#WTF: Even when I date a chick, I still wind up being the dude.
<editorsnote> Dear Mom and dad, totally not a good idea for you to read this one. I mean, the title alone should be enough, but yeah ... love you! Bye! </editorsnote>
I've hit a new level in dating ...
I've gone full dude.
Definitely didn't see that one coming!
A few months back, I found myself in a cheeky conundrum; I wanted to have sex, but didn't want to actually have to go through the process of dating someone. I'm on people overload, man. I TALK TO SO MANY PEOPLE BEING IN THE OFFICE, and then going out, and the IDEA of then having to talk about what I JUST experienced on a daily basis to another living being is my equivalent of personal hell.
I lived it. I don't need to talk about it. I'm good. For realsies.
I thought about getting a fuck buddy, but from past experience, the dynamic never worked because one party inevitably wanted more.
Maybe I'll just get slaves again, I thought, but this time instead of owning them for foot worship (which wasn't my thing) I could use them for sexual purposes.
I then remembered how much work having eight slaves was (it was a legit full time job), so that was unappealing, and again, I am not a fan of moving backwards in any capacity. Repeating a pattern I didn't enjoy is the definition of crazy, and I was unwilling to do it again.
<tangent> Think of owning slaves as having a bunch of little children around you clamoring for your attention. I had to give them jussssssttttttt enough attention to keep them from "topping" (which is the term for when a sub becomes a dom), but not too much since I was still the boss bitch.
I have more respect for children than I did for my slaves, btw. ;) </tangent>
I'm REALLY starting to run out of options at this point.
Bee tee dubs, this video is 100% honest. I couldn't have planned for him to actually text in those exact moments. This wasn't with an actual slave, but this was when I started to tip toe down the rabbit hole.
What about a married man, I thought?
Been there, done that, found him on Tinder.
Was FANTASTIC, actually (but a story for another day); I don't regret it for a minute.
Outside of whatever morality I/you want to establish around the done deed, the biggest variable in my mind was his ability to keep our messages private. I'd be the first to accept what I did if she had found out, but even that didn't align with my ultimate goal of a stress-free fluid exchange.
I then broke down what my version of "sex" was, and I defined sex as an orgasm facilitated by another person.
With that as my baseline, I then asked, but does it have to be a man?
After all, one of the 103 dates in 9 months was a woman.
I'm still laughing that she took my spirithood and stripped down. Now, I'd be like bitch put your clothes on, you'll catch a cold!!!
Anywho, exhausting all other perceivable options, I toggled the settings on Bumble to Women seeking Women. (I thought tinder was kinda dirty- it felt too rachet and if I was going to do this, I wanted a classy broad.)
I never use Bumble so all of my photos on there were old. I quickly swapped out three more recent ones, but chose not to update the profile (since no one reads it anyway). Within a matter of minutes I had matches, and about an hour later I gave one my number and we started to text.
You seem normal, I said swiping right.
I'm a super decisive person, so no more thought went into that other than the fact that she didn't seem like a serial killer. 10 or less messages were exchanged before we agreed to meet up the next night. She offered to come meet up that same night (which was an initial red flag), but I also thought she seems just as busy as I am and maybe this is a scheduling thing. (She is a personal assistant to a celebrity.)
As I got into spin class that afternoon, I got a text asking if we were still on (with loads of hearts attached). I'm so used to guys confirming that I forgot that it might have seemed rude to wait til' only a few hours before to text. She asked where we were going, and sadly no thought was given, so I googled "wine bars West Hollywood," texting her a screenshot and agreeing to meet at 8:30.
On the Uber ride over, I had an AWESOME conversation with the driver. He asked what I was doing tonight, and I said, I was going on a date but I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Obviously, he asked why, and I told him it was because it was with a chick.
Like any other dude, his neck just about snapped as he turned to get a visual of the backseat, generating his own mental picture for uh ... later in the evening.
