Tag: get laid

Reality Check

Yeah, I watched Sex in the City.  Not first run, ’cause I don’t have cable, but in reruns.    One of the episodes that made an impression on me is when Carrie was hired to teach a Learning Annex class on where to meet men.  Hundreds of women show up, and of course she has nothing new or insightful to tell them.  I can relate to the women in that audience in a way that I never could to the 4 characters on the show.  They represented the real single women of Manhattan. They didn’t have thousands of dollars to spend on designer clothes and shoes and bags and they didn’t get invited to trendy night club openings.  But they were there, trying, willing to try anything, even willing to shell out a few bucks and humiliate themselves by showing up at a Learning Annex class because they were tired of being single.  They didn’t see single-ness as a great adventure, to be chronicled in a weekly column or blogged about.  They were lonely.

I’ve been pretty lucky as far as single women in New York go.  I’m not freakishly shy (unless I have to walk into a party alone – that one still gets me every time) and I don’t have any weird hang-ups about online dating and so I date a lot. Less than I used to, sure, because I’ve passed the deadly age of 35 and I refuse to lie about my age and well, for a lot of guys I’ve passed my expiration date.  But still, a lot. There are literally thousands of straight, smart, attractive single guys in New York.  Of course, most of them either just want to get laid or can’t figure out what they want but are perfectly happy to jerk you around until they figure it out.  I put the odds of meeting one of the few good ones, one of the ones worth trying to build a life with at somewhere around 1 in 50.  A girl’s got to kiss a lot of frogs.
I’ve already kissed more than my fair share and then some.

I Was Warned Redux

For our second date he asked me out to dinner, in his neighborhood, a long subway ride away from my apartment and an exorbitently expensive nighttime cab ride home. It seemed pretty clear to me that he was thinking I’d spend the night at his place.

I accepted his invitation but I promised myself and made a big show of saying to my friends that there was no way in hell that I was going back to his place after dinner. And then, of course, I did go back to his place after dinner. And I spent the night. And, yeah, the sex was amazing.

That’s probably why I put up with him for so long and why he bothered to pretend that he wanted more than to just get laid. There’s something to be said for knowing that no matter what, your sex life rocks. Then again, I eventually ended it. Great sex is good, but it’s not everything.

Dating in the Slow Lane

So last night was my third date with necking guy. For those of you who are just reading this blog for the first time, here’s the quick info on necking guy – good first date: fun, smart, interesting, cute (in a white bread kind of way that I don’t usually go for, but I’m trying to broaden my horizons), a little touchy and a quick kiss but all pretty innocent and sweet. Maybe too sweet. I kind of expected him to say, “Aw, shucks”.

Things heated up on our second date, but only slightly. We went out to dinner and had a nice conversation. He grabbed my hand and held it and played with it during dinner – sweet but again, almost too sweet. After dinner we went for a walk (we were a short walk from his apt, btw) and ended up at a local playground, swinging on a swingset. He pushed me on a swing for a good five minutes and then we ended up necking like a couple of kids, in the park with nowhere to go for privacy.

So last night was our third date. I had to be in my neighborhood until 8:30, prior obligations, and so I suggested we meet for a late dinner somewhere near my apt. We had a lovely dinner at a place of his choosing( I suggested he choose a place and that caused quite a mini drama of indecision on his part) and after dessert I suggested we go for a walk. I aimed us towards my apartment.

When we reached my building I stopped for a few minutes to see how he would react. He stood there, like a fool, a good two feet from me. So I had no choice, it was up to me. I asked him if he’d like to come up for a few minutes. I almost didn’t, since he wasn’t even making an effort (and I like my guys to be the ones to do that stuff) but I did.

We went upstairs and within a few minutes we were on my sofa kissing – very, very slowly. I’ll spare you most of the details, but here’s the summary. An hour and fifteen minutes later we were still on the sofa. Still kissing. Most of our clothes were still on (my shirt was gone but as I decided to dress kind of slutty, it was only a little, lacy tank top anyway). I was determined to let things proceed at his speed, as frustrating and bewildering as that was for me. An hour and fifteen minutes of making out on the sofa with most of our clothes on – that was his speed.

At that point it was 12:15 and I was tired. Just plain tired. So I told him it was time for me to ask him to leave. And he actually protested. Meekly, but he protested. A feeble, “are you sure you want me to go?” Jeez, he’d been there for over an hour already and we were still in the slow lane. When was he planning on making a move? I’d worn my slutty, I-want-to-get-laid tank top and then invited him up to my apartment and he was too clueless or slow or, lord knows what, to close the deal. Really, I don’t think it’s me. I wasn’t being unclear. I was sending out all the right signals.

Whatever the issue was, miscommunication or different expectations, I don’t think I’m cut out for dating in the slow lane. The guy’s sweet, sure. But all of his sweetness is getting on my last nerve.

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