Sex and the Single Soccer Mom

I find myself in a muddle. Trying to figure out what I want and what other people want, trying to ensure that I am honest and trying to figure out if they are being honest…to say it has me a bit down is an understatement.

I’m trying to wade through the nuances of platonic and romantic. They seem to be many, varied and completely subjective. The variance factor increases depending on whether you are talking to men or women. Of course, neither sex seems to know what the hell it means, or even what they mean, when trying to explain friends vs. lovers, platonic vs. romantic, or any combination of the two.

The dinner companion who insisted he only wanted conversation a couple of weeks ago, continues to text me endlessly. I knew at the end of the evening that he was either insincere in what he wanted, or he changed his mind. Not only because of the excessive compliments and soul-wrenching confessions of loneliness, but also because he told me he loved me somewhat frantically. What I failed to mention in my last blog was that he also asked me what my idea of “second base” was, and then pleaded with me to let him climb in my car and kiss my breasts. I let him know that night, as well as several times since, I am not interested in pursuing a sexual encounter/romance. However, the texts and attempts to initiate some sort of relationship continue. Strike number one for a platonic relationship!

Like an idiot, apparently I didn’t get enough torture. I answer another ad for someone saying that they don’t want a sexual relationship AT ALL; they simply want someone to cuddle up to and be close to sometimes. As I have a high need for human touch as well, I could certainly comprehend this desire. We exchange several emails and talk on the phone. When I describe myself so that he can recognize me for an upcoming face-to-face, he says, “Redheads are hot!” In consternation, I ask, “So does this person that you want to be close with have to be hot?” He responds: “Of course not. This is completely non-sexual for me. I chose the wrong word.” When I was describing the meeting to someone that I met later that night, his response was, “You know you can’t cuddle with someone when the first thing that comes to mind is ‘Oh, hell no!’” I can’t say that the fact that I couldn’t figure out how his facial features had been attached (some of them seemed to be “off”) didn’t play a small part in my determination that he was not the person I wanted to cuddle with. The fact that he was obnoxious, overbearing and clearly looking for more than a platonic partner also played a significant role. Strike number two for a platonic relationship!

Enter a guy that I dated briefly, twice. I didn’t feel much chemistry and things never really took off for us, be he still emailed me occasionally to talk about music and kids. He has asked me to hang out, as “friends” numerous times since I said I didn’t think we should date anymore. I have declined over and over, because I knew I wasn’t interested in him romantically. Then I thought, “Why not? We get along and have stuff to talk about. Maybe we can be friends!” We get together and the evening is fun and relaxing. Until he decides to start trailing his hand across my back caressingly every time he got up from his chair. As we start talking about relationships, I begin to confide about a situation that has brought me some pain lately. When we end the evening, he kisses me (not platonic!) goodbye. He later emails me that there are some things I talked about that he wants to discuss further, but felt too self-conscious to do so in public. Based on my “sharing”, I have a feeling I know what he wants to discuss. It definitely isn’t how to make our relationship more platonic. Is this a “three strikes and you’re out” for platonic male/female relationships?

Over and over I read ads for men looking for a “friend”. They proceed to discuss how the woman should look and all the things they will do for her…sexually! I also see people looking for a “FWB” all the time. Talk about code for “I really want sex, but don’t want you to expect anything”. Often, what is being offered isn’t really even friendship, which implies emotional intimacy and deep caring (at least in my mind). What is really being offered is an NSA (No Strings Attached) sex partner.

These are all relatively casual, so despite feeling weary and bit stupidly naïve over the realization that I believed their offer of platonic “friendship”, it isn’t at all emotionally damaging.

Of course, sometimes the circumstances are murkier and the risk of emotional damage higher.

In the end, I prefer honesty in everything. If someone says “friend”, but really means “lover”, they should just say they want sex from the beginning. Trying to figure out what is really going on, amidst nuances and shades of meaning and someone else’s lack of clarity, is crazy-making. Say what you mean, mean what you say. It’s a simple rule of thumb that is apparently very hard to live by. Even in my frustration, I realize that I have no room to cast stones. I, too, have found it difficult to sometimes process the complexities when trying to be friends with the opposite sex.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies: “When Harry Met Sally”.

Sally: We are just going to be friends, OK?
Harry: Great, friends. It’s the best thing…You realize, of course, that we can never be friends.
Sally: Why not?
Harry: What I’m saying is – and this is not a come-on in any way, shape, or form – is that men and women can’t be friends, because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally: That’s not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.
Harry: No, you don’t.
Sally: Yes, I do.
Harry: No, you don’t.
Sally: Yes, I do.
Harry: You only think you do.
Sally: You’re saying I’m having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry: No, what I’m saying is they all want to have sex with you.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: How do you know?
Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally: So you’re saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive.
Harry: No, you pretty much want to nail them, too.
Sally: What if they don’t want to have sex with you?
Harry: Doesn’t matter, because the sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed, and that is the end of the story.
Sally: Well, I guess we’re not gonna be friends, then.
Harry: Guess not.
Sally: That’s too bad. You were the only person that I knew in New York.

