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Why I buy shoes that hurt my feet (or why I date the wrong guy)
An Imerika Guest Post:
We've all heard the shoe comparison "Dating is like buying shoes, you have to try them on and make sure they fit before you purchase." Or something like that.
But this really doesn't make sense because I bet almost every girl in America owns a pair of shoes that are uncomfortable. However, maybe the same reason I buy shoes that don't fit is the same reason I date guys who don't 'fit' me?
When I go to the mall, I see those racks of clearance shoes calling my name. There's nothing I can do but look at the shoes, and I always spy a pair that is so ridiculously cute, I must try them on. "What?," I tell the salesperson, "you don't have these in my size?"
And the shoe/guy comparison begins.
I turn into Goldilocks and try on a size bigger and a size smaller. But of course, neither of them fit just right. My foot slips out of one, and the other one is too tight, it pinches my feet. But instead of walking out of the store, I buy the small shoes anyway because maybe they'll loosen up and won't hurt as much anymore. Just like when I meet guys but none really interest me all that much, but I tell myself, 'hey why not give it s a shot?' so I'll try on a guy anyway because who knows...maybe after dating him for a while, he'll fit better.
The first day I wear the shoes, I try breaking them in. Maybe I'll use a couple of band-aids if they start to give me blisters. What's a little blister in sacrifice for the ultimate goal of looking cute? Besides, they match my outfit perfectly. Just like when I date a guy and I notice he does things I don't like or that I don't appreciate...but heck, what's a few little annoyances, right? It's not like anybody's perfect. Maybe I'll grow used to them.
I keep wearing the shoes. But they're still too small. Maybe I should have gone with the larger size and used tissue. Maybe I should have waited..maybe, maybe, maybe. By the time I realize I shouldn't have bought the shoes in the first place, it's too late. I've already made the investment. I don't want to put the shoes at the back of the closet gathering dust because I paid hard-earned money for these shoes! So trust me when I say I must keep wearing the damn shoes– no matter how much it hurts, because I am invested! So I keep dating the guy...
Why do I buy the shoes if they don't fit? The same reason I date the guy that doesn't work. Because I am convinced that with enough jamming and pressing, I can eventually mold the shoe that is the wrong size to fit my foot. Just like I foolishly believe I can change any old guy to become the dream guy I've envisioned.
I know I'll never stop buying shoes that don't fit, just like I'll probably still continue to date guys that don't fit. But at the end of the day the shoes come off because I don't want to spend the rest of my life with a blister on my heel.
Next Post: Toy recommendations for singles or something related to Buckeyes Boy.
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Don't say this to me when I'm single
An Imerika Guest Post followed by a City Girl question for you:
"When you least expect it, someone will pop into your life." "When you're happy with yourself and who you are, that's when God will send you someone to love." "Just keep doing what you're doing, the right person will come along." "You'll eventually find someone...you've still got time."
If I'm single, I don't need to hear your sympathetic response to my freak-out sessions of "When will I ever find somebody?!" Because trust me, I've heard them...ALL of them...all before. I know I'm supposed to keep on living. I mean, obviously—I would like to have a pulse when I meet the love of my life. I know when I "least expect it" someone will come into my life. But the problem is, I do expect it. I'm looking, constantly, for any possible outlet where I can bump into this person who inevitably is looking for me too! I mean, we're just lost...this person out there has been trying to find me, and I've been trying to find him—can someone just give us directions and hurry up the process?!
And then if I do run into him, how do I know it's really "him"—the one—and not a Him-in-Disguise. Because the worst thing that could happen is that you fall for the Him-in-Disguise only to end up finding the real "Him" down the line...
I'm confused. I'm lost. I feel alone in my journey. These thoughts—and this post—are everywhere, because that is what it feels like when it seems everyone around you is happy, content, on the road to unhappily wedded bliss, and YOU.ARE.ALONE.
I don't want to hear that someone will eventually come around...because I don't want them to "eventually" come around, I want them here now. I want all the answers, and if you could, wrap it up in a box with a bow, and I'm happy. But yet all I get are questions.
Today is just one day. Tomorrow will be another. The questions will remain the same.
Next Post: Recommendations for first time sex toy purchases for the ladies.
Question: So...I have some very juicy news on the Buckeyes Boy front. Do I share it as a short post or as a spoiler alert in my post early next week about our third date? Or, do I wait and catch you all up chronologically? (I realize that I put the cart before the horse when I wrote posts about Darby getting pregnant when you all didn't even know that Lawyer Boy and I had gotten back together.) You make the call! xoxo
Comments (2)
Defining the relationship
An Imerika Guest Post:
Is waiting for a commitment just a polite rejection?
In relationships, how long are you willing to wait? Is there a timeline for relationships to decide when they will step into the boyfriend-girlfriend phase? Do you wait because you're not sure how you feel about them or because you are only lukewarm about them?
I know there are fundamental differences between men and women. I believe most women don't fool around with time when they're objective is to get married, and so they don't waste time with guys they don't like. Men, on the other hand, have no biological clock to rush them. They can take their time. They'll date you because you're fun, maybe you give good head, but long-term? Nah, you're not the right type.
I don't like to waste my time with these guys. No matter how much I like them. I learned this lesson with He Who Shall Not Be Named. After three months of casual dating, I straight-out asked him if he was still dating other people. Under the naiveté of finding myself single for the first time in five years, I had simply assumed if you're dating one person, you're not dating another. When he said he didn't want to be exclusive, I let him go. If he didn't know after three months of dating that he liked me enough to date only me, well then, that meant he didn't really like me that much.
I assume if a guy REALLY likes a girl, he'll do anything to be with her. He'll want to hang out with her as much as possible and won't want to share her with anyone else. I've learned that this is how it works with guys who really like me. The Ex didn't want to share me with anyone. Nice Guy didn't want to share me with anyone. Church Boy doesn't want to share me with anyone. These guys really, REALLY like me. He Who Shall Not Be Named—not so much.
Yes, it is a hit to the ego to think someone doesn't like me enough. And yes, the argument could be made that sometimes it just takes longer to get to know someone and grow feelings. But there are plenty of men out there who will appreciate me more, why should I wait on one guy? I want him to chase after me—not the other way around.
Ms. K recently found out from her guy (who appreciates her honesty...oh boy) that he is not ready to be an item quite yet– even though they see each other several days a week, sleep together, and have been dating for a while. After dating Jerk for six months and never securing a commitment from him, she's given this new guy an undisclosed three-month deadline.
Personally, if he can't commit to her now, I doubt he'll commit to her in another month. He's either A) not really sure how he feels about her or B) thinks she's okay to fuck every now and then but he could be okay without her. And why would you want to be with someone who isn't absolutely crazy about you?
So when is the appropriate time? How long will you wait for a guy/girl to commit to you?
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Anal play for the straight guy
An Arlington Boy Guest Post:
Months ago, I emailed City Girl with a burning question. I read some of her comments about anal sex and, as a result, was honestly curious about anal self-pleasuring and wanted some good advice on going about trying it out for myself. She gave me some absolutely incredible tips, and I've been enjoying anal play for some time now.
A few weeks ago, she asked me if I'd be willing to write a guest blog post about it, and I was more than happy to oblige.
You see, I'm a straight guy. Depressingly so. And a lot of straight guys have a lot of preconceived notions about anal play. Mostly that it's either for gays, or if you derive pleasure from anal stimulation, you must somehow be gay.
Didn't see that one coming, did you?
Well, I'm here to say that I've been enjoying anal play for some time now, and I can assure you that I still have the raging heterosexuality of an NFL offensive line. Sexual orientation doesn't change based on pleasure zones. And did you know that a lot of gay couples don't engage in anal play? Ever?
There's nothing about your anus, or any other of your erogenous zones, that's unique to your sexual orientation. I'm going to guess if you're a straight male that you probably like blow jobs, right? Well, so do most gay men. So using the logic of anal sex = gay, blowjob = gay, hmm?
"Waaaaaaaaaaitaminute!," you might scream. "I like blow jobs, and I'm 100% straight."
Oh, really? Gay guys like blow jobs too, so by *conventional* wisdom, if you like blow jobs, you clearly *must* be g...
See where I'm going? Pleasure spots aren't something that's solely determinate on whether or not you like girls or guys. And your anus has *lots* of pleasure spots.
So what I'd like to do, if nothing else, is to demystify anal self-pleasure for straight guys. That's not to sound exclusionary to anyone else curious about anal sex. In fact, I hope anyone who reads this post gets something out of it! But there's an awful lot of psychological baggage involved with straight men and anal play, and it's to this particular demographic that I'd like to prove to that butt play can indeed be fun and, dare I say it, enjoyable?
So let's get started!
I personally recommend starting anal experimentation by using a small butt plug. Go to any sex toy website and you'll see an absolutely bewildering array of anal toys. Different sizes, different materials, different prices. How on Earth are you supposed to choose the *right* toy for your needs?
I'm not gonna lie... you may be in for some trial and error. And truth be told, some websites are better than others in helping you select your first toy. A website I particularly like is Eden Fantasys. They have product reviews, some of which are done by John/Jane Q. Public, while others are done by more frequent reviewers who are vetted by Eden Fantasys. So the likelihood of being influenced by industry shills who are *cough* plugging their own company's goods are considerably reduced.
I checked toy reviews (on more than one site) and I happened to luck out and get what I consider to be the perfect first-time toy, and I'm going to recommend it to you because I think it's the perfect starter model: the Little Flirt by Tantus.
The Little Flirt is a butt plug, which is perfect for anal newbies. Upon opening the box, you'll notice it's hardly intimidating. Even if you opt for something else, do yourself a favor and ensure that it's clearly marketed towards novices. You can always "size up" later, but you really want to start out small. Your ass isn't going anywhere!
The only other recommendation I have for a first-time plug is this: your plug (and pretty much any anal toy, really) needs to have a flared base at the end. This is to avoid embarrassing trips to the ER and awkward conversation along the lines of "Gee, Doc, I was reading this blog post a few hours ago and..."
A flared base prevents your new goodie from having so much fun with your ass that it doesn't want to leave (think of this as the sex toy equivalent of your derelict in-law that moves in one day and never takes the hint to move out. Only your butt plug is more likely to pay the rent than Cousin Bob). And you may think you can drive, text, smoke, and eat a Whopper at the same time, so why should something as simple as keeping a sex toy from sliding up your ass pose any more of a challenge? I'll explain it further on in this post. But trust me on this one. And keep your eyes on the damn road already!
In fact, let me explain why you don't want to cut any corners, and why you need to select a toy that's safe (and thus generally more on the expensive side). I remember reading in some men's health magazine years ago (probably... wait for it... Men's Health) that you should treat your penis like a new Mercedes.
You probably didn't need to be told that.
But what you *do* need to be told is that, if your dick is a new Mercedes, your ass is your dad's liquor cabinet, and DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MAH LIQUOR BOY, CAUSE I GOT A SHOTGUN AND A SHOVEL AND AIN'T NO ONE GONNA MISS YOUR ASS.
I jest, but you really, really do not want to (ahem...) fuck around with the health of your ass. And that means don't cheap out on your new toy. You want safe. You want the sex toy equivalent of a Volvo, not a Porsche.
You're also going to want a good quality lube. There are special lubes made just for anal sex that are nice and thick and gloppy. I honestly don't have a preference for lube. A good one City Girl recommended to me is ForPlay. I use the Gel Plus version, and it's a great lube for anal play.
