Taking It As It Comes.

I am a bit of a control freak. I like to know what is going on, how things are going to happen, and what the plan is. I am obsessive about knowing what is coming next. I like to be the boss, and I want things to happen on my schedule.

This is a poor attitude for dating.

I am forever questioning the motives of my date, second-guessing him, and obsessively deconstructing the evening in the car on the drive home. I am out of my element when dealing with the unpredictable quirks of other people's emotions and expectations while also trying to cope with the quirks of MY emotions and expectations.

This results in all sorts of quirky situations and miscommunications. For instance, with Beavis, it meant forcing the issue with sex after a couple of months, because I wanted to know if we were a good match in bed, wanted to know if he found me attractive that way, and was really, really horny. Not that he didn't want to have sex with me, but he wanted to take it slow, and me forcing the issue added a lot of confusion to his world. Like, we didn't talk for two months.

I am trying to learn to take things as they come. Moonbeam and I went for a nice supper tonight, and spent four hours chatting about 'stuff'. Stuff that included a lot of questions/comments about relationships, expectations, likes/dislikes, etcetera. I have no idea if he is wanting to date me, or just talking about random stuff trying to make friends. I am working VERY HARD not to 'interpret' anything, and just see what happens.

Likewise, with Beavis coming up tomorrow, I will try to just relax and let things unfold as they will.

This is difficult.

I want to learn, because I suspect (though I have absolutely no proof) that it might result in a more...respectful...relationship in the end, however that relationship might be defined. I suspect that my habit of taking the lead and stepping things up a notch is intimidating to men. I am certain that I have missed out on all sorts of fun courting rituals, simply because I didn't have the patience to enjoy the courting. I gotta tell ya, though, patience is NOT my forte...

Company Ink?

There is this guy I work with. Let's call him Moonbeam. We've worked together for years, in different departments. He moved into my department temporarily last year, and we wound up working together quite a bit.

He is a genuine sort of guy, funny and outgoing once he gets to know you, though a bit shy at first. Very protective of his private life, but I have to say, I'm the same way...ironic that I blog, but anyways...

Moonbeam is tall, heavy-set, and nice-looking. He likes cats and has a motorbike. He is about 15 years older than me, but that really isn't an issue to me for making friends - most of my friends are about 10 years older, anyways. It becomes an issue with dating, as I want kids, and most 45 year olds are closer to planning retirement than planning a family.

Moonbeam did me a favor at work a few weeks ago, helping me with a file while I was on holidays. I told him I owed him a coffee. A while after that, he needed help outside work, moving a couple of vehicles around. He took me for supper as a thanks. Today, he asked me to help him with a file.

I asked him if it negated the coffee I owed him.

He said it was a big deal (it wasn't), and that he figured he owed me dinner and drinks, now.

I teased him that I knew how that story went, that he'd put it off until one of us moved departments.

He said: "Tomorrow at four, then".

Good thing I told Beavis not to come up till Saturday...

Three (not so wise) Men

M. sent a one word email yesterday. it said:

"regrets?"

hmmm. Not really. I got what I expected: a place to sleep while I was doing other things, and some meaningless sex. It didn't come as a surprise. I haven't mailed his key back, yet, but I'm thinking about it.

Beavis phoned. He wants to come up this weekend, and spend the night. I asked him, straight up:

"So, where, exactly, are you planning on sleeping?"

He didn't miss a beat when he replied: "in my truck". As long as we're all on the same page, I suppose. I'm glad he doesn't have any expectations.

Mr UK called. He didn't have anything in particular to say, except that it was a boring day at work without me sending him notes (I was on training). He just wanted to say goodnight. Wish I coulda been there to tuck him in and give him a kiss...

Courting

Mr UK remains incredibly disappointed that I won't let him fly me back over. We had a loooonnggg discussion about the nature of love, and the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. I mean, no-one doubts he and I love each other, deep down. But we're not in love. I told him that my biggest problem with the whole idea is that I am not even a little bit in love with him, and it feels cold-hearted to let him jet me around when there's no butterflies-in-stomach on either end.

