Met Colombian girl at a bar the other night. She's super hot, but the language barrier is proving to be difficult. Since we really couldn't understand each other we ended up making out in the corner of the bar. No one could see us, but I am ashamed to say I mugged down in the bar...again...homo.
D10 - Colombia: Colombia is about 5'5", with medium-length black hair, and beautiful eyes, really dark brown, almost black too. She has a cute little body, and a sexy accent. I think she's 26.
Post bar-hooking-up we tried to talk on the phone a couple of times, but that gets old pretty quickly, so most of our plans are made via text message.
Though seemingly sane, DC has now thrown the foreign "curve ball" at me to change things up. That's about right, I meet someone who is normal, but she speaks another language. Or, she's freaking crazy and I just can't tell. I need a translator.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Date 9: Ugly Mug
A few weeks ago I went to the Ugly Mug with some buddies while we waited for one guy's wife to finish up work. The games were on TV and the place was pretty crowded. It was fairly late at night and I still hadn't eaten dinner, so we ordered pizzas and beers and settled in to watch the games for a while.
I chatted with a cute girl next to me until we finished the pizza and moved on to our next stop for the evening. Before I left, though, I exchanged numbers with my new friend, who I will call Bear.
D9-Bear: At first I didn't think that much of Bear. She was fairly cute, but it was hard to get a read on her because the bar was very crowded. When I later saw her outside and could talk to her I realized she was fun, pretty cute, and had a nice body. Bear is about 5'6", 25 years old, thin, with a very "pert" body. She has long wavy hair and a cute smile. Bear seems very bright, but there is a naive side to her because she grew up in the boonies.
My friends and I bounced around Eastern Market for a while that night, and even crossed paths with Bear and her friends once on the sidewalk. As the night wore on I sent Bear a text telling her what bar we were at if she wanted to join us. She would later say it was "against dating etiquette" to call someone the same night you met them, but I said "I texted her, and we aren't dating", so it was OK.
Late that night Bear and I met up at a bar and she came back to my place for a while, but nothing major happened. We made plans to get together again.
I chatted with a cute girl next to me until we finished the pizza and moved on to our next stop for the evening. Before I left, though, I exchanged numbers with my new friend, who I will call Bear.
D9-Bear: At first I didn't think that much of Bear. She was fairly cute, but it was hard to get a read on her because the bar was very crowded. When I later saw her outside and could talk to her I realized she was fun, pretty cute, and had a nice body. Bear is about 5'6", 25 years old, thin, with a very "pert" body. She has long wavy hair and a cute smile. Bear seems very bright, but there is a naive side to her because she grew up in the boonies.
My friends and I bounced around Eastern Market for a while that night, and even crossed paths with Bear and her friends once on the sidewalk. As the night wore on I sent Bear a text telling her what bar we were at if she wanted to join us. She would later say it was "against dating etiquette" to call someone the same night you met them, but I said "I texted her, and we aren't dating", so it was OK.
Late that night Bear and I met up at a bar and she came back to my place for a while, but nothing major happened. We made plans to get together again.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Date 8: Cafe Saint Ex
...This really is not a date at all.
Cafe Saint Ex is one of my favorite bars in the city, if you haven't been there I highly recommend it. They have great food, a good beer selection, and the basement plays awesome music on the weekends. It's almost too easy to meet girls there.
I was at Saint Ex a couple of weeks ago with 3 buddies. We had been to one other bar that night and around midnight we decided to head to Saint Ex and see what we could round up. Almost as soon as we walked in four girls came over and introduced themselves. I don't know what it is about the place, but it is just always like this, people are really friendly. While I was talking to one of the girls I noticed a cute blond at the corner of the bar who kept looking over, so after a while I excused myself and went over to say hello. Her name was Donna and we tried to talk over the music for a while. By then it was about 1:30am, and Donna and I had a shot together. After the shot I asked Donna if she wanted to come back to my place, and she said sure.
D8-Donna: Donna was cute, long blond hair and blue eyes, but she had a disproportionately large butt. It definitely wasn't fat, or huge, it was just on the big side. Her face was pretty cute, and she had a nice chest (God is a fair dude, big butt, big boobs), so overall she was not bad, especially given the effort.
Donna was a teacher in Maryland, I'm not sure exactly where. Since I'm not from the area, whenever people say where they live I just say "Ohhh, great, I hear it's nice there" and nod approvingly, but really it means nothing to me. It's a combination of I just don't know the area, and I really don't care that much. Anyway, Donna was a teacher, but did some pretty naughty things that night. As a matter of fact, should someone like Donna really be molding the minds of our youth, tomorrow's leaders? I often think about these things when some girl's ankles are hitting me in the ears. Or my other favorite is Wouldn't this girl's co-workers love to know that she likes her hair pulled? Sometimes I do the opposite, and see a girl that looks really proper and try to guess what her sexual preferences are. Then I remind myself that it's good I don't work in human resources.
