Like most people, I was giving match.com a shot because my life was so busy I never met anyone. A tall guy with auburn hair (I am huge a sucker for auburn hair) and green eyes asked me out on a date, so I thought why not give it a shot? To be honest I wasn’t sure if I felt a huge attraction, but it is hard to be attracted to a two dimensional photo. So off I went, to Matisse for my date.
He had recently hurt his leg during basketball (which I knew beforehand), and was in a giant leg brace that stood out like a sore thumb – he was probably 6’4”. He had to prop his leg up on a chair next to our table the whole date. My lukewarm attraction was solidifying, and I knew that while he was a nice guy, he wasn’t for me.
After the booze kicked in, he told me he was a “late developer” and wasn’t interested in girls until he was older. Now I am the kinda gal that cuts right to the chase, and if you give me a martini you won’t get any sugar coating either. I asked him how old he was the first time he masturbated, and he said 17. Now for most this may not seem like a big deal, but I am a sexual person so a guy not choking his chicken until junior year of high school seems a bit strange. Hell, I figured it out before then and I’m a girl.
I had a very long day and I decided that I was going to make the most of it, have some drinks and then go home. All was going as planned until the booth seat under him started moving and he started sinking, his long, injured leg raising quickly into the air. I didn’t know what to do, there was no way I was strong enough (or sober enough) to help him up. I tried, but the waitress had to come by and help pull him up, all while the people around us laughed. I felt bad for him, especially since I had already decided that I didn’t like him.
I didn’t push him away when he went in for the kiss and surrendered for a quick pity smooch, but I never called him back after that either.
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I was looking for a new hair salon, something nearby, when I found a cute little hair salon owned by a man from Italy. I thought I would support my heritage and give it a shot. The owner did a fantastic job with my haircut, and after telling me that my beautiful eyes would pop with a lighter chestnut shade, I found myself making another appointment for a hair color. Much to my surprise since the salon is in Boystown, I figured out that he wasn’t gay in the middle of my second appointment. By the time I left the salon he had asked me out to practice speaking Italian together (I was taking lessons) and I was sent off with a kiss on the lips.
When we met up, we had to stay near the salon because there was a photo shoot his stylist was supervising involving a model with a Hershey kiss-shaped black wig, two dogs, a Vespa, and a huge drumset being played by a lookalike Elvis. It was walking into the circus, and of course I loved it. We started talking over a glass of wine next door, but he had to go back to the salon to close up. He suggested that I go with him.
The next thing I knew he was kissing me in the middle of a dark hair salon next to the hair washing station. It was totally surreal. Then he started getting a bit strange on me – he moved his lips back and forth across mine like he was motorboating my face, all while trying to knead my rear end off with his hands. I kept moving his hands to my waist, but he was determined. Then I noticed he was humping me as I stood there, frozen. So there I was, being rattled from top to (literally) bottom, and I was completely overwhelmed. Even in my stone cold sobriety I didn’t know how to react. I was so shocked, we had only been out for an hour!
He called again, but I didn’t bother answering. I don’t need to be some greasy Italian hairdresser’s humping pole. Now I am not only on the market for a date, I am looking for a new hairdresser. Any suggestions anyone?
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In the conceptual phases of LustandBust.com, Cheeky and I wanted to test pilot our idea out on different audiences. At a local restaurant, there was a really handsome waiter – and by handsome I mean white teeth, liquid brown eyes, thick black hair and a great smile – giving me the googly eyes so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to test pilot and flirt at the same time. Sure enough, he liked our idea and started talking about his dating busts. Within five minutes he had actually told us quite a bit about himself. He asked me out and I couldn’t really say no, but I remember thinking he was hotter when I didn’t know anything about him. A bit of an oversharer!
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I was studying abroad when I met a dashing French man who caught my eye. We started hanging out, and I thought hmmmmm kissing a French guy – this should be interesting! After all, the French DID invest the French Kiss, right? The accent was pretty hot, and it didn’t take long before he leaned in.
