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.

Ancient History #3 - Sunshine on your Face

M. and I had discussed anal sex on several occasions. He wanted to try, just to see what it was like. My reply was that, in general, I thought it should feel good, since a gentle finger up my ass at the right moment was enough to send me over the edge. But, when I had actually tried anal sex, it had HURT LIKE HELL. I told him we could try, but I was pretty dubious about the whole idea. He never pushed it, though.

We went out for a nice Vietnamese dinner one Friday night, then came home, watched a movie in bed, and got it on. It was one of those not-quickie-but-not-all-night sessions, the sort of sex you have when you know someone really well, and can both get off pretty quickly, then get on to the snuggling-and-reviewing-your-week part.

After, we laid in bed, spooning, and discussing our respective weeks. I don't know what we were talking about, but something got his attention, and I realised he was poking me again. I rocked my hips a little, pushing back against him. We were just kind of messing around, but his cock was rubbing against my ass, and it felt good.

Wouldn't you know it, but he just slid in, no pain or anything. It felt great, and I told him not to stop. He didn't.

Well, I have to admit, Vietnamese gives me gas. A few minutes after we finished, I got that urgent feeling, like "uh-oh".

I ran to the toilet, sat down, and farted. Sort of. I mean, farts are just gas, right? This one was...drippy. Disgusting, really. He could hear it from the bedroom, and was laughing his ass off.

The next morning, M was up first. He noticed that the coffee pot hadn't been turned off from the night before. He blamed me.

I told him there was no way it was my fault.

I told him I was perfect, and would never forget to turn off the coffee pot.

I told him I had a halo and farted sunshine.

He looked at me and burst out laughing. "Is THAT what you call it?" he giggled. "Sure gives a whole new meaning to 'sunshine on your face'..."

Ancient Histroy #2: Donkey Dong

Well, I was doing my daily reading, and came across two posts that probably only relate to each other in MY head:

http://briliantdonkey.blogspot.com/2007/02/blind-man-walks-into-restaurant.html

and

http://swimminginthedatingpool.blogspot.com/2007/02/boat-sizes-and-ocean-motions.html

It reminded me of this guy I knew...

It all started when my girlfriend, Wiley, invited me down to The City for the weekend. I agreed, but only if we went out and got crazy. That was Wiley's cue to invite her pal Fruity.

Fruity is a fag. I mean this in the nicest possible way, but Fruity is...well...a fruit. A Fairy. Light in the loafers. Queer as a three-dollar bill. He likes pink and frilly things. He plays it up, too...the more homophobic you act, the campier he gets, which makes a night out on the town with him endlessly amusing for sick bastards like me.

We went to a club. Not a regular club. The sort of place where I REALLY stand out, but only by virtue of being the ONLY one in the place not wearing rubber, chains, or a feather boa. Because my hair colour can't be described in terms of kool-aid flavours. Because I haven't got a single facial piercing or visible tattoo. THAT kinda club. In fact, I think you need a membership to attend, though Fruity probably took care of that well in advance.

Going out with a gay guy and a straight girl is...amusing. Fruity and I quickly established that we have the same taste in men. After a few drinks, we took to sending Wiley to talk to the hotties, to establish which team they batted for (like I said, it was THAT kind of club). Fruity and I agreed that if the hottie was bi, we'd flip a coin to see who would get him. Heads for me, and Tails for Fruity, of course.

Fruity pointed out the bartender. He was CUTE. We sent Wiley on a scouting mission, and the reply came back in my favor, so I went up to order the next round, and strike up a conversation. As luck would have it, the Bartender was single, and willing to join me for a coffee after his shift.

For a hot bartender, he had suprisingly little ego. He was witty and fun, and also blind. I was pretty impressed - you gotta be SMART to be able to memorise the location of every liquor bottle in the rack, and talented to be able to mix a drink you can't see. He explained that he could see, a little...he could tell where my face was for instance, but couldn't tell what I looked like. I didn't fuss too much about the handicap...in fact, I took it as a bonus, as it meant that I didn't have to bother with makeup when we went out on dates. How convienent!

After a few dates, we went back to his place for 'a nightcap'.

After a few 'nightcaps', we wound up making out on the couch.

One thing led to another, and we found ourselves in the bedroom. Eventually, naked.

I swear to god, the floor shook when he unleashed that monster from his pants. It might have been from the impact of my jaw hitting the ground...that thing was HUGE. I've never seen anything THAT size on a creature smaller than a HORSE. I mean, it was as big as my ARM.

My pussy whimpered.

"You plan to put THAT where?"

"What do you mean?"

Turns out, Donkey Dong had NO IDEA that he could be making his living as a porn star...or a circus freak, for that matter. I guess it makes sense...I mean, he was blind. He'd never seen another man's penis in the gym showers. He'd never seen the envious glances that I'm certain he got in said showers. He was absolutely clueless.

I half-heartedly retrieved a condom from my handbag. The packet had a smaller diameter than his penis. Crinkling it thoughtfully, I told him I didn't think I could go through with having sex with him.

