I'm Just Another One of His Stories Now
Awhile ago, my husband and I were having problems and we separated for awhile. I was scared but excited to be "single" again, and decided to get right out there and start meeting people. I decided to sign up with a dating site (which, ironically enough, I used to work for). I posted a profile on there and waited to see what would happen.
I got a few responses, most of them lukewarm, as far as I was concerned. Until one guy sent me a message with his picture and I was happy. The picture of him attached to his profile turned me on like you would not believe. He was sitting on a couch in front of a microphone and one of those music stands, wearing a jean vest, displaying what looked like thick, strong arms, and his hair was dark and tousled. Plus, he looked pretty cute. This was for me. So I responded, and we began emailing each other back and forth. I soon found out there was a lot more to this guy than his cute picture. The messages he sent me were incredibly passionate. He was a writer too, and believe me, he knew how to use words. We set up a time to meet, which went awry ... I was getting cold feet and his messages became increasingly sexual, which made me wonder if this guy was just another predator, looking for sex only. But we reconnected, and finally did meet, and boy, what a meeting. We went to a little outdoor pub and I had wine and he had pop. He was a former alcoholic, had been sober for 11 years. I felt like a teenager again, the way he looked at me, never let go of my hand, rubbed my arm up and down and told me how beautiful my skin and hair were. He asked me if he could come over and sit beside me and I said sure, thinking, are you kidding me, try getting on my lap, baby ... and we started making out like crazy. We were so caught up in each other and so uninhibited in our kissing and fondling that a waiter came out of the pub and said, "Guys, guys ..." holding up his hand as if to say, woah there! I was embarrassed and I guess so was he. We left shortly after, went to a nearby park and made out some more on the grass.
He told me about all the women he'd met online. He kept referring to them as his "interests", which I thought was a little odd, as interests, to me, are things like movies and books. But anyway, he gave me the whole roster. One of his major "interests" was a woman in B.C. She lived "in the bush", a remote village near the Yukon, was married, and her husband neglected her and was never around. She was in love with him and wanted to meet. She was planning to leave her husband and come to Toronto to stay with him for a couple of weeks. But her mother was in a nursing home where she lived and she was committed to being around to check on her. He said he knew she would never leave her husband.
Then there was another one he'd seen a few months earlier. She was also married, or had been married, but at any rate was still obsessed with her ex, even though he beat the shit out of her on a regular basis. She was frigid, he never even touched her. But he said it was a very close, deep relationship. He realized it was never going to work when they were at a cafe one evening and she kept talking about her ex. He knew she would never leave him, so he moved on.
There was also an assortment of more casual dates, women he'd met here and there. One thing that gave me pause was when he told me he'd met a large woman and had sex with her. "I must have been really bored that day," he chuckled. He said she wasn't attractive, her gut hung down, but he wasn't getting sex anywhere else and he decided to go for it. There was also a woman who invited him up to her place and cooked him a roast. They had sex.
I knew this guy was not a keeper. He was too erratic. He told me he suffered from bi-polar depression and "it's a horrible disease." He even gave lectures on it. But he was unable to work. He was on disability. You would think that this information would have made me run like hell. But the sexual vibe between us was incredible. And we had a lot in common. We were both writers, we both had depression in common, and we were both looking for "The One". At least he said he was. But I soon found out that was total bullshit. It seemed like he could not maintain a relationship for longer than a week. Every week, we'd email each other, see each other now and then, and everything would be fine. Then his restlessness would kick in. I could tell he was getting bored, he needed some new blood, we'd argue, and split up. It didn't take me long to figure out this guy couldn't commit to a houseplant. We went through this process several times until finally, after one weekend, he just cut me off. I'd never stopped feeling guilty about my husband and told him that many times. "I'm getting tired of the guilt, and you're getting tired of my dating," he told me. "I think I'm just going to leave it alone for awhile."
I haven't seen him since. I do miss him and think about him often. But I know, without a doubt, I am now just another one of the stories he tells his new dates. I wonder what he says ... "There was this woman I saw for awhile, she had great tits and was very intelligent and we nearly got kicked out of a bar when we first met each other for making out." Probably something along those lines.
What really kills me is he was the first guy I ever met who knew how to eat pussy. Just my luck.