You can imagine my horror when he was not only a bad kisser, but to this day one of the worst kissers I have experienced. The rhythm was bad, it was fueled with passion on his end that I hadn’t even developed yet (or maybe I just wasn’t that into him I don’t know) and the KICKER – his lips had the texture of crushed cornflakes. Do they not use chapstick in France?
I wasn’t quite sure what to do next, but a couple of days later he asked me for a picture so that he could show his mom who his girlfriend was. I ended it the next day.
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I was on a date with a tall, muscley fireman who picked me up in his pickup truck. I placed my purse on the floor after getting in, and unbeknownst to me, my mace fell out onto the floor. I didn’t even notice because it blended in with the floor carpeting. After a fun evening of sushi and wine, he dropped me off. I had had a good time, but I didn’t really feel that there was a true connection between us. We just seemed to be on completely different planes.
The next day, he called to tell me that he had found the mace but hadn’t known what it was. He then laughingly recounted that he was curious, and had then sprayed it in his face while he was driving. Yeah.
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I was single on Valentine’s Day, so rather than sit at home and watch sappy movies with ice cream, I decided to go out on a date with a guy I found on match.com. We met at a V-Day neutral bar (no couples, no tacky red hearts and cheesy music, etc) and I was pleased to see that when I saw him in person, he was just as cute as his pictures.
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As I was walking to my apartment complex, I got an urgent business call and sat on a bench to take it. As I was scrambling taking notes and information, a cute guy sat down on the other end of the bench eating a bag of Doritos. In between calls, I apologized for him having to listen to my business blather. After my calls were done, we started chatting and hit it off. He was a bartender, he lived on the 8th floor of my building and he had cute blue eyes.
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Through a friend, I had met a nice guy named Alan on St Patrick’s Day. We had hit it off, he was kinda cute and since we had mutual friends I figured I would give it a shot. We decided to bike Critical Mass, but after running around town late, we missed it. We then headed over to Kuma’s and chatted over a few beers. From there, we headed back to his place and [hidepost]drank with his roommates. It was going well, but the whole time I was looking at him and wondering his age – he seemed to look younger than when I first met him. I am 28 and I don’t want to deal with little boys.
He made a comment on something age-related, and I took it as my cue and asked him outright. He was 23!!!! I almost died. Within 10 minutes, I said I had to go and jumped on my bike. I raced 6 miles across town to meet up with a group of friends at another bar. A friend said she had someone she wanted to set me up with – hey why not?
Phew, I was safe in the hands of peers in my age group with a cold beer in my hand. Over a cigarette outside, my friend filled me in. He was a really nice guy, hard-working, kind of shy and while I might not like him off the bat, I should give him a shot. She was really hammered and I was suspicious – did she basically just tell me he was unattractive?
When we walked back in, she introduced me. He wasn’t my type – he was wearing a flannel, had long hair would have worked in the 90’s but not anymore, had a good amount of acne scarring and was afraid to make eye contact. But I couldn’t be rude, so I talked with him for awhile. As usual, the conversation inevitably took the “What do you do?” turn. I explained I owned a PR firm and he told me that – get this ladies – he managed a comic book store.
I tried to conceal my shell shock, but all I could think of was the Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons. This guy probably hadn’t been laid in years unless you count making sweet sweet love to his mint Marvel comic collection.
I finished my beer and decided to call it a night. Two strikeouts in one night was all I could take!
-Pretty
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How is the summer fling season starting off for you?
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At a night out at Joey’s Brickhouse, a guy asked for my number. He was very persuasive and aggressive, so I obliged. Mind you, I had several drinks floating around my liver and I couldn’t quite remember what he looked like. Also, he was sitting down when I met him. Needless to say, for weeks he txted and called trying to take me out. Realizing that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I agreed to meet him for a drink at his condo on a Sunday night. I figured that way if it went badly, I hadn’t given up a prime night anyway.
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