale, broad, sensitive, womanly ass.

But still this lingering sense of... nuh uh.

I picked her up near her pad, and her eyes widened when she saw me. We shook hands, a light hug, and we were off to a great little pub that's across the street from the comedy club I would take us to later. We played with dogs we passed on the street. Over onion soups and skewered shrimp, conversation revolved around the usual topics, and all the while I had the increasing sense that she was feeling overwhelmed. Unconsciously, and soon, consciously, I began to treat the evening as less than a date and more of just two people hanging out together. No spark. And to make it worse, the comics were mediocre.

It's disappointing when what should be a fun and terrific date turns out limp and uninspired. My first thought was that Little Ginger simply decided that she wasn't attracted after all, and being the Big Boy I am, was fine with handling that. We kept in touch over text, but her flirtations stopped. I didn't press it.

Eventually, she messaged me again. No, she insisted, it wasn't lack of attraction at all; in fact, she loved the way I look. But it seemed that, self-described naive girl she is, I scared her away not because of my Topself but because I was "too feeling." Huh?

You see, call me crazy, but I actually enjoy getting to know the person I'm dating. But, it would seem, because I actually was interested in getting to know Little Ginger as a person, plus me being the first "older man" she had gone out with, well, the little boo just got scared. I had asked her if she was ok, and I thought my question was me being nurturing. Seems all I did was spotlight her feelings of inadequacy. Oops.

"Ok, I need to come clean," she would write to say. "I had fun with you, and you are a great date. You came up with cool things to do and I liked talking to you, but I guess it's hard to take the fantasy out of the bedroom. Just picture me as an awkward teenager who came in her pants too soon... You were my first attempt... when I was nervous and you called me on it it made it worse... but you are cool."

Well, far be it from me to want to make a potential partner uncomfortable just by trying to appreciate who and what she really is. Yes, I like (and do) Daddy fantasy play just fine, but if "it's hard to take the fantasy out of the bedroom" enough for said potential partner to be open with me, well, hey, your loss, and I'd probably not really be interested anyway.

Later, Little Ginger would try to be haughty with me when I sought to confirm if I really had scared her away, as if she couldn't imagine that my own intuition sensed it far before she felt it necessary to explain herself. Can you say "overcompensation"?

While the date was reasonably fine as far as nights out are concerned, Little Ginger also reminded me that I'm a lot more sophisticated now than when I was in my mid20s, and all that 'confidence, assuredness, allure, grace, wisdom, masculinity, eloquence and maturity' that I do in fact possess will be better offered to a woman who is far more my equal than teenagers who come in their pants too soon.

"Take care of yourself: you're a good kid," was my last textmessage to her.

She didn't reply.