I don't know if he realises it, but he's basically been courting me ever since that conversation.

I love it.

He sends me a zillion emails a day at work. Cute, short, 'just thinking of you' type notes.

He sent a little gift by mail, with a hand-written letter.

He calls every few nights, and we chat about nothing for hours.

We reminisce. We debate. We talk dirty. We laugh.

I worry that he is falling in love, a little bit. He's mentioned that he has reconsidered his statement that we would never work out as a couple (distance aside, of course). Honestly, after four or five sleep-deprived phone marathons, I am questioning that statement, myself. However, neither of us is prepared to move.

I worry that i might actually be falling a little bit myself.

He is threatening to come visit at the end of April. He can't really afford it right now, and doesn't really have the time off. I half-heartedly try to talk him out of it, but I'd love to see him again...

Apparently It's March...

...because Beavis called.

In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can catch up here.

I have no idea what he wants. When I got home from work Friday, there was a message from him on my machine saying he was driving by my town and thinking of me. He says he's working in the area for a few weeks. Good for him.

I called back and left a reply on his message machine, saying I was going out of town, but he could call Sunday if he wanted to. Now, I am quite curious...

*****Sunday night edit*****

I guess he just wanted to hang out. We rented a couple of movies, and curled up on the couch, his arm around my shoulders. No mention of what happened in January, or the conversation we had in February. In fact, the only mention of anything 'us' related was when he commented that he finds it entirely too easy to spend time with me. A hug goodbye, and he was off, with a parting comment that he'd like to come up next weekend, and maybe stay the night. I told him to call later in the week...

yeah, i know, i know...

"...so, if life were a video game, and you could reset when things went bad, what would you try?"

"Hmmm. I'd want to test-drive the stuff that I'd be really afraid of screwing up. Maybe some of the career options I vetoed in University...photography, history...maybe motherhood...What would you try?"

"I'd test-drive us"

"..."

"..."

"See you tomorrow..."


*****End of Weekend Edit********

Well, THAT was fun. It's awfully hard to regret doing something that leaves me feeling so sated and relaxed. AND I managed to get together with two girlfriends I really wanted to see, and do some home-hunting for when I put in a transfer application...a productive weekend all around...

Romance

There's this guy on lavalife. He's messaged me twice. Email #1: he wanted to know when we could meet. I told him I'd rather sent a few more notes back and forth first, and decide IF we should meet. Email #2: he wants to know what kind of kissing I like, whether or not I like massages, and what constituties a romantic evening.

This is right up there with strangers calling me sexy.

A stranger would probably go for flowers and a nice dinner. That stranger would probably turn me right off. Roses remind me of an ex who used to buy them for me when he had cheated on me (again) or broken something I cherished. I hate roses. Especially red ones.

Romance is so dependent on mood, and on the person you're with. One of the most memorable 'romantic' evenings I can think of with Mr Wonderful was a game of Trivial Pursuit. With three of my cousins, an aunite, and my Grandma, but Mr Wonderful kept dropping hints and allusions to private jokes between him and I, and, at the same time, entertained a bunch of people I loved dearly. He didn't especially want to be there that day, but came because of me. That's romantic.

Mr UK keeps emailing me links to web design/building tutorials, and to shareware and open source programs that he thinks I would be interested in. Often, attached to sweet notes about how well I am doing with my learning html.

One guy took me for lunch at my favorite restaraunt, then took me to the SPCA and talked me into buying a dog. He didn't last, but I still think of him all the time - I do love the dog to bits.

These things all stuck out in my mind as romantic. Mr UK would never take me dog shopping, and it probably wouldn't feel romantic if he did. But, he does know me well enough to know that free software is a great gift. It's the caring and acknowledgement in the gesture that makes it romantic to me. I'm not a Hallmark kinda gal, and romance has to be personal...

Oh, yeah, and I don't imagine there will ever BE a first date with Mr Romantic on lavalife...

Backbone Update.

Well, I was reading comments on a recent post, and I felt like I had more to say on the topic.