In the morning Donna asked me "Are you sure you're not gay?". I stared at her as a million sarcastic things raced through my head. There I was, stark naked in bed with her, still wearing the condom from the morning sex, searching for just the right words. "Why?", I asked. "Well, your bathroom is clean and you have nice artwork". I had to get this girl out of my place ASAP.
I had her on the back of the bike and at her friend's apartment before she knew what was happening. She handed me my helmet she said "do you want my number?"..."Yes please." She rattled off ten digits in a voice I was now starting to loathe, and I punched the numbers into my phone. "OK, got it, I'll call you, thanks..." as I started the bike. "Want to put my name in too?" she said. "Nope, it's in there." I left and never looked back.
Cafe Saint Ex is one of my favorite bars in the city, if you haven't been there I highly recommend it. They have great food, a good beer selection, and the basement plays awesome music on the weekends. It's almost too easy to meet girls there.
I was at Saint Ex a couple of weeks ago with 3 buddies. We had been to one other bar that night and around midnight we decided to head to Saint Ex and see what we could round up. Almost as soon as we walked in four girls came over and introduced themselves. I don't know what it is about the place, but it is just always like this, people are really friendly. While I was talking to one of the girls I noticed a cute blond at the corner of the bar who kept looking over, so after a while I excused myself and went over to say hello. Her name was Donna and we tried to talk over the music for a while. By then it was about 1:30am, and Donna and I had a shot together. After the shot I asked Donna if she wanted to come back to my place, and she said sure.
D8-Donna: Donna was cute, long blond hair and blue eyes, but she had a disproportionately large butt. It definitely wasn't fat, or huge, it was just on the big side. Her face was pretty cute, and she had a nice chest (God is a fair dude, big butt, big boobs), so overall she was not bad, especially given the effort.
Donna was a teacher in Maryland, I'm not sure exactly where. Since I'm not from the area, whenever people say where they live I just say "Ohhh, great, I hear it's nice there" and nod approvingly, but really it means nothing to me. It's a combination of I just don't know the area, and I really don't care that much. Anyway, Donna was a teacher, but did some pretty naughty things that night. As a matter of fact, should someone like Donna really be molding the minds of our youth, tomorrow's leaders? I often think about these things when some girl's ankles are hitting me in the ears. Or my other favorite is Wouldn't this girl's co-workers love to know that she likes her hair pulled? Sometimes I do the opposite, and see a girl that looks really proper and try to guess what her sexual preferences are. Then I remind myself that it's good I don't work in human resources.
In the morning Donna asked me "Are you sure you're not gay?". I stared at her as a million sarcastic things raced through my head. There I was, stark naked in bed with her, still wearing the condom from the morning sex, searching for just the right words. "Why?", I asked. "Well, your bathroom is clean and you have nice artwork". I had to get this girl out of my place ASAP.
I had her on the back of the bike and at her friend's apartment before she knew what was happening. She handed me my helmet she said "do you want my number?"..."Yes please." She rattled off ten digits in a voice I was now starting to loathe, and I punched the numbers into my phone. "OK, got it, I'll call you, thanks..." as I started the bike. "Want to put my name in too?" she said. "Nope, it's in there." I left and never looked back.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Date 7: Back Home
OK, I will make a very long story short. I went home a few weeks ago for business and while I was there I got together for drinks one night with Dee, an old friend of mine. This turned out to be a mistake.
Background: I went out with Dee a few times about 2 years ago, nothing major, but I had a pretty big crush on her. During that time, one night we had plans to go out for dinner, it was probably our fourth date, and she called me a few hours before dinner and cancelled. Actually, she didn't just cancel dinner, she said she got back together with an old college boyfriend and couldn't see me anymore. That stung a bit.
D7 - Dee: Dee is really cute, she's about 5'4" with a tiny little body. She has medium length wavy-brown hair, brown eyes and a great smile. She usually gets really dressed up when we go out, but she's a hippy at heart, and loves to hike and be outdoors.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Dee has not been with the college-guy for about a year and we had been emailing each other recently. We got together that Friday night for dinner then went out for a few drinks. We closed the bar and she invited me back to her place to see her new dog and have a beer. We had a beer and played with her pup, and I ended up staying the night. We didn't sleep together, but pretty much did everything else.
Dee and I got together one other time over the weekend and hung out, and we had fun. We left things off that she would come to DC for a visit.
We talked a couple of times since I was home and had tentatively decided on a weekend for her visit, however, the next time we spoke she had clearly changed her mind and was being very vague about everything. Finally, she emailed me and said that while she had fun when we were together, she wasn't ready to spend a weekend together.
I guess I don't blame her, the most time we ever spent together (awake) at one time was about 5 hours, so a weekend is a big leap. However, given her history of flaking out I don't have high hopes of getting together again. This is too bad because I really enjoy her company and think she's a great girl.