Note: some gels contain desensitizers. You may also see separate anal desensitizers. I haven't used them personally, but from what I hear, you should stay far, far away from them. The logic being that they desensitize a very sensitive, delicate part of your anatomy. To the point where you may end up using more force than is necessary (or wise), when you go to play, only to be in pain (or worse!) later. To put it this way: would you take a painkiller and ask someone to proceed to rack you in the nuts? Damn right you wouldn't! So don't do anything equally silly.
What should you do once you get your toy? We'll get to that in tomorrow's post...
PS City Girl will be back on Sunday with a review of the Ruby Curve, an anal vibrator designed for both men and women.
Comments (7)
Anal play for the straight guy - Part II
If you haven't read Part I of the Anal Play for the Straight Guy series, click here.
An Arlington Boy Guest Post:
Okay, so now your new plaything has come in the mail. And much to your relief, the packaging didn't read: CONTENTS: ONE ASS BLASTER 6000. WARNING! RECIPIENT IS MOST LIKELY SOME KINDA PERVERT AND BELIEVES IN SOCIALIZED MEDICINE.
Your normal masturbation sessions may involve your hand playing the role of the village bicycle. Get up, get off, get out. But tonight you're not going to be with the village bicycle. You're going to treat your ass like someone who plays hard to get: be convincing; take it slow; and be gentle. You get the idea. Your hand is the town slut. Your ass is that rich, stuck up chick whom you finally convinced to give you the time of day.
First, make sure you're alone. Unless you're an exhibitionist, in which case knock yourself out. But do lock the door, shut the blinds, and turn off your phone.
Try pouring yourself a drink to relax a bit. Grab a towel and get comfortable, either on the floor or on your bed. Find a really hot porno, and either pop it into your DVD player or fire it up on your laptop. Since you're doing something you've never done before and are most likely going to be nervous, make sure it's one that has at least one scene that gets you off.
Next, take some time and do whatever it is that makes you feel good. Don't rush. You want to spend some time really getting yourself turned on. When you're starting to feel really hot and bothered, work your hands down to your perineum (the soft, fleshy area between your anus and your balls) and start massaging it and warming it up.
When you're feeling nice and relaxed (and turned on!), take a small dab of lube and apply it to one of your fingers. Then, start circling your anus slowly and gently. Just give it a soft massage in a circular motion. You want to make sure that part of your body is nice and relaxed. When you're feeling confident, slowly insert your finger in juuuuuuust a bit, and rotate it around and massage the entrance to your anus. Give it a good little massage, but again, take your time! And enjoy yourself!
Okay, so now's where the rubber meets the road! Take your plug, and coat it with a generous amount of lube, spreading it out all along the length of the plug (leave the base dry). Wipe off any remaining lube from your fingers, and take a nice, slow deep breath in and out.
Insert it gently and slowly. While "MORE FORCE" might be great for DIY projects such as that screen door that just won't close right, this isn't something you want to rush or use any amount of force on. You might try wiggling it around in a circular motion (gently) while you're (again, gently) pushing on it. Take it slow, and take lots of deep breaths. There's no hurry!
Fact: you actually have two sphincters in your anus. I'm willing to bet the plug started to go in nice and easy. That's your outer sphincter. Hey, this doesn't feel bad! And then you worked it up a bit more and OMG I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM!!! Congratulations, you just found your inner sphincter. Think of your outer sphincter as the TSA: it'll let anyone come in. Think of your inner sphincter as an elite bodyguard (bootyguard?): none shall pass!
Don't worry... just keep your plug inside you as far as it'll go comfortably. It's perfectly normal for you to feel like you need to move your bowels the further up your plug goes. Keep on watching your movie, pleasuring yourself, and have another sip of your drink. Relax. Your ass will start to get used to the plug, and eventually (particularly as you start to get more turned on—whether from the movie, the plug, or your own self-pleasuring) it should go in the rest of the way. And if it doesn't? No worries. Try it again later.
You've probably read the words "relax," "slowly," and "gently" enough to piss you off by now. Good, because that means I'm driving the point home. Anal play (especially your first time) needs to be taken at a relaxed pace. Rome wasn't built in a day, so don't worry if it takes you a while (even over the course of several sessions) to feel comfortable enough to put your toy all the way in.
Now what? Well, a plug isn't designed for in-and-out action. It's designed to stay in and give you a sense of fullness. So take a few deep breaths, enjoy the feeling of your plug inside you, and gradually bring yourself to climax.
As you start to get to the point of no return, you're going to find something really interesting going on. Your plug is *really* going to start feeling good inside! In fact, your anal muscles are probably going to start milking the plug. This is why your toy has a flared base. To prevent all that slipping and sliding and milking from making your toy rocket up inside you! You might notice the reverse: as you start to ejaculate, your plug actually shoots out of your ass!
Congratulations! You've just taken the first steps to a whole new world of pleasure! Don't be in a hurry to clean yourself up. You did something that a *lot* of people aren't comfortable with. You may have a whole host of feelings going through your mind and your body right now. Relax and enjoy yourself for a bit.
As you continue with your experimentation over the coming days and weeks, you may find you want to get a new toy that's a bit bigger. From personal experience, as good as my Little Flirt toy feels, you'll get only so much mileage out of it before you want to use something larger. Again, take your time, get a plug (or another toy) that's a little bit bigger, and start the whole process over again.
I hope my post has helped demystify anal play and has shown you that there's a whole new world of pleasure that's just waiting for you to explore. If nothing else, I hope you keep this in mind:
If you tried it and enjoyed it, there's nothing wrong with you, and you're perfectly normal!
If you tried it and didn't enjoy it, there's nothing wrong with you, and you're perfectly normal!
Next Posts: City Girl's review of the Ruby Curve and more stories about Buckeyes Boy. As an FYI for those of you who do not enjoy anal play or reading about other people's back door adventures, I (City Girl) promise that my blog will not turn into "All Ass. All The Time." My relationship with Buckeyes Boy lends itself to a lot of interesting posts that aren't sexual, and I'll be delving into all of those topics! xoxo
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Leggo My Tenga Egg-o
I asked Arlington Boy if he would be willing to write a review of the Tenga Egg, a male sex toy. Lucky for me, my male readers and the women who love them, he was more than happy to lend a hand...
Masturbation.
The whole thing sounds so off-putting to some people, you'd think someone back in the 1950s would have made some twisted B-movie about it. "The Masturbator. Filmed in shocking Perv-O-Vision! A tale of distorted youth gone mad! Too much time on their hands-too many hands on their genitals!"
Detective: "I dunno, Chief. Maybe five, 10 years ago, I could've figured where our country was heading. Not any more. These teens, with their leather jackets and motorcycles and marijuana cigarettes and their masturbation. I saw things back in the war. Horrible, unspeakable things. And that all pales in comparison to what this generation does."
And let's face it. When it comes to sex toys, the ones designed for men aren't especially elegant. In fact, I'd say they have a more than a certain stigma attached to them. And I have to admit I'm one of those people who reads words like "masturbation sleeve" and immediately thinks of some fat, sweaty man with thick glasses and greasy hair who still lives with his parents and wears a Members Only jacket and does horrible, horrible things to that sleeve on the darkest of nights. My hand will suffice just fine, thankyouverymuch.
While I think there's at least a measure of panache surrounding *some* women's sex toys, men's sex toys in general just ooze the eew factor. Like if it was capable of talking, it'd say something like:
"Well well well! If it ain't ol' dateless! Well, time to grease up, loser!"
A while back, CityGirl asked me to write a guest post about my experiences with anal toys. More recently, she asked me to review another toy: the Tenga Egg. I was only too happy to oblige!
First off, I'm happy to say that the Tenga Egg is here to change your views on male toys. It's a disposable, discreet sex toy that feels GREAT!
The first thing you'll notice about the Eggs (particularly if you buy the six-pack with six eggs to choose from) is that they have different textures to tantalize your cock. You can buy them individually, in packs of three, or packs of six. You'd never guess there was a treat for your cock inside. Totally discreet packaging. While I don't think you'd call it cute, it's certainly not your everyday male sex toy! Take a look for yourself.
Opening the Egg is easy. You find the perforated seam, and gently peel off the outer wrapper. Once you twist the Egg in half, you'll find the sleeve that's going to be sending you into orbit. You'll also find, inserted into the hollow of the sleeve, a small tube with a packet of lube. It's an all-in-one product!
Note: I've had mixed experiences with Tenga's lube. On some occasions, it's just fine. Other times, I've felt a very slight burning sensation right at the opening of the urethra for about a minute. I've read similar complaints on the Internet. You may want to use your own lube.
Pour some lube in, squeeze the Egg and roll it gently between your palms to spread it, and go to work!
What I like about the Egg is that I can control the exact amount of pressure and *where* I put that pressure. Plus, the material conducts body heat, so you're enveloping your bad boy in a nice, warm, squishy... oh, who am I kidding? It's still a surrogate pussy. But I really like the fact that I can choose not only which texture I'd like, but I can also be in complete control as to how I use it.
You'll probably work it up and down with your fist like when you normally masturbate, but I found a nice alternative in gripping my penis with a downward grip and holding it like I was writing with a pen. This still gave *incredible* sensations to the head, but also allowed me to put all those pleasure nubs and ridges to work against my shaft.
Now, one thing you may find out is that the Egg might be somewhat, ahem, small for you, and I'm not saying that to be boastful, but simply to point out you may honestly have the same issue I was having. I was able to work it all the way down towards the base of my shaft, but I honestly kept wondering how well the material was going to hold up before my head decided it wanted to make a break for it (and I've read that if you use the Egg for more than a few uses-which I do NOT suggest personally-it *will* break at some point).
I was honestly half-tempted to stroke towards the base of my cock and then let go, just to see if it'd fling into the air like in those old Wile E. Coyote cartoons where he'd use those massive rubber bands to propel himself towards the Road Runner! But in all seriousness, focus on your head and upper penis when you use it, and you'll be fine.
To be honest, most of the Eggs I used (there's six different textures) felt about equally good. The leader of the pack, for me, was the Stepper. I particularly liked this one because the pleasure nubs felt great against my shaft, particularly the underside. No other Egg gave me those sensations the Stepper did. And the climax was *particularly* great! I grunted and moaned with pleasure, my toes curled, I was short of breath for a few minutes, my skin was aglow, I had that incredibly relaxed, happy feeling going on for a while, the whole shebang. If you only want to buy one to start out with, this is the one you want!
I had mixed experiences with the Spider (note to Tenga's marketing division: arachnids are NOT something most guys want to think about while passionately touching their glands!). The first time I used it, it was fantastic, and had absolutely incredible sensations around the head of my cock! I bought another one, and something weird happened. I climaxed twice, back to back (which I have *never* done before!), only both climaxes were utterly devoid of any sort of pleasurable feeling, if you can believe it. Totally weird! Don't know how much of that was the Spider's fault, but I'd still recommend that as a backup toy.
The great thing about the Egg is that there's very little aftercare and cleanup. Like I said, you really don't want to reuse these. Just pull the Egg off your spent member, put it back in the shell, seal it shut, and toss it! No fuss, no muss.
I personally like the Eggs much, much better than similar toys like the Fleshlight (you can find my review of that as a comment in CityGirl's excellent post about that toy). There's a variety of sensations, not much in the way of aftercare, and they're inexpensive.
While I have to say that the Egg isn't going to become a regular indulgence (the hand is free, it's convenient, and it's always around), I can happily recommend it, and there will definitely be additional purchases in my future!
