Come Back Charlie: First Dates and the Battle to Keep Your Clothes On

First Dates


[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o the toilet was about to overflow…and then it wasn’t.  He fixed the problem (old building, old plumbing), cleaned up and was back to the movie and me in no time with no resounding repercussions except that I was now terrified to go to the bathroom.

Minor bathroom mishap aside, the date was going great.  We were snuggling on the couch, his arm around me, his hand playing with my curls, his hand in my hand, his hand on my leg.  And pretty soon it was happening.  That look.  That thing guys do.  When I know they’re getting ready to try to kiss me.  I can sense it.  I can feel it.  And most of all, I can see it.  Out of the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision, there he is, just looking at me, instead of the movie (much like with the 23 year old only a few nights before).  And then it happened.  He kissed me.

Admittedly (and I’ve mentioned a hundred, or 8 or so, times before), there’s always a grace period.  A moment where you’re just trying to calm your nerves, you’re just trying to suss out how the other person moves, whose lips go where, whose tongue likes to do what, before it all just comes together.  And come together it did.  His mouth, wet and warm, moved in sync with mine.  His soft juicy lips pressed against mine, my bottom lip sliding into his mouth to find a gentle suck, his bottom lip sliding into my mouth to find a little nibble, a little flick of the tongue across the bottom of his upper lip, his tongue on parade in my mouth.  And that’s just the kissing.

At some point I’m pretty sure the movie ended.  I think the guy came in off the ledge.  Who knows.  We had been making out for the most of it.  Then, given that he wasn’t going to be getting any of my clothes off tonight excepting whatever he managed to get access to by shuffling my maxi dress down a bit and going in on my bra, and the fact that he worked the next morning at 7am, I figured I should probably make my exit.  He, however, didn’t see things quite the same way and wanted to keep me around.

Maybe he thought he could convince me to go further?

Maybe he just liked having me around?

Maybe making out and dry humping on the luxuriously soft leather couch that somehow also had room for the both of us to lie down on (me in his nook and on his chest) was enough for him?

Who knows.  But he asked me to stay, and stay I did.

We spent the next two hours or so locked in some sort of snuggle-cuddle-makeout-trace the muscles of his chest with my fingers-cuddle-makeout-laugh at something on TV-makeout-attempts to set my boobs free-cuddle-snuggle-makeout-tussle until eventually it really was time for me to go.  But not before him telling me all the dirty things he wanted to do to me…like go down on me.  Which I know you’ll all think I’m insane for declining but as soon as the pants off there’s never any going back and dammit, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times…I LIKE MY FUCKING STAGES.

It’s not about dating rules.

It’s not about whether or not he’ll call me if I sleep with him.

I’m not worried about whether he’ll respect me in the morning.

I…like making out.

I…like the first moment he feels how wet he makes me, and the first time he puts his fingers inside me.

I…don’t want to rush.

I…like the fucking buildup and dammit I need it.

And so, on this first date, I kept all my clothes on, and my stages in tact.  And hopefully there would be a second, or third, or fourth date, with Come Back Charlie, in my near future.


Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

A Christmas Miracle: The Nick Name Gets A 2nd Date


So it was Christmas Eve, I was all snuggled in bed, and then The Nick Name called.  And I can’t lie, it was good to hear his voice again.  It started with just the usual chatter.  How has work been?  Good but busy obviously.  He asked about my exams.  I told him about Shakespeare.  How it had gone so amazingly well.  How I had wanted to call and tell him about it.  Since in this bizarre turn of events.  He knew all about my schoolwork.  Mainly because I generally think people will find it so boring I don’t really talk to my friends about it.  Sure I tell them hey guess what…did really well…blah blah blah.  But I don’t talk about my papers.  Tell them what I’m arguing.  How I’m going to do it.  The response.  The whole shabang.  But because I had been talking to him so much during paper writing/exams.  He knew all that stuff.  So truth be told when I aced Shakespeare…and the whole term in general really.  It was him I wanted to call.  [Sidenote: I would need to correct this behavior].

And that’s when he told me.  That obviously we were cool with each other.  An awesome chick.  We’re grownups.  And all that.  That if I wanted to talk to him.  I should just call.  Not to worry about all the other bullshit.  Okay I said.  Sounds good.  Plus.  He said.  It’s not like he was the only busy one.  It was me too.  Busy with school.  And he didn’t want to be harassing me to hang out either.  And honestly.  After that I can’t really remember what else we talked about.  Mostly it was just nice connecting again.  I do know that neither of us was super keen on waiting the 5 days till our Wednesday dinner date plan.  And so we decided.  To have a coffee.  Or go for a walk.  Something.  Anything.  To hang out the next day.  Christmas Day.  In between his family breakfast and dinner.  Till tomorrow we said.  Night.

Christmas day came.  But plans got a little busy.  Shocking I know.  Though this time it was definitely me getting busier.  Because originally I had planned for a blissfully alone Christmas Day Dinnertime too.  Only I ended up spending it with an AWESOME group of people (playing it fast and loose, wild and free, Princess Amazing forever!).  So suddenly our free time became a little more cramped.  No big deal though.  Instead of afternoon coffee/walk we would do an after Christmas Dinner movie.

Dinner was amazing.  Yahtzee was brilliant.  And then it was time for me to depart.  But not before my brother enlightened everyone that I had DOUBLE BOOKED them.  LOL.  Hey!  A girl’s only got so much time off for Xmas break eh?!?!