I told him my plan initially revolved around sex, but said I wasn't sure if I could justttttt sleep with a chick. Maybe all of my frustrations in dating men is because of the male? I had no idea, but was honest and frustrated enough to try.
"I can tell you're the kind of person that only does something if it is done right, and I've only known you for five minutes," he said.
"I don't know, I admitted. I'd just rather be honest about not knowing than pretend I do know. I have absolutely no other options, so might as well give it a shot."
I had gotten there before her, so I sat down and was greeted with no less than 50 different options of wine. On decision making overload myself at this point, I executive decisioned a wine flight thinking she could try whatever she wanted first.
She arrived minutes later and we embraced. (She's like 5'0, 90 lbs wet, and just ridiculously beautiful.)
As he brought over the first flight, I realized it wasn't a series of wines brought over that we could casually drink at our leisure, he was going to stand there, pour, and ask us our opinion on each one.
Not allowing my personal hell to become a reality ...
... I again executive decisioned a bottle of sparkling (which she admitted to liking). Charcuterie plate as well?
"I LOVE that, she said."
Great, done, thank you! I said to the server. (Mind you I wasn't at all rude, I just didn't want to keep fucking talking.)
<tangent> I'm TEXTBOOK INTJ. (Which also makes me cringe to say because I'll put myself in check and confirm that I am no other type ... which then only solidifies everything I just said ... stop talking, Friel.) I have zero problem stepping up, but also enjoy being the chick. Clearly this wasn't going to happen in this dynamic, but again if I can keep an open mind I might learn something. </tangent>
I'll keep the rest of the date private, but I did laugh as we were leaving our server asked if we were going to The Abbey to hit the dance floor?? (The Abbey being the most popular gay bar in LA.) I might have been unsure of what my own next doable action was, but I did give myself snaps for at least passing the part.
As we waited for her Uber, I asked if she was free Sunday for brunch. (Seems neutral enough to pass as a date potentially, but also just a "friends thing.")
She immediately said yes, and as I closed her Uber door, I decided to go for a walk.
When I don't know what I want to do ... I walk.
Also when I know what to do ... I walk.
Clearly I ... just enjoy walking.
I then connected the dots that her personality type sought a lot of validation. I needed to remind her that I had a great evening, I thought sending this:
The next text caught me completely off guard ...
I overcompensated my uncomfortableness with the hearts, but I had ABSOLUTELY no idea sex was even on the table on the first date!! Furthermore, I STILL had no idea if my legs were even open to it!!
The texts continued ...
I walked for a couple of miles, and while I still hadn't arrived at my ultimate solution, I had decided that I wanted my bed. Alone.
The next morning, I woke up and realized that my actions went against what I said I wanted in the first place. If I was truly after sex, here is this beautiful HUMAN BEING WHO ALSO WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH ME. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?? HAVE SEX WITH THE BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING. Fuck it, Friel (I thought pun intended). Put on (er, take off) your big girl pants and figure it out.
I reached for my phone ...
I had absolutely no idea what to say or do, so I turned it into a little game in my head where I would text her hours before what to bring. Mostly because 1/2 of me still had to figure out what exactly I wanted, but also the other 1/2 truly loves board games.
I then went to the store and bought another bottle of sparkling wine (this time a sparkling pinot noir), and a different type of charcuterie plate.
This was all I had to go on, and if I was going to sleep with someone, it felt like poor form to only offer my bodily fluids.
Which is equally hilarious because I've never done ANYTHING like this for a guy before. I wanted to treat her how I would like to be treated. It was such a drastic dating shift, it felt strange, but much like with anything else, I just kept going.
A few hours later I texted her again ...
My brain went to the mechanics of the evening, and while I've had threesomes before, I was uh, on the receiving end. The shoe being on the other foot, and being the sexual equivalent of "the male" WTF would I be expected to do? The only way to control the uh, ultimate variable, is to pull the voyeur card (which I also happen to be).
