It started Saturday evening at his place. I hadn’t expected to spend the night, and I certainly hadn’t expected to spend the day. But lo and behold, the hours passed and I found myself still… there. With him.
And I think the oddest part of it was that he wanted me there. Really?
With the last couple guys I dated, the morning after was always awkward. I was never sure if they wanted me to stay or go. But I knew Tom wanted me to stay.
I kept thinking maybe I should go, but every time I did he’d suggest that I spend the night… or that we cuddle in bed and watch Superbad… or go out to brunch… or walk around the beach… or go back to his place… or cook dinner together. And I took him up on it every time.
Not only did he want me to stick around, he exhibited very strange behavior. He told me I was beautiful. He let me pick the music, and the movie, and the pizza toppings. He rubbed my feet. He asked me questions about myself. He told me I was awesome. He looked me in the eyes.
I began to wonder if this was in fact a man I was dating. Is it possible Tom is a she-to-he post-op transsexual?
Ditch the Douche
When I blogged about our second date (aka, the farting date), I mentioned that I liked him, but something was missing. Perhaps the missing piece was the anxiety I normally feel when I’m dating a guy I really like.
Maybe I’ve grown so accustomed to this anxious feeling that I think it’s normal, and that if it’s not there, it means I’m just not into the guy.
However, I think it’s possible the anxiety really kinda sorta had something to do with me dating, ya know, douchebags. Douchebags, not surprisingly, cause anxiety. And honey, I’ve seen more douchebags than a Dutch hooker with a yeast infection.
But you know what? I am tired of selfish pricks. I am tired of guys who don’t know what they want. And I am tired of guys who feel like they need to act like Mr. Motherfucking Cool and Aloof to win my interest.
Tom is not a douche. He’s a nice guy, and I dig it. In three dates he turned my lukewarm feelings into something kinda hot. I’m not questioning whether he likes me. I know he likes me. He’s not afraid to make his affection clear, and that turns me on.
Whoa, does this mean I’m all growns up? That I’ve conquered my doucheaholism? Maybe it just means I’ve been with enough douchebags to finally see them for what they are: insecure, tiresome — and frankly — unoriginal.
No matter. Tom is a breath of fresh air and I’m taking a big, long, yogic inhale through the nose.
What? Did you want more? Oh, I see. You want to know if we did it.
Well, never one to disappoint, I wouldn’t leave you lovelies in the dark about the sexy time. But not just yet. I’ve saved that for a blog post all its own. So I’ll see you back here soon. Coz I know y’all are a bunch of pervy bastards.
Categories: True Story