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A FIRST Date
I'll get back to my tales with Philly Matt and Mr. Exec tomorrow night, but until then, I hope that you enjoy this guest post by Jolene from To Be Determined as much as I did. xoxo
The difference between “a” first date and a FIRST DATE!
When City Girl was looking for some good “firsts” guest posts, I knew I wanted to provide one, but I had no idea what the topic should be. Most of my “firsts” are nowhere near as exciting and racy as hers (and I say that in the best possible light…I LOVE City Girl! She may quite possibly be my idol!), but then I had the first date…the first date that is the difference between “a” first date and a FIRST DATE.
What do I mean by that?
Well, in the past year and a half or so, I’ve been on a lot of first dates. And many of those first dates looked good on paper, seemed promising, and either end up being a one-date wonder, or ended up with zero chemistry. And, well, I’m growing sick of dud dates and really want to meet someone I click with.
Cue Doctor Boy…swoon.
Wow. I had a good feeling about this one before we met, but again, he looked good on paper, and I was afraid I was getting my hopes up for something that was going to go nowhere. But, the minute I met him, I knew this was going to be different. I felt the connection and the chemistry almost right away, he made me feel so comfortable, and he drew me in with our conversation.
We talked for four straight hours with no awkward pauses, no forced conversation. At the end of the night, it was clear both of us could keep talking and laughing all night long.
That was the difference. We just both felt comfortable, great, happy, connected.
It’s been days since, and I’ve had a goofy grin plastered on my face. I am giddy when he calls or texts me. He’s attentive, but not overly so (as in, not 378 texts a day or anything like that), he’s warm, he’s genuine, and he’s someone I am almost certain I will see again and again. I’m just drawn to him.
I’ve never felt that way about any of the guys I’ve dated. EVER. And that includes those that I dated for several months (see “Brainy Blonde” and “CBE” on my man audit I linked to above). It includes those first dates that I thought there might be potential – this potential blows that potential away. The difference being that I am not just hoping for potential, I know the potential is there. That’s huge. I even feel different…I am blogging about this and it has literally only been one date (we are seeing each other again tomorrow, which is only four days since we first met…I usually wait at least a week!).
The difference between “a” first date and a FIRST DATE is knowing…without a shadow of a doubt that there is something there there…and I’m confident of that, for the first time since I’ve started dating. Wow.
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A Salty Second Date
I'm recouping from my second chemotherapy treatment this week. In the meantime, please enjoy this entertaining guest post from Ethan of the food blog, Tastes Better With Friends. xoxo
******
I suppose in retrospect, a bad, home-cooked meal date is not the end of the world, but hear me out...
I had been on one date with this girl (who in honor of City Girl we will name, "Peanut Sauce Girl"). The first date consisted of coffee, and it was nothing special. Not bad, not great, just meh. Basically, I wasn't feeling it, but at some point in the date, we were talking about food. Peanut Sauce Girl told me she was a great cook, and she was famous amongst her friends for her signature dish, her Veggie Stir-Fry in Peanut Sauce.
Around that same time, I had decided to not be so quick to dismiss a mediocre first date. I figured I had nothing to lose by seeing Peanut Sauce Girl again. Plus, I'd get a great meal out of it, right?
I met up at her place, and we made our way to the kitchen. As I was opening the bottle of wine I brought over, I watched in amazement as she began to cut the vegetables. Peanut Sauce Girl was cutting the vegetables in oddly-shaped chunks, which I guess was all right. But, since this was her signature dish, I had assumed she would have figured out how to properly cut vegetables.
I also couldn't believe that she was cutting the vegetables on a plate. I couldn't figure out a polite way to ask if she had a chopping board so I said nothing. I had to listen to the horrible sound of knife on porcelain. Clink, clink, clink. So thankfully, after many clinks later, the vegetables were now chopped, and the plate had been silenced and put out of its agony. At this point, Peanut Sauce Girl's roommate came into the kitchen.
Roommate (with a grin): Oh are you making your awesome peanut sauce tonight?
Peanut Sauce Girl: Yes, we are. I can make more if you want to have some, too.
Roommate (with another grin): I'm good, but no thanks.
By this point, I was slightly concerned. The roommate was grinning at me since Peanut Sauce Girl was busy with her head in the fridge. The grin seemed to imply: I'm sorry. You have no idea what you're in for and get out while you can. (And, to make matters worse, in classic City Girl form, I found the roommate much cuter than Peanut Sauce Girl.)
The roommate left, and the prepping continued of dinner continued. At this time, we did a little "Cheers" with our wine glasses, and Peanut Sauce Girl proceeded to chug her wine. I'm not an overly sophisticated guy, but I found the downing of wine at 7:30 PM to be a little much. But, in retrospect, it did go hand-in-hand with the unrefined nature of chopping vegetables on a plate!
Fast forward through another glass of wine, and the peanut sauce was now being prepared. The peanut sauce consisted of a sauce pan with peanut butter, soy sauce, an ungodly amount of oyster sauce and some salt! Yes, salt in addition to the soy sauce and oyster sauce! At this point, I could already feel my face getting bloated from the unhealthy spike in sodium in my body!
With the famous "sauce" now ready, I realized there was no actual stir-frying of any sort. The raw vermicelli noodles got tossed in to the sauce to cook, and about two minutes later, the vegetables followed. At this point, my only thought was, "Where is the roommate and why isn't she coming to save me?" So, needless to say, I threw back my glass of wine in an attempt to make the actual consumption of the meal a little more bearable. It was at this point that I decided I was not going to bail. I'd eat the meal and be tough.
Well, the moment of truth came. I was presented with the ridiculously salty peanut sauce with crunchy noodles and weirdly shaped vegetables. There was so much sauce; it was like a soup! Deep down, I really wanted to like it because Peanut Sauce Girl put so much effort into it. I do think she really believes it's delicious, but it was simply terrible.
Thankfully, I was served a small amount. I managed to choke down about about half of it, but somehow Peanut Sauce Girl cleaned her plate clean. I don't even know how I did it because the sauce was honestly like licking a salt rock. Once the meal was over, I thanked Peanut Sauce Girl for dinner and made my way back to the subway (not before heading to the corner store and grabbing some water in an attempt to neutralize my recent salt intake).
Like I said, it wasn't the worst date ever, but in the moment, it was pretty bad. Thankfully, I can look back on it and laugh. And yes, I still like peanut sauce, but light on the salt please.
Most importantly and the real reason, I wanted to share this bad date was to give a big shout out to City Girl. There is no doubt you'll beat this cancer and will come back still smiling and stronger than before! Thanks for letting me be a part of your wonderful blog. Take care of yourself and you're in my thoughts and prayers.
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Mr. Windy City - Part 1
If all goes well, I’ll be having chemotherapy tomorrow followed by three days of IVs. In the meantime, please enjoy a series of great guest posts by my dear friend, Autumn. I’ll get back to writing about my dating adventures as soon as possible since I know I left you all hanging. xoxo
The PERFECT First Date
City Girl met Mr. Windy City first, and after getting to know him, she realized that he was EXACTLY my type. So, she set us up via a social network, and we began chatting. He soon asked for my cell number and began texting me. We then moved to video chat through which I discovered a very attractive man with whom I got along well and had many things in common.
He did contract work, and his last contract had recently ended. Since he was between jobs, we were able to keep up a constant stream of communication (mostly via text). It was a lot of fun, and I really felt that we got to know each other pretty well. I discovered that I was dealing with a romantic and enjoyed the spontaneous sweetness that comes with such a personality. He also discovered things about me, one being that I am more of an analytical thinker and very practical.
We seemed to complement each other. I learned to be more spontaneous about my feelings toward him, even as I cautioned him about running away with his feelings before he ever met me. I remember this month being full of smiles and daydreams, as well as much sharing and digging deep into each other’s thoughts and lives.
He promised me that when he saw City Girl, the first thing he wanted to do was give her a big hug and thank her for introducing us to each other. He confessed that he was ‘falling for me’ before we ever met each other. Even though I didn’t admit it to him, I felt myself leaning strongly toward the same thing.
About a month after we began talking, City Girl asked me to accompany her to NYC for her reunion. I agreed and told Mr. Windy City that we would be in NYC for a week at the beginning of October.
He decided to travel over from Chicago during the same week so we could meet and live happily ever after…well, maybe not that dramatic ;p. But, we did coordinate to spend the week in NYC together, admitting that we could wait no longer to meet in person. I planned to stay at City Girl’s family’s apartment, and Mr. Windy City happened to have family in the area that he could stay with as well.
The stage was set, the cast members ready, and the nervous butterflies attacking. This was a fairy tale promising an incredible climax - and the most unbelievable part for me was that it was actually happening to ME! ME! I could neither comprehend it nor could I stop smiling when I thought about him. He was on my mind the first thing in the morning and the last thing before I fell asleep.
I don’t even remember what the weather was like that afternoon when we arrived in NYC. All I knew was that in a matter of a few hours, I would be able to touch and hug this man with whom I was so completely taken. He had over a 10-hour drive from Chicago so he wasn’t arriving until that evening. I don’t remember what we did until he arrived, but I’m sure I wasn’t very good company at all for City Girl. All I could think about was seeing him! Finally I received this text:
Mr. Windy City: Hey, I’m almost there!
Me: Okay!
So I ran downstairs and waited at the corner of the street. The next text I got said:
Knock, Knock :)!
He didn’t know I was at the corner so I watched him walk up the street for a few steps. After I could take it no longer, I came out of the shadow, smiling, with my arms open. He opened his arms, and we seemed to naturally fall together, both grinning from ear to ear. He pulled back, looked at me and paused. He then pulled me toward him again and kissed my lips!
I couldn't remember feeling as wonderful with someone as I did when he kissed me the first time. It was like the time of waiting and getting to know each other made the kiss so natural and so right that neither of us thought twice about it. We kissed some more, and then drew back to smile at one another. We were together! We had made it, and it felt so right!
I then asked if he was cold and interested in walking to the nearby Starbucks for coffee. He reached down for my hand, and we walked there together, stopping every couple feet so he could steal another kiss. We then took our drinks and walked around the neighborhood, stopping some more as he would lean over and kiss my cheek or my lips.
Still finishing our drinks, we found some steps near City Girl’s apartment and sat, as we talked and kissed. We didn't miss a beat; it was like we had known each other forever! After about an hour of chatting and kissing, we decided that it was kind of late. He had to get to his family before they went to bed, and he hadn’t even said hi to City Girl.
We went inside, and Mr. Windy City gave City Girl a big hug. As he thanked her for introducing us, he put his hand around my waist, pulled me over beside him and kissed my cheek. I reluctantly walked him back to his car where I gladly accepted more kisses from him before he left. He promised to see me the next day.
He was everything I thought he was! He was perfect for me! After watching him drive away, I floated upstairs. City Girl just smiled at me as she said:
You like him, like him, don’t you?
All I could do was smile and nod.
To be continued...
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Mr. Windy City - Part 2
A Blur of Contentment
by Autumn
The following day, Mr. Windy City spent the morning with his family before we met in the afternoon. He had volunteered to go with me to pick up City Girl that night after her High School reunion. Since we would be getting home late, City Girl offered to let him stay in the second bedroom, which he accepted.
That night and the next day were a blur of sweetness and snuggling. We spent Saturday evening together, and I met his uncle and his long-term girlfriend. They were very nice, and it seemed like they liked me! Even though I typically don't get involved with family early on in a relationship, this somehow felt right. I took the fact that his family and I were comfortable around each other as another indication that Mr. Windy City and I were good together.