So I headed over to TheNickName’s place.  Which I won’t lie.  Wasn’t as impressive as I had hoped in my imagination.  But in all honesty.  You never really know.  Trucker Joe had a brand new condo (and I’m certain a shitload of debt).  TheNickName lived in a 2 bedroom basemant suite.  Plus.  Ya know.  Who am I to judge.  People in glass houses and all of that.  But still.  I expected.  Er.  Um.  More.

But I digress.  Nothing ever happens that effortlessly with me.  The Queen of Awkward.  The Princess of Oops and Sloppy.  The Bear of Vancouver if you will.  So he said go through the gate.  Off the alley.  To the door at the back.  Now I’m not totally retarded.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  I’m nervous.  This is only our second fucking date.  I’ve never been to his place before.  And I ask you.  If someone told you the door around back.  And you saw a door.  Around the back.  Would you check for more than one?  Of course not.  How many fucking doors can one house have?!?!?!  Apparently at least 3.  But in my defense.  There was also a blinding spotlight.  And the door was FUCKING OPEN!

So there I am.  Walking up the garden path.  Straight for the open door.  That’s around back.  And as I get to the top of the 3 stairs.  Hello?  A dude appears.  But not my dude.  And even better than this fucking awkward moment.  I cannot for the life of me remember TheNickName’s name.  So I stand there.  Making some kind of um..uh…is this…um…uh…is he…um…uh noise.  Until the dude saves me and says are you looking for TheNickName?  I stammer.  Yes.  Down and around he says.  And there’s TheNickName.  Standing there.  Having seen the whole thing.  At the OTHER fucking door in the back.  Stupid.  Fucking.  Tons-of-doors!

So I head inside.  We hug.  He shows me around the place.  At some point he sneaks in.  Snags a quick kiss. Nothing big.  Just a peck.  Just had to get that out of the way.  Not the smoothest I’ll admit.  But I like that he’d been thinking about it.  So good to go.  We decide to watch a movie.  In retrospect not the best choice.  At some point he says something about a song or music playing.  Like sounds like The Talking Heads?  And I’m like.  Uh…yeah I don’t really know they’re music.  I start to wonder if perhaps it’s not as cool for him being “the old guy” as it is for me being “the hot young thing”.  The movie was SLOW at best.  But alas I spent the time snuggled up to the nook so it was all good.  Finally the movie ended.  He went to the bathroom.  And I got to pick the show.  Big Bang Theory it is.  Conveniently they were doing a marathon.  Turns out he likes the show.  Nice.  But before long.  It doesn’t matter.

Because we’re kissing.  Making out like teenagers on a couch.  And like with Trucker Joe.  It’s not the most amazing kissing ever.  But it’s the fact that he adapts.  Whether consciously or not.  He adapts.  And so with every kiss.  The kissing is better.  And before long I’m facing him on the couch.  Breasts pressed against his chest.  At some point we get up and head to the bedroom.  He knows he’s not getting laid.  But ya know.  There might be some dry humping.  I’m holding tight to my stages.  So tightly in fact that I PURPOSELY wore..well…NOT the red lacies…AND didn’t shave my legs.  What can I say.  I’m like a teenage boy.  When I’m tempted with something I want.  I forget all the reasons it’s not a good idea and just go for it.  So I have to have a safety net.  Or two.  To keep me inline.  Just Sayin’

Were on his bed barely a heartbeat before my shirt flies off.  For reference.  By him.  lol.  I was trying to be a lady so I could’ve well kept it on but whatever.  We makeout for quite awhile.  And it’s excellent.  You forget how awesome it can be making out with someone new.  *sigh*.  Newness makes me happy.  Anyways  So I’m not going to give you a blow by blow (not ironic!…please I’m a lady!) of what happened.  But instead I’ll simply say that I kept myself a lady.  My concert admitted no patrons.  Not through any gate.  However.  As all boys do.  He showed me what he was working with.  Unfortunately it would do him well to listen to a little Lil’ Kim.

“Smack my ass, grab my hair, 
got ’em cummin’ everywhere
I’ma freak, so I don’t care, 
just don’t get none in my hair


Taking It To The Phones: Caller #1 You’re On


[dropcap]The[/dropcap] Nick Name gives good phone.  There.  I said it.  Flawless.  The phone whisperer.  No wait.  That sounds like a horror movie.  No phone whispering.  But it was.  Good.  good.  Good.  Good.  Just Sayin’.

So when I last left you, we we’re just coming into contact with The Nick Name.  Texting.  But with 2 weeks to go until school and term papers were completed.  2 weeks to go before there could be a first date.  He asked.  And I accepted.  Caller #1 you’re on.

So he called.  And I answered.  And he asked questions.  Questions that allowed me to talk about school.  About my papers.  My literature papers.  Papers that no one except maybe someone in the field could have an interest in.  Hell, I barely had an interest in.  But I’d be telling him about a a paper.  Then feel bad that I was both monopolizing the conversation/boring him to tears.  And so stop talking.  But then he’d swoop in and ask more.  More about The Outsiders.  Tell me he read it as a young boy.  Ask about research.  Basically BE interested.  And even if he wasn’t.  Which I mean…how can you be?  He faked it like a pro.  Or at the very least someone who thought I was awesome.

And his plan worked.  Because in turn.  I thought he was awesome.  Awesome as someone you don’t know can be.  Plus even if the phonecall itself hadn’t won me over the text message following it certainly did.