In the end, of course, Harry and Sally wind up as lovers. I can’t help but voice Sally’s lament of “That’s too bad” about the loss of the idea of friendship. Yet knowing what everybody wants AND being honest about it from the beginning, could certainly cut down on a lot of confusion and wasted time. Can men and women be friends? I think it’s very difficult and I sincerely wish that were not true. In today’s world of superficiality and fear of commitment or expectations, “friend” seems to have become an innocuous label applied to many things that aren’t really friendships. “Friends” don’t sleep together; adding the word “benefits” doesn’t negate the fact that you’re more than friends. Nor does it make it more honest to use FWB when people aren’t looking for a committed relationship. The truth is that you are looking for a sex partner or to be lovers with someone who will have very limited expecations of you; the level of intimacy for these relationships appears to be optional. Lovers can be friends too; friends can be platonic. Still,  “Friends” have emotional commitments to each other and people shouldn’t use the word when they don’t intend to be a friend. Lover doesn’t always mean committed and sometimes doesn’t even involve love, or for that matter, friendship.  There are “strings” involved in nearly every relationship we choose to have with another human being. I suppose it is up to each individual person to decide how emotionally disconnected or connected they want to be. However, if we MUST label something, make sure that we’re honest with the label that we’re applying. Even if it doesn’t sound as pretty or make us feel quite as shiny about ourselves.

The turkey and stuffing has been consumed, the new babies and pregnant bellies of family members admired and prayers of gratitude offered up for family and friends. As we’ve all drifted back to our separate homes to resume our day-to-day lives, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my own life and what I’m grateful for. A recent “non-dating” experience has brought home to me how much I have in my life.

 I love to browse the personal ads. They mostly make me laugh, they sometimes make me think and they often give me writing material. So one day I was browsing the “platonic” ads and came across a man asking for a dinner companion for the evening. He was traveling for business and wanted conversation for the evening and someone to share a gourmet meal with. He insisted that it was strictly non-sexual; he was simply tired of dining alone.

I was feeling up for an adventure. The thought of adult conversation at a four star restaurant sounded pretty appealing too. So I responded to his ad with, “Found a dinner companion yet?”

He responded fairly quickly and we ended up making arrangements to meet at a local restaurant that is renowned for its quality and atmosphere. It was a public setting, so I felt fairly comfortable. I had no idea what he looked like; I truly didn’t care. I was going for the conversation and the experience, not to find a romantic partner.

 When I arrived at the restaurant, I located my companion at the bar. He rose to greet me and we were quickly seated. While not repugnant, he was not physically attractive. As we read the menu together and ordered drinks and appetizers, we exchanged stories about our lives and discovered what we had in common, as well as what we did not. He was awkward, clearly a man that had been driven to pursue education and a career, rather than develop his social skills. As he dominated the conversation, I felt comfortable simply listening and being a companion. I had no agenda here, other than to enjoy the dinner and company.

We talked and enjoyed dinner and wine. Yet as the evening progressed, it started to appear that he found me attractive and interesting. Not a bad thing at all in a dinner companion, yet I started to feel slightly discomfited by his expressions of surprise and pleasure at “taking a chance and having it pay off so well”. He began to express his admiration more explicitly, calling me a “beautiful, young woman” and expressing delight that “having put myself out there, brought you to me”. When the check came, he insisted on paying and pulled out cash (with a money clip around it) to pay for our four star meal. He said, “I easily pay $200 to go to a concert for the evening. This is less expensive and far more worthwhile.”

He suggested we walk to a local pub and get a drink after dinner. I agreed, somewhat hesitantly. I felt that I had been completely honest and represented myself with integrity, yet I had the growing suspicion that my dinner companion might be considering trying to move his “ad” from platonic to romantic.

At the pub, we ordered wine. He drank his and ordered another glass. I sipped mine and ended up never even finishing it. He began to confide in me that while he had achieved every goal that he ever set for himself in education or with his career, he felt a sense of emptiness. He said that he often thought about going off the road and trying to settle down with someone, yet the money was so good that he was always reluctant to give it up.  He began to comment on my warm and nurturing personality and how much he would like to have that in his life; he mentioned that he often felt afraid that his career would be the only thing he was ever successful in. As he grew more intense and soulful, I was torn between empathy and the desire to give him the connection with another human being he so obviously craved…and the instinct to run as quickly as I could. I hadn’t signed up for this, at least not on purpose. Yet my heartstrings were definitely feeling the pull of this man who seemed so lost when it came to emotion and people in his life, while so successful in all things monetary.

I finally let him know that I needed to leave for the evening. He insisted on paying again, making reference to the amount of money that he made (a theme that had been repeated numerous times throughout the evening) and how “cheap” it was compared to my company.

He walked me to my car and what I had suspected for the latter part of the evening came to fruition. He leaned in and kissed me goodnight. I allowed him to kiss me and even kissed him back. I wanted to leave him with the positive feeling that he had shared a human connection and that it was positive; Naïve of me, looking back on it. He began to try to turn the kiss into something more than I desired and I began to pull back. He continued to embrace me and began to murmur things to me, with a hint of desperation in them. “I love kissing you”; “I’ve never felt this way before”; and he finally culminated with a frantic, “I love you.” He sounded near tears.

At which point I pulled back completely and disentangled myself from his arms. He composed himself quickly and I thanked him for the evening. After a moment, he responded in the same fashion and we parted ways.

Driving home I was a little sick at heart. I had responded to the ad that he had posted and felt that I had not done anything wrong, yet I absolutely believed that somehow it had gone terribly wrong. L suggests that I’m naïve; I can’t disagree. Yet there is a deep part of me that feels that so many people are craving a deeper connection, yet can’t find their way to realizing what it is that motivates them. Fear of commitment, expectation and all the responsibility that comes with a relationship leaves people distant. They desperately want and need to connect, so they have random encounters that they try to convince themselves are not meaningless, while reassuring themselves that it had no meaning. All of us want to be touched, understood…connected. I’m not sure if this man misrepresented himself on purpose in his ad, hoping that it would turn into a romantic encounter, or if he misled himself into believing that his search for a platonic dinner companion was sincere. I do know that at the end of the evening I had glimpsed into a soul that realized it had placed importance on the wrong things, yet didn’t know how to extract itself from the success. He was a lonely man, seeking solace in the company of someone who would listen, nurture and care.