We met some of his friends on Sunday for the Oktoberfest Festival, and they showed us some of their favorite places in the area. Not only was it great that his family and friends liked me, but also I felt so special and wanted. He held my hand all day in front of his friends and did little things that showed that he cared about me, even though we were in public. He went back to his family’s house a little earlier that night so he could spend some time with them, but made sure we got a little make out session in beforehand. (Mr. Windy City has perfect, full lips, and kissing him was like a drug!)
For Monday, we planned to go to lunch and dinner with two groups of friends. It was a rainy morning, as I walked a couple blocks to the subway to meet him before lunch. He saw me first, and my heart skipped a beat when he came up next to me and said: Hey. I couldn’t believe how happy I was that I was with him! I loved how it felt to hold his hand as we navigated the city together and conversed. We were even able to laugh at ourselves, as we got lost and walked right past Momofuku, the restaurant -- twice!
When we finally did find Momofuku, we had a great meal and dessert with the two friends that came. During the lunch, I loved when he tapped my leg with his and smiled, or when he pulled me closer to him or touched my hand. I felt so special and lucky that I had a guy as good as him that captivated me.
So many things were exactly what I wanted in a guy, even if it was just little things. For example:
- I’m not really into tattoos, and he had none. Even though he was early 30s, he just never had a desire to get one.
- I have this thing for a guy with a small earring. I was so turned on when he told me that he used to have an earring and that he missed it and was thinking of putting it back in ;).
- I am also not that much of a drinker. I drink occasionally, but just don’t really crave alcohol much. Mr. Windy City said that he wasn’t much of a drinker either, which pleasantly surprised me. I don’t mind if a guy likes alcohol more than me, but it was just another thing that we had in common.
- He also loved to cook, which has always been high on my list of what I hope to find in a guy. I LOVE to cook – or more specifically, bake -- and think it can be so much fun and romantic to cook with a lover.
- I like a guy that is close to my height or a couple inches taller. That may sound strange until I explain that I am 6’ tall. I’ve always preferred guys with whom I was close to eye level, and Mr. Windy City was an inch taller than me! Woo hoo :-D!
So many things seemed to be in place and perfect between us…until a phone call later that evening.
To be continued...
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Mr. Windy City - Part 3
An Uncomfortable Vibe
by Autumn
After lunch on Monday, Mr. Windy City and I hung out at the apartment for a couple hours before meeting a few other friends for happy hour that evening. Unfortunately, sometime during that day, Mother Nature had decided to "gift" me, and I began feeling a little queasy and sick to my stomach with cramps. I felt lucky that Mr. Windy City was completely understanding and supportive about the inconvenience and bad timing.
After Happy Hour, we made our way back to the apartment. Mr. Windy City planned to stay in the second bedroom again since we knew it was going to be a late night. We arrived before City Girl was back from dinner. As we walked in and I sat down on the couch, Mr. Windy City got a phone call. I only heard one side of the conversation, but I could tell it was news that made Mr. Windy City uncomfortable.
(To provide some background, before arriving in NYC, City Girl arranged with her family to stay at the apartment the entire week with the exception of Tuesday. City Girl had planned to spend Tuesday with one of her friends in NYC, and I asked Mr. Windy City if his uncle would mind me staying at his place. Mr. Windy City said that he would like me to stay with him and that he would ask his uncle. I assumed that it wouldn’t a problem, even if I had to sleep on a couch by myself.)
Mr. Windy City (hanging up the phone and looking at me): Hey, that was my uncle. I didn’t get a chance to ask him in person about you staying over tomorrow night, but I emailed him and that was him on the phone. He said that he was fine with you staying if it weren’t for his teenage daughter. He doesn’t want to be the 'uncool uncle," but since he doesn’t know you that well, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea this time. I’m sorry.
I nodded and remained silent as I processed the information. I knew that it was not Mr. Windy City’s decision and that there was nothing he could do about it. I also knew that he wanted me to stay with him as much as I wanted to. But, I couldn’t help but feel a little rejected. I knew that he had to defer to his family’s wishes since it was their house, but I had been so looking forward to staying over with him that night.
I was still feeling sick to my stomach so I just leaned against him when he sat down next to me. I honestly don’t know how the conversation started, but we began talking about ‘us.’ I went from feeling rejected to feeling sad and hollow. He seemed to be disconnecting from me, and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t sure if he had been feeling unsure about us all day…or if the phone call had started it…or if it was me just not feeling well and not thinking clearly. I hoped that it was the latter so I tried to not say what I was feeling. At one point, though, I did say:
You know it will just be harder for me to let you go and you to leave if you come down to DC. [Mr. Windy City, City Girl and I had planned to drive down to DC together on Thursday.]
Mr. Windy City: Yes, but I have to leave sometime. I can’t stay in DC forever. Would you rather I didn’t come down to DC and we planned on me visiting you another time?
Me: No! I really do want you to come down and visit. I just know I’ll be sad when you have to leave.
Mr. Windy City: Well, don’t be sad. I’m here now. And it’s only Monday. We still have several days to spend together!
City Girl came home a little later, and we exchanged stories about our days. I again felt like my earlier feelings were me just being overly sensitive when I saw that my best friend liked the guy I was into and they got along so well. That's important to me. I assured myself that all was still good.
Then, I got another surprise that brought back my earlier feelings…
To be continued…
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Mr. Windy City - Part 4
Feelings Confirmed…Maybe
by Autumn
My discussion with Mr. Windy City after the disappointing call from his uncle lingered in the air. City Girl arrived home in the midst of our uncomfortable silence. We began talking about our plans after NYC. She asked Mr. Windy City what time he preferred to leave on Thursday. Mr. Windy City looked puzzled.
Mr. Windy City: Oh, I keep forgetting that you guys have a definite schedule. I had planned on staying through the weekend since my sister is coming in and our family is planning a big dinner.
City Girl: Oh! I thought you had planned on following us back to DC and then staying a few days. But, I guess you can just come after the weekend and stay next week in DC.
Mr. Windy City: Yeah, I’ll just drive up after the weekend.
City Girl: Sounds good! I would wait until Tuesday if I were you so you can avoid the holiday traffic.
Mr. Windy City: Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
I remained silent, as those same feelings of rejection resurfaced. Before we ever came to NYC, Mr. Windy City and I had talked about how long City Girl and I were staying in NYC. I told him that we were leaving Thursday, and he indicated that he would follow us down to DC.
I didn’t begrudge him his time with his family, but I just felt like I kept getting blindsided. I had no idea that more of his family was coming to town and that he changed his plan to follow us to DC on Thursday until that moment. I was sad that now I had to leave him on Thursday and wouldn’t be able to see him again until next Tuesday.
I had an overwhelming sense that Mr. Windy City would never come to DC. I couldn’t explain why I had that feeling. I wanted to tell City Girl, but Mr. Windy City was staying the night. I hoped that I was just misinterpreting things because I didn’t feel well. I went to bed much earlier than the two of them, hoping to sleep off my cramps, headache and bad feelings.
The following morning found me feeling much better, as I got ready. Mr. Windy City was again his sweet and attentive self. I sighed with relief that my feelings were clearly unsubstantiated. That day we planned on playing tourists, even though I had been to NYC several times. We went to Ground Zero. As we headed there, my upset stomach started coming back, and this time it came with dizziness and weakness. I wanted to scream “FU” to Mother Nature for ruining what I was hoping would be a perfect day with the man I liked so much. Again, Mr. Windy City seemed understanding and was patient with my slow walking and minimal conversation.
I felt so bad that I was such poor company. It might have been better if Mr. Windy City and I were able to go to a house and I could lay down for a bit, but his uncle wasn’t comfortable with me over there and City Girl’s family was in town for the day.
So, Mr. Windy City and I continued to walk around for the next few hours. We ate a late lunch on Canal Street, and I began feeling better. It was then that Mr. Windy City suggested we make it an early night so he could spend time with his family and I could go to bed early. I assured him that I felt better but he still insisted. The feelings of confusion and doubt started attacking again. Was I right to think he was disconnecting or not that into me?
When I shared my feelings later that night with City Girl, she assured me that his actions were nothing but sweet and that anyone could tell that he really cared about me and that we made a very cute couple.
City Girl: All of my friends who saw you two together this week thought he was your boyfriend and that you’ve been dating for a while. Mr. Windy City is probably genuinely concerned that you feel better and wants you to get some sleep. Plus, he hasn’t seen his family a lot, and I’m sure he wants to spend some time with them tonight.
Me: You’re right. I’m just over analyzing it. He has been nothing but super sweet. He even rode the subway with me up to your friend’s hotel even though he needed to go in the opposite direction to get to his family’s house.
Before I went to bed, I received the following email from Mr. Windy City:
I miss you and can’t wait to see you! I hope you have a good night and mwah!
I responded in kind and went to bed. Maybe City Girl was right and he was really into me? I hoped that the unsettled feeling in my stomach about Mr. Windy City would go away in the light of day.
To be continued...
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Mr. Windy City - Part 5
Flirting and Feeling Bubbly
by Autumn
On Wednesday morning, Mr. Windy City and I planned to meet by the Statue of Liberty ferry. I will never forget this day. Not only did I see one of the greatest monuments of hope and charity ever to represent this great nation, but also the day was perfect in every other way.
Why was that?
Well, on that day, I felt like Mr. Windy City’s girl. Like we belonged to each other. I don’t think we stopped holding hands or were more than a few inches away from each other the entire day. I was SO happy, and I sensed that everyone around us was sick of our sappiness. I felt like anything was possible...like Mr. Windy City would easily find a job close to me, just as we had talked about...like he would never let me go...like I was starring in the video for Colbie Caillat’s song, “Bubbly.”
As a backdrop to the perfect day, the sky was sunny and beautifully blue. We seemed to really ‘fit’ together, and I felt so comfortable and secure with him. I believed that he meant everything that he had said and promised to me.
We slowly made our way around Liberty Island, saw some of Ellis Island, and then decided to visit the Original Soup Kitchen from the “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld. After disappointingly receiving good service at the Soup Kitchen, we took the soup to Central Park and ate together on a bench.
I couldn’t stop looking at Mr. Windy City and thinking how lucky and thankful I was to have met someone I trusted and with whom I felt such chemistry. I remember studying every detail of his face and smiling at how much I liked everything about him. (And, for those of you who are wondering, there was a lot of kissing and touching that afternoon in Central Park.)
Mr. Windy City and I headed back to the apartment after that. We planned on sharing the spare bed together that night since one of City Girl’s other friends was coming over and would sleep in the master bed with her. I knew it would be a relatively tame night since we were not alone in the house or in our own bed, but I was still happy about the chance to have Mr. Windy to myself for a night. Just as I had hoped, the chemistry we felt during our first kiss ignited again, and we enjoyed the closeness of the sofa bed ;).
The following morning, I smiled when I awoke to see him lying next to me. I couldn’t think of a better way to start my morning! Even though it was our last day in NYC and I wouldn’t get to see Mr. Windy City until next Tuesday, I decided to cherish every moment we had that day. Since it was another beautiful and sunny day, we decided to head to the Empire State Building before meeting City Girl for fondue. As expected, we had a great time together, touring the city, sharing many laughs, and dipping into the best fondue I had ever tasted.
We went back to the apartment after that. While City Girl blogged, Mr. Windy City and I took a nap and snuggled. I can still remember the feel of him next to me…the sound of his breath… the supreme contentment I felt when he put his arms around me after we woke up. He was perfect for me, and I never wanted to look at another man again. This is what I wanted. Period. I knew. And, I was so happy with that knowledge.