You’re so smart!  Winner winner chicken dinner.  Because I’m saying boys.  While I want you to think I’m hot and sexy and blah blah blah.  The real winner.  Thinks I’m smart.  And funny.  Just Sayin’.  The next two weeks were filled with texting and phonecalls.  Sometimes 2 calls a day.  Obviously not initiated by me.  We all know I like my men to take the reins.  My men to have the balls.

And because I’m sure I’ll reference the chatter we had in the posts to come I won’t go into it too deeply here. But I will say this.  We talked about all the usual stuff.  Day job stuff.  Family stuff.  Dealbreakers and sweetspots.  We talked about past dates.  He knew about TEDski (fix link) and the date that scarred me for life.  He assured me he was the height he said he was.  But then.  He felt compelled to tell me.  This one other thing.

This thing that is so amazing in its sheer volume of IRONY and COINCIDENCE that it caused me to actually say, you’re bullshitting right? and then I felt really awful because he wasn’t, so I had to explain why I was so hysterical/mystified/enthralled/excited about what he had said.  The coincidence and the similarity to Mega Love and yet the bizarre occurrence of it.  And I know you’re all thinking.  What the fuck.  How can she just leave us hanging.  What was it?!? What was it?!?

Only I can’t tell you.  Because I can’t say what it actually is.  Without potentially really hurting Mega Love.  Not because there’s actually anything wrong with what it is but because he’s such an extremely private person that I feel he would be hurt.  And no he doesn’t know about the blog.  But I’m going to fathom a guess that one day.  One unfortunate day in the future.  He’ll stumble upon it.  And that’ll be that.  And unfortunately I can’t ask him if it would bother him because then alas I’d have to reveal both that I’m dating and that I’m blogging about it.  And I tried and tried.  Wracked my brain.  To come up with another way to reference it.  A similar depiction.  A relatable illustration.  But I got nothing.  I can come up with nothing.  Which should tell you the sheer rarity of that to which I’m alluding if depicting it would be so obvious that I simply cannot.

But just know.  That one day.  If and when I can do it.  Without hurting Mega Love.  I’ll share with you the crazy ironic bizarro thing that links these two boys.  And the awesomeness that is my chance dating life.


Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Vancouver Dating Blogger and the Case of the Missing Move

Dating Mistakes

[colored_box color=”blue”]
Police Officer: So, you say ma’am, that the move went missing somewhere around your 5th date?

SSD: That’s right officer.  It was there on the 4th date, all hot and heavy like.  And then on the 5th date, it was just gone.  No where to be seen. [/colored_box]

And like seriously.  I was stumped.  Until he explained it.  Embarassed.  Awkward.  A boy.  I mean really.  Aren’t they all just 12 year old boys on the inside.  I feel like this is a flashpoint episode.  Where they show you the pinnacle moment.  The flashpoint.  At the beginning of the show.  And then super-speed rewind to the beginning.  And show you how it got to that exact moment.  So this is like that.

Super Speed Rewind.

So I can’t lie.  After driving home from my visit with Mega Love.  I was hoping to have a text message or a call from Trucker Joe.  I mean.  We had this amazing date on Tuesday.  And it was now Friday.  And I hadn’t heard anything.  Which isn’t uncommon.  Because we don’t really do much talking in between dates.  And yet.  Every week.  He makes plans.  For a date.  On one of his days off.  So I shouldn’t have been insecure.  And I’m not sure I was.  But I was definitely excited? anxious? impatient? something.

But before I really have time to let any of that grab ahold of me.  He texts.  Saturday morning.  And we make plans for Monday.  And then Monday rolls around and he asks what time is good for [me]?  And I say 730 or 8ish?  And then it gets.  Well.  Er.  Um.  Unsatisfactory.  I’ll come out there this time, so you’ll have to decide.

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!!!! Wait…Hold up…Wha?!?!

See the thing is.  I don’t live alone.  I’ve told you all this before.  He knows this.  Plus.  No lie.  I live in kind of a small town.  So I really don’t like to have people in my “area” and then add to that, the fact that it was raining (aka no beach fun) and there’s not really anything else to do here.  So I was totally like.  What.  The.  Fuck.  But I also know he’s just a nice guy, a gentleman.  So he probably just didn’t want to make me drive all the time.  But even so.  Not gonna happen.

We get it sorted.  He was just being nice.  I basically invite myself over to his place for movies.  I show up around 8 baring gifts of popcorn.  Microwave popcorn.  This turns into an intense conversation about how it’s actually done.  Do you follow the instructions?  Do you count in your head in between pops?  (I should mention way way back when microwaves first really became the norm.  We got one.  And the first thing we made was popcorn.  Burnt to shit.  Like practically a flame.   So Just Sayin’.  I’ve been scarred).  The funny thing is.  On the 4th date.  Conversation was a little.  Uh.  I want to say strained.  But not quite strained.  More just like nervous.  Timid.  Very.  Question.  Answer.  Question.  Answer.  Question.  Answer.  This time.  The conversation was much more banter-like.  Ebb and flow.  Back and forth.  Lob and volley.  Nice.