Recap: So of the past seven dates I have only had interest in one girl, and she's not even from DC.
Background: I went out with Dee a few times about 2 years ago, nothing major, but I had a pretty big crush on her. During that time, one night we had plans to go out for dinner, it was probably our fourth date, and she called me a few hours before dinner and cancelled. Actually, she didn't just cancel dinner, she said she got back together with an old college boyfriend and couldn't see me anymore. That stung a bit.
D7 - Dee: Dee is really cute, she's about 5'4" with a tiny little body. She has medium length wavy-brown hair, brown eyes and a great smile. She usually gets really dressed up when we go out, but she's a hippy at heart, and loves to hike and be outdoors.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Dee has not been with the college-guy for about a year and we had been emailing each other recently. We got together that Friday night for dinner then went out for a few drinks. We closed the bar and she invited me back to her place to see her new dog and have a beer. We had a beer and played with her pup, and I ended up staying the night. We didn't sleep together, but pretty much did everything else.
Dee and I got together one other time over the weekend and hung out, and we had fun. We left things off that she would come to DC for a visit.
We talked a couple of times since I was home and had tentatively decided on a weekend for her visit, however, the next time we spoke she had clearly changed her mind and was being very vague about everything. Finally, she emailed me and said that while she had fun when we were together, she wasn't ready to spend a weekend together.
I guess I don't blame her, the most time we ever spent together (awake) at one time was about 5 hours, so a weekend is a big leap. However, given her history of flaking out I don't have high hopes of getting together again. This is too bad because I really enjoy her company and think she's a great girl.
Recap: So of the past seven dates I have only had interest in one girl, and she's not even from DC.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Date 6: Salsa
As far as dancers go, I am not much of one. However, I know that I am not a good dancer, and as G.I. Joe used to say "knowing is half the battle", so I adjust and fake it.
There is a bar in the U-Street area called Duke City, and a great salsa/funk/jazz band called Ashe used to play there once a month. I believe the band has since broken up, but when they played at Duke City loads of people would turn out to Salsa dance. There were always some fantastic dancers there, but most were hacks like me. It really didn't matter how you danced because the place was packed and the dance floor was just one huge lump of sweaty people.
I was there one evening when Ashe was playing and started talking to a girl that I (at the time) thought looked a lot like Courtney Cox. We talked at the bar for a while, but eventually it was too loud to hold a conversation so we moved to the dance floor. It was pretty chilly out that night, but it was extremely hot inside Duke City, even hotter than usual. We danced for about an hour, and were totally soaked by the time the band finished. The bar was closing so we moved to an Ethiopian restaurant down the street to grab a beer and a bite to eat.
D6-Salsa: Salsa was really cute. She was about 5'3", long black hair, brown eyes, and a very cute smile. While I initially thought she looked like Courney Cox, I would say that was a stretch. Salsa was older than I, maybe 38, and was in the midst of a divorce, which I guess technically made her a Cougar. However, Salsa was in great shape, very petite, and her body put girls half her age to shame.
After about 30 minutes at the Ethiopian restaurant it was clear that Salsa was coming home with me. Older women know what the want and usually have enough confidence to just ask for it, no time is wasted. Salsa was no exception. When I asked her if she would like to come home with me she said "I would be disappointed if you didn't ask after spending the whole night with you". That's fairly direct and confident. We hailed a cab and were at my place in ten minutes.
Salsa's confidence extended into the bedroom, she knew exactly what she wanted. We did it every which way that night, but Salsa liked to be on top, that was her thing. Squirting was also her thing. I have heard guys say they love it when a girl squirts, and I know some guys who hate it. I think it's sexy to see a girl really enjoying herself, and there is certainly no faking an orgasm when you're a squirter, but the clean up afterwards is a real hassle.
I dated a girl at home that would leave a huge wet spot, 2' in diameter, when she came, but she wasn't technically a squirter because the fluid just kind of came out of her. I dated another girl that one time when we were having sex standing up produced so much fluid that she thought I peed inside her somehow, and was convinced that she was not responsible for the puddle on her floor (I assure you it was all hers). Salsa's orgasms were a totally new experience for me. When she came when she was on top of me, she leaned back slightly and a stream of fluid sprayed over me, over my head and about 16" beyond my head. I don't know how much fluid she produced, but it would be measured in cups, not ouces. I had to dry clean my sheets, comforter, and feather bed the next day, there was just a tremendous wet spot.
I don't recall exactly how many times we slept together that night, maybe three of four. We managed to break my bed the last time, though. The headboard separated from the side supports which sent the mattress crashing to the floor. We paused for a second, but decided there was no sense stopping, it's not like I was going to whip out the screw gun and wood glue and fix it right there and then.
My guess is that we passed out somewhere around 5am. A couple of hours later I heard Salsa getting dressed and tried to convince her to sleep a little longer, but she said she had to go home and walk her dog (she did have a dog, but that sounded fishy to me).