Looking back, I’m so glad that I did cherish every moment of that last day. I couldn’t have predicted back then how the next chapter would unfold.
To be continued…
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Mr. Windy City - Part 6
Bad Things Happen In Threes
by Autumn
My time in NYC with Mr. Windy City had ended on a perfect, bubbly note. But, as I prepared to leave on Thursday night, my nagging doubts returned. I again felt insecure about Mr. Windy City’s intentions toward me. As I went to get in the car for the drive home, he grabbed my waist and gave me a kiss.
Mr. Windy City: Get home safe and I’ll miss you. See you soon. [He pulls me closer for another kiss, but I pull back.]
Me: Promise?
Mr. Windy City: Promise what?
Me: Promise that you’ll come to DC?
Mr. Windy City [smiling and pulling me closer again]: Yes, I promise.
Then he kissed me -- long and hard. I was left breathless and wanting more, but I reminded myself that I would see him in a few days and get just that. I hopped in the car.
As we made our way out of NYC, I again shared my uncertainties about Mr. Windy City with City Girl. I had this gut feeling that I would never see him again. She again told me not to worry about it because he obviously cared very much for me. She also noted that all of her friends who had seen us together had thought we were in a long-term relationship because of how we interacted with each other.
When we made it home safely, I emailed Mr. Windy City. He wished me a good night and said that he was glad he was able to spend the week with me. I had no choice but to believe him and assured him that I couldn’t wait to see him again in a few days.
The following day, he emailed me good morning and good night, but I sensed some withdrawal from him. I didn’t know how to take it so I just let it go.
My feelings of confusion were exacerbated by the fact that someone I had thought was a good friend did some really hurtful things to me that morning. I called City Girl, sobbing. More than anything, I wanted to have Mr. Windy City there to hold me, but I kept telling myself to have faith and believe that he would be with me soon.
When I awoke on Saturday, I knew that it was going to be another hard day. I was going with City Girl to see her hairdresser to shave her head. She had already lost so much of her hair by that point from chemo that her thick, red hair was lying limp on her back.
Mr. Windy City sent me an email that morning, wishing us good luck at the salon. I noticed that his email lacked his customary sappy sign off, but I tried not to read too much into it.
Being at the salon was as hard as I thought it would be, as I watched my best friend have to lose her perfect hair. She remained positive during the process and even decided that she would rock the buzz cut until that was gone, too. I loved her for being so brave, but I still wished there was a way I could have prevented it or given her my own hair. She didn’t deserve any of this, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
City Girl and I went to a nearby restaurant for dinner that night. I told her about missing Mr. Windy City, and she suggested that I ask for a phone date later that night.
Me: No. I don’t want to impose on his family time, especially since we haven’t been texting like we were since before we met. I still think he’s not into me.
City Girl: Autumn, it’s not imposing. You two are clearly dating on some level, and it’s not asking too much that he give you some time tonight to be there for you when you’ve understandably had a rough day. It doesn’t have to be long, but just be honest and tell him you want to hear his voice.
So I emailed him and asked if we could talk that night. The email exchange that followed was not what I was looking for nor did it help to contradict my feelings of insecurity:
Mr. Windy City: I'm sure today was tough. Hope it's better now. We'll keep in touch tonight to see when we can chat, k? Have a good evening :).
Autumn: Let me know what works for you tonight. I don't want to demand your time away from your family.
Mr. Windy City: Ok thanks. I’ll let you know about tonight...
An hour and a half later, I received another email from him:
Hey. Just at the theatre now. 2-hour movie just beginning. I’ll see what time I get out later, k? Hope you have a good nite!
Autumn: Ok. It’s fine if you text when you’re out.
I was exhausted from the emotionally stressful couple days I had and went to bed early, leaving my phone close so I would hear his text when it came in. (I knew I wouldn’t hear an email come in so that is why I asked him to text instead of email.) I woke up disoriented at 3am and looked at my phone. He sent the following email at 12:45am:
Hey. Just got back home from the movie. The Town with Ben Affleck is pretty good.
I went back to bed, feeling very dejected and confused. I had specifically asked him to talk and told him I could use a friend, and he just seemed to ignore that. Was I wrong for asking that he make time for me? I felt bad that he didn’t seem to care that I was missing him and needed him.
I just responded:
That’s nice.
And, I fell back asleep.
To be continued…
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Mr. Windy City - Part 7
Thanks to all of you who commented in support of Autumn’s series of guest posts about Mr. Windy City. She and I both appreciate it!
Given the cruel and personal nature of some of the comments to this series, I’ve decided to restrict access to Autumn's last post. Feel free to email me at citygirlblogs (at) gmail (dot) com or send me a direct message on Twitter for access.
Thanks also to those of you who have expressed concern about how my latest round of treatment went. I’m thrilled to be 2/3 done with chemotherapy and get back to blogging! xoxo
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Peace And A Piece
A Guest Post by the Chief
I had met the Canadian at a Crossfit Class in Kandahar, Afghanistan. There is one thing you should know about this base: you are not allowed to have sex here. With that being said, there is a Hotel Kandahar, and I can’t imagine what it could be for. Condoms are also put out daily, and they are always disappearing. I was hoping one of them would find its way inside me before too long.
The Canadian was average height at 5’10”, but he was a big guy. Not a fat guy, but the kind of guy who can dead lift 300 pounds and who has to eat 5,000 calories a day to sustain himself for his workouts. I’m not usually attracted to meatheads, but I decided maybe it was time to add more protein to my diet.
The first time we met, it was innocent enough. I was in my uniform, like I always have to be, and he was wearing civilian clothes. Different rules for different countries, I suppose. He looked adorable, and I looked like a girl tired of being in Afghanistan. So we talked about anything but where we were and what we were doing here.
After the chat, I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him goodnight. I guess all that normal life talk really did make me forget where we were. I could tell right away that he wasn’t comfortable with the kiss. He leaned in and said:
Next time, let’s see each other somewhere less public.
Two days later, we met for coffee. Then he suggested we go to his office. Once in the comfort (and I say “comfort” because it had a couch) of his office, it was obvious what was going to happen.
He leaned over to kiss me. There was one problem with that. He didn’t like using his tongue. His kisses were all very poppy. They actually made a lot of noise when they would hit my lips or my neck. It was like a cartoon kiss or a kiss you get from your grandma. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. But I had to remember, this guy is 10 years younger than me. I wasn't sure of his experience level. It was clear by his kisses though, that sex was probably not going to be very interesting. However, once he took his shirt off and revealed a chest worthy of the movie, 300, I forgave how horrible his kisses were and concentrated on giving him some of my own.
I ran my tongue up and down his chest, slightly kissing and biting. I took my left hand and ran it down his chest, and then up his thigh. He let out a slight moan, and I knew that this guy had not been touched in a long while. It was like every single thing I did made him weaker.
I finally reached through his pants to feel his dick. It was hard, and I knew he wanted me to touch it. But I’ve been in similar situations, and I didn’t want to rush into anything that would make him cum before I had a chance to. So I backed off a bit and guided his hands down my pants and helped guide his fingers into my pussy.
He seemed to know what he was doing. He used his thumb to massage my clit while his other fingers penetrated me. However, once I notably started to enjoy it, he began to push them harder and faster…and that’s not what I needed. I took his hands in my hand and told him to slow down.
At that point, I was wondering if this alone was going to make me cum. I’m in a war zone, and there aren’t too many opportunities like this. I’ve gotten pretty used to my little vibrator. This was a totally different feeling for me, and I wasn’t sure it was going to do the trick.
I decided to help him out a bit. I moved his thumb from my clit and replaced it with my own two fingers. That caught him really off guard, and he began to just stare. He wasn’t moving his fingers at all now, which was kind of nice. They just remained still, but buried deep inside of me. He leaned over me and took my nipple into his mouth and began biting it and teasing it with his tongue. He may not have been very good with his tongue when it came to kissing, but he did seem to know how to use it.
With the combination of him licking my nipples, his fingers deep inside my pussy, and my own fingers doing what they do best, I knew it was going to happen. When I finally came, it was such an amazing release. It had been months since I had human contact like that of any kind. To just get off was the best gift I could have received at that point.
I decided to return the favor.
I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off. I began teasing his dick outside of his boxers. I read in one of City Girl’s posts about blow jobs that it’s a good idea to tease the dick. However, she also mentioned that when you like a guy, it’s hard not to just want to devour his penis, and that is what I wanted to do.
I pulled off his boxers and revealed his dick. It wasn’t huge. I didn’t really expect it to be. However, I knew that his dick was a size that I would be able to deep throat, and I knew he would appreciate that. I began licking his balls a bit, as I rubbed his dick softly with my hand. I licked my hand and started massaging him, until I knew he couldn’t take much more. And then, I put him in my mouth.
I decided there wasn’t any more time to play around. I had to consider where we were after all. Anything could happen. There could be a rocket attack, and we could be forced to go outside and find shelter in the bunkers. His office mates could decide they had some late night work to finish up. My phone could buzz with news that I was needed somewhere else. I knew it was now or never.
With one hand still caressing his balls, I took him all the way in my mouth. I could feel the head of his dick just begin to make its way down my throat. As I pulled back, I let my hand follow my mouth. Within minutes, I could tell that he was close. When the words, “Oh my God, just like that,” came out of his mouth, I knew it wouldn’t be long until my protein shake would be coming as well.
When he finally came, I kept him in my mouth for a while. He held my head there. I could tell he didn’t want me to move a muscle, and he didn’t want to move his muscle.
When I finally got up, I could feel him shaking. He took my hand from his balls and put it on his heart. It was beating a mile a minute. He looked at me and said, “Kiss me.”
This time it was different. The passion was there, the drama was there, and … the tongue was there. Maybe he just needed to find peace of mind in this place riddled with war. Or maybe he just needed a piece.
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The Spy Who Wanted To Love Me
Meeting Jim
By Sherry
It started at an Indian summer Sunday afternoon BBQ. I’d said hello to the hosts and was going to the cooler to get a cold, frosty beverage when the cute guy in front of me pulled a Hefeweizen beer out of it. I remarked that I hoped there was another one in there because that was my favorite. He reached around in the ice and checked for another bottle. Finding none, he offered his to me. I declined, saying he’d beaten me to the punch fair and square, so I’d just pick something from the other selections available. He insisted with a flourish, “Ladies first, please.” I suggested that we get a cup and split it as a compromise. He looked at me appreciatively, with a twinkle in his blue eyes and slyly said, “Beautiful and brilliant, I like it!”
We sipped our beer and started talking about developing an appreciation for Hefeweizen while having been in Germany, which led to talk of travels. I considered myself pretty well-traveled, having hit my age in number of countries visited at 29 and keeping it up in the years since. But he definitely had me beat.
He was also capable of being charming in seven languages, including his other native language of Dutch. Finding out about his Dutch ancestry led to talk about my past trips to the Netherlands, which somehow let to talk of the Netherlands Antilles. He had worked in Aruba for several months and popped over to Bonaire for some scuba diving.
Under water is my favorite place to be and I was thrilled to find out that this handsome stranger, who seemed very interested in me, was a fellow diver. He seemed impressed by the couple of diving stories that I told. But, he artfully dodged my question when I asked him what kind of work he did that required travel to Aruba. Not wanting to be too DC-cliché and appear hung up on what he did for a living, I let the subject drop.
At some point I did what most women of my age did when they met an interesting man, I checked for a wedding band. I gladly noted that his hands were ring-free. We flirted for the rest of the party and exchanged contact information before leaving. On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about this new guy from the party named Jim. He seemed like the total package and almost too good to be true – good looking, very intelligent, witty, sophisticated, charismatic, and, the icing on the cake, equally attracted to me.