You know, I think the reaction I have when M contacts me is just...habit. An ingrained reaction. It just goes through my mind every time, but, on the other hand, it goes through my mind, then goes away.

Sure, a part of me would still like to be with him. No denying that. I can't figure out why I haven't shut that door entirely - usually when I break up with someone, or they break up with me, then it's over. Just done, over with, and time to move on.

Even with Mr Wonderful, who I didn't want to leave (but felt I had to), I told him he had a few months to get his act together, or I would move on. When the time passed with no action on his part, I went back to meet him the place we had shared for the requisite bitter-sweet goodbye sex on the floor of our empty bedroom before he handed in the keys, and that was that. Finis. Done. Never to be revisited.

M is...different. I've never really been in love with him. Oh, I love him, in a way, but I've never felt that sparkly, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. I know it could happen, like a word that's on the tip of your tongue, but it hasn't. It can't. He has such thick walls built up; they put me off, push me away, and I have never really been able to let my own guard down enough to just...feel.

We spoke for a few hours yesterday. He mostly respected the boundaries I have set, avoided talking about 'us', though he dropped a hint or two about having thought a lot about his commitment issues. I chalk that up to him not really wanting to let go, either. We didn't explore it. I have to admit, I am curious as hell, but if we have that talk, it will be when I am in a headspace to do so. He doesn't get to set the agenda anymore. I am fairly certain that the outcome of that conversation will be the usual conclusion that nothing has changed.

So we spoke for hours yesterday, and I feel...nothing, really. Not especially happy or sad, just kind of...indifferent. No real urge to go see him, though a part of me wants to go back and revisit the bits of the conversation that we avoided. Like I said, I'm curious, and right at the moment, he doesn't seem to affect me much, so the timing would be right. On the other hand, maybe it will hurt, feel manipulative, make me angry, and I can finally just say "enough".

Someday, I will pack up his housekey and all the baggage, mail it back to him, and just...walk away. Finally.

What's With The Sugar Daddies?

So, M sent an email. This is not terribly unusual. Infrequent, but not unusual. This one was about a mutual friend who I had lost track of, with a comment that she might not be doing so well, but no details. These are the sorts of things that drive me to pick up the phone.

So, I called.

Yeah, I know, I'm a sucker.

In the course of the conversation, asked how much time off I could get from work on short notice.

Huh?

Well, turns out his company is flying him to The Coast for training. Depending on how long the course goes, they will pay to either fly him home for a visit, or pay for someone to fly out and visit him. My sister lives on The Coast. He said:

"Now, this isn't a booty call or anything, but I thought you might like to take a free flight to see your sis, and you don't have to stay with me, or even see me, if you don't want to."

Damn. That's hard to pass up. And thoughtful. Damn. Double Damn.

I told him to call back when he gets the details...

Where Did My Backbone Go?

I have all the motivation in the world to stay as far from M. as humanly possible. I tell myself this every time he calls or emails, or even when a song on the radio remainds me of him. I remind myself that as great as he is, being around him always hurts, eventually. It's always great for a few months, then the big letdown when he reminds me 'this is not long-term' or 'we don't want the same things'. And it hurts more every time we go through this.

Why is this a battle?

Why does he have to be so FUCKING sweet?

Why can't he just grow up and realise that commitment does not mean the end of the world?

Why can't he recognise how wonderful I am?



Why do I email back?

Why am I considering going for a drive?

What am I going to do if I move to his city?


Damn.

Help This Lady Out.

I am a closet softie. I admit it. But, really, some things are worth skipping a nice dinner out for, and I think this is one of them.

I challenge YOU to pony up a few bucks, and to link back to Esme's page with a challenge of your own.

Just for today, I'm going to quit bitching and do some good. I'll bet we can raise that thousand bucks in no time at all. I know I can't run four miles, but it's easy enough to pay her to do it for me...let's all do something altruistic with our blogs, today.

Tomorrow: back to the bitching...

On Shaving

I noticed today that it's been awhile.

