To read the beginning of this second date with Cry Baby Romeo click HERE
For the rest of you, let’s just right back into it…
So like I said the movie ended, he didn’t get up to leave, and I was busy rolling snowballs. And yet somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to move onto the bed with him. It could’ve been the lack of flirting or the fact that I would have to find another way to be turned on by him since humor was clearly not a strong point. But whatever it was, I was hesitant and frankly it all just seemed to cheesy. So instead, like a pair of nervous 18 year olds, we put another movie on. Good Will Hunting. Which he had never seen. Obviously we were doomed. And then he made fun of my desire to live in Boston regardless of the fact that I haven’t ever been there. And yes yes, I know I know, it all sounds so disastrously bad now. But remember hindsight is 20/20 and it’s that goddamn eternal optimism always biting me in the ass!
And that’s when it happened. I grabbed my balls grabbed a blanket and joined him on the bed. It was all very go hard or go home and I was going to get it hard or he was going to go home. And that’s when it happened!!
I laid there awkwardly in some sort of big spoon to his little spoon situation for another ten minutes before he finally got the balls to throw up a move. He lifted his arm and gave me the nook. Finally. And at first it was good *push snowball* not half bad I kept thinking *go snowball go*. Only. Then. He pounced. He turned to me and while I was expecting the icing sugar kisses of our first date, he plied me the weight of a thousand bad decisions.
I’m not even joking. It’s like he was on top of me but he wasn’t. I honestly don’t know exactly what was happening but it’s possible I was in some sort of pseudo lover’s headlock. What I DO know!?! Is that at one point I actually smacked my head against the wall because it had taken that much force to wedge it away from his misguided attention.
And then here’s where it’s like I had rolled the snowball up a mountain. Slowly. Laboriously. I had committed to this goal. I had plotted the plan and put it into action. And I was at the top. I could breathe easy. Except. Except. oh my god. it’s rolling towards me. it’s going to topple me. crush me. and then it does only it takes me with it. Before I even have a chance to catch my breath the snowball is dragging me down the hill over and over and over again.
You see. In some sort of lightening quick motion we had gone from bad kissing to tops off to ridiculously misguided unarousing pizza dough kneading rough in all the wrong ways 2nd basing. And I know what you’re thinking.
You told him to stop right?
You sent his ass packing right?
There’s no way you slept with him right?
And my optimistic head hangs in shame. And not because I had a one-off. But because I’m officially part of the problem. I rewarded pathetic pansy ass no balls moronic idiotic undeserving unendearing behavior with sex. Now certainly not repeat sex. But the very fact that CryBabyRomeo even got to see my skivvies is a testament to the kind of dizzying effect optimism and the belief that people have to JUST SIMPLY HAVE TO be more than they’re showing me has on me.
And here’s the even worse part. We weren’t that far in before I realized the snowball had obliterated me down the hill and I know longer wanted to play outside in the snow. But, like how do you get out of that?!?! And on the one hand, the feminist in me says you put a stop to it immediately, you tell the boy you’re not feeling it, and you send him on his way.
But sometimes you can’t think that fast.
And sometimes it’s just not that easy.
And there’s still always that goddamn optimism that thinks it’ll get better, if you just…if you get him to just…aww fuck just cum already so I can go to sleep yo…and quit fucking poking my uterus you moron. And that was really it too. If I was turned on maybe his long dick wouldn’t have been such a problem. But I wasn’t. And so it was. And speaking of long. It fucking went on forever. FOREVER! Worst. Ugh. Worst.
But is he really a moron? For a hundred other things yes. But for this, no. Now to be clear, no orgasms were faked in the making of this disaster but… I will admit that I pretended to be having a lot more fun than the real me was having. And that’s mostly because I just wanted him to finish already and take a hike. Worst. Blargh. And I would file it all under things that I regret except for what ended up happening much later than week…all because I had ridiculously bad sex with CryBabyRomeo. But more on that later.
For now I’ll just finish this decidedly disappointing tale of the booty-call that couldn’t. After we had finished (and I use the term we loosely, as I clearly did not finish) and gotten dressed, he just sat there. On my bed. As if waiting for a chat or something. I’m not even joking, I was literally ready to start tapping my wrist to mimic a watch with the international sign language for let’s fucking go buddy. Luckily he eventually got the hint and hit the bricks.
Vancouver Dating Blog: Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time
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