I anxiously awaited his phone call the next day and he kept me waiting until the day after. Men! He sent an email saying how much he enjoyed meeting me and inviting me out for cocktails. It was a fairly unproductive day at the office because we spent the rest of day sending emails back and forth making plans to see one another again and exchanging witty repartee.
We met for a drink at a local Irish bar and the banter flew. Then, we headed to a favorite restaurant for wine and a snack, where the flirtation continued. He was confident, just shy of being obnoxiously cocky. I knew from experience that it takes a man with a strong personality to not be intimidated by me, so I wasn’t put off by it.
The conversation flowed between us as though we’d known each other for years instead of days. It seemed like he really “got” me. For my part, I found out that he had spent time with the Dutch Navy, which was the impetus for his time in the Netherlands Antilles. He said that he was stationed in DC for an assignment involving cooperation between the Dutch and U.S. navies. Before we knew it, they were closing the restaurant, so we went to a tapas place and shared some cava sangria until they too were shutting down for the night.
He walked me to my car and we proceeded to make out like teenagers in the parking garage. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to refuse when he asked if we could go back to my place because the chemistry between us was unlike anything that I had experienced in a very long time. When I got home I went to bed feeling absolutely giddy and looking forward to seeing him again.
The next morning, he started our next round of emails.
Good Morning, la mia bella Sherry! Hope you managed to get out of bed at the appointed hour. Sorry for keeping you out so late on a school night.
Thanks for amusing me last night; hope the feeling was mutual.
Back in the trenches today, and I hope it's a fine day in your neck o' the woods. You've probably had your fill of Arrogant Bastard Dutchie here, but if not, I'm around for a couple days before heading to Southern Europe. Otherwise, until next time...
Some time I'll treat you to the full Nederland experience, have you over chez moi to drink Heineken, eat rijstafel, watch Verhoeven films, wear wooden shoes, etc. Good times, good times.
Jim
We went back and forth all day, discussing when we could see each other again, as soon as possible before his trip. It was complicated by the fact that we both had first dates scheduled for Friday night with people about whom we were less than enthusiastic. We each extracted ourselves from our other plans so that we could see one another.
It was apparent that it wasn’t unusual for him to have plans with many women. He had alluded to having quite a past as a ladies’ man, after all, he was a sailor. After he made room for me in his busy schedule, I offered up free tickets for a performance of Cabaret that had come my way. When I asked him if he was interested in seeing it and he agreed, saying “everybody needs a little Weimar now and then.”
In the course of the discussion, he revealed to me that his specialty in the Navy was counterintelligence and that he was telling me because I’m a “smart girl” and would figure it out eventually; also he liked me and wanted to confide in me. It was endearing.
He picked me up after work and we went to a little Italian trattoria for a quick bite to eat before heading to the play. He parked behind a Porsche and matter-of-factly noted that the car we were in was a rental because his was in the shop, and his was the same model as the car in front of us. I teasingly asked him if what they say about men buying Porches because they need to “compensate” for lacking in other areas was true. He retorted that I would have to judge for myself.
It was the beginning of another evening full of laughter and easy conversation. He also divulged more serious personal details like how his parents had died in an accident when he was young, so he had been raised by his aunt. My father had died ten years prior, so we bonded over sharing the experience of losing a parent. Then he dropped the bombshell that he was going to have to go to Afghanistan in a few months for work. I was concerned about what that meant to what was rapidly becoming our “relationship,” but put it out of my mind to enjoy our date.
After the play, we met up with my cousin visiting from out of town, for drinks. She talked about her three year old son and Jim seemed genuinely interested. He said that he had nieces and nephews and loved children. My cousin found him charming too and while he was away at the restroom for a moment, she gave him a “thumbs up.” I was happier than I’d been in ages and it showed.
Shortly after he got back, he and I left the bar and ended up back at my place and where we spent an incredible night in bed. Our chemistry there was as amazing as I knew it would be from that first kiss the night before. The Porsche was definitely not a compensation thing in his case. He understood me physically as well, or perhaps even better, than he did mentally.
The next day I awakened to a pair of deep blue eyes staring at me. He grinned like a Cheshire cat when my eyes opened. We picked up where we had left off the night before. Then we showered together. Another plus, he shared my love for “water conservation.” After a morning of passionate good clean fun, it was time for him to take off to get ready for his trip. I had to head to Philadelphia for a friend’s wedding shower. All I could think of was how absolutely right and wonderful it felt to fall asleep in his arms and wake up to his smile.
I was on cloud nine and probably could have just floated to Philly rather than driving. The friends that I saw at the party all wanted to know why I was positively beaming. All I said was that I’d met someone…and he might just be perfect for me. The whole drive home I was replaying the past week in my head – all of the sweet things that he’d said, how much we had in common, how easy it was to be with him, how intense the attraction between us was. I couldn’t help but be excited and think that maybe I’d finally met "The One.”
But after well over a decade of dating and kissing many frogs on the elusive search for “Prince Charming,” a jaded voice in my head warned me that if a guy seems too good to be true, that probably means that he is.
To be continued...
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The Spy Who Wanted To Love Me -- Part 2
Meeting Jim -- Part Two
By Sherry
When I got home from the bridal shower, there was an email from Jim waiting for me:
Oh, Sherry, our love holds on, holds on...
How are you, sweetie?
First, welcome back from what I hope was a great time in Greater Philly. Second, I hope you got enough sleep to function today. Sorry if I kept you up too late. :) I had a wonderful time with you. Can't wait to see you again. I'm sending you a quick note now because the next 30 hrs, ie before I get on ze plane, will be a semi-blur.
I'll call you later today, looking forward to chatting!
Jim XOXOXO
P.S. I don't use this email account when abroad - I use something anonymous. I'll ping you with it before I go. I won't be emailing super-much while away, but I'll drop a line when able. N.B. don't call me anything more than Jim when using the other address, please, and pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top don't add comments on certain things I've mentioned to you - Operations Security, you know. :)
Over the next few days, we had the most romantic of email exchanges. He also told me about how he had gotten into his line of work after losing friends on September 11. He was emailing daily, sometimes more than once a day. In his messages he called me “Bellisima” and “Ma Belle” and said that he had “squishy, sentimental, and slightly inappropriate” thoughts of me every day, but especially before falling asleep at night. He expressed concern that knowing me might awaken the deeply sappy, romantic fellow that he had buried deep within and derail the devil may care persona that he’d carefully constructed over many years. Sprinkled in his messages were bits about how the region had improved since his last trip there. All of his emails were signed with x’s and o’s for hugs and kisses. I told him how odd that it was that I missed him after only knowing him for such a short time. He said that he missed me too and thought that the incredible weekend that we spent together could be the beginning of something amazing.
In the last email that he sent from the Balkans, he recounted a tale of his colleagues and him getting into a car accident on a winding mountain road. He reassured me that there were no serious injuries, but added that as their vehicle went over the side of the mountain and he saw his life flashing before his eyes, he thought of me. It may have been slightly cheesy, but I was lapping it up like catnip.
He also mentioned that he would be attending the wedding of a friend in Richmond when he got back from the Balkans. It just so happened that it was the same weekend as the wedding of my friend in Philadelphia. I went out on a limb and asked him to catch a flight from Richmond to Philadelphia to join me for the end of my friend’s wedding, and share the king-sized bed in the hotel room that I had reserved for afterwards. I couldn’t wait to see him again. The thought of him walking into the reception in a tuxedo and pulling me out on to the dance floor in my cocktail dress made me light up with anticipation of what a fantastic night it could be.
Then, I didn’t hear from him for a week. It seemed like an eternity, especially considering that I’d been getting daily messages from him the week before and his last one with the tale of the car accident promised “more soon.” It was his birthday, so I sent him a “happy birthday” email. There was no response.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. Was he ok? Did he have internal injuries from the accident that didn’t manifest until later? Of course, there was always the possibility that he had suddenly lost interest in me or was scared off when I asked him to join me at the Philadelphia wedding, but that seemed unlikely. In his communications he seemed as anxious to see me as I was to see him, maybe even more so. Not knowing what was going on with him was eating away at me.
I began to think that dating somebody in his line of work might lead to more stress and anxiety than I needed. I’d had enough dating drama to last a lifetime. I composed an email saying as much and was going to give it one more day before sending it. Why was it that when I finally met a man who was brilliant, funny, charming, and with whom I had chemistry that was off the charts, he worked in a job that had him flying off to the Balkans and being in cars that were driven off of mountains?
With uncanny timing, this appeared in my email inbox:
Subject: VIVO
Sweet S,
First, sorry about il silenzio. I am alive, writing this from Munich airport, and I reckoned that a call would be not good at 5.15AM your time; plus my mobile's dead, so ...
We got compromised, so all plans got cancelled. Job turned into an "everyman for himself" deal unexpectedly. Our stuff got ransacked, laptops tampered with, all became untouchable - probably just some idiot criminals, but you can take no chances. WTF and all that. So we split for Croatiaoverland without delay. Fun fun fun!
I'm scrambling to make it to Richmond sometime before midnight tonight, which seems realistic, or at least possible given flight connections. I'll give you a shout - if mobile isn't working (I managed to get off exactly one call from this side of the pond before the GSM chip officially gave up the ghost; my mobile record indicates you've called - thank you, sweetie! - but the voicemail function is dead), I'll call on someone else's! So I'll ring you from VA - assume you'll be in PA or en route? - and I'll start obsequiously apologizing for the lack of contact right then and there, k?
This sort of thing does happen in my line of work sometimes, I'm just sorry I've been out of touch with you. The cats will forgive me, hope you will also. :)
Looking forward to that, and I hope things are well with you! My birthday was very sub-par, as you can imagine, perhaps we can party like it's 1999 once we meet again?
Con amor,
J XOXOXO
To say that I was relieved to hear from him would be a giant understatement. It sounded like he’d had quite a week and I couldn’t wait to hear about it. He signed it “con amor,” (with love). What did that mean? Was he saying that he loved me? It felt like we were falling in love but it was crazy because it was happening so quickly.
After all of the other things that we’d laughed about over the past weeks, I thought he’d get a chuckle out of knowing how close I’d come to calling things off before getting his message. I sent him a response saying that I had been concerned about him but was glad that he was ok, and he’d have to come to Philadelphia and make up for making me worry in person. I told him he’d gotten in touch with me in the nick of time because I was going to send him the attached message if I still hadn’t heard from him by the following day, then I attached the letter I had written telling him how much I had enjoyed meeting him and the brief time that we’d spent together, but I wasn’t cut out for life as the girlfriend of a spy hunter.
The next day I went to Philadelphia for the wedding. I called him from the road, but there was no answer. I left him a message with the information on where the reception was being held and sent him an email with it when I got to my hotel. Even though it was a long shot, I spent the evening hoping that he would walk in the door to surprise me. I checked my phone every few minutes. I numbed the disappointment at him not showing up with many rum and diet cokes at the reception and after party. It was a long, lonely night at the hotel. I didn’t hear back from him all day Sunday either.
On the ride back home, the song, Call Me When You’re Sober, by Evanescence played on the radio. The chorus seemed very appropriate: “Don’t cry to me. If you loved me, you would be here with me. If you want me, come find me. Make up your mind.” So much for him calling as soon as he got back to the States to start “obsequiously apologizing for the lack of contact.” I pondered what I would say to him when I finally heard from him, sure that he would have some good excuse for not calling as soon as he landed in the States, as promised, or returning my call to him.