He has continued to text me since that night. Every time I reply with my brief, friendly answers, I feel as though I am rejecting him. Yet that is the burden of human beings; we get to decide who we want to experience connection with.

So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for having placed my focus somewhere other than education, career and material success. Not that those things aren’t rewarding or important; they are. Still, at the end of the day, it is my family and my friends that I look for to support me.

I am thankful for my family, who has supported me even when the “me” that they thought existed morphed into a temporary stranger. As I’ve grown and evolved, they have supported me through the changes and never stopped loving me, despite their worry or concern. They have accepted me and embraced me, unrelentingly.

 I’m thankful for my beautiful daughters. As I watch them grow and discover who they are, I am filled with such gratitude that I get to be a part of their journey. That I get to hold them when they cry, feel their little arms around me in love, listen to their gentle breathing while they sleep and watch their wonder at life…it is a gift. I am also thankful for my children’s father, with whom I have finally made my peace. Despite our history and differences, as well as the pain that sometimes accompanies our relationship, I am thankful that I get to share the journey of our children’s lives together.

I am thankful for the friendships that I have that are so deep I feel as though they are an integral part of my soul. They make me laugh; they listen and sometimes hold me while I cry; they help me to stay strong and steady when life tries to knock me down. I am filled with love for lovers who have held me through the night and shared a part of themselves with me that is intimate and private. I am grateful for the messy complication of love and friendship and family and life that ultimately fills the empty place so much better than money or career.

On this Thanksgiving weekend, I extend the wish that all the people in my life feel the same sense of joy and wonder and gratitude that I do at this very moment. Relationships, people, are messy and complex. Yet in the end, they are the only thing of any real value in our lives. Thank you to those whom I love!

I’ve been looking for a relationship for what feels like my entire life. I have, to a large extent, defined myself by my relationships with men. When I was growing up, the only acceptable outcome to anyone who wanted to be involved with someone romantically, was to get married. Therefore, my goal from the time I was around fifteen years old was to find a suitable mate. Afterall, a single woman living on her own might get into trouble: Fornication or pregnancy or actually thinking that she was the equal of a man. Blasphemy!

Enter my ex-husband. We had some things in common and he seemed like he would be a good mate. I’m not sure that I ever stopped to ask myself if we ever truly clicked. I just knew that I liked him a lot, we kept spending time together and we knew that we wanted to sleep together. Two virgins with a sex drive and a whole lot of like going on. As well as the expectation that we were adhering to the expected outcome. The way that we were raised, that was a perfect reason to get married.

Of course, we were very young and very inexperienced. For the most part, I count our marriage as a success. We had a deep friendship and loved each other. We produced two incredibly beautiful and amazing children as well. However, after finally growing up, we realized we didn’t make good life partners. After meandering through the missteps and anguish that it took to come to that realization, we have finally found our way back from a place of bitterness and are becoming tentative friends. I actually am starting to feel good about our relationship again for the first time in four years; both as parents and as fellow human beings journeying through life.

I’ve had a couple of relationships since my divorce. One that lasted for nearly two years and one that lasted, at least on an exclusive level, for a few months. For the last three months I have been dating and hoping to meet “the one”. I have gone on date after date, hoping that maybe this one would be the right person…

For what?

The longer I date, the more I begin to question what it is I am truly looking for. Am I using romance as a way to avoid facing myself? Is it time to take a break and simply explore what it feels like to not be half of a couple? I mean, there have been periods of time when I haven’t been with anyone exclusively, yet during that entire time I’ve simply been passing the time until I find the next “one”. Yet even my fantasies of finding “the one” start to break down when I try to plan the practical. For instance, where would we live? I don’t want to move or give up my house, yet know it isn’t really big enough for another person comfortably. Would I have to watch the television shows he wants to watch? Would I have to account for my time to this other person? Would it be unacceptable if I wanted to put on my big fuzzy socks and read vampire books while eating cheese and crackers for dinner? Would it be awkward if I just didn’t feel like sex, but really wanted to use my vibrator?

I’m not sure I believe in serial monogamy anymore.

That is a bold statement from a sheltered girl who had an 11:00 curfew until her wedding night, when she embraced her husband as a virgin. I’m not entirely sure if what I feel is fear of commitment because I’ve been hurt, or an actual reflection of my own values. Or perhaps it is simply the recognition that I’ve never truly been without a “mate” or in the middle of a search for one. I do know that hopping from committed relationship to relationship is not working out so well.

I think it is time that I give myself the chance to find out who I am, without a partner. That isn’t to say that I don’t want love and connection in my life, or even physical closeness with someone. I simply think that I need to take a step back from the hardcore search for romance. What does this mean? I’m not sure…and that’s okay. Maybe part of my journey is the admission that I no longer have a fucking clue exactly what I want from someone. That it is okay to take a couple of baby steps along the way and try to figure it out, without having a master plan. That perhaps “fun” is just as important, if not more so, than finding a partner and that it isn’t nearly as serious as I have been making it.

I don’t have the answers and I’m not going to pretend that I do. I am simply trying to live this journey and love and be loved along the way. I know that sitting here in my fuzzy pink socks and fuzzy purple robe, knowing that I am going to bed and don’t have to answer to anyone all weekend when I wake up in the morning, feels pretty terrific. Will it feel terrific in a month? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out in a month.