When I finally woke up about 5 hours later I realized that I hadn't gotten Salsa's phone number. I thought I had put it in my cell phone, but I must not have saved it properly. All I could think about for the next few days was how crazy Salsa was in bed. I knew that she liked to see Ashe at Duke City, but I really didn't want to wait a month and try to run into her again. On Thursday of the next week I posted the following ad on Craigslist:
"Salsa- We drank, we danced, we went back to my place on 16th Street. You left early the next morning without leaving your number. I had a great time and would like to see you again, email me if you would like to as well."
The next day I had an email from a strange address that simply said "Guilty as charged, sorry about the bed, call me, 202-XXX-XXXX."
Salsa and I hooked up once or twice a week for about 5 months, until she moved out of the country for work. We were essentially f-buddies. We would go out with our respective friends then meet up late night for sex. Sometimes Salsa would run 5 miles and end her workout at my place for a quick screw. It was a great relationship because no feelings were getting hurt, and there was mutually satisfying sex.
There is a bar in the U-Street area called Duke City, and a great salsa/funk/jazz band called Ashe used to play there once a month. I believe the band has since broken up, but when they played at Duke City loads of people would turn out to Salsa dance. There were always some fantastic dancers there, but most were hacks like me. It really didn't matter how you danced because the place was packed and the dance floor was just one huge lump of sweaty people.
I was there one evening when Ashe was playing and started talking to a girl that I (at the time) thought looked a lot like Courtney Cox. We talked at the bar for a while, but eventually it was too loud to hold a conversation so we moved to the dance floor. It was pretty chilly out that night, but it was extremely hot inside Duke City, even hotter than usual. We danced for about an hour, and were totally soaked by the time the band finished. The bar was closing so we moved to an Ethiopian restaurant down the street to grab a beer and a bite to eat.
D6-Salsa: Salsa was really cute. She was about 5'3", long black hair, brown eyes, and a very cute smile. While I initially thought she looked like Courney Cox, I would say that was a stretch. Salsa was older than I, maybe 38, and was in the midst of a divorce, which I guess technically made her a Cougar. However, Salsa was in great shape, very petite, and her body put girls half her age to shame.
After about 30 minutes at the Ethiopian restaurant it was clear that Salsa was coming home with me. Older women know what the want and usually have enough confidence to just ask for it, no time is wasted. Salsa was no exception. When I asked her if she would like to come home with me she said "I would be disappointed if you didn't ask after spending the whole night with you". That's fairly direct and confident. We hailed a cab and were at my place in ten minutes.
Salsa's confidence extended into the bedroom, she knew exactly what she wanted. We did it every which way that night, but Salsa liked to be on top, that was her thing. Squirting was also her thing. I have heard guys say they love it when a girl squirts, and I know some guys who hate it. I think it's sexy to see a girl really enjoying herself, and there is certainly no faking an orgasm when you're a squirter, but the clean up afterwards is a real hassle.
I dated a girl at home that would leave a huge wet spot, 2' in diameter, when she came, but she wasn't technically a squirter because the fluid just kind of came out of her. I dated another girl that one time when we were having sex standing up produced so much fluid that she thought I peed inside her somehow, and was convinced that she was not responsible for the puddle on her floor (I assure you it was all hers). Salsa's orgasms were a totally new experience for me. When she came when she was on top of me, she leaned back slightly and a stream of fluid sprayed over me, over my head and about 16" beyond my head. I don't know how much fluid she produced, but it would be measured in cups, not ouces. I had to dry clean my sheets, comforter, and feather bed the next day, there was just a tremendous wet spot.
I don't recall exactly how many times we slept together that night, maybe three of four. We managed to break my bed the last time, though. The headboard separated from the side supports which sent the mattress crashing to the floor. We paused for a second, but decided there was no sense stopping, it's not like I was going to whip out the screw gun and wood glue and fix it right there and then.
My guess is that we passed out somewhere around 5am. A couple of hours later I heard Salsa getting dressed and tried to convince her to sleep a little longer, but she said she had to go home and walk her dog (she did have a dog, but that sounded fishy to me).
When I finally woke up about 5 hours later I realized that I hadn't gotten Salsa's phone number. I thought I had put it in my cell phone, but I must not have saved it properly. All I could think about for the next few days was how crazy Salsa was in bed. I knew that she liked to see Ashe at Duke City, but I really didn't want to wait a month and try to run into her again. On Thursday of the next week I posted the following ad on Craigslist:
"Salsa- We drank, we danced, we went back to my place on 16th Street. You left early the next morning without leaving your number. I had a great time and would like to see you again, email me if you would like to as well."
The next day I had an email from a strange address that simply said "Guilty as charged, sorry about the bed, call me, 202-XXX-XXXX."