By the way.  This time I dressed more casual.  Cute new jeans and cute hoodie.  He notices.  Says with an approving smile.  Good.  You look much more comfortable this time.  Wait.  Er.  Um.  Did he just call me “comfortable looking”?  And I could freak out.  Like a chick.  But I know that he’s just a bit hick town.  And that’s cool.  That he’s more concerned that I’m feeling comfortable and good.  And I think.  I’m pretty sure he means.  That I looked.  Good.  But I’m just saying.  Bit.  Weird.

So we sit.  He lets me choose the movie.  I’ve narrowed it to Iron Man and Gran Torino.  He has no preference.  We watch Iron Man.  And for the next 126 minutes.  We sit there.  Like teenagers.  Nervous teenagers.  Teenagers who haven’t kissed.  Only we have.  So.  What.  The.  Fuck.  There is no handholding.  There isn’t even any touching.  The closest thing is eating out of the same popcorn bowl.  Which I eventually put down on the table.  And then around 100 minutes of no kissing.  I pick it back up.  And start to nibble.  Want me to make some more? he says.  No thanks I smile but I reserve the right to change my mind later.  He smiles.  Don’t worry he says.  I was planning to make more for Gran Torino anyways.

Okay.  So let’s just tally this a bit.  A whole movie.  No touching.  No kissing.  That seems to indicate a lack of attraction.  But he wants to watch both movies.  Wants to keep me here.  Wants to prolong the hanging out?  That seems to indicate he likes me.  And I mean.  We have hung out every week since we met.  5 weeks.  5 hang outs.  What.  The.  Fuck.  But I mean.  All non-kissing aside.  I’m still having a really good time.  We’ve been joking a lot.  Laughing a bunch.

So we watch Gran Torino.  116 minutes later.  STILL no fucking kissing.  Still no fucking touching.  And now it’s just the TV playing background noise.  And we’re talking.  And then he turns to me and says…

To Be Continued….His (Hardy) Boys Solve the Case



Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Tuesday. Hot. Sticky. Delicious.


Tuesday.  Hot.  Sticky.  Delicious.

Around noon I get a text message.  Almost Home.  It says.  Trucker Joe.  Keeping me appraised of the situation.  I fucking like that.  Like really like that.  I go to the gym.  Gotta get that body tight.  Text Message.   Gives his Address and call when you’re leaving and I’ll give you directions.  For reference I don’t need directions.  I’m pretty smart.  And ya know.  Know how to use google maps.  But I still like it.  Looking out for me.  Gentleman like.  Well played Trucker JoeWell played.  Plus it literally could not be any easier to get to his place.  Main highway.  Turn left on main street.  Right on other big street.  First right.  And park.  I call I’m here.  And he comes out to get me.  Cute.  Gentlemanly.

I’m wearing black gladiator sandals.  Denim Miniskirt.  White Rocawear-gold-chain-across-the-cleave-did-I-mention-lots-of-cleave-shirt.  Normally this isn’t a daytime wear outfit.  But like I’ve been saying with the weightloss.  Nothing fucking fits anymore.  And with this being the 4th date.  I’m running out of clothes he hasn’t seen.  Luckily A. this outfit looks smokin’ hot so it’ll balance any inappropriateness (though friends have assured me its fine) and B. I’m going shopping on Friday in Seattle so I’ll have new stuff soon.  Plus it’s fucking hot.  Like temperature.  Muggy.  Sticky.  Hot and Sweaty.  So at least.  That’s another excuse.  For a lacking of clothes.

We get inside the townhouse.  chatter chatter chatter.  And then he makes me sort of a liar.  Because before the date he had asked me what I wanted to eat.  And seriously there are like maybe 3 foods I don’t eat.  And what’s the chance that when I said, I’m not a picky eater, anything’ll be fine that he’d pick one of the three (cilantro, ginger (on its own, I’ll eat it if it’s mixed in) and baby anything).  Do you like lamb? he says.  Fuck.  lol.  But the thing is.  I’d eat it.  Just to avoid having to say anything.  Because it’s not a moral decision or anything.  I just don’t really eat it.  He can see this on my face.  We laugh.  Don’t worry he says I got chicken too.  Too cute.  I like a guy that is prepared.

So can you barely take it?  I mean can you barely fucking stand it?  All this chatter about food and shit and you’re reading and thinking like…get to the fucking good stuff chick!  All in good time.  All in good time *wink*.

Back on Track.
So we eat dinner.  It’s good.  Actually it’s really good.  And healthy.  Salad and BBQ.  Yum.  We sit on the couch.  Side by side.  Watching Hell’s Kitchen.  We talk about our weekends.  I mention playing video games with TheHell and Hubs and friend.  I really do like video games.  Especially anything Mario related.  But alas.  All his video games are killing related.  ugh. lol.  such a boy.  Plus no lie.  Video games.  Not conducive to laying the mack down.  And man I want him to lay the mack down.He just got a blu-ray player.  And a stack of discs to match.  Oh and PSizzle.  I forgot to mention his place.  Which is ballin’.  Like seriously.  He is bachelored out.  Just Sayin’.  I know that shit is just superficial and all that.  But still.  This ain’t no basement suite.  Dude is rockin’ out.  And I like it.  Except the leather couches.  Well technically I love leather couches.  But not in the summer.  Fucking sweaty sticky.  In my mini skirt and chubby thighs.  But then again.  That’s why I brought a sweater.  To sit on.  Problem solved.  So like I was saying.  Blu-Ray.  I pick one.  Batman:  The Dark Knight.  Because honestly.  When I saw it before.  In the theatre.  I had a migraine.  So I missed a lot of it.It’s almost dark outside now.  We turn off the lights.  Watch the movie.  Side by side.  On the couch.  Like fucking teenagers.  Highschool kids.  Like before you’d ever had your first kiss.  Not even touching.  So shy.  The movie is good.  Batman always is.  But I spend a great deal of the movie thinking about.  Well.  Kissing him.  Trucker Joe.  Touching him.  Our skin.  Electric.  Wanting to touch.  Feel someone.  Get passed that moment.  Willing him to.  Make a move.  Make a move.  Make a move.Time tick tick ticks past.  The movie is good.  But not better than kissing.  I’m so nervous.  I don’t know if I’m sweating because it’s like a thousand degrees.  Or because I like him.  Want him.  Want to know if he really wants me.  Am hanging on the shirt tails of a moment.  Waiting.  He smells really good.  I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.  And that’s when I see it.  His axe deodarant.  Nice.  I knew it.  And I don’t care what some people say.  I fucking love it.  Swoon.  And there’s his cologne.  I don’t know what it is.  Something I’ve never seen before.  But I’m not about to start examining it.  I know it smells good though.  So so good.  Back downstairs I go.  He paused the movie for me.  So cute.