<tangent> I haven't had a threesome in ... I can't even remember how long (well before I went to the island). I'm not mad at them, but now that I'm in my 30s, the idea of a couple fucking me is no longer appealing.
I do the fucking.
I am fucking you, not the other way around.
I will only "be a guest" to Lumiere and Belle.
I figured at this point, I'd have to just "wing it." I have a few spare toys (hashtag aint no shame that I am an absolute freak), so I google searched how to FULLY clean them (since obviously this has never happened before). I put them in the dishwasher, and kept them charged, just in case.
Around 9, I cut the cheese ...
... and opened the wine.
I flipped through the TV channels as I waited. I then saw the one movie every chick admits to liking ...
PERFECT! I thought as I heard a knock on the door.
Hi, she said slightly frazzled. I can't spend the night, I hope that's okay.
It's fine, I said, relieved that god forbid if something went awry, I wouldn't be wondering when the heck she'd be leaving. (Sleepovers are a commitment. I forgot about that, I just thought having a slumber party was SUPER CUTE branding!)
I then got her a glass of wine, as we sat down on the couch.
I let her do most of the talking, as I actively listened and stared at her wondering if I could go through with this. I was physically attracted to her beauty, but also kinda ... meh. It wasn't her, I just wasn't nearly as turned on as in my head I thought I would be.
I was definitely far from personal hell, but also somewhere lost in the land of WTF did I get myself into?
A half hour later she then asked if she could have some of the charcuterie.
Of course, I said laughing, knowing that I sure as shit didn't do this for myself.
After a few bites, she said, "I don't mean to sound clinical, but can we make out?"
I was SO FAR into my own head and so removed from sexuality that it hadn't even occurred to me that of course she was waiting for me to kiss her.
I didn't say anything I just leaned in for the kiss.
On my couch.
In front of a very judgmental Buster Brown.
She then removed her shirt, as I undid mine (which I do at the gym on daily basis so no big dee).
I then touched her boobs (which were actually super cute, fake, but like well done), and felt even more awkward. She got on top of me as I instinctively honked her hooters like she was Bozo.
Obviously, I had no idea what to do but again, I wanted to treat her how I'd like to be treated and they really were beautiful, but just ... not my thing.
She started grinding on my leg as I continued the honking.
I then looked up and realized this situation was exactly like the time my leg got humped by my grandparent's dog, Suzy.
She was this little miniature poodle that went through this stage of wanting to hump every leg she could.
I AM REPEATING AN EXPERIENCE I DID NOT LIKE, I thought laughing to myself at the fact that this was the least sexual I had ever felt.
Again, it wasn't her. I just wasn't into it without a dude, and definitely wanted all of this to be over as quickly as possible.
By the time I mentally finished that sentence, she also uh, finished.
I heard this little tiny whimper that resembled the meow of a tiny pussy.
Yup totally over it, I thought.
She then asked if we should go into my bedroom to which I abruptly replied, NOPE!
Not sure how to ask someone to leave, I casually moved over to the other chair in my living room and pet Buster.
His judgement was still obvious, but he was at least a confidant in a time of need.
I then said something about hurting my back (which has been bothering me for months actually), and she offered a massage.
Hey, if she can get off on my leg, I can get off with her helping my back. Sure, it wasn't sexual for me, but her little tiny hands could get all of those congested connective tissues. Of all the things I was sure of on this night, it was that!
A solid 15 minute massage later (which I wasn't complaining since my bliss lasted longer than hers), she said she had to go and that she would love to do this again.
Me too, I said smiling, not wanting to be rude.
I would have been rude if I was the one leaving, but it felt SUPER weird even THINKING about rejecting someone in YOUR house. I was raised with etiquette, and I don't think Ms. Emily Post would have approved.
As the door closed, I texted my gf:
Like any good friend, a few hours later, she sent this:
Yep. Can't do it, but at least now I know!
Just not uh ... that far ...