I got a few responses, most of them lukewarm, as far as I was concerned. Until one guy sent me a message with his picture and I was happy. The picture of him attached to his profile turned me on like you would not believe. He was sitting on a couch in front of a microphone and one of those music stands, wearing a jean vest, displaying what looked like thick, strong arms, and his hair was dark and tousled. Plus, he looked pretty cute. This was for me. So I responded, and we began emailing each other back and forth. I soon found out there was a lot more to this guy than his cute picture. The messages he sent me were incredibly passionate. He was a writer too, and believe me, he knew how to use words. We set up a time to meet, which went awry ... I was getting cold feet and his messages became increasingly sexual, which made me wonder if this guy was just another predator, looking for sex only. But we reconnected, and finally did meet, and boy, what a meeting. We went to a little outdoor pub and I had wine and he had pop. He was a former alcoholic, had been sober for 11 years. I felt like a teenager again, the way he looked at me, never let go of my hand, rubbed my arm up and down and told me how beautiful my skin and hair were. He asked me if he could come over and sit beside me and I said sure, thinking, are you kidding me, try getting on my lap, baby ... and we started making out like crazy. We were so caught up in each other and so uninhibited in our kissing and fondling that a waiter came out of the pub and said, "Guys, guys ..." holding up his hand as if to say, woah there! I was embarrassed and I guess so was he. We left shortly after, went to a nearby park and made out some more on the grass.
He told me about all the women he'd met online. He kept referring to them as his "interests", which I thought was a little odd, as interests, to me, are things like movies and books. But anyway, he gave me the whole roster. One of his major "interests" was a woman in B.C. She lived "in the bush", a remote village near the Yukon, was married, and her husband neglected her and was never around. She was in love with him and wanted to meet. She was planning to leave her husband and come to Toronto to stay with him for a couple of weeks. But her mother was in a nursing home where she lived and she was committed to being around to check on her. He said he knew she would never leave her husband.
Then there was another one he'd seen a few months earlier. She was also married, or had been married, but at any rate was still obsessed with her ex, even though he beat the shit out of her on a regular basis. She was frigid, he never even touched her. But he said it was a very close, deep relationship. He realized it was never going to work when they were at a cafe one evening and she kept talking about her ex. He knew she would never leave him, so he moved on.
There was also an assortment of more casual dates, women he'd met here and there. One thing that gave me pause was when he told me he'd met a large woman and had sex with her. "I must have been really bored that day," he chuckled. He said she wasn't attractive, her gut hung down, but he wasn't getting sex anywhere else and he decided to go for it. There was also a woman who invited him up to her place and cooked him a roast. They had sex.
I knew this guy was not a keeper. He was too erratic. He told me he suffered from bi-polar depression and "it's a horrible disease." He even gave lectures on it. But he was unable to work. He was on disability. You would think that this information would have made me run like hell. But the sexual vibe between us was incredible. And we had a lot in common. We were both writers, we both had depression in common, and we were both looking for "The One". At least he said he was. But I soon found out that was total bullshit. It seemed like he could not maintain a relationship for longer than a week. Every week, we'd email each other, see each other now and then, and everything would be fine. Then his restlessness would kick in. I could tell he was getting bored, he needed some new blood, we'd argue, and split up. It didn't take me long to figure out this guy couldn't commit to a houseplant. We went through this process several times until finally, after one weekend, he just cut me off. I'd never stopped feeling guilty about my husband and told him that many times. "I'm getting tired of the guilt, and you're getting tired of my dating," he told me. "I think I'm just going to leave it alone for awhile."
I haven't seen him since. I do miss him and think about him often. But I know, without a doubt, I am now just another one of the stories he tells his new dates. I wonder what he says ... "There was this woman I saw for awhile, she had great tits and was very intelligent and we nearly got kicked out of a bar when we first met each other for making out." Probably something along those lines.
What really kills me is he was the first guy I ever met who knew how to eat pussy. Just my luck.
posted by emily pound at 6:52 AM
2 Comments:
i sometimes wonder what people's stories are about me...
With a little fanagling, I'm certain you could give your husband some incentive on learning the finer art of cunnilingus...well, if that was your only problem...
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