More moving watching.  More breath holding.  My arm slips down in between us.  sorry I say.  Fuck.  Sorry?  Did I just fucking apologize for touching him.  Ugh.  Loser.  Sigh.  Fuck.  I swear.  In between us.  Is like the slowest moving quicksand in the world.  Slowly pulling our arms.  Our hands.  Closer together.  But it’s going so slow that you can barely notice.  My arm slips or I move or something.  Touch again.  And pull away.  Oh my god what am I doing.  Just touch him already.  Just touch me already.  I can barely stand it.  And then.  It happens.  Like that moment when you hold out your finger to a baby.  Just kind of nudge it against it’s hands.  And then suddenly.  It latches on.  My fingers.  Dangle.  Next to his skin.  And then.  Latch.  And his hand is wrapped around mine.  Touching.  Touching.  Touching.  We’re finally touching. 

I’m not sure hand holding has ever been so sexy.  But it is.  Drool.  Sigh.  Flutter.  The movie plays on.  I think.  I haven’t been paying attention in quite awhile.  I may.  MAY.  Have been too busy staring at his hands.  His crotch.  His every movement that might touch me.  Our legs are stretched out onto the coffee table.  I tilt mine up.  His hand touches my thigh.  Electric.  Maybe he says something.  Maybe he just shifts and it draws my attention.  I can’t remember.  But I look at him.

And we kiss.  Soft.  Sweet.  Delicious.  Delicious.  And I won’t lie.  It’s not perfect.  It’s not flawless.  But kissing never is.  Except.  That.  Our kissing.  Becomes flawless.  Because unlike all the other “somethings” he’s paying attention.  He adapts to me.  He paces to me.  He learns I like the bottom lip suck.  He learns I like it soft and slow at first.  He senses my tongue.  He matches my lips.  He answers the question about kissing.  It’s not a white guy thing.  It’s a bad kissing thing.  And he slays it.  It’s sexy.  It’s sweet.  It’s hot.  It’s delicious.  He’s got normal white boy lips.  But that doesn’t matter.  They’re soft.  They’re skilled.  They’re techniquelicious.

When we finally come up for air.  The credits are rolling.  Movie over.  But not our night.  Because the thing is.  He’s got all night shifts this coming week.  So he needs to stay up as late as possible to get his sleep schedule in check.  Oh I’ll keep you up Trucker Joe.  I got this.  I got this. 

We pick another movie from the stack.  And for reference.  He’s a total guy.  Not that I’m complaining.  Because I like my men to be men.  But I’m Sayin’.  They are all action flicks.  So I pick one.  I’ve never seen before.  The Hurt Locker.  We watch the movie.  We’re taking a breather.  Though our hands are still holding.  Skin still touching.  Hot.  Sticky.  Tuesday.  Delicious.

The movie is.  Okay.  Little bit slow.  About half way through.  I hear his breathing.  Get a bit.  Deeper.  Aww poor baby.  So tired.  He had a really long weekend.  But I gotta do my job.  So I shift a bit.  Razz him a bit.  For sleeping.  Make him smile.  Wake him up.  Back to the movie.  I’m starving.  I’ve been drinking a ton of water.  But it’s not really helping that much.   It’s a little after 1am.  I’m seriously hungry.  My stomach is fucking growling.  I tell him.  More out of embarassment (in case he hears it) than out of wanting to eat something.  Oh.  Do you want something to eat.  I have yogurt or special K bars.  Can I just say how cute it is that he pays attention so well to what I say and what’s going on with me that he knows to have healthy snacks on board.  I mean seriously.  Golden.  But I turn him down.  Thank him.  I’m going to hold off.  Um.  There’s also salad left, might be a bit soggy now *laughs*.

Naw.  I say.  I don’t want to have salad breath.  I plan on having some more making out later.  Sexy smile.  He smiles back.  Big smile.  I’m hoping I’m getting points for balls, wit and cuteness.  And then I’m upstairs to the bathroom.  Hopefully he’s checking out my bum.  On the walk down.  I catch him staring at the ladies.  Bouncing.  As they tend to do.  Down stairs.  LOL.  When I’m out in public.  And can’t hold them down.  That’s right baby.  Take a good look.  These ladies are for you.

