In for a Pounding…

This guy — A —  is going in my hall of fame for being 47 and fucking me five times in two hours without pharmaceutical assistance.  I was like a rag doll when we left the hot-sheet motel he took me to. I have bite marks all over me, sigh.
I actually ignored this guy when he first contacted me, because he looked kind of rough around the edges. Last week he contacted me again and I thought — wait for it — “why not?”
He mounted a text and phone pursuit that’s becoming familiar now — and invited me to meet him the day we started talking, which would normally be out of the question for me. But he insisted and I just knew his arrogant inconsiderate ass would be phenomenal in bed, I just felt it.
He had told me earlier in the day: “We need to take it slow, ’cause we’re headed straight to the bedroom.”  Sexual chemistry is a powerful thing. Slow? I could be dead tomorrow. Fuck me now.

As a type, he was instantly familiar to me — problems with emotional intimacy and vulnerability — it was like 1987 all over again talking to him (as in the emotionally abusive guy I spent most of my 20s with), so I knew I would never see  him again, but jeez I had to have him. Tall (like 6’5) dark and handsome, with crazy hazel eyes that are just…ok as I was saying…
So after we leave the party he invited me to, I’m still pretending to myself that I’m not going to sleep with him, but then as we’re walking the conversation gets interesting. I’m not sure if we kissed before or after this conversation. I don’t remember what I said that he responded “you can’t say that to me I’m a horny bastard.” And before I could think — I said “Then we’re perfectly matched.”  And he slowly looks down at me and says “why is that?”  Oh yeah. “cause I’m a horny bitch.”  I was very ladylike when I said this. It helps.

There’s something about being thrown around a bed like a toy. It’s incredibly erotic. Although A is not as well-endowed (and I won’t get into guys’ sizes here, its not nice) as I expected, he truly knows what he’s doing and manages to reduce me to jelly every time, but the last couple of times, doggie-style, he out-does himself. I think I blacked-out a second the last time. I hate it that I was a blissed-out mess and he just lay there clicking the remote like nothing happened. Well okay the last time he actually did fall asleep, but holy stamina Batman! If only he had a different personality…

A Word to Dudes Online-Give a Girl a Break!

Dating at mid-life is difficult enough. When you add the online component, it can become its own circle of hell. It’s not that there is no happy to be found, but the sheer volume of insanity that you must muck through to find it is beyond daunting. Especially, if like me, you hate dating in the first place. It’s online dating and it could be worse. But holy crap.
If the downside is the volume of crazy, the upside is that you get to cut off most of the crazy in without having to wear heels or leave your house. So there’s that. It helps to keep positive, take nothing personally and have a sense of humor.
It’s online dating and it could be worse. But holy crap. You men out there need to get a grip.
Guys, really??!!! You think that baseball cap is a youthful alternative to a bald spot? Sideways? Backwards? In words I never use…please, STOP. Not only do men older than 12 look idiotic in baseball caps, the cap throws a shadow over your face making your ugly mugs look scarier and more nefarious. Stop with the caps guys, please. We all know you’re bald under there and we don’t care. All we wanna know is if you have a 401K and can you keep it up longer than a minute.
And to the married guys…yeah, we know who you are,  and you’re not fooling anyone. Why is your profile pic in a bathroom? Is that somehow supposed to be sexy? Are you trying to impress us with your tile work?  No, it’s  so your wife won’t catch your cheating ass posting a profile on a dating site. Get out of the basement, the attic, the bathroom and the closet guys, before we GPS your ass and mail your wife your profile, ok?A word about undershirts gentlemen. Unless you look like the photo above when shirtless, you should not be photographing yourself in anything other than a t-shirt or button-down shirt. I don’t care how toned your biceps are, or how many wrestling awards you won in high school. It’s 2012 and you need to put a goddamn shirt on, because really unless you spend 2 hours a day at the gym, you need to cover it up.
Oh and the only one impressed by the car, boat, motorcycle or other moving vehicle in your pic is you. We think it’s nice you can afford one in this day an age, but we’d rather see you up close than straddling some machine we don’t give a fuck about.
And lastly — update your damn pictures. Guys, what’s with these friggin’ pics from 20 years ago? Who cares you were hot in 1987?  You expect me to sit down and talk with a guy who looks like the father of the dude I emailed? I don’t think so. Does that make me shallow? No, it makes you a lying douche bag.

Image credit: close-up of photo of actor Gilles Marini. Probably a publicity shot © unconfirmed, no infringement intended.
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