Much like Scarlett O’Hara in “Gone With The Wind”, I can only say with great feeling, “Afterall, tomorrow is another day.” I think that for today, I will simply enjoy the fuzzy socks, the warm bed and all the love that I already have in my life, in one form or another!

It may be time for me to take a break from the hardcore dating scene for awhile. I’ve realized that lately, even if a guy seems interesting, I just can’t work up the energy to actually want to date him.  It requires a lot of energy to email, chat, talk on the phone, set-up the date and then rush to get everything done so I can carve out the time for the actual date. Then I have to  try to be interesting and interested and attractive and charming. After the date, it can only go one of two ways: Start the process over for a second date (the preferred outcome) or find a way that doesn’t make both of us feel like crap (an impossible task) to let him know that we didn’t click. I must admit that the last couple of months, I’ve had to tell a lot of guys that we didn’t click. Practice does not improve the experience! Lately, I’ve begun to consider extreme scenarios that will get me out of rejecting any would-be suitors. Faking my own death crossed my mind briefly, but after looking at it from a practical standpoint, that would be almost impossible to pull off. Telling them I just found out I have a terminal illness was another idea, yet it seemed disrespectful to people who actually are suffering from a terminal illness. The one that would be the easiest would be to simply say that I’ve met someone else. That does not, however, account for me still being online. In the end, I know there is simply no way to get out of it. Which has led me to this point of apathy about dating.

For instance, I recently had a second date with B. I had hoped that the second date would help me to clarify whether there should be a third date. Much like our first date, there were no huge deciding factors.

 Pro: He was actually on time for the date.

Very small con: He picked a very common chain restaurant and was excited about it. This probably wouldn’t rank as a con, except for the fact that the trendy little Latin restaurant I picked for our first date seemed to make him very apprehensive. He also said immediately upon arrival that he really wasn’t into “tacos”. Which turned out to be fine, as this was clearly not a Tex-Mex sort of place. Still, it speaks to a certain lack of adventurousness which could prove trying to us both if we entered into a relationship. Certainly not a deal breaker, but a small nugget of information.

Pro: Other than the dental issue, he is an attractive guy.

HUGE con: He made sex noises while eating and drinking. Now, a small murmer of pleasure over an exceptionally good meal is fine. Making almost constant small moaning sounds after nearly every bite or drink is not. I felt as though I were witnessing a private moment and very nearly asked if he and his meal needed to get a room.

Con: When we went to a bar after dinner to get a drink, he made slightly condescending and disparaging remarks about our bartender within his earshot.

Con: I’d had a cold for a week and had to cancel our original “second date” plans a few days earlier due to illness. Although still sick, I was improved enough that I decided to keep the second set of plans that we made. Still, when he went to kiss me goodnight, I turned and gave him my cheek because A.) I was probably still contagious and B.) My head was full of phlegm and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t feel particularly sexy or excited about having someone else’s tongue in my mouth. He let his disappointment be very obvious and when I kissed him on the cheek, sarcastically said, “I feel like I’m in Sixth Grade.” Gee…sorry for not feeling frisky.

So, now I am looking at once again trying to find the words that will express the lack of chemistry that I feel, in a way that doesn’t diminish him as a person. Fortunately, he seems fairly uninterested in having daily contact with me. I thought about going out with him a third time, but there is no point in trying to build a relationship on apathy. I don’t strongly dislike him, but I don’t strongly like him either. The dates were fine, even with the cons associated with them. I simply feel no desire to repeat the experience. The only reason I’d go out with him again is to avoid telling him I don’t want to. It doesn’t seem like a good enough reason. As I completely disdain apathy in others, it is upsetting to see it in myself. Time for a change.

So, I think I’m going to pull back a bit and try to get my bearings. Maybe try a different approach than Plenty of Pyschos. Which means that maybe, just maybe, I can actually squeeze in some yoga. Maybe I’ll get to try some new recipes, or practice my sketching. At the moment, not having a date for awhile sounds fantastic. We’ll see how long that will last…

I’m home and tucked in for the evening in my pajamas. I have a frozen pizza that I’m going to pop in the oven, a glass of red wine in front of me and some 50% off Halloween candy to enjoy afterwards. Tonight is all about the quality, baby!

I’ve been in a very contemplative mood lately. Of course, those who know me best would say this is a state that I am never far from. Still, several issues have surfaced lately that have me contemplating past decisions and relationships and how they have changed me. Who I am right at this moment, compared to who I was ten years ago, is so radically different that it is hard to recognize that other woman sometimes. Or perhaps who I am now was always there, waiting to have time and experience and relationships carve away what didn’t fit.

 I know I don’t want to be part of a cliché. Black and white is only an outline of a human being; we are fleshed out in gray and red and blue and green and purple. We are a full spectrum of color and emotions, some facets of our being cut so they only reflect when a certain light shines on us.

 I sometimes wonder if a conventional relationship will ever work for me. Perhaps that is only my paradigm from twelve years of very conventional marriage. Can one human being meet our needs in a way that doesn’t start to feel stale and forced after a couple of years? Can having multiple lovers/partners every truly work as a reality that is peaceful and not fraught with jealousy and insecurity? I find that the longer I am single and dating, the more questions I have about what I truly desire.