Salsa and I hooked up once or twice a week for about 5 months, until she moved out of the country for work. We were essentially f-buddies. We would go out with our respective friends then meet up late night for sex. Sometimes Salsa would run 5 miles and end her workout at my place for a quick screw. It was a great relationship because no feelings were getting hurt, and there was mutually satisfying sex.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Date 5: Strawberry Shortcake
Halloween is my favorite night of the year, hands down. It's like Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday and New Year's Eve all wrapped into one. It has everything; candy, slutty costumes, parties, slutty costumes. I love it.
After a recently parting ways with Kate, and not really enjoying being around Anne, I made plans to go to Georgetown with some friends on Halloween without her. She had to work the next day, and I did a little tap dance to make her think I was just going out for drinks, but I was psyched for going out in costume.
I decided to dress up as "Ceasar Salad", I wore a toga and pinned lettuce and croutons all over it, and it got pretty good reviews.
We started off at a party in Columbia Heights, then moved on to The Guards in Georgetown. After that I think we went to Jared's, or whatever the name of the place right next door is. I was a solid ten years older than most people in either of these bars, but I consider myself incredibly immature, so I fit right in. Some kid was dressed up like Screach from Saved By The Bell and I proceeded to snap his suspenders everytime he walked by me. After three or four times Screach was furious. I explained I was just kidding around, and that I wouldn't do it anymore. But I just couldn't resist, and as soon as he began to walk away I twanged his suspenders again, this time stretching them as far as they would go. Screach went wild, he came right after me. The bouncers hadn't seen what led up to his outburst, so they dragged him out of the bar. The whole time he screamed he was going to wait out front for me and kick my ass when I left. Whatever, it was Screach.
My antics with Screach had caught the eye of Strawberry Shortcake who thought it was funny. She introduced herself and we had a shot together.
D5-Strawberry Shortcake (SS): I don't know SS's name, so I don't have to make one up here. She told me 10 times, but I just don't remember. SS had a smoking hot body, but her face was really mediocre. She was about 5'9", great butt, a really nice chest, brown hair, and she had eyes, but I don't recall the color.
SS's outfit for the night was a tiny skirt, a very tight fitting top, and a floppy little hat. The costume looked like it was made to fit an eight year old, but it was great on her. With such a tiny skirt I asked SS what kind of underwear she could possibly be wearing? She turned around and lifted the side of her skirt to reveal a thin pink band of lace-rimmed underwear. They weren't a thong, but rather those little ones where each cheek hangs out a bit. They were superb.
As it turns out SS and I went to the same college, although she was in 8th or 9th grade when I graduated. SS was working as a flight attendant for a while because she wanted to see the world before going to law school.
We stayed at the bar for another hour, then snuck out with a group of people (a friend called me to tell me that Screach was in fact waiting outside for me to leave). SS and I jumped in a cab together, and she asked if we could go to my place. Since Anne lived in my building I was sure I would get caught, so we made the long trip to her place in Shirlington. SS had a flight-attendant roommate and asked me to be quiet coming in. We made our way to her bedroom and started hooking up.
We were both buck naked, but SS said we couldn't have sex. I was obviously disappointed, but figured it was best since I didn't have any condoms sewn into the liner of my toga. SS was a little kinky, though, and allowed me to call her Strawberry Shortcake in bed. This was especially nice (and convenient) since I didn't know her name. SS also wanted most of my hand in her while I went down on her, and screamed uncontrollably when she came, which was amusing to me after she asked me to tip-toe through her house so I didn't wake her roommate. SS also insisted I finish on her chest, but cautioned me not to get anything on her face. Chicks are freaking crazy, I love it.
Morning brought the typically awkward ritual of gathering my clothing. I had the added joy of asking four-fingers for a ride back to the city so I wouldn't have to shell out another $30 for a cab ride. She reluctantly agreed. I still didn't know her name and it was becoming really unconfortable at this point. She handed me her keys and said she would be right out, her Isuzu was in front. When I got in her car I frantically looked through her glove box for her registration, but saw that her car was registered in har dad's name. Oh well, Strawberry Shortcake it is.
We drove into the city and I had SS drop me off about two blocks from my house in case Anne was outside walking her dog. When she stopped the car we exchanged numbers, though neither of us ever called the other.
As I walked home in my toga covered in wilted Romaine lettuce I did run into Anne walking her dog. I explained that I got drunk in Georgetown and slept at my buddy's place. I growled and made some other noises when she asked how I got home, and I rushed inside to get some sleep
After a recently parting ways with Kate, and not really enjoying being around Anne, I made plans to go to Georgetown with some friends on Halloween without her. She had to work the next day, and I did a little tap dance to make her think I was just going out for drinks, but I was psyched for going out in costume.
I decided to dress up as "Ceasar Salad", I wore a toga and pinned lettuce and croutons all over it, and it got pretty good reviews.
