Category: The Dating Game

My Man in Ohio is back on the radar. My Married Man came down with a cold, or cold feet, and left me all dressed up and nowhere to go, so after watching Scoop with Big Chrissy, I chatted with my Ohio Man for a few hours. Here’s how the conversation went…

I’d say something complimentary and brash, but with enough self-depracation to avoid being thought of as aggressive.

There’d be this really long pause.

Someone else would message me.

I’d respond.

There’d be another really long pause.

I’d get a message from someone else.

Click click click click click click.

Another message from a new guy.

“No, I only use water-soluble products–it’s my name, ‘CHRIS KOmater.'”

Pause.

My Man in Ohio’s response would finally come through.

I’d respond.

That was one hour.

I did meet someone new and local over the course of our conversation, a potential real live future contestant on the Dating Game! He’s the most handsome guy on the internet. Really, I’m not kidding. I’ve seen him online and could never imagine sending him a greeting, much less receiving one from him. His masculinity is the kind that you just assume carries a little tag that says “No fats, no femmes.” (I fall screaming into the latter category.) His message was succinct: “Woof!” I wrote back, “Are you woofing at me?” Well, not only did he let me know that I was indeed the object of his woof, he meticulously described how he was going to stimulate every pleasure center on my body. Stunned, my fingers typed out indecencies the likes of which I haven’t even tested yet, but my fantasies flowed freely, drenching his screen and mine in copious and inspired fiery prose.

And god bless the daddy who’s got his own…

Tomorrow it’s out to dinner with Emily…

The Dating Game has taken an unexpected turn in a new direction; Casual Intimate Relations! I’ve met and gone out with a few sweet men since my last entry on the subject, but have been keeping my pearl beyond all price safely tucked away. Well, mostly. And except for this last Sunday…

I had placed a new personal ad on a site called Daddy Something-or-other, not imagining that all these cute guys would be hitting me up calling me “Daddy!” I took my ad down after a few days. There were either old dudes who wanted me to wear diapers, or young guys wanting–and needing, I might add–to be spanked. But I did meet one guy, exactly my age. “This bowl of porridge was JUST right…” Big floopy ears, adorable smile, soft pink skin. Keep in mind, I advertise myself as someone interested in almost everything, except for network TV and, importantly, one-night stands, but my profile has a picture of me shirtless in a come-take-me-now kind of slumped availability, so my carefully edited profile, and desired relationship orientation, is frequently overlooked. He didn’t seem to notice or care, told me he has a partner, and was very frank about his need for intimacy outside of his relationship. I warmed to his openness immediately, and even though I seek the Grail, decided to take him up on his kind offer to perform a lapdance for me at his place.

I told him that I’m not one to hop in the sack with a stranger, that I needed some other kind of connection. Is it okay if we just meet for tea and chat? He was very agreeable, and invited me over for Sunday morning tea. I got to his place and he ushered me into the bedroom, dimly lit by candle, condoms and lube on his nightstand, neatly folded towel on the edge of the bed. “I thought we’d lie on the bed and get to know each other. First.” Hmmmm, my idea of tea hadn’t been articulated clearly enough, obviously, but he did get the gist of my wish–to make a connection that might lead to physical intimacy, rather than the other way around. We talked and talked and talked, about San Francisco writers, history, art, his lover, school… I really liked him! He didn’t seem like a predatory power bottom at all, but someone genuinely interested in relating intimately in a full way. We connected. Four visits to the orgasmatron later, I left in a cloud of delicious aromas and an occasional gust of latex.

So there are beautiful people out there who can relate to me authentically and completely, within more limited parameters than I’m used to, and not push me out of my Bachelor ‘Hood. I’ve been liberated from the shackles of biological determinism!

Later that day…
I didn’t even have time to take a shower before Lucky Bachelor #13 showed up at my doorstep and whisked me away for goose and venison at Suppenküche. He had called me up the night before while I was in my bubble bath drinking a martini to announce that he had broken up with his boyfriend and would love to pick up where we had left off. Well, we had met only once, a memorable afternoon chat a few months back, but I was still in the process of prying myself from Bachelor #8, and by the time I gave him a second call he had met someone else and was even learning Hebrew and going to Synagogue with the guy! Of course, I was insanely jealous–just my type to dive in headfirst and so enthusiastically.

So anyway, at dinner we talked of how much we had learned from our respective doomed affairs, how we were each dating, enjoying being relatively young and single and free, blah blah blah. He told me that one reason he left his boyfriend was because his boyfriend was overdeveloped in a specific area that made relating to that region too great a challenge. He was afraid I’d think he was shallow, and I quickly calmed him by saying that of course he would feel bad about not being able to please his partner, and I understood how upsetting that would be for him. I nervously asked him “well, just how overdeveloped was he?” but didn’t get a response that I could really wrap myself around. I wanted to tell him that Bob had the exact same problem when we were first together, but with hard work and determination… But I didn’t. I put my coat on my lap, a faint whiff of latex wafted to my nose and I smiled.

There’s this little cub in France who’s chatting me up on BearWWW, in another tab on Safari. He tells me he’s into older chubby guys, but that I’m cute and he’d make an exception for me. He has an older lover. I inquire about the older lover. Delicately. He tells me that he wants to snuggle. I say that I’d love to snuggle with him. And his lover. I imagine his older lover. They’re in France. I think of the coffee and brioche we’ll have in bed the next morning, the cheese. He goes on to describe this thing he’d do to me. I describe that thing I’d do to him. He describes this other thing he’d do to me. I describe that other thing I’d do to him. Where is this going? Isn’t it lunch time in France? He asks if he can chat with me again, that I’m very imaginative. Flattered, I say yes, you handsome little cub. Someone’s daddy bear in France needs me.