Wife will never again define me, even if I should one day decide to enter into matrimony. If I do not, neither will the more modern terms of “fuck buddy” or “friend with benefits” limit me. I am a human being, capable of a range of emotions and relationships: Friend, lover, mother, daughter, sister. Can’t we simply be human beings having a connection? Does it have to be laid out in carefully drawn lines? I find that most people I meet are uncomfortable in the gray; I am uncomfortable living my life within black and white lines.

 I know that I want love in my life; from my family, from my friends and from my lovers. I want meaning and connection and passion. I don’t want superficiality. I can accept and embrace the unconventional. I know now that I have the strength and the courage to do what feels right according to me, even if it isn’t something embraced by the majority. I have walked away from an entire life, because it felt like a fraud. It has taught me to stand firm in my certainties. Part of that is accepting that what feels right for me today, might not feel right for me a month from now. I am fluid and ever-growing…or at least that is how I want to be.

The quote that I have looked to many times in the past few years, by Anais Nin, is still one of my favorites. “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

Being bound by roles that don’t fit is painful. I refuse to slip into the ready-to-wear character costumes expected of me. Instead, I’d rather live by another Nin quote: “I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.”

I don’t have all the answers. Yet I’m content with continuing to try to find them and not looking to others to tell me how to live my life. Living in the gray makes life much more interesting…

As I sit down tonight to blog, I realize that it’s been awhile. I have so many different things I could write about that it is difficult for me to pick just one.

Do I write about my youngest child being diagnosed with a long-term illness and the effect that it has had on our lives over the course of the last month? Getting the news that we are going to be facing a life-long battle to help keep her healthy was upsetting; having her be hospitalized with a 105.5 fever that wouldn’t leave just two weeks later was traumatic. Sitting in the hospital while I watched the IV give my baby the nutrients her little body wasn’t able to get any other way gave me a lot of time to think. Thoughts of the transient nature of romantic love and how much time the pursuit has taken up in my life the past three and half years; or the fact that no matter who else comes and goes in my life, my children will always be the purest and most enduring love. I had idle time to reflect on the strangeness of spending so much time with the man who helped me create these little people and the sadness of realizing he is the one man who can completely get this aspect of my life…and the one man who seems to get so little of the rest of it.

I could write about A, the man with whom I had a brilliant first date, quickly followed by a second date. Funny thing about second dates is how quickly they can point out the untruth that was the first date. One day after our second date, during which I somewhat reluctantly agreed to a third date (I was getting a definite vibe of smothering), he was telling me that I needed to give him more positive reinforcement because I didn’t respond quickly enough to his emails of “Do you miss me?”; “When can I see you again?”; “I keep thinking of how soft your lips are.” Despite the fact that I did reply, I was at work and quite busy that day. Not to mention the fact that it all seemed a bit…excessive. Was he a puppy that I needed to pat on the head every five minutes? I mean, this was a man in his forties! I sent him back a message stating that perhaps we had different expectations for such an early dating relationship.  Then began the email, text and phone bombing. Every few minutes, before I could even reply, I would get a new email or text. Something along the lines of, “I’m the best man you could ever find, don’t be too hasty.” When I finally get to the point in my day when I can call him back, we talk for a long time. I let him know that I like him, but need him to back off because I feel like he is expecting too much, too quickly. He agrees and says he will wait to hear from me. Less than twenty-four hours later I get the message, “Is missing me as hard as I think it is?” Then the onslaught began again, finally ending with me refusing to answer anymore. The next day I get a text from him, “Want to check in with you before I make plans for the weekend.” Seriously? This is his version of backing way off? Still, the first date was definitely a success, so perhaps the tide is turning…

 Had a first date the other night with B. Con: He showed up thirty minutes late without even calling. When I finally called to find out what was going on, he told me he was on his way. Pro: He walked in with flowers. Con: He ordered his martini in such a complicated and pretentious way that the bartender actually had to try to keep from smirking; when sitting the drink in front of him, told him that “anything I can do to make this martini better for you, let me know.” Pro: As he told me that I was so beautiful that it made him nervous, his hands were shaking. Con: As he told me that I was so beautiful that it made him nervous, his hands were shaking. Yup…that one could really go either way. Pro: He insisted on paying for our first date, which I never expect, always assuming I will pay my half. Con: There seemed to be some sort of dental issue, of an indeterminate nature, which I didn’t want to pry about. Pro: Despite the dental issue, the goodnight kiss was quite nice. Con: He quickly became overly excited by the goodnight kiss and turned it into something akin to good-night kiss porn. So, basically, the jury is still out. We have another date planned. After all, second dates usually reveal much more!

Finally, spoke on the phone with a charming man with whom I had exchanged a day of emails. When the call dropped and he didn’t call me back (the first time it happened, I called him back, so I thought I would wait for him to call me back this time), I sent him a text to find out if we were done talking. Received a phone call back and was told, “If you ever text me again, I will have to cut you. Don’t think that this means you are special or bad, simply that you are not allowed to text me, ever.” Alrighty then.

Now, I’m off to play tooth fairy to my child who attempted to blackmail me into leaving additional funds since they are the oldest and their tooth is older and bigger. The blackmail comes from her cunning knowledge that while she knows I am the tooth fairy, her sister does not. Do I pay up in the hopes that she will help me maintain her sibling’s innocence a bit longer? Or do I take a hard and fast “The tooth fairy cannot be bribed!” stand? What the hell. An extra dollar might be one less battle to fight right now…

Sometimes, when reading profiles, I come across one that really catches my eye and when my curiosity is piqued, I will definitely drop an email with some small comment on something they’ve written. So, I was actually the one who first made contact with D. His profile was intelligent and written with some depth, he had intriguing interests, and in his pictures his eyes looked beautiful.