We watch more movie.  And then he makes his move again.  And this time.  It starts soft and sweet.  And then moves right into hot and heavy.  sigh.  swoon.  catch my breath.  delicious.  Now normally I wouldn’t get into the deets.  But I promised.  To make this one.  A little less kid-friendly.  A little less PG-13.  And I’m going to.  So if this is TMI.  Stop reading now.  But don’t get too excited.  It doesn’t get X-Rated.   I swear.

I like stages.  Because the thing is.  Once you bang.  That’s it.  And it’s wonderful.  But you can’t go back.  You can’t go back to just making out.  Or just groping on the couch.  And even if you did.  Even if you were a couple just making out on a couch for one night.  Because you had decided not to go any further.  It wouldn’t be the same.  Because you can’t unknow things.  You can’t unsee each other naked.  You can’t get that mystery back.  You can’t get that feeling back.  And that’s fine.  Because banging.  Is good stuff.  But still.  There’s no reason not to savor the stages.  And I like stages.  I like to savor.  So that being said.  With my love for stages.  The fact that I didn’t even know FOR SURE that we’d be getting to first base on this date.  And of course.  Lindsay’s Law.  I didn’t put on the sexy red lacies.  Plus.  I was wearing spandex shorts under my skirt.  Because PSizzle I’m not the best at sitting like a lady.  That and ya know.  I had them pulled like up to my bra.  To keep that tummy tucked.  For as long as possible.  LOL.  Like spanks.  Until it’s time to get naked.  Which on this date.  It wasn’t yet.  Though I won’t lie.  I had the lacies.  In my purse.  Just in case.  I had a change of mind.

Back on Track.
So like I said.  It’s hot and heavy.  His kisses are my kisses.  He tongue moves like my tongue moves.  We’re twins.  We’re mirrors.  In sync when it’s right.  Opposite when it’s better.  He tastes like awesome sauce.  He smells like boy and smiles.  I’m melting.  I’m melting.  Swoon.  I’m melting.  He pounces further.  His hand slides up my thigh.  My inner thigh.  I push it away.  I giggle a bit.  I tell him with my eyes.  And a little bit my words.  I like stages.  He gets it.  He’s not getting that tonight.  I’ve got shorts on underneath my skirt I say.  Because I don’t want him to think these are some form of granny panties.  And then it just comes out.  I say it.  But I swear it was cute and sexy.  I swear.  When I said it.  It sounded seductive and alluring.  I put cuter panties on for that.  When you’re getting some.  You’ll know.  I’ll have the sexy panties on.  You should have seen his eyes light up.

But he’s fucking flawless.  It doesn’t faze.  He is unfazed.  Moves back to outer thigh.  He’s happy with what he’s getting.  He likes me.   He respects me.  I feel it in his touch.  I taste it in his mouth.  I can feel his heart pounding in his chest.  I.  want.   you you.  I.  want.   you you.  I.  want.   you you.  My heart pounding back.  I can feel it in my lady bits.  Swoon.

I don’t really know how to describe what happens next.  Because well.  It’s not what I’m normally into.  It strays from my regular fantasies (fix link).  It’s the oddest thing.  Mostly just odd for me.  I think normal people dig this.  But for me.  For the Summer of Boys (fix link).  When I just want my men to be men.  My man to manhandle me.  It’s novel.  It’s new.  That I liked it.  Just Sayin’.  We’re still on the couch.  But he’s sort of moved.  To like right in front of me.  But he’s close.  And we’re still kissing.  And sure enough.  He’s copping a feel with one hand.  But it’s the other hand.  The one that’s sort of behind my head.  That I’m thinking about.  Because it’s not all mixed up in the curls.  It’s not going in for a tug.  It’s not controlling.  It’s.  It’s.  It’s.

Supportive.  Like.  He’s got me.  He’s just totally got me.  Like I could just let go completely.  And he’s got me.  My head in his hands.  Strong.  Man.  Hands.  And it’s the sweetest thing.  And sexy too.  Sweet and sexy.  That he’s got me.  Wow.  This from a “something” is interesting enough.  But that I like it.  That’s a whole other thing.

And then we’re back to hot and heavy.  I figure it’s time to start a little exploration of my own.  Especially since no lie.  I really enjoy he’s made no attempt to get my hand to certain places.  Boys.  Take note.  In the long run.  You’re going to get so much more.  If you don’t rush me.  I’m guessing I’m not the only chick this is true for.  Just Sayin’.  So my hand moves.  Down his chest.  Till I hit waistband.  And then I play with it a bit.  Draw a line around this edge.  Then a line that way.  And then down.  Not inside.  I’m keeping to my stages.

Because I’ve learned.  That once inside.  It’s hand job time.  LOL.  And I’m preserving my stages.  There will none of that tonight.  What he’ll pay for in blue balls tonight.  Will be rewarded in the future.  So I move my hand.

I should mention.  That.  Garbage Man was not huge.  Frankly.  Just average.  Intelligence Officer was above average in length but just so so in girth.  Twitter Guy was a total fail all around.  Lindsay’s Law was too.  So you can imagine.  Now that I’ve got this guy.  That I kinda like.  But who’s been taking it slow.   I’m worried.  Like really worried.  That he is.  Well.  Going to well.  Disappoint.  And I know size isn’t everything and all that.  But still.  I was fucking terrified.  That mother nature would not have bestowed upon him.  The things that I like.  Girth.  Length.  Just Sayin’.  Plus.  Even if size is not an issue.  What if he turns out like Linsday’s Law and even when hard.  Is never really.  Hard.