I can't say I have any pressing motivation to shave. My cat and dog are far fuzzier than me, and never complain about my stubbly legs when we snuggle up in bed at night. And I don't generally let guys see my legs on the first date. There's been a few 'first dates' lately, but no second dates, so it's just not an issue. I'd hate to feel like I put an effort into a bad date...

Part of the problem is that I shower in the morning. Mornings are not my friend. I have my morning routine timed down to the second, so I can sleep as late as possible, have a seven-minute shower, get dressed, pack my lunch, and get out the door in time to get to work within 5 minutes of when I am supposed to arrive. Seven minutes is not nearly long enough to shave. I have a lot of leg.

I once had a hair-growing contest with Mr Wonderful. Mr Wonderful can not grow a beard. The best he can manage is a sad sort of fu manchu, which, in reality, looks like someone glued a mangy rat to his chin. Mr Wonderful decided he wanted to grow a beard.

I told him he did not want to do that.

He insisted.

I told him that if he stopped shaving, then I would stop shaving. That conversation happened in November. Let's just say I only went swimming at night the following summer. Alone. Or with a minimum personal space of six feet between myself and my nearest companion.

My legs scared me, but didn't deter Mr Wonderful. I think we broke up before either of us actually caved and bought a razor. I shaved the morning after I moved out. With relief.

I spent a good bit of last year travelling in North Africa and the Middle East. Their interpretation of the toilet is a hole in the ground. With a porcelain footrest, if you're lucky. And a tap on the wall. No soap. No toilet paper. Nowhere to even dispose of toilet paper.

Part of my challenge was learning to do what the locals did. That meant eating with my (right) hand, and learning to cope without TP. I spent my fair share of time in public baths also, where I was educated as to local hygiene rules. As in, it is 'more hygenic' to 'wipe' with a (left) handful of water when you are bare 'down there'. I learned to shave. Everything.

I got used to that.

It's pretty sad when the sight of your own slightly furry crotch reminds you it's time to shave your legs...

Acceptance Speech.

Well, thanks to this fine lady, I have been awarded this:






(sashays up red carpet to podium, wearing suitably stunning attire)

(ahem.)

Thank you so much, T shirt, for this honor.

(hefts gold statue)

Well, I have to give my heartfelt thanks to Beavis, who motivated me to start a blog in the first place (though really it was mostly 'cause my girfriends were sick of listening to me bitch about you), M., for providing the occasional twinge of unrequited something-or-other, and Mr UK for some juicy details to post. Special thanks to all the random online men who regularly provide blog fodder (blodder?) for my six (sorry, Esme) seven diehard readers. Who I thank, profusely for showing up and lending me support, as well as motivating me trying to think up something interesting to say now and again.

(bows, does fluttery little celebrity wave)

(damn, gotta remember to shave before I wear dresses in these little fantasies...)

In return, I nominate:

Our Bodies Our Blog

Letters I Wish I'd Sent

Kiss & Blog

The Dog's Name

If Sex Doesn't Scare The Cat...

Should you choose to participate in this meme, please make sure you pass this list of rules to the blogs you are tagging.
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to five blogs that make you think.2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote (available in silver or gold version).

(But really, T-shirt, I am a little disappointed...apparently I make you think, but I was trying to make you laugh...)

On that thought, I am giving a special "Made Speedy Pee Her Pants Laughing This Morning Award to Mist 1 of To Do: 1. Get Hobby 2. Floss. Lucky thing I set my coffee down before I started reading...

Spring Burnout

In the last two days, I have turned down four dates. Three from online strangers, one from a known commodity. I have absolutely no interest in meeting any men, new or otherwise, unless they are going to make it easy on me by, say, showing up at my house with a bottle of wine and a movie in hand. In fact, I'd prefer if they dropped off said bottle of wine and movie, and left.

I can tell spring is coming.

I am not thrilled about dating at the best of times, but view it as a necessary evil, unless I want to die alone in my tiny, filthy house, surrounded by my 63 cats and seven dogs, and the debris of a bitter, lonely life. However, I really lose interest in the whole game when I get that first whiff of nice weather.