I finally heard from him on Monday morning.
To be continued...
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The Spy Who Wanted To Love Me -- Part 3
Meeting Jim -- Part 3
By Sherry
I had hoped for a call from Jim and was beyond disappointed when this email arrived in my in-box:
Dearest S:
Ah, the e-dump ... You're very charming, and it was well done, which I appreciate. Will call, have been avoiding all calls (not just yours :)) - part of my post-mission decompression. Am feeling myself again and am ready to resume the normal human race, etc.
One more comment: Thanks for being pretty nice about the bugger-off email. The life I described to you is mine. A lot less hectic than it used to be, but still hectic at times. And I do the POOF act for a few days here and there, when far away, for vaild operational (and in this case medical also) reasons.
I forget that few live as I do, my bad - I'm sorry. My dad was in the same line of work, it's literally the only life I know anything about. It makes me perhaps seem blase about it all. I do my thing, and it's hard to understand. A couple years back, I lost someone under my care; it wasn't my fault, but he was a friend and I had to explain it, as best I could, to his wife and kids. I've never quite been the same, and every time something on the road goes a bit wrong I hibernate after. It works, and nothing else does.
Sorry I swept you off your feet or somesuch - I just sought a good time with someone interesting and charming, and I got that - mission accomplished. Since you've made clear that's it, I respect that, and take full blame for the mishaps of week two.
All Best & Cheers,
Jim
I was shocked. Was that it? After everything that had happened so fast, was it going to end this abruptly too. There was so much that I wanted to say, but email just wouldn’t do. Why wouldn’t he answer his phone or call me back? I just wanted to hear the sound of his deep gravely voice again and erase the past few days. I fired back a response to his message. The defensive walls that he’d torn down so swiftly and skillfully were going back up again just as suddenly. I responded:
J
WTF?! I wasn't dumping you. Do you want to be dumped? So that's it? You just want to end it without even talking. I thought you had more class and backbone than that.
I said that I had composed that email and was GOING to send it if I didn't hear from you on Friday, which I did. You certainly had good reason for being incognito for a week, and if you had asked nicely, I would have forgiven you. If you want to just throw this away that easily, then it must not have meant as much to you as you claimed it did.
S
So started a volley of messages wherein he both apologized for his behavior and chastised me for not being more understanding. Exasperated, I sent him this:
J,
Apparently our last emails crossed paths. I am very sorry for your personal issues. I apologize if the e-vitriol has made things worse for you today.
Try to put yourself in my shoes for a moment, I finally met someone who I connected with, we had a great time, he showered me with some of the sweetest messages that I've ever gotten, then, without warning, he seemingly disappeared off of the radar screen, when his last missive had been "more soon." If it had been "I'll be away from email for a few days," I wouldn't have been so worried. Of course, after you explained why you were out of touch, I understood and would have been ready to forgive you. I was just glad you were ok and said so. I sent the "semaine deux" email attachment merely to say how I HAD been feeling the day before, to say how close I had come to calling things off but I had heard from you in the nick of time.
I meet lots of men and I have been on more than my fair share of dates, but I can count on one hand the number of times that I have connected with someone as easily, quickly, and naturally as I did with you. I thought that the feeling was mutual. If I have been vitriolic today it is because I am hurt. Connections like this don't come along every day and I didn't want to throw this away without at least talking about it and clearing up some miscommunications. Your lack of response just made me mad, madder as the day went on.
This would be so much easier if you would just call me tonight as some things are still best said by the human voice rather than email.
Hope to talk to you soon,
S
Then I received my last missive from Jim, international man of mystery.
S,
I am now considerably decompressed, thank you. I am willing to talk with you but am not entirely sure what there is to discuss at this juncture. I am indeed a gentleman, whatever has happened, but I hope you understand how hurtful you have been.
I do not seek to hurt you, and never would, but I am very wounded, and offended. I've been inattentive, for valid (if self-centered) reasons, but not a cad. Do remember, please.
J
That was it. We never did have the conversation that I had hoped to have where we could clear up some of the miscommunications that had happened via the medium that had become the mode of choice in the 21st century. Email was great for so many things, but you couldn’t hear a person’s tone of voice over email. You couldn’t see their expression or read their body language over email. You couldn’t kiss and make up over email. Sometimes those unwritten communications are so much more important than words on a screen can express.
I was numb for the next few weeks. Even a scuba diving trip to the Bay Islands of Honduras couldn’t snap me out of my funk. It was good to get away with friends. The pretty fish and the water were enough to distract me during the day, but at night I would look up at the stars and all I could think of was how much more fun it would be if he were there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just lost what could have been the great love of my life. It didn’t make sense. I had only known him for a few weeks. But with everything that he said and did, I had started to believe in that picture he painted of how great our future together could be. Now I was alone again and it stung more than the worst jelly fish in the sea.
After my trip, I was settling back in at the office when my cell phone rang. I took it out of my purse and looked at the screen to see who it was. Instead of showing a name, it said:
RESTRICTED.
Curious, I answered the phone.
To be continued...
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The Spy Who Wanted To Love Me -- Part 4
Meeting Jim -- Part 4
By Sherry
I answered the call from the restricted number:
Hello.
Strange Woman on Phone: Hello, is this Sherry?
Me (wondering if it was a telemarketer and annoyed that they were calling my cell): Yes, who is this?
Strange Woman on Phone: Do you know a James Schnider?
Me: No.
Strange Woman on Phone: How about a man named James?
In a flash of recognition, I remembered that Jim’s voicemail said:
Hi, this is James. I can’t get to the phone now but leave me a message, and I’ll have my people get in touch with your people.
I never thought anything of it because Jim is a nickname for James, and his last name was completely different from Schnider. But, the pieces of the puzzle started to come together in an instant.
I answered her, “Maybe…why? Who is this?”
Strange Woman on Phone: This is his wife.
It was like somebody just hit me with a ton of bricks and knocked the wind out of me.
I replied, stunned, “I beg your pardon!? What did you say?”
Strange Woman on Phone: Don’t worry. I know that you didn’t know that he was married. I don’t blame you. I just want some answers, and I don’t believe a word that he says.
The consulting assignment that I was on was in a World War Two era federal office building with thick concrete walls and notoriously poor cell reception. The call was unceremoniously cut off at that moment, as if added dramatic effect were needed. I wanted to call her back, but she had blocked caller ID. I waited for her to call again, but she didn’t. She probably thought that I’d hung up on her.
Shell shocked, I sent him a text message:
You’re married, you bastard! What would you like me to tell your wife when she calls back?
Suddenly, the man who wouldn’t talk to me a few weeks ago was calling me back in record time. I told him I’d go outside and call him back because the signal in my office was terrible. It was a beautiful autumn day, so I went to the park across the street and hit the call button on my phone. He picked up, admitted that it was true, and started apologizing.
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. Please don’t say anything to her. I’ll lose my kids. I can’t lose my kids. I’ll do anything. Just don’t make me lose my kids.”
Wham! Another ton of bricks hit me in the stomach. My reply was in a shrill voice that I almost didn’t recognize as my own.
“Kids?! You have kids? Not only did you not tell me you were married, you left out kids? How many?”
He replied with a tone of terror and desperation.
“Two boys. They mean everything to me. I can’t lose my kids. I know I don’t have any right to ask anything of you after what I’ve done, but I’m begging you, don’t say anything to her. She’ll take away my sons.”
In addition to lying about being single and neglecting to tell me about having children, Jim/James had also lied to me about where he lived and his occupation. He wasn’t a Dutch naval counterintelligence officer living in Old Town Alexandria, VA. He was a former CIA agent (whose cover had been as an NSA agent) who had left “the Company” to teach at the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island. He claimed to have been in DC on an extended business trip when we met. I didn’t know what to believe any more.
Jim/James had dropped some not-so-subtle hints that his work had, at one time, included the use of deadly force. After his panicked phone call and pleas to not say anything to his wife that would enable her to take away his children, I was somewhat concerned that he might be desperate enough to “remove” me as a potential witness at any future custody hearings that might occur.
I printed out copies of all of our emails, as well as a summary of what had taken place and his real identity and put it in an envelope in a safe deposit box. Suddenly, keeping all of our emails had gone from an act of sentimentality to life insurance. I gave the information on the box to a couple of people who I knew that I could trust, along with instructions to release the contents of the envelope if anything suspicious should happen to me. I called and left him a voicemail letting him know that I had taken such steps, just in case he had any ideas about “eliminating” me as a problem. Maybe I was overreacting as a result of watching one too many spy movies, but it seemed like a prudent thing to do.
I spent a fair bit of time going over what had transpired in my head and berating myself for not seeing the signs before, which with the benefit of hindsight seemed like pieces of a puzzle that my usually sharp mind had failed to put together. He told me about his townhouse in Old Town, but I had never seen it. When he gave me his cell phone number, I noticed that it was a 401 (which I now know is Rhode Island) area code, but in glancing at it, registered it in my head at 410 (Maryland). He had mentioned having previously lived in Maryland, so I just thought that he’d kept his Maryland number.
That Evanescence song took on even more meaning and I played over and over again for weeks. “Should I let you fall, lose it all, so maybe you can remember yourself?…Couldn’t take the blame, sick with shame. Must be exhausting to lose your own game…How could I have burned paradise? How could I, you were never mine?...Don’t lie to me. Just get your things. I made up your mind.”
After that November day when I found out about James’ true identity, and that I had never really known him, I didn’t hear from him. He apologized for what he had done and promised me that he’d leave me alone. I told him that I wouldn’t divulge anything to his wife if she ever tried to contact me.
As far as I was concerned, that episode of my life was over. Wasn't it?
To be continued in 2011...
Next Post: Back to my tales of Boston Christian and Best Boy. xoxo
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The five heard 'round the world
Hope you all enjoy this entertaining guest post from Rocker Girl! xoxo
I think every woman out there has that one man they dated that they look back and wonder, ‘What on earth was I thinking?’ Well, Mr. “Spy” will always be the EPIC what-was-I-thinking mistake.
We met through an online dating website. We had a pretty normal online ‘courtship,’ albeit it was a bit longer (almost 2 months!) of emailing and phone conversations. (He was moving from out of state to the DC Metro area for his super “secret” job that he eluded was similar to spy work, although I’m not sure how much I believe is true.)
Our conversations were intellectually stimulating, as well as fun, and the chemistry upon meeting in person was instant fireworks. Although he was quite nervous when we first met (he even brought along notes with conversation topics just in case!), I felt the past two months of conversation were worth overlooking his (abnormally high) social awkwardness.
The first date led to more traditional and frequent dates that included dinners out, nights out with friends, and nights in with him cooking me dinner. As we grew closer, I learned Mr. “Spy” was more than socially awkward. In fact, he was really insecure as a result of his former girlfriend’s infidelity. Again, I overlooked his insecurity as something he needed to get over on his own, but not something that should inhibit our budding relationship.
As the conversations turned to more serious subjects, we both confided that we didn’t want to get intimate right away. It was personally important that we became boyfriend and girlfriend first, even though I was in no rush to have that label. Yet not long after what I considered to be a mutual decision to not have the label, Mr. “Spy” became increasingly persistent at calling me his girlfriend. After much resistance from me, I decided that I could always break it off. And since I had no desire to date anyone else, I agreed to be Mr. “Spy’s” girlfriend.