He messaged me back, asking if he could call me. When we talked on the phone the conversation was a bit stilted and he had some odd inflections in his tone, but I didn’t intend to judge him by one phone call. We made tentative plans to get together and I was excited about the possibilities.

When it came time to make definite plans for the date, he caught me on chat. While trying to arrange a place that would be convenient for both of us, he spotted a sub shop that he was familiar with from the city he lived in before. He says we should meet there. Now, I try to not be pretentious and snobby. Still…really? I could picture a sub shop for a first date when we were sixteen, but not necessarily when we’re in our thirties. However, he said that he was nostalgic for it and that they had good subs, so I agreed.

So that evening I drive to the sub shop and somewhat nervously go in. There isn’t anyone there, so I make little jokes with the teenage boys at the counter and ask them what is good to pass the time. After about ten minutes he arrives.

He sits down at the table with me and we exchange greetings and pleasantries. About five minutes into the conversation, I begin to notice something unusual. He doesn’t appear to blink. Nor does the odd half-smile, which I initially assumed was from nerves, ever leave his face. I find myself half fascinated and half-repulsed by the almost reptilian stillness with which he holds himself. Suddenly feeling even more nervous from his unflinching, unblinking stare, I ask if he would like to order.

“No. I’m not really very hungry. I had a big snack earlier.” He replies. My stomach rumbles in animal-like fury at him and I try to send it soothing thoughts. Sadly, I had not gotten the memo about having a large snack before dinner and I was ravenous,

“Okay.” I reply nonchalantly.

“I do believe that I shall get something to drink, though.” He says in a perfectly measured and even voice. “Would you like something?”

I say that I would and we both step up to the counter to order. After we’ve placed our orders, the cashier rings them up together and announces the total. There is an awkward silence. Finally I pull out my card and hand it over to pay for our drinks.

 Unblinkingly and with the same half-smile he says, “Thank you, ****.”

I am a bit taken aback by the oddness of him allowing me to pay for his drink without even an offer of money, yet I acknowledge mentally that women have been doing the same to men for years. So I head to the table, drink in hand, still trying to not judge.

As we begin to converse, I find out that D doesn’t believe in swimming in the shallow waters. No, he is an emotional diver, willing to scour the murky emotional depths even on a first date. I also find out that he is an engineer and works all day building tiny robots. This information will come in handy later, as I begin to sort through the evening to find some meaning.

Unblinkingly, half-smile firmly lodged in place and his body encased in stillness, he launches question after question at me with almost no expression.

“What would you do if you won the lottery?”

“Have you ever done anything in life that you regretted? Would you change it if you could? What did you learn from it?”

“Are you happy with your life the way it is? What would you change?”

As is my introspective way, I felt the need to ponder each question and answer from the heart. After my soul-searching and giving him a final answer, I would always ask him the same question. To which he unfailingly replied: “I’m not sure. I don’t know how I feel about that yet.”

Finally, as I was trying to take a break from plumbing the depths of my psyche, he asks, “Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

I think for a moment, and then respond: “No. I’m fairly content to just let the conversation evolve organically.”

 His half-smile turns into a three-quarter smile. “Good. I can’t stand it when a date turns into a game of twenty questions.”

Really? Huh? I begin to wonder if I have entered an alternate dimension. Looking down at the time (and hearing the roar of my still angry stomach), I suggest that we order some dinner.

“You know, I don’t really like the food here. I think I’m going to pass.”

What the hell? As I have now gone without food for nearly eight hours, I have visions of grabbing his arm and biting down. Not because he looks particularly tasty, but simply because I feel that if I do not consume something within the next few moments, I actually may start viewing my date as prey. Not to mention the irrational fury that I feel at being forced to come to a sub shop for dinner because he wanted to, then having him refuse to eat because he DOESN’T LIKE THE FOOD!

“Uh huh.” I respond. I notice that after the draining emotional divulgence and the lack of sustenance physically, I am reduced to using single syllable words.

“In fact, I’m really cold and I would like to leave.” He states, his voice lacking any inflection at all.

I stare at him for a moment, speechless, until he clarifies: “However, I would simply like to go with you someplace that is less cold. I’m really enjoying myself.”

“Uh huh.” I reply. There is a moment of silence. “I’m going to order a Philly Cheese Steak.” I state firmly. While I’m waiting for my food, he approaches the teenage boys behind the counter and holds out his half-full drink cup.

“I believe that I’ve had about all of this I can drink.” He says solemnly. The teenage boys glance at each other in discomfort.

“Dude, you want something else?” One of them prompts.

D looks at him with a clear lack of comprehension. He again holds out his glass to them. “No, I simply have had all of this that I can take.”

Looking befuddled and nervous, the boys try again. “Is there something wrong with it? Do you want your money back?” (Uh…make that MY money back)

I sense D’s growing frustration. Seeing the problem, as well as having some experience speaking engineer, I step in.

“Everything is fine with the drink.” I tell them soothingly. “He’s trying to be considerate by not pouring the remains into the trash can or down your soda drain. While he enjoyed the drink, he’s hoping you can dispose of what is left in one of your sinks, to avoid making a mess.”

Comprehension dawns on their faces. D looks relieved. The time-space continuum is restored. Sadly, I don’t think Scotty is going to beam me up.

I order my sub to go; we decide to go to a coffee shop. I could really use a good stiff drink with my sub, but he doesn’t drink alcohol. Nor does he drink coffee. However, he decides upon hot chocolate.

