On New Year's Day this year, I had a first date with a guy who seemed engaging and hot. Conveniently, he was single, not concerned with my marital status, and had a home to himself. I'm not generally comfortable with putting out on the first date, but I shaved my legs and was ready for action in the event that we really, really hit it off.
Adam and I had met on Craigslist a few days before, talked on the phone, e-mailed, and all seemed well. We met at a restaurant near his home, ate dinner, and I was my sparkly, awesome self. He told me about his job, I told him a little about my situation. He was fresh out of a divorce, and really needed someone to listen.
This should have been my first sign that it would all go to hell, but I was hopeful and horny, so we soldiered on through dinner. He asked if I'd like to see a movie at his house -- he had "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist", and I've got a dirty old lady thing going for Michael Cera, so how could I resist?
I should have resisted.
I followed him home to his charming suburban home. It had snowed recently, and the driveway and sidewalk were freshly shoveled, so he couldn't possibly be a serial killer, right?
Once we entered his house, I noted the total lack of furniture in the front parlor. I assumed his ex had gotten it in the divorce, and headed on back to the den. I expected we would cuddle up on the couch, make out, and see where the night would lead us.
I was partially right -- we got the movie started, but we almost immediately heard an unbelievably loud scratching sound. It was his pet rabbit, begging to be let out of the cage. He got up, let it out to hop around, and invited me to cuddle.
I'm a total sucker for any tactile stimulation. I really miss being touched by a man, particularly one who is attracted to me. I settled in and enjoyed the movie. When Adam's bunny hopped up next to him, he alternated between scratching between its ears and running a hand up and down my arm. It wasn't ideal, but it beat sitting in front of the tube at home.
About halfway through the movie, I looked up at him to see if he was thinking of more than just the arm rub. He got a glint in his eye, and then, all of a sudden, jumped up and started swearing. It took me a few minutes to work it out, but apparently his bunny had pissed all over him and the couch.
We paused the movie and he ran upstairs to change clothes, while I cleaned bunny pee off of his couch. I could have left it, but my inner mom took over.
Eventually, he came down (in sweats), we moved to the dry two-thirds of the couch, and finished the movie. I think we both tried to get into the mood, but really, after rabbit excreta, there's nowhere to go. We finished the movie, I thanked him for a lovely evening, and drove on home to my lonely bed once more.
I e-mailed him the next day, and heard nothing. I can't be too surprised, and honestly, I'm not that disappointed. There are other fish in the sea. Ideally, those fish have potty-trained pets.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Our heroine, up until now...
Christmas Day, 2008, was quite possibly the worst day in my life. I knew that my marriage wasn't in the best straits -- my husband and I hadn't had sex for three years, I was quickly approaching that mythical sexual peak, and I was ready to cut bait.
After opening gifts, my husband asked what I had really wanted, since I seemed so disappointed with his gifts to me.
"All I want is to get laid," I grumbled.
"Wifelet," (which is what he calls me) "If you haven't figured it out yet on your own, I need to let you know that I'm gay. We're never going to have sex again. At least, not with each other."
To be very honest, it wasn't the world's biggest shock. My husband is a manly kind of dude, but nothing I was doing in an attempt to fix our lack of romance was working. I'd lost a hundred pounds, offered blow jobs in lingerie or au naturale, and had suffered nothing but rejection for a long enough time.
I think he hoped I'd figure it out, he'd go on doing whatever it is that he does with whoever it is he does it with, and I'd stay home every night with our kids and explode in a shower of snark every few weeks, masturbating every time I was alone. Kind of like I'd been doing for the last three years. I wasn't willing to deal with this state of, well, affairs.
There are both financial and logistical reasons to stay married. We're a lot closer to the poverty line than we'd like to be. While I could probably maintain our home on my own income, maybe, there's no way he could live anywhere safe enough for our children to spend time with him on his income. Our kids deserve him around every day. I still like him, and he's still my best friend. I'm far more financially responsible than he is and we live together quite amicably.
A marriage without intimacy isn't what I signed up for more than a decade ago, and so we needed to develop new rules. Here they are:
1. Don't be an idiot. This means that our love lives don't cross into our family life, we don't ever have unsafe sex, and we keep the other informed about when we'll be home and where we are if we're out.
2. We need to be roughly equitable in who gets to go out and who stays home with the kids.
3. Neither of us is particularly interested in the details of what we're doing with our respective paramours, so we've got a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" kind of arrangement.
Since we came to our understanding, I've had a couple of lovers, and kissed a number of frogs. I find myself ready to seek my next lover, and thought that I should write about the adventures I've had and chronicle my ongoing search.
After opening gifts, my husband asked what I had really wanted, since I seemed so disappointed with his gifts to me.
"All I want is to get laid," I grumbled.
"Wifelet," (which is what he calls me) "If you haven't figured it out yet on your own, I need to let you know that I'm gay. We're never going to have sex again. At least, not with each other."
To be very honest, it wasn't the world's biggest shock. My husband is a manly kind of dude, but nothing I was doing in an attempt to fix our lack of romance was working. I'd lost a hundred pounds, offered blow jobs in lingerie or au naturale, and had suffered nothing but rejection for a long enough time.
I think he hoped I'd figure it out, he'd go on doing whatever it is that he does with whoever it is he does it with, and I'd stay home every night with our kids and explode in a shower of snark every few weeks, masturbating every time I was alone. Kind of like I'd been doing for the last three years. I wasn't willing to deal with this state of, well, affairs.
There are both financial and logistical reasons to stay married. We're a lot closer to the poverty line than we'd like to be. While I could probably maintain our home on my own income, maybe, there's no way he could live anywhere safe enough for our children to spend time with him on his income. Our kids deserve him around every day. I still like him, and he's still my best friend. I'm far more financially responsible than he is and we live together quite amicably.
A marriage without intimacy isn't what I signed up for more than a decade ago, and so we needed to develop new rules. Here they are:
1. Don't be an idiot. This means that our love lives don't cross into our family life, we don't ever have unsafe sex, and we keep the other informed about when we'll be home and where we are if we're out.
2. We need to be roughly equitable in who gets to go out and who stays home with the kids.
3. Neither of us is particularly interested in the details of what we're doing with our respective paramours, so we've got a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" kind of arrangement.
Since we came to our understanding, I've had a couple of lovers, and kissed a number of frogs. I find myself ready to seek my next lover, and thought that I should write about the adventures I've had and chronicle my ongoing search.
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