As he closed the door behind me, he said

"This is because of my disability, isn't it. You think I'm a freak."

Well, yeah...

But not in the way that he thought...

Fruity sure was jealous when I told him about it, though...apparently gay men looooveee a huge cock...

Ancient History #1 - What do you do with a boy?

Well, with this cold just getting more and more miserable, I don't imagine I'll have much to say about dating for a bit. I mean, if I'm too sick to go to work, I shouldn't be out there spreading the disease. Besides, I gave myself a week to mope over the London trip (turned out to be totally unnecessary), and have nothing lined up.

It had never occurred to me when I started this blog that total strangers would actually make a regular effort to see what I had to say. Suddenly, I feel compelled to write something...I'd hate to let the six of you down...

So, I thought I'd dust off the ancient history.



I was raised in a lesbian household. In my world, there was Mom and Mom #2, and Dad was a rather distant, shady character, as he lived in another city entirely, and had twice-a month weekend visitation, when he had time for it. I was five when my biological parents divorced, and seven when my moms moved in together.

Mom has lived consistently with women for the majority of the last 25 years, but does not consider herself a lesbian. She dated a man for about two months when I was a teenager, and I have to say her taste in women is MUCH BETTER than her taste in men. However, I suppose in her mind, two months in 25 years is enough to qualify her as 'not a lesbian'. Of course, she doesn't think she's bisexual, either. I usually quit asking nosy questions at that point, lest I get some evasive hippy answer like 'love makes the world go round' or 'everyone deserves to be loved'. Personally, I think Mom hasn't figured out that it's the New Millenium now, and nobody really cares if she's gay.

Mom #2, Mom's first long-term girlfriend, was as dyke-y as a dyke can possibly get. Her main hobby (after man-bashing) was woodworking. She ALWAYS showed up at the Take Back The Night marches (usually with my sister and I in tow, chanting slogans and pumping our little fists in the air). Mom #2 even had the army boots and the classic leather bull-dyke hat. She was butch with a capital 'B". And feminist with a capital 'F'. She probably would have scratched her crotch in public, if it weren't so reminicent of The Patriarchy. She thought that sex with men was sleeping with the enemy.

I was never confused about whether or not I liked boys. Ever. It was never in question. Mom probably realised that early on, but Mom #2 held out hope until about my third boyfriend, at which point she gave up and recognised that I really was (unfortunately) straight.

Being raised by lesbians in an all-female household really does not equip you for dating boys. I learned to dance in an environment where the taller person leads...and I was 5'8 by the age of 16. I STILL expect my partner to WANT to talk about his feelings, all the time. When two girls move in together, they immediately go shopping for curtains and matching throw-pillows. When a girl and a boy move in together, you're lucky if he agrees to restrict his dirty-sock pile to the bedroom floor intead of the whole house. Dating boys was just FULL of nasty suprises.

I had some idea of how straight sex was supposed to work - we were a Liberal, Progressive family, and had books about these sorts of things (but no TV). As a child, I had a illustrated book about bodily functions, which included a section about what a man and a woman do when they really, really love each other, and want to make a baby. Unfortunately, there wasn't much elaboration, and the Joy of Sex that was hidden in MY parents' bedroom was the one that was strictly girly action. Our Bodies Our Selves is not terribly educational about penises, either (though I must admit it is VERY educational about g-spots and clitorises, and I got REALLY good at masturbation...) My moms were pretty open about things like bodies and sexuality, but much of that simply didn't pertain to straight sex, just by virtue of their own preferences.

Mom did buy a big box of condoms when I had my first period, and put them in the basement bathroom. She told me that she didn't care if I used them, handed them out to my friends, or blew them up as balloons, and that she would never ask where they had gone, but would replace the box when it got empty. I got The Talk about the mechanics of preventing pregnancy and STD's, but no real details about actually having sex. To be honest, the first few boxes wound up being inflated and stuck to my friends' lockers as pranks...

Despite being raised in an all-girl home, I knew about penises, in an academic sort of way. They were the Instruments Of Oppression. Symbols of The Patriarchy. I had no idea that they were so...funny-looking. Really, you expect Instruments Of Oppression to be so much more...impressive. I probably ruined my first chance of a serious sexual adventure by snickering when I had my first glimpse of the Symbol Of The Patriarchy...something referred to in Capital Letters really has no right to be so pink and cute.

Most of my education about girl-boy action was based on hints I had gleaned from reading the Clan of the Cave Bear series and a few of Mom's romance novels. I still have a much-loved and carefully bookmarked copy of the Valley of the Horses. When I finally got around to Sleeping With The Enemy, however, I discovered that BOYS don't read those sorts of books, and have NO IDEA what to do with GIRLS, except for what THEY gleaned from reading their fathers' Penthouse Letters. Up until the age of 25 or so, most guys seem to think 'clitoris' is Latin for The Holy Grail, and don't seem to understand that it's ALSO a REAL BODY PART. You'd NEVER have that problem dating girls.

Thankfully, guys do get better at that sort of thing as they age, and I've never wavered about my preferences...bring on The Instruments Of Oppression, baby!