You may be wondering: Why the hell didn’t I call it quits? What could possibly possess me to continue the date?

In the end I suppose it came down to wanting to be decent. He was clearly a man more used to dealing with machines than with humans. He didn’t seem like a bad man, simply one who hadn’t a clue how to interact on a social level. In the big scheme of things, one more hour wouldn’t make or break my evening (well, truthfully, it was pretty much already shot), but it might make a difference to his dignity.

We talked, more of the deeply intellectual stuff of which he seemed so fond. He indicated several times, in engineer speak, that he found my brain sexy. I took it for the compliment that it was. Finally I let him know that I needed to go.

He walked me to my car, then hugged me. He expressed how much he had enjoyed our date, then mentioned seeing me again. I replied, “Well, I know that we’re both busy people.”

“I’m sure we can make time for each other.” He said simply.

I sat in my car until he left, then went back into the coffee shop and ordered myself a hot chocolate as well. I needed comfort. As I drove home I contemplated the fact that if I were able to overlook the unblinking, reptilian, robot stillness; or the fact that he had incredibly limited social skills (after all, I’d had to translate his engineer speak for the sub shop humans), he actually was a pretty interesting and deep human being. A beautiful soul trapped behind the robotic and scientific cage that he had wrapped around himself. Not to mention the fact that he did, truly, have beautiful eyes.

Still, as the lyrics to a Styx song popped into my brain as I pulled in my driveway, I knew that this was a beautiful soul with whom I simply could not mesh.

You're wondering who I am 
Machine or mannequin 
With parts made in Japan 
I am the Modern Man.
I've got a secret
I've been hiding under my skin
My heart is human
my blood is boiling
my brain I.B.M.
So if you see me acting strangely
don't be surprised
Domo Arigato (thank you very much)
Mr. Roboto
Domo Arigato (thank you very much)
Mr. Roboto

This seems to be the week for facing up to the ugly side of dating: Rejection. While I’ve never enjoyed receiving it or inflicting it, usually I get a bit of reprieve to build up courage and fortitude before I move on to the next round. Internet dating takes the “Dear John” letters (or emails) and awkward phone conversations to an entirely new level of stress, very much like the speed round of rejection. Sadly, the need to reject increases exponentially with the number of people you date; It’s a matter of simple statistics. I have briefly considered continuing to date people that I knew I wasn’t well-suited with, simply so I wouldn’t have to face the ordeal of telling them.

Of course, I always try to be gentle and kind and preserve ego. I even have a formula that I feel is pretty good: Express my thanks for their time and that I enjoyed meeting them. Compliment them on the qualities that I thought were special (i.e., you clearly are an attractive, intelligent, sweet, funny man). Then express my disappointment that despite their obvious charms (sometimes this is true!), I simply did not feel that we were well-suited romantically. It sounds good on paper…

Clearly, though, this is still going to smart a bit. I’ve certainly felt the sting of rejection, no matter how delicately phrased. Everyone chooses to handle this in different ways, yet lately I’m getting a crash course in dealing with ego.

So far this week I’ve been told by one incredibly ardent email suitor, who took rushing things to a new high, that my tagline should be “alluring, but aloof”. His parting shot was that he hoped I enjoyed the sweet and filling, yet ultimately unsatisfying “Twinkies” that I was currently seeing, as I clearly didn’t want to move toward anything more long-term. I reassured L, to whom I lamented about the written slam on my character and intentions, that I definitely put him more in the French pastry category, rather than highly processed and artificial junk food.

That was poetry compared to the “cold-hearted bitch” that I heard from someone else. One very sweet man told me that “if you don’t feel it, you shouldn’t be kissing someone”. When I reminded him that I kissed him on the cheek and he turned it into more, there was an admission that was truth. He followed it up with expressions of frustration that so many women seemed to only want to be friends. I felt it was the wrong time to comment that I hadn’t expressed a desire to be friends, merely a lack of desire to be lovers.

As I have never been one to take emotions, either mine or another’s, lightly, this has been somewhat exhausting. I have a date tonight, which I am looking forward to. Yet I find myself already cringing a bit at the possibility that next week or the week after, I will be writing another “Dear John” email.

Dating etiquette is also a bit murky to me. After a single date, are you required to tell the person by phone or face-to-face? Does an email suffice? Personally, I think that I would prefer to get an email after a single date than have to face the rejection in person. Still, it is a difficult judgment call to make sometimes.

I’m trying to keep my head and chin up and stay positive amidst the rush of negativity, yet this is simply one of the trials of this unnatural internet dating process that I’ve chosen to participate in.

Last words are never fun to hear, especially when they originate from a place of wounded pride and ego. I can only hope that the men with whom I am parting ways can hear the words and move on to the next experience, ego and heart intact.

Of course no parting words are quite so famous for me as a man with whom I had a brief and passionate month-long affair, which culminated with us in bed. After the disastrous attempt at a sex act was over and he had run rough-shod over my feelings (a story for another time) before the wet spot on the bed had even dried (Sadly, a wet spot CAN be produced within ninety seconds), I essentially asked him to leave. He awkwardly dressed and stood there for a moment before steeling his features into composure. Then he leaned over and kissed me briefly, then stood with what he considered great dignity. In a deep and regal voice he intoned:

“Usually, I am an Athenian, but tonight, I will leave like a Spartan!”

