The perfect booty call: Lewis

Last Friday, I came home in the evening from some international work travel. It was one of those trips where I leave one afternoon, stay overnight, have an intense work day, then fly home. A booty call was not what I was hoping for.

I had made plans to see a girlfriend that night and canceled. I was exhausted emotionally and physically and wanted to cocoon in my own house.

Dan (the plumber) and I had earlier discussed I could possibly see him after I’d seen my girlfriend. I texted to tell him I’d canceled those plans and why, and if he wanted to come over and hang out he’d be welcome. Continue reading

The second part of the second date with Gregory

Part One

We arrived at my place, got inside, I took off my coat, and Gregory was on me instantly. Gone were the perfect kisses I liked. They were replaced by full tongue-down-my-throat action. I don’t know I can call them kisses, I don’t know what the hell they are. I usually end up not knowing exactly what to do.

Those kisses are gross, guys. I feel skewered and unable to react. There’s a difference between a momentary thrust of a tongue down a throat… but keep it there? A whole lot of NOPE.

He didn’t want wine, he only wanted me. We stood in the same place for a while – his hands all over me, his tongue down my throat – until we agreed to go upstairs. Once again, we didn’t spend any time on my couch.

Continue reading

The plumber checks my pipes.

We had a solid pre clearance date. It didn’t end in a kiss because while we were inside talking over a drink, the temperature dropped several degrees and in his shorts, he was far too cold outside to stand on the street and make out.

It was probably just as well, because given how great our kissing chemistry proved to be, we may have made a spectacle of ourselves on that busy street.

He gets up ridiculously early every morning for a 6 am start time. I’m learning this is the downside of dating tradesmen. He asks me how my day is going, he’s been up for hours, and I’m still waking up.  Continue reading

The dirty poet.

The man who referred to himself as a poet peppered his texts with “you’re such a little sweetheart” and sunflower emojis. When we met at a downtown bar for an after-work drink, my first thought was he might be bisexual. He had that way about him.

He’s in his mid-fifties and after ending his 25-year marriage, he got a tattoo, a nipple ring, and earrings in both ears. He’s in the film industry in an artistic role.

When I departed that first date, he stayed seated on the barstool, we hugged and he gave me what I would call a quick peck on the lips. Later, he professed via text how excited that kiss got him. He said he felt a spark.

Huh?  Continue reading

Freaking men out by my boldness, one interaction at a time.

“You scare me a little bit with how direct you are, Ann,” the 54 year old creative type texted last night. “Remember, I write poetry.” Sigh. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I disliked most poetry: it’s not my thing. After our brief after-dinner drink last week, he’s been communicative and sweet. He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me and felt like a teenager. But he’s too saccharine at times – he said I was a “little sweetheart”, two words I would ever use to describe myself.

We will see how the second date goes, when we get to it.

::

One of the contractors and I were supposed to meet last night. For a rough around the edges guy, he’d been remarkably responsive and kind. 

We aren’t soul mates, but over a shared platter of nachos we talked about astrological signs and his pet snakes (!) and I stared at his muscular hands and forearms.

We aren’t soul mates, but I’d fuck him.

We had plans for a second date drink in my neighbourhood. My plan was to have a couple of drinks then take him back to my place. We’d confirmed just a couple of hours before, but when I sent him the exact address he didn’t reply.

Texting with two girlfriends, the consensus was he was an insensitive jerk who had stood me up. It didn’t feel right, but it was odd.

A couple of hours later he texted “Ann I’m so so sorry… I fell asleep on my couch.” We spoke on the phone. 

He was sincere.

I was horny. 

It was 10 pm. I hadn’t had sex in three weeks. I asked him what he thought about still coming over. I told him it was definitely now booty call territory.

“Ummm, yeah, that’s cool… is that what you want?” He asked, clearly not used to such transparency. 

“Too transparent?” I asked.

“No, not at all. If you want me to come over, I’m all good. I will follow your lead.”

“Well, I need the stress release. Come on over.”

He was nervous as fuck. A ball of jittery energy. But he got over it enough to prove he had mad oral skills, a functioning average penis, and really, really, strong arms.

Blech. Leo Redux.

Ever since I broke up with him, Leo has been asking me out every couple of weeks.

“Hey Ann how about a drink after work on Wednesday?” he will text. I’ve consistently said no. I’ve even said (gently) that since we broke up, I wasn’t interested in continuing to date.

“It’s just as friends, Ann” he’d protest. “You have a friend for life.” Continue reading

Magic under the summer stars. 

Claude and I were together several times over the course of a few days. We spent one full day and four evenings together. It was frustratingly comfortable and easy to be with him. I wished often there could be a way for us to practically explore a relationship together, but it is not to be.

Liam is young, and jet lag took its toll the first couple of days. He’s also a very particular eater and was not about to try the delights of Barcelona. While I already liked Claude, seeing him in “Dad mode” made me like him even more. He was patient with Liam and handled him very well. I had a peek into what he was like as a Dad and couldn’t help think how nice it would be to be around that more.  Continue reading

When attraction is timeless.

Claude rang the buzzer many flights down in our apartment building with no lift. He’s fit but it still took him a while to get up all of the stairs. He looked exactly as I expected. Yes, twenty years older, but the man I remembered. We greeted with kisses on each cheek and a lingering hug.

He said hello to Liam, who was distracted with his iPad. Claude and I went upstairs: he’d brought snacks and drinks. He was a good caregiver the few days and evenings we spent together. As independent as I am, I like a man who has the right balance of respecting me as an equal and knowing when I need water or proactively ordering me a glass of cava.  Continue reading

Bruce… he of the magic (2)

I hit “publish” by mistake on the previous post. Whoops. I wasn’t going to create a cliffhanger, but those of you who follow me on Twitter already know what I was going to say.

Bruce and I decided to leave my couch and go for dinner. As he moved to stand up I said “ummm can I kiss you before we go?” and he immediately said “yes”, shaking his head to himself as if to say “Bruce you are such a dummy” as he leaned in to kiss me. At least, that’s what I’m hoping the reaction was.

It was as good as the first kiss on our first date. Perhaps better, because it lasted way longer. Continue reading

dating rule breaker

Breaking rules like the dating badass I am.

Previous Post | Yes, I’m a rule breaker sometimes, even when the rules are my own. But this time, it paid off.

We had planned to go out – I wanted to take him to a great river walk a few minutes from my house. If we were getting along, I knew we would have dinner. And we’d already talked about our views on first date sex.

He was running a little behind and I was so nervous I started pacing. I was so hoping it was good in person because it had been lovely talking to him on the phone.

I’d wondered if he’d show up empty handed like so many men before him.  Continue reading