I was nervous about my third date with Fred. The last time I’d seen him, we had somehow-sort-of scheduled a sex date, which I wound up canceling because I knew I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t explained why, so on this date, I knew I had to address the sex thing – and let him know that it wasn’t going to happen tonight.
We went to dinner and a play, then drinks afterward. Rather than give a play-by-play of the entire evening, I’ll just break it down into chunks: The Good, The Hmmm, The Bad, and The Sex Part.
He picked me up on time and I was impressed when he actually came to my door, as most guys just call from the car. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, complimented me and gave me his jacket when I was cold. During the play, we cuddled. When I told him I wasn’t ready for sex, he was visibly disappointed, but said it was okay. He told me he liked me. The sexual energy between us was palpable, and even further heightened when he told me he had experience with tantric sex. He definitely did a few things right.
At some point between the appetizer and the main course, I realized I was dating a 12-year-old boy. He teased me, pinched me and shoved me the same way a little boy does when he likes a girl. He snickered every time I said the word “hard.” I had my own grown Butt-head. In many respects, it was fun and playful and made me laugh. But, like a 12-year-old, Fred also thinks he is the center of the universe.
Being the center of the universe, he talks about himself incessantly. He really has not made an effort to get to know me and find out my likes and dislikes, what makes me tick, or who I am as a person. He seems very content just talking about himself.
When I brought up the sex thing, he said he understood, but cut me off when I wanted to explain. He didn’t get why we had to have such a “serious conversation” on the third date. This is bad, I thought. I needed to express my feelings and he wouldn’t let me. Relationship prognosis: negative.
Oh, and he’s a pothead. I am cannabis-friendly, but for me it’s something to enjoy once in a while, not daily. He’s a wake-n-bake, everyday kind of stoner. I don’t want to date the 40-year-old Jeff Spicoli.
The Sex Part
Back at my place, we finally got to be horizontal and make out properly (after all, he was still hot). I had told him there’d be no actual penetration so I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about that. However, we engaged in other activities. One thing led to another and soon I was down to my underwear (thank God I wore the good ones)… and he was naked (outstanding body, I might add).
He wanted to take a trip downtown, but I said no. He kept saying he really wanted to, and despite my protests, he eventually found his way down. But when he asked me to reciprocate, I declined.
You see, if I give a guy a BJ, I might as well just do him. To me, oral sex is extremely intimate and puts me in a very vulnerable position. Don’t get me wrong, I actually love doing it – when I’m with a man I trust. Fred didn’t understand this. I tried to be handy with a handy, but it just wasn’t happening.
He got up, got dressed, and started getting ready to leave. When I asked if he was angry, he said no, but he was disappointed because he had expected to get off and now he had to go ice his balls.
I told him I hadn’t promised him anything so he shouldn’t have expected it. He said he was just being honest because I’d asked. He went on to say that his friends bought him a mug that says “Uncensored,” because he’s a straight-talker and does not censor himself.
I’ve learned this is what most assholes say when defending their assholishness.
What a fucking dick! I thought to myself. He left and I sat there stunned for about 15 minutes, thinking, did this really happen?
Fine, it’s over, he can go to hell. He totally disrespected me and I never, ever wanted to see this jerk again.
There was just one small problem…
I was horny.
Read Part II – Saturday Night with Fred: Get Off and Get Out
Categories: True Story