Indeed. May all of my rejected suitors be more Spartan-like in their response and less Athenian. Although I do have to wonder if this somewhat selfish desire makes me alluring and aloof and somewhat of a cold-hearted bitch…

Sex is a glorious, beautiful act of pleasure. Or in the famous words of George Michael, pop star extraordinaire, “Sex is natural/sex is good/not everybody does it/but everybody should”. Still, it can have its hazards. Oh, of course there are the obvious dangers of disease and unwanted pregnancy. Still, the protective gear to which I refer is not the sort that would protect against babies and STDs.

Perhaps I and my partners over the years have simply been a bit too enthusiastic. It could be my sense of adventure that has led to some romantic misfires. Then again, I can’t discount simple clumsiness. Whatever the reason, the sex act has led to some odd and somewhat embarrassing injuries over the years. As I begin to list them out in my mind, I wonder if rather than lacy panties and scanty negligees, I should be suiting up in body padding and swallowing some ibuprofen beforehand.

Some “battle scars” from the act of love are fairly common: Love bites, soreness, or even the occasional handprint from an excited spank (of course, maybe that isn’t common to everyone!). Others are a bit more extreme or even bizarre.

The dismount is probably the most common injury I’ve suffered or inflicted during love-making. After talking with girlfriends, I know this, at least, happens to many couples. Enthralled in the act of thrusting, one small misjudgment of depth or speed can lead to moans of pain rather than pleasure. This can range from mild enough that you’re able to pick up the rhythm again almost immediately, to severe enough that the man rolls into the fetal position, moaning, and all activity ceases.

Then, of course, there are the objections that my body has given to the bending and contortions that are often required. Leg cramps are an awkward and not very sexy thing to explain to your man when he is on top of you. Of course, so is discreetly trying to stretch out your leg or give it a good shake to get the muscle to unclench. Not to mention the fact that sometimes, if my legs are in a certain position and tensed for a long time, I find myself having a hard time getting them OUT of that position. Another thing that doesn’t scream sex goddess is requiring a partner to assist you in un-bending your limbs.

The first time I attempted a strip tease, I somehow managed to get my erotically hiked leg entangled in the metal footboard on the bed. My ass, as well as my vanity, was left bruised from that experience. Although I have managed to pull it off since that initial attempt, I still have a slight twinge of apprehension. I call it my Stripper Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (SPTSD)

Once, at the moment of orgasm, I involuntarily head-butted my partner in my excitement. We laughed about it afterwards, but the red bump on both our foreheads was not what you typically expect to walk away with. I’ve talked with girlfriends about elbows in the face, fingers in the eyes and all other manner of unintended injuries during love-making.

Still, these are all somewhat explainable and in no way border on the bizarre. Sometimes, things can get a little frisky in a very wrong way…

Like the time that my lover was bringing me pleasure. So much pleasure that right at the moment of climax, he decided to put an intense finale on it. I shrieked a bit during the sharp pain, yet it quickly blended into other sensations and I thought nothing of it. However, nothing takes the glow off post-coital bliss like having your lover point out, with great concern, that there is blood all over the bed. To his chagrin and my embarrassment, we assumed that my monthly visitor had arrived in an untimely way. The next morning, however, I was still bleeding. The source of the bleeding, as well as some soreness, made me question the initial diagnosis of menstruation. So I decided to do what any concerned woman would do: I got a mirror. As I bent and twisted and turned to try to figure out what was wrong with my body, I suddenly spotted what appeared to be a tiny wound, right near my happy place. It was still bleeding slightly. I thought back to the night before and the sharp pain, the blood on the sheets. Suddenly, the room began to spin; I woke up several minutes later on my bathroom floor. What can I say? I don’t handle blood (or my delicate parts being bitten) well!

I’m not completely certain, but it may be the only time anyone has ever passed out from oral sex.

In time, I recovered from the vampiric cunningulus. Enough so, that one day I decide it is time to spice things up with my lover. So I drive my soccer mom van to the local sex shop, to peruse the “marital aids” and see what catches my eye.

I pass up some of the scarier items (I couldn’t see my lover indulging in anal beads or wearing a gimp mask) and head to the lotions and oils. While there, I spot something called “The Magic Stick”. Intrigued, I pick it up and begin to read the back. The “Magic Stick” claims to retighten certain body parts with natural herbs, thus bringing increased pleasure to both partners. It also claims to be a technique used in Asia for hundreds of years. Pondering, I finally shrug and throw it in the cart.

I follow the directions, and then wait for the magic to happen. I can definitely tell it is working; there is increased sensation! However, other than having a harder time actually having sex (maybe THAT explains the increased sensation), I can’t say that either of us are overwhelmed with the “Magic Stick”. I continue to notice, however, throughout the evening, that everything down there still feels…different. The next morning, after my lover has gone, I go to the bathroom. I feel very swollen. Exploring with fingertips, I discover to my great fascination (and a bit of horror) that everything “down there” is swollen…shut! I literally cannot even explore my own body! Trying not to panic, I continue to go and…ahem…probe, all throughout the day. My nether region remains sealed tightly shut. The only “magic” this stick had worked would be the kind that ultra-religious parents might favor, because absolutely nothing was getting in there. After about thirty-six hours, my nether region returned to normal and I breathed a sigh.

I suppose it only makes sense that with two bodies coming together, moving apart, changing positions (sometimes rapidly), and reacting to some incredibly intense sensations…well, sometimes mishaps occur. Adventure can have mixed results; any contact sport worth playing has potential for hazard. For now, I think I’ll skip the protective gear and continue to play with an appropriate amount of caution. Watch the arms and legs, try to avoid knocking out your team players, and watch the teeth. Above all else, avoid inserting things that are advertised as an “Ancient Chinese Secret”.