Not long after that, we decided it was time to consummate our relationship. We did everything right beforehand; we had the STI talk, protection to use, etc. He even recently purchased a real mattress so I would be comfortable staying the night at his place! (He had been using an air mattress while moving from state to state.) Our saucy make out sessions were intense, chemistry-packed and fun, so I assumed the sex would follow suit. Well, you know that old adage about assuming?
The foreplay was a bit shaky, with Mr. “Spy” visibly nervous and constantly asking me if I wanted him. (Some dirty talk is okay, but this seemed more like reassurance…again.) After clothes were stripped and ego stroked with me telling him, again, that yes I liked his body and wanted him, he gently but aggressively placed a finger inside me. After a minute or so of this, he tested the waters and slid another finger in. As he attempted a third and retreated when I mentioned it hurt, he almost shouted,”Oh, so you’re only a two-finger girl. I guess I can work with that.” I gave him an odd look, but again passed off his behavior as performance anxiety.
I diverted this awkward moment by telling him I wanted him (again). After he complained about the ‘wrong’ condoms he purchased, he put one on. I quickly placed my hand around his cock and guided him in. We rocked back and forth for a while. Although there seemed to be a lack of connection, his pelvis happened to be hitting my clit in the right place, and I came fairly quickly. We continued for a few more minutes when he asked:
Can you feel it? I don’t feel anything. I’m going limp.
Me: Um, I just came so I guess you could say I felt it. Do you want to take a break for a minute? Maybe switch positions?
Mr. “Spy”: No, I think I lost my hard on.
Me: Okay. Let’s take a breather for a minute and try again.
After we both cleaned up, I crawled back into bed with him to have the post-coital snuggle and chat.
Mr. “Spy”: So tell me the truth. You came?
Me: Yes, I don’t lie about that. It felt good.
Mr. “Spy”: No, seriously. How was it?
Me: I am being serious. I came, and that’s hard for me, let alone any woman, during sex.
Mr. “Spy”: How was my size?
Me: Um, what?
Mr. “Spy”: I wasn’t big enough, was I? You probably couldn’t even feel it.
Me: It was good, Mr. "Spy." I already said it was, so please stop suggesting that I am not telling you the truth.
Mr. “Spy”: So how would you rate this?
Me: Rate?
Mr. “Spy”: Yeah, like on a scale of 1-10. 1 being shitty, 10 being awesome.
Me (mouth agape): What? Are you serious?
Mr. “Spy” (turns to face me, dead serious look on his face): Yes.
Me: Um, well I got off. And aside from the condom issue I would say, uh, an 8.5/9?
Mr. “Spy”: Really? I’d give it a 5…maybe.
I said nothing, trying (stupidly) to tell myself he was just being socially awkward and maybe his upbringing made it so he didn’t know anything about a filter or being considerate. Maybe it was me that needed to lighten up and learn to adapt. I tried to ignore this grading, but after the following conversation with a friend I reconsidered dating him entirely:
WTF, A FIVE? That’s 50%; an F, a failing grade! I would have smacked him!
Me: Oh, wow, when you put it that way…
Because I admired some other of Mr. “Spy’s” qualities like his aspirations and our amazing conversations, I tried telling him that the rating ‘episode’ was a major blow to my self-esteem. Needless to say, I allowed another two weeks to pass before I finally saw the light, stopped making excuses for him, and sent Mr. “Spy” packing.
Readers, what was your EPIC dating mistake? If you blog, feel free to include a link :).
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Because It's Never His Fault
When Rocker Girl offered up another guest post, I couldn't say no to one of her dating adventures! Enjoy xoxo
I was feeling particularly cheery on my walk back to my apartment from the gym one day. It was a beautiful day, work was going well (I just recently got promoted!), and I was seeing some girlfriends that weekend I hadn’t seen in a long time. My cheery attitude allowed for an awesome workout. I was ‘glistening’ a bit more than normal, and certainly wasn’t at my attract-boys-prime.
As I was opening the gate into my complex, an equally-sweaty man a few paces behind me caught up to follow in (with key fob in hand to assuage my could-be-creeper red flags). This man also just came from my gym, and though I had my headphones in asked, “Good workout?” I thought it odd as I had headphones in, but seeing as we both just came from meathead land I assumed he was being polite, possibly sensing my feel-good mood. He introduced himself as Contractor Man, and we chatted about our shared love of Star-Wars and spicy food.
What started as a simple after-gym chat ended up over half an hour! I did think it weird to continue to chat while we were both sweaty and smelly, but the conversation flowed so easily. It was fun to chat with what seemed like a normal guy. Contractor Man was my age, educated, well-traveled, new to the area, had a love for his new nephew, and was single. He waited outside when we finished chatting while I got my cell. After we exchanged numbers, he mentioned about meeting up sometime for a drink or to ‘hang out’ since we lived so close. Excited as I just was to meet him, he then broke my unwritten just-met rules: he leaned in for a goodbye hug. Now, normally a first-met hug is somewhat ok, since people nowadays do either the handshake or hug. But we were both still sweaty and smelly. Call me old-fashioned, but one does not hug a sweaty stranger!
Casting aside Contractor Man’s hasty embrace as nothing more than being friendly, I hopped in the shower and got ready for bed. To my surprise, about an hour and a half after meeting, I got a text from Contractor Man saying he had finished up some work early. He asked me to come to his ‘pad’ to hang out for a bit. I had recently been burned by Mr. Spy and was in no mood to play around, but I told myself that perhaps he was just lonely since he was the new kid in town. I politely declined as it was a school night. I mentioned I had a busy week ahead, but may be going out Friday night if he was interested in meeting up.
The very next day Contractor Man sent a text asking if I was having a good day and if I would be up for drinks the following night. I appreciated his interest in my workday, but thought it slightly odd to ask for drinks when I already mentioned a busy week. My gut was telling me to be cautious of his forwardness, but again hushed my conscious telling myself he was simply a man that knew what he wanted. I politely declined again, not wanting our first meet up to be alone together in a bar.
Friday afternoon at work came and went. After texting the night’s plans to Contractor Man, I was ready to put away my doubts about his intentions. He offered to pick me up on his way to the bar, but I declined as I don’t feel comfortable riding with a man I had met once briefly. I still didn’t want the aftertaste of Mr. Spy to shadow this meet up, so with the protection of my girlfriends close by, I strode confidently into the night to meet up with Contractor Man.
As soon as we found each other Contractor Man offered to buy me a drink. We stood by the dance floor for a bit, each nursing our drinks and chatting about the weekend. The conversation didn’t flow as smoothly as it did when we first met, and he stood very close to me throughout the night. We wanted some fresh air so he led me to the outdoor patio with his hand on the small of my back. What I usually consider an endearing gesture I found slightly creepy as we still barely knew each other.
After some additional conversation outside with my girlfriends, we headed back inside to watch the crazy college kids dance. He continued to stand painfully close to me, and at one point attempted to hold my hand. I playfully called him out on it to hide my discomfort. He didn’t seem to care that I minded he was starting to encroach too much on my personal space. At this point I made a mental check that I was not sending any physical or psychological vibes that I wanted his affection so soon.
If my reaction to his behavior wasn’t evident enough of my disinterest, as the end of the night neared I couldn’t wait to get home to sleep. He offered to walk me to my car, and as it was a couple blocks walk in the dark I accepted. Since his car was a bit far from mine I returned the favor and drove him to his car. As I pulled up near his car I left it in drive for an easy escape. Contractor man then leaned in for what I thought was an awkward car-hug-goodbye.
Oh no.
I would only be so lucky.
He leaned in and began attacking my mouth with his with a vigor that the world was going to end any moment. I was so shocked I let the kiss last a couple milliseconds longer than I wanted. I shoved him away and said have a good night. After he left I sat in my car stunned and shocked at what just occurred. I thought back about the night and confirmed to myself that I never gave him any indication that I wanted an intense make out session or any type of physical attention of the level at all. I went to bed pissed off that my personal space was violated.
The next day was the icing on my already disgruntled cake. Contractor Man texted that he had a great night last night and hoped to see me again. I thought to myself: Seriously?
I replied:
“Um, actually I wasn’t comfortable with how quickly you moved last night.”
His response:
“I’m sorry you felt that way.”
What? Sorry that I felt that way? Like it’s my fault!!
Needless to say I never heard from, nor did I contact Contractor Man again.
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The Winter Girlfriend
Hope you enjoy this guest post from my good friend, The Winter Girlfriend!
On February 2, 2012, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow declaring six more weeks of winter. The Boy, my friend of two years and boyfriend of a few months, apparently didn't get the memo. He broke up with me via email on February 14, 2012, weeks before the actual winter girlfriend expiration date. Yes, you read that right: Valentine's Day. As a teacher, I see technology breakups everyday, amongst my young students. But, I didn't know that one would happen to me at 30, let alone on Valentine's Day.
But this isn't about him or the breakup---it's about me. I am the proverbial winter girlfriend. I have been the winter girlfriend not once, not twice, but four times. I have a pattern of starting to date a guy in the fall, only to have them end the relationship come spring.
The first time I was a junior in college. The Physicist and I met the year before while studying abroad in Holland. Although we were flirtatious, he had a girlfriend back home. When we returned to our university in the States the next fall, I found myself as his Resident Advisor and he was girl-friendless. We flirted more and more throughout the fall until we were a couple before winter break. He was my first boyfriend and my first time. I think we spent a straight month in his California King surrounded by a weird amalgamation of house plants. (Yes, I know. How does all that end up in a dorm room?) Then the beginning of May came and with it his graduation. This meant the end of our relationship.
The second time was my first love. I was in my second year of teaching, and I met The Dreamer on MySpace. We hit it off from the first lick during our ice cream date in October. It was love, until February. Then he pulled the trigger and shot me in the heart. We eventually got back together, moved into together--only to have him move out the following February. At the time, I thought that February wasn't his month. But now, years later I realize maybe it was something I was doing. Something in the type of guys I was choosing.
This same thing happened with the next one, The Hipster, and of course, most recently this week with The Boy. I continually put myself in the position of the winter girlfriend.
What makes a great Winter Girlfriend? How do I exemplify the archetype?
1. Good at cuddling. In winter, body heat keeps you warm and endorphines keep the spirits high. At 5'4", I am the perfect little spoon.
2. Make great soup and can bake a chicken. Winter is about home, and I am just a little homemaker. I'll even wear an apron for you.
3. Be cute, not sexy. I am the girl who looks adorable with my bangs and a cozy sweater sitting under a blanket on the couch. Since I don't tan, but burn, I have never been able to pull off that sexy summer sizzle.
4. Can curate the perfect Sunday morning breakfast. This is important for snowed in, lazy Sunday movie days when you don't have anywhere else to be. Lately, I always have makings of soft boiled eggs, toasted bagels, salami, and cheese on hand.
5. Live in a well-appointed cozy apartment. When The Boy entered my house, he said he had never seen a more curated space and that he felt at home. And as a real adult, I always have clean towels and a toothbrush on hand for overnight guests.
6. Have some quirky, whimsical attributes which attract said boys and make them think you are just a little off enough to make this winter a little interesting. For me this winter, it was a little toy dinosaur that sits on my bedside table and talks to my lover when I animate him.
Basically, you end up being a dude's mom---with sex. You cook food for him. You play with toys. You keep him warm. You are his dream girl, if only for a season.
I am done being the winter girlfriend. From now on, you either start dating me before August, or you are just going to have to wait until after May. I am done picking men who are willing to take a child-like position in the relationship. I am ready to be the adult, with an adult. So don't expect me to bust out my homemaker skills until you have earned them with your own. I am ready to be the anytime girlfriend.
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