I mean, who wants to spend their summer being rejected by dumb-ass rednecks when she could instead be travelling around the Western provinces, visiting friends and family, taking up kayaking, skydiving, and organic gardening? In the summer, I have more than enough ways to fill my time, and don't really feel the urge to complicate things by introducing new people. It's only in the dark, cold months that I really wish I had some company.

Right at the moment, I think I'd be quite content for Mr UK to schedule a visit around May, and me to fly back over there in the fall, and call it quits on the dating game for the season. With a scheduled week of good sex to bracket the beginning and end of my busy season, I could quit pissing around on the internet, chatting with random losers, and go outside to play.

Don't get me wrong, here. I'm not bitter or angry...in fact, I'm in a better mood today than I have been in weeks. I just don't feel like wasting my time when the sun is shining and the birds singing...in fact, I think I'll go join them right now...

Pride.

My buddy Rockhead called tonight. We have been pals since forever. Platonic friends; he's one of the few men who has never, ever hit on me. Even when we went down to Mexico and got really drunk together. He's a geologist, and loves to argue politics.

He asked me what was new in my life. Sadly, I didn't have much to report...even my date for tonight backed out. Rockhead said he just got back from another Mexico trip, and asked me how my trip to London had gone, so I told him all about the incredible time I'd had. I mentioned that Mr UK had offered to fly me back again, but that it felt like too big a hit to my pride. Rockhead said: "pride doesn't buy you any plane tickets." Bastard. I hate it when people point things out so succinctly.



******Next day edit*******

I shoulda known better than to go looking for Rockhead's sympathy on this one. He flew me to Mexico last fall, and paid for the hotel and such. He's done that for several people, though, and says we can pay him back whenever. He really doesn't seem to care if any of us ever get him the actual cash. He says he doesn't want to waste his timeshare weeks, but he doesn't like going alone. I still owe him a bundle. It's quite a bit different, though; I WILL pay him back, eventually, and he will let me. I am not singled out for the special treatment, and I completely understand why Rockhead would do that. His motives are crystal clear.

Of course, Mr UK phoned not ten minutes after Rockhead and I hung up. It was 3am his time, but he said he was thinking of me. He "just called to say goodnight".

**melt**

He is such a sweetie.

It wound up being a long, interesting, and strangely intimate conversation about our history, the nature of our relationship, and the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. I had sort of been trying to keep all that emotional stuff out of things, but you know, maybe that's part of why I don't want to accept his gifts anymore. It just seems cheap and manipulative to accept such lavish gifts when there's no emotional connection. I know it is silly, but it feels different if there's love involved...

Instant Turn Off.

Mr UK once said that part of my appeal lies in the fact that I am clean and wholesome, but at the same time utterly, utterly filthy. I really questioned that statement, until this morning's random PoF IM conversation.

The guy had contacted me, and we'd been chatting for twenty minutes about travel and hobbies. He was looking like a potential candidate. Then he switches conversational gears:

"has anyone ever told you that you've got great lips?"
(I was cueing up the Deliverance banjos when I saw that...'you sure got a purdy mouth, boy)
(**and when I was a kid, the other kids called me 'nigger lips'. Thank God for Angelina. She made me sexy.**)

"um...yeah..."

"Can't take a compliment, huh? You know, you are really sexy."

"look, i gotta go get ready for work."


I know I am really sexy. I know a lot of guys think I am hot. I have absolutely no doubt about those sorts of things. I have no problem accepting compliments, either. But, you know, I find it incredibly offensive when people who don't know anything about me say those things out loud. It seems crass, somehow.

It must be my feminist upbringing. I don't want to be anybody's sex object, period. Now, someone who appreciates my intelligence and personality...well, that's a different story. If Mr UK told me I had really sexy lips, I'd start describing how I intended to use those sexy lips on his cock the next time I saw him. Graphically.