Back on Track.
So like I said.  I move my hand.  Down.  On the outside.  But down.  And my fears.  So.  Definitely.  Unfounded.  There is no need for concern.  I assure you.  I.  Assure.  You.  I practically yelled out touchdown!  Okay well I didn’t.  But.  I thought it.  So while he explored my lady lumps.  I watched the trailer.  The preview.  The coming attractions.  I’m saying.  I’m very excited to see this movie.  His Movie.  Like.  I’d stand in line over night.  The movie poster is that good.  Just Sayin’.

This goes on for quite awhile.  But somewhere around 230am we come up for air.  Or more.  I come up for air because if we don’t.  I’m pretty sure a bad decision is in the mix.  And by bad.  I don’t mean fatal or anything.  But like I said.  I like stages.  I want stages.  I want to go slow with Trucker Joe.  I want to enjoy this.  So I call it a night.  Time for me to go I say.  And he says I’ll walk you out.  I think he means.  Like to the door.  But he doesn’t.  He means to the car.  Swoon.  This nice guy will definitely not be finishing last with me, Just Sayin’.  He’s racking up the points left and right.  He opens my door.  And then.  More kissing.  Sexy in the street kissing.  Can’t wait till next time kissing.  Okay well just gimme a call I say.  He waits.  Makes sure the car starts.  Makes sure I get off okay.  I do.  And I spend the whole drive home.  Beaming.  Giddy.  Beaming.  Swooning.  Awesome Saucing.


Trucker Joe: Starbucks Coffee Date


[dropcap]So, like I was saying…[/dropcap]

It was super sunny. I Had my shades on. I was walking across the Starbucks parking lot. And I just kind of sensed someone was watching me.  But being the daydreaming space cadet super focused person that I am.  I just kept on.  Possibly a little more boobs-out-tummy-in-think-hot-be-hot-thoughts than normal but whatever.  And then I hear it.

He says, Something I can’t remember but cute and attention getting.

So I turn.  And there he is.  Getting out of possibly the sexiest black pickup truck I have ever seen.


Though I date boys not their cars.  I think a vehicle says a lot about the person.  Obviously not always accurately.  But still.  The Volvo I drive.  Certainly speaks to my uber-safety rule following ways.  Mega Love drove a Jetta (suped up etc. but still a Jetta).  Garbage Man drove some sort of small girly car.  Intelligence Officer, a yellow pickup truck (mix of masculine and goofiness pretty much spot on).  Twitter Guy drove a station wagon.  Back in the days of being gangsta (I’m only partly joking) I wanted my boys in Escalades.  But these days.  With my new found love for super masculine white guys.  I don`t always say it.  But I’ve got *crossies* for trucks.

Back on Track.

So there he is.  Stepping down out of the truck.  And.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He is sooo much hotter than his photos.  He looks younger (than his photos, not me).  He’s a babe.  I’m not sure he’d be everybody’s cup of tea.  But I think he’s pretty friggin’ sexy.  No lie.  And really.  It only matters what I think (in this instance).  Now for the clothes.  The attire.  The wrapping paper.  Is he hawiian shirt guy or david beckham?

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He looks like he just stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch commercial.  No lie.  He’s wearing a polo shirt that’s sort of like those short-sleeved rugby shirts that A&F are so famous for.  Sexy.  He’s wearing cargo shorts.  At the perfect length.  But enough about the superficial.  Did I mention he’s tall.  His profile says 6’0 but honestly he seemed taller because I had to go on my tippy toes to get my head above his shoulder for our hug (which at 5’7 says something).  And yes I hug.  Because I’m certainly not shaking my date’s hand.  That’s way too business-meeting.  And I can’t not have some kind of physical greeting.  It’s just not normal.  Plus no lie.  Good excuse to check the cologne.  And boy smelled gooooood.  Just sayin’.  True Story.

So we go inside.  He holds the door.  And not beccause it just flows.  He specifically opened it.  For me.  Very cute.  I order.  He orders.  He pays.  I hit the loo.  One, I really have to go and Two this is his chance to gracefully ditch just in case.  I come back.  He hasn’t ditched.  He’s got my drink.  Outside okay? he asks.  I nod and smile.

We sit outside.  For the next two hours.  Conversation flows.  The sun lowers.  Laughter.  Happiness.  Finding out interesting things.  Revealing interesting things.  I may.  MAY.  have been a bit nervous in the first little bit.  And instead of saying Whiterock.  I may.  MAY.  have said White Wock.  But other than that it was pretty fuckin’ flawless.

We laughed.  A lot actually.  Somewhere around the 3/4 point of our date, he mentioned that he would like to see me again.  Quarterback drops back, sees his man in the distance and makes the throw.  I would definitely like to see him again.  Touchdown.  The date continues.  We’ve been done our coffees for awhile.

We get up to leave.  Throw out our cups.  Start walking to our cars.  His is much closer (I park a bit away, don’t want my doors dinged).  As we’re nearing his car he says I’ll walk you to your car.  Very cute.  Chivalry is so manly.  We get to my car.  We hug again.  No kiss.  (but we’ll get to that in a moment).  He says again that he’d like to see me again.  In a very manly way no doubt.  But.  And here’s the awesome sauce.  He says this and then says, give me a call.  Like not only do I get to have the certainty that he would like to see me again, but I get to be the one holding the power (aka not waiting by the phone) aka feeling super good.  Well played Trucker Joe.  Well played.  He leans down to open the door.