We started off at a party in Columbia Heights, then moved on to The Guards in Georgetown. After that I think we went to Jared's, or whatever the name of the place right next door is. I was a solid ten years older than most people in either of these bars, but I consider myself incredibly immature, so I fit right in. Some kid was dressed up like Screach from Saved By The Bell and I proceeded to snap his suspenders everytime he walked by me. After three or four times Screach was furious. I explained I was just kidding around, and that I wouldn't do it anymore. But I just couldn't resist, and as soon as he began to walk away I twanged his suspenders again, this time stretching them as far as they would go. Screach went wild, he came right after me. The bouncers hadn't seen what led up to his outburst, so they dragged him out of the bar. The whole time he screamed he was going to wait out front for me and kick my ass when I left. Whatever, it was Screach.
My antics with Screach had caught the eye of Strawberry Shortcake who thought it was funny. She introduced herself and we had a shot together.
D5-Strawberry Shortcake (SS): I don't know SS's name, so I don't have to make one up here. She told me 10 times, but I just don't remember. SS had a smoking hot body, but her face was really mediocre. She was about 5'9", great butt, a really nice chest, brown hair, and she had eyes, but I don't recall the color.
SS's outfit for the night was a tiny skirt, a very tight fitting top, and a floppy little hat. The costume looked like it was made to fit an eight year old, but it was great on her. With such a tiny skirt I asked SS what kind of underwear she could possibly be wearing? She turned around and lifted the side of her skirt to reveal a thin pink band of lace-rimmed underwear. They weren't a thong, but rather those little ones where each cheek hangs out a bit. They were superb.
As it turns out SS and I went to the same college, although she was in 8th or 9th grade when I graduated. SS was working as a flight attendant for a while because she wanted to see the world before going to law school.
We stayed at the bar for another hour, then snuck out with a group of people (a friend called me to tell me that Screach was in fact waiting outside for me to leave). SS and I jumped in a cab together, and she asked if we could go to my place. Since Anne lived in my building I was sure I would get caught, so we made the long trip to her place in Shirlington. SS had a flight-attendant roommate and asked me to be quiet coming in. We made our way to her bedroom and started hooking up.
We were both buck naked, but SS said we couldn't have sex. I was obviously disappointed, but figured it was best since I didn't have any condoms sewn into the liner of my toga. SS was a little kinky, though, and allowed me to call her Strawberry Shortcake in bed. This was especially nice (and convenient) since I didn't know her name. SS also wanted most of my hand in her while I went down on her, and screamed uncontrollably when she came, which was amusing to me after she asked me to tip-toe through her house so I didn't wake her roommate. SS also insisted I finish on her chest, but cautioned me not to get anything on her face. Chicks are freaking crazy, I love it.
Morning brought the typically awkward ritual of gathering my clothing. I had the added joy of asking four-fingers for a ride back to the city so I wouldn't have to shell out another $30 for a cab ride. She reluctantly agreed. I still didn't know her name and it was becoming really unconfortable at this point. She handed me her keys and said she would be right out, her Isuzu was in front. When I got in her car I frantically looked through her glove box for her registration, but saw that her car was registered in har dad's name. Oh well, Strawberry Shortcake it is.
We drove into the city and I had SS drop me off about two blocks from my house in case Anne was outside walking her dog. When she stopped the car we exchanged numbers, though neither of us ever called the other.
As I walked home in my toga covered in wilted Romaine lettuce I did run into Anne walking her dog. I explained that I got drunk in Georgetown and slept at my buddy's place. I growled and made some other noises when she asked how I got home, and I rushed inside to get some sleep
Big City
One of the things that I was most excited about when I decided to move to DC was that I would no longer be living in a small city (sub-100,000 people). After living in one place for nearly 30 years, you tend to run into the same people over and over. What's more, your dating circles get intertwined to the point that it's almost impossible to date someone who hasn't slept with at least one of your buddies. One night my good friend John and I were talking and found that between the two of us there were really only about four degrees of separation between us and every girl we could name in town. Further, there were about eight or nine that we had both slept with, a figure much higher than I had originally guessed.
I looked at my move as a blank canvas, a way to start fresh. At home, if a night was slow you could "go hogging" but your friends always knew you did no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. You would also inevitably run into the hog somewhere, and that's never a pleasant experience.
My mantra in DC was "7-up", I would only target girls I deemed a 7 or higher on a 1-10 scale. No more big fat goalie chicks for me, and I reasoned that this would be easy in DC simply because the pool of women was about 15 times larger.
I will admit that it only took a month for me stray from my 7-up theory, but I think I'm holding strong at 6-up, or maybe 5.5-up, depending on your scale. For someone who routinely dipped into the 2's and 3's, this is a vast improvement!
One thing I hadn't counted on is that DC is remarkably small for its size (I realize that doesn't make any fucking sense, but give me a minute). Between DC-proper, Arlington, Alexandria, Chevy Chase, and other surrounding 'burbs, there must be a few million people in DC. However, I still manage to see the same faces ona regular basis, which is a virtue of the fact that you tend to go to the same places over and over.