But then, Mr UK sees me as a whole person, maybe a sex subject, a parnter in crime, so to speak, but certainly not an object. Part of the reason he finds me sexually attractive is because he is drawn to who I am. My personality. My goals and accomplishments. The stuff you can't see. It's about more than just what I look like. And, I see him the same way. I'm comfortable with him.

Wholesome and filthy. Yeah, I guess I can see it...

Puppy...

My dog was an adult five years ago when I got her, but she's really still a great big puppy.

She spent her morning out in the yard rolling around in the snow, as if nothing could possibly feel better. Actually, the only things she likes better than snow are ducks and rabbits. For supper. After she runs them down. I've never actually seen her catch one, but gawd, she tries hard...

I think she was extra-enthusiastic with her snow angels because the weather has been warm. She probably knows the snow will be gone soon. By soon, I mean mid-May, but still...

With several consecutive days of plus-temperatures, the exposed ground under my deck has started to thaw, as well. My dog is an amateur archaeologist, and was delighted to resume excavation. I am not entirely sure what she thinks she will find, but from the size of the hole, I suspect she is looking for Chinese artefacts. I will have to explain to her that coming upon them from the bottom messes up the dating.

Mr UK called last night, in relation to a rather raunchy webpage I coded and sent to him. My HTML skills are coming along nicely, though he said he was too distracted to even look at the code. I would call that a success. I was quite pleased with the page, myself, and am happy to get the intended reaction. Essentially, it was a nude picture of myself, set up so that he could click on different bits of it, and it would take him to a different section of the page, with more photos and some graphic reminiscing. He was impressed.

Of course, he wanted to know how soon he could fly me back over. It led to an arguement. He thinks I'm silly. I agreed - I am silly, but as much as I'd love to spend a week with him in Berlin, I'm just not comfortable accepting such a lavish gift right now. He said we would discuss it again later. I suggested we discuss it next year, when I have more money. Unfortunately, Mr UK is at least as stubborn as I am, and appears intent on grinding me down. It's almost worth agreeing, just to avoid the yelling match. Aah, well, nice to know he cares, at least...

Preening...

Well, Mr UK may have created a monster. I spent all of last night and most of today working away at the tutorials he sent me, and I think I am getting the hang of it. I looovvvee a challenge. I am making it fun, by coding up little webpage 'cards' to send him, and inserting hidden naughty comments that he will only see if he checks the actual code. I think he is shaking his head at me, but I won't be motivated to actually do anything with it unless I have a fun way to practice.

No real updates on the dating front. I am going for dinner with another POF guy on Thursday, and have no idea how this one is going to go. We sent about six emails back and forth about food and cooking. I got bored with that, and fired off a cheeky reply; I asked him if he was actually interested in chatting/meeting, or if he was just replying to be polite. Hence the dinner date. I haven't talked to him on the phone. his profile is not terribly informative, except for stating that he can and does use multi-syllabic language. It's a start, I suppose.

I spoke with Mr UK on the phone last night and today. I wish we lived in the same place. Even if dating wouldn't work out, I love the conversations we have.

He wanted to know when I would come over again. He thought maybe April would work well. He offered to pay, again. Suggested we go to Paris or Berlin.

Aargh.

You know, I just can't do it.

I loved the idea...once. But I'd feel like I was taking advantage of him if I let him keep flying me back and forth. I mean, he's got a good job, but he's not rich. I know I'm absolutely amazing, but I'm not certain I am worth that. It's a tough one, it really is. But I'm afraid I have too much respect for both of us to carry on like that.

At least, that's how I see it when I'm feeling tall and strong tonight. I may revise that opinion when I'm horribly lonely and bored again...

Bored...

...Or, "Why I Should Never Be Allowed To Get Bored"...


This cold is lingering on and on. My dog is going crazy because she hasn't had a walk in weeks. Going outside aggravates the cough to the point that I have to stop every few paces and lean on something while I hack up a lung. Not fun.

I am not normally quite as lazy as I have been lately. I have to admit, I am totally sick of lounging around the house surfing dating websites and blogs, although I did set up a date with a brand new victim for Thursday.

