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.

Acting like a teenager, according to one.

The night Fox left for his week-long business trip, I went to his house for dinner and dropped him off at the airport.

That night I spent an hour chatting with a nephew who was temporarily living with him between graduation and a job relocation. It was nice to see Fox in Uncle mode.

Then I met his daughter who is about to turn 17 – she was coming upstairs for a minute to grab a few things prior to a concert. Sixty seconds of teenager; I’d forgotten what it’s like. Fox had bought cupcakes to celebrate my birthday and I offered her one. Then she was gone.

I couldn’t have messed up the minute too badly because she reported back that I “seem nice”. As did his nephew. As have his friends. Continue reading

Feeling the weight of a very good situation.

I’m entering into a bona fide serious relationship with Fox. It feels good and makes me nervous all at the same time.

Why nervous?

With great power comes great responsibility. That’s why.

The good stuff is pretty obvious. I feel adored and accepted and desired. Fox knows the whole me and likes me. For a sexually bold, adventurous, and highly experienced woman who has no intention of slowing down, this is a big fucking deal. Finding a man willing to see the Mom, executive, and insatiable slut? I know he thinks he’s the one that’s hit the jackpot, but ssshhhhh, it’s actually me. Continue reading

My fifth date with the Fox.

Fox and I had our fifth date a week after my party (not counting it as a date); I had invited him to join me at a sporting event.

Liam was still with me, as Will had taken a 10 day trip with Colleen and her children (it’s a whole other post trying to understand why he didn’t take Liam). He was staying with my Mom overnight so I could go to the game.

Fox met me at our arranged pick up spot, needing some guidance from me on where exactly to be, as he’s not familiar with our city core. It was ever so slightly annoying that the man with built-in GPS who works a five-minute drive from there couldn’t figure it out. Any whiff of helplessness is a massive turn off for me – in men and women. Continue reading