I will preface the coming catastrophe by saying that I spread myself pretty thin for a while. I was juggling Anne, Kate, and a girl from home for a while, and still found at least one night a week to go out with the guys in search of new talent. I tried not to lie, but I would come up with creative half-truths to go out on guy only nights, even if this meant that my buddies brought their wives' or girlfriends'.
One of my favorite nights of the month was when Mr. Green Jeans would play at The Clarendon Ballroom. This was usually a Thursday night, and always made for an uncomfortable Friday in the office. If you have not seen Mr. Green Jeans I highly recommend it. The band is fun, but the ladies are fantastic.
So one Thursday night a few guys and I went to the Ballroom. I did a little fancy footwork and managed to get a night off from Kate, and Anne had made plans to go to dinner with her girlfriends, so she was easy. We defiled ourselves as usual at the concert, and I was really hurting the next morning. Work ticked by at a glacial pace, but at 4pm I clocked out and went home to lick my wounds. I was supposed to go out with Kate and was thinking of an excuse to get out of it when I saw her number come up on my phone. I almost let it go to voicemail, but decided to answer.
Kate proceeds to tell me about her night out with her girls. They went to dinner at a new restaurant in Chinatown.
You can probably see where this is headed.
They were having drinks, enjoying themselves, and ordered a big round of appetizers to start with. The waiter brought the appetizers, but it turns out that he had swapped their food order with the group of girls sitting next to them. Both tables started eating before they realized the orders were wrong, so when they figured it out they decided to combine the two tables. As it turns out, yup, Kate had stumbled into Anne and her group of friends at dinner, they were sitting four feet from each other.
Honestly, I couldn't make this shit up, I'm just not this creative.
Now, as one big happy table they started chatting it up. At some point in the evening Anne mentioned that she lived on 16th Street, and Kate says, "Oh, where, I have a friend who lives on 16th Street?" Anne says the cross streets and Kate says what a coincidence, that's where her friend (the soon to be alone - me) lives. Anne then says the name of the building, and Kate blurts out, "Oh, do you know my friend ---?" ...
Having heard this same exact story from Anne just an hour later, I can tell you that at this point dinner became extremely uncomfortable for everyone. Neither girl actually said they were dating me, but apparently both implied it at nearly the same moment, and the tables were pushed back apart shortly thereafter. Gene, who was there that night and who gave me a third perspective on the events, said it was one of the most uncomfortable moments of her life.
Since things hadn't been going well with the aforementioned mercurial Kate, I decided to push her out of the picture and salvage what I could from my relationship with Anne. It wasn't easy, and took days of what a good friend of mine refers to as the "lie, deny, and make counter accusations" attack.
I looked at my move as a blank canvas, a way to start fresh. At home, if a night was slow you could "go hogging" but your friends always knew you did no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. You would also inevitably run into the hog somewhere, and that's never a pleasant experience.
My mantra in DC was "7-up", I would only target girls I deemed a 7 or higher on a 1-10 scale. No more big fat goalie chicks for me, and I reasoned that this would be easy in DC simply because the pool of women was about 15 times larger.
I will admit that it only took a month for me stray from my 7-up theory, but I think I'm holding strong at 6-up, or maybe 5.5-up, depending on your scale. For someone who routinely dipped into the 2's and 3's, this is a vast improvement!
One thing I hadn't counted on is that DC is remarkably small for its size (I realize that doesn't make any fucking sense, but give me a minute). Between DC-proper, Arlington, Alexandria, Chevy Chase, and other surrounding 'burbs, there must be a few million people in DC. However, I still manage to see the same faces ona regular basis, which is a virtue of the fact that you tend to go to the same places over and over.
I will preface the coming catastrophe by saying that I spread myself pretty thin for a while. I was juggling Anne, Kate, and a girl from home for a while, and still found at least one night a week to go out with the guys in search of new talent. I tried not to lie, but I would come up with creative half-truths to go out on guy only nights, even if this meant that my buddies brought their wives' or girlfriends'.
One of my favorite nights of the month was when Mr. Green Jeans would play at The Clarendon Ballroom. This was usually a Thursday night, and always made for an uncomfortable Friday in the office. If you have not seen Mr. Green Jeans I highly recommend it. The band is fun, but the ladies are fantastic.
So one Thursday night a few guys and I went to the Ballroom. I did a little fancy footwork and managed to get a night off from Kate, and Anne had made plans to go to dinner with her girlfriends, so she was easy. We defiled ourselves as usual at the concert, and I was really hurting the next morning. Work ticked by at a glacial pace, but at 4pm I clocked out and went home to lick my wounds. I was supposed to go out with Kate and was thinking of an excuse to get out of it when I saw her number come up on my phone. I almost let it go to voicemail, but decided to answer.
Kate proceeds to tell me about her night out with her girls. They went to dinner at a new restaurant in Chinatown.
You can probably see where this is headed.