Take a moment.  To fully take in that sentence.  The two parts of brilliance there.

Leans down.  As in.  Tall enough that to open the door he has to lean a bit.

Opens door.  As in.  Total gentleman.  And again.  Not just because it’s convenient.  I mean.  His hand is there.  Ready to assisst a lady.  While I’m still fumbling with the unlock button.  Sexy.

He waits for me to get my dress all inside the car and sorted.  Seat belt on.  One last smile.  And close door.

The Date Was Perfection.  He was the date whisperer.  The real date whisperer.  The souped up.  Enhanced.  There’s an app for that.  Brand new idate 2.0.  Whispering the crying-baby-worries I had in my head.  Touchdown.


Now back to that kiss.  So here’s the thing.  About first kisses.  About me and first kisses.  About me and kisses in public.  About any form of public displays.  I’ve said it before.  I’ll say it again.  I’m not a fan of the public displays of affection.  With first dates.  We were at Starbucks.  A busy parking lot.  It was still light out.  I love that he didn’t try to kiss me.  I don’t doubt that he wanted to/will want to.  But I love love love that he didn’t.  I won’t lie.  The second hug.  The end of the meeting hug.  Was longer and deliciously tighter than the hello hug.  It was good.  Ahhhh.  Good date.  Nothing else to say about it.

Back on Track.

When I got home later that night.  I had a message from him.  Had a great time meeting you tonight.  Can’t wait to do it again.

Me too. Trucker Joe.  Me too. 

(Phonecall to TheHell this morning).  So from now on THIS is the date.  That erases the memory of the date with Tedski.  If I’m ever scared/scarred and nervous again.  You just remind me of this.  Tell me about this date again.  And I’ll be set.

*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*

Online Dating and First Date Jitters

[dropcap]At 3pm yesterday[/dropcap] I felt sick to my stomach.  Nerves.  Dread.  Trepidation.  4 hours till my meet and greet with Trucker Joe.  And I was a ball of anxiety and worry.  I blame Tedski (fix link).  I blame the date that scarred me for all the other boys.  The worst date ever.


Within two days of being back on Plenty of Fish, Trucker Joe messaged me.  He thought I was funny.  He looked manly.  Into dirt biking and camping.  Beaches and fun.  He had a lot to say.  I didn’t have to hand-hold the conversation in our messages.  It just flowed.  He was enthusiastic.  He seemed happy.  He had nice teeth.  He was tall.  He had 2 photos up.  1 – 3/4 face visible shot.  1 – dirtbikes.

Detour from the Detour.

Boys are not good at taking photos.  Barbie looked worse.  Garbage Man looked much better.  Tedski looked much worse.  Intelligence Officer looked much much better.  Twitter Guy looked better than his worst photos and worse than his best photo.  So with that being said.  There are 3 categories of attraction when it comes to online dating and me.  The “not-at-alls” who I delete, The “maybes” who seem likely there could be attraction especially pending some more photos and/or in person.  Maybes qualify for dates assuming their personalities don’t suck.  And finally the “babes” who still have the potential to disappoint (read: Barbie).

Back on Track.

I liked Trucker Joe’s personality.  But that being said.  These days, with 5 dates under my belt, I know how misleading photos and messages can be and thus prefer to meet sooner rather than later.  Which can mean that less things get asked.  Less is known.  Which is great if the date is good because than you’re left with lots to talk about.  Horrible if the date is bad and you’re like fuck! how did I even agree to this?  But I digress.  The conversation led to plans flawlessly.  He asked if I was a Starbucks or Timmy Ho’s girl?  I said, Starbucks but as a student I’m often a foldgers hazelnut instant at home coffee girl.  He said, He’d love to buy me a starbucks, as he’s not on a student budget 😉.  Phone numbers and text messages exchanged.  Date set.  Wednesday night.  Last night.


The thing about the date with Tedski (fix link) was.  It left a horrible taste in my mouth.   One that had me generalizing.  Scared.  Scarred.  About older guys.  About guys who have just led completely different lives than me.  About guys who have very different levels of education than I do.  About guys in certain types of employment (see “I Thought I Was a Job Snob” coming soon).

Back on Track.

So there I was at 3pm yesterday.  Nerves. Dread. Trepidation.  But not about myself.  Because in the words of TurnJacson I already know what I’m bringing to the table.  So I wasn’t worried about me.  But FUCK was I worried about him.

Would he look like his photos?
What would he wear?  Would he be in Dad jeans or something equally awful and old and awful?
Would his sense of humor be like Tedski’s?
Would he be a total loser?
Would he be inappropriate or weird?
Would he embarrass me? (remember this is a small town/city/area)

But a phonecall from TheHell.  A pep talk.  And I went.  Drove to Starbucks.  Parked.  (turns out I drove past him and he recognized me right away which I think speaks to having good valid photos on my profile :P).  Got out of the car and started walking in.  I wore the magic dress.  I know most people said jeans and a cute shirt but shit son, it’s summer and way too hot for long jeans (and that’s all I have right now with not wanting to buy new clothes that soon wouldn’t fit).  So it was super sunny.   Had my shades on.  And as I was walking across the parking lot.  And I just kind of sensed someone was watching me.

To Be Continued….

*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*