Anyhow, I was laying in bed a couple of nights ago, coughing, and had a brilliant idea for a website. No, I'm not telling...but when Google buys me out for 7 billion dollars, I'll buy the beer.

I called Mr UK and another friend who works in IT to see what they thought of the idea. They said it was great, so I asked them if they could help me set it up. They got a LOT less enthusiastic at that point. After each of them had spent a couple of hours explaining the costs and effort involved, I got a lot less enthusiastic, too.

However, being the stubborn broad I am, I asked what it would take for me to be able to do it myself. They started throwing out random strings of letters, like "html", "psp", "css", and basically the rest of the alphabet in creative combinations.

I have to admit, the last time I felt like I knew anything about computers was when I used to program cute little cards/messages for Mom#2 on our Commodore 64. I was nine.

So, this week's project is learning html. I am not very good at learning out of books, and need to actually do things and make mistakes in order to understand. So, I suspect that this blog will be undergoing some renovations in the near future...

Wish me luck...

Ancient History #4: "Nice Shoes"

It was the second-most expensive relationship I ever had.

When Mr Wonderful and I broke up, I started drinking. Quite a lot, actually. I had decided to go out and catch up on all the partying that I had missed while we were together. I also had a stretch where I did all the things that I couldn't before, the stuff I couldn't or wouldn't do when he was around.

I went out and bought CD's by bands he hated. I went waterskiing. I bought crazy clothing that he would disapprove of. I went to art galleries.

And I decided to have a one-night stand.

With a stranger. A hot stranger.


On the fateful Friday night, I didn't even dress up, though I wore makeup and heels with my jeans. I swore I was going to pick up the hottest guy in the bar.

I didn't have anyone picked out...just this idea that I was going to do something crazy. I was really shy. This was a challenge.

When I got to the bar, there wasn't much going on. I sipped my drink, not wanting to get too drunk; part of the challenge was to be at least half-assed sober when I did it. I looked around, but didn't see anyone I just had to have.

Then he walked in. Tall, well over six feet. Broad shoulders. Nice ass. Dark hair and smouldering eyes. Perfect.

I had seen him before, several months prior, when he had tried to pick up my sister by putting a cigarette out in her shirttails. He was a magician, and it was a cool trick. These things always happen to my sister - she's the pretty one. Of course, she had told him to fuck off, and I had never seen him since.

Until that night.

I ordered a second drink, screwing up my courage and plotting my attack. I watched him like a hawk (or a good stalker-in-training); he was with a couple of friends, and they didn't seem to be drinking much. They all sat in a group, except when they were dancing. They didn't always dance with partners, but would spread out on the dance floor and pull crazy moves. Eventually, one friend went to the bathroom, and the Magician and the remaining friend went up to dance. On opposite sides of the floor. Without partners.

I saw my opportunity.

Drink in hand, I sauntered across the dance floor, trying to look seductive. I got in close to him, and swayed in time with him and the music. On my tiptoes, I leaned in close, so my lips were just brushing his ear, and said:

"Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?"

His jaw dropped. He stopped dancing. He had that wide-eyed look of a deer just before it gets hit by an 18-wheeler.

His friend came over to ask if he was okay.

The Magician grinned and assured his friend that things were alright. He looked at me, and asked me to repeat myself.

"You heard me" I said.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night, except the end. We were parked in a field, making out in his car, and I realized I didn't have it in me to sleep with a total stranger. I told him so. He just kind of shrugged, and kissed me some more. Later, when he dropped me off, he gave me his number, written on the back of a cigarette package. He was a good sport. I called him the next day.

We spent the next six months taking random road trips, skinnydipping in the river, and staying up way past our bedtimes discussing Freud and philosophy. Oh, yeah, and the sex was great, once we got around to it. He told all his friends how we had met. Hell, he even told his father. It was a great time.

Until he lost his job, borrowed $2,000 to move closer to me, and rode off into the sunset, never to be seen again...

I'd never admit it out loud, but the fun was worth it.

And you know...he did have nice shoes.