They were having drinks, enjoying themselves, and ordered a big round of appetizers to start with. The waiter brought the appetizers, but it turns out that he had swapped their food order with the group of girls sitting next to them. Both tables started eating before they realized the orders were wrong, so when they figured it out they decided to combine the two tables. As it turns out, yup, Kate had stumbled into Anne and her group of friends at dinner, they were sitting four feet from each other.
Honestly, I couldn't make this shit up, I'm just not this creative.
Now, as one big happy table they started chatting it up. At some point in the evening Anne mentioned that she lived on 16th Street, and Kate says, "Oh, where, I have a friend who lives on 16th Street?" Anne says the cross streets and Kate says what a coincidence, that's where her friend (the soon to be alone - me) lives. Anne then says the name of the building, and Kate blurts out, "Oh, do you know my friend ---?" ...
Having heard this same exact story from Anne just an hour later, I can tell you that at this point dinner became extremely uncomfortable for everyone. Neither girl actually said they were dating me, but apparently both implied it at nearly the same moment, and the tables were pushed back apart shortly thereafter. Gene, who was there that night and who gave me a third perspective on the events, said it was one of the most uncomfortable moments of her life.
Since things hadn't been going well with the aforementioned mercurial Kate, I decided to push her out of the picture and salvage what I could from my relationship with Anne. It wasn't easy, and took days of what a good friend of mine refers to as the "lie, deny, and make counter accusations" attack.
Date 4: Not Really A Date
In sales there are cold leads and warm leads. Cold leads usually come from cold calling: picking up the phone and calling a stranger to ask for his or her business. A warm lead comes from a recommendation, someone saying hey, this guy may be able to help you, I'll have him give you a ring.
I think dating is similar. Cold calls in dating are walking up to a stranger on the street and trying to start up a conversation, it's difficult, and in my experience has a low success rate. Warm leads, on the other hand, would be anytime you have a friend in common or know someone from a familiar place. For instance, if you pass someone in your building every morning, or at your local coffee shop, there is a level of face recognition that raises you above "random stranger" status. If you see this person out of your normal context you can even say "hey, aren't you so-and-so from the coffee shop", and now there's connection. Most of my dates come from these relationships.
My apartment building had a greenscape (I know it's a gay term, but that's what it is called) on the roof where I would sometimes let my dag run around. Every once in a while there would be a group of girls up there laying out in the sun. The hound is OK for meeting girls in cases like this, so I usually quietly encourage her to walk in their direction (i.e. run and pounce on them) . There was a group of four girls that I saw up there the most: Anne, Gene, Halley, and Jackie.
One sunny Saturday afternoon this group was on the roof as usual (OK, so I took the dog up there because I figured they would be around) and we talked for a while. They said they were going out in Georgetown for drinks that night and invited me to join them, which I accepted.
That night we went to a few places in Georgetown for drinks. It was Anne, Gene, Halley, Jackie, and three guys and myself. No one was dating anyone, it was just 8 random people hanging out.
The girls: Anne was blond, cute, OK body, somewhat shy. Gene was a crazy New Yorker, decent body, but she had a huge nose. Halley had a great body but was annoying and a bit of a butter-face. Jackie was super hot, really tall, great body, I'm talking about a 8 out of 10, and pretty cool, but spoiled.
After the bars closed we all went back to Anne's apartment for a drink, it was probably 3am. We played asshole for hours. We drank all her beer, all that I had in my apartment, and eventually started on Gene's beer. 4am turned into 5am, and all I wanted to do was hook up, but this was turning into a war of attrition. Two guys had left so it was two guys and four girls, the odds were good. Jackie and Halley tapped out after a grueling round of cards where they must have drank two beers each in ten minutes, they were done. I later learned they took turns throwing up in the toilet. So now it was Gene and Anne, and this ass-clown-guy and I.
I really didn't care much for this dude, and we had both kind of set our sights on nailing Gene, so when she basically passed out mid-hand it was like the showdown at the O.K. Corral. It was clear that one of us was going to hook up with Anne, it was just a matter of being the last man standing.
At 5:30 or 6am the sun started to peak up, and I was toast. I clapped my hands together Vegas dealer style and announced "I'm out". I walked upstairs and promptly puked in my toilet twice. I hadn't thrown up in years and was thoroughly disappointed in myself, I was acting like a sissy. I threw up a third time and felt a little better. I splashed some water on my face and flopped into bed face down and fully clothed, shoes on an all.
Two seconds later I heard faint knocking on my door. I looked through the peep hole and saw Anne standing there..."Ding Ding Ding, and your winner is"...I vaguely recall very awkward, very sloppy sex. There was lots of falling, and fumbling around. The sex wasn't very good for me, and I am sure it was horrible for her.
I think dating is similar. Cold calls in dating are walking up to a stranger on the street and trying to start up a conversation, it's difficult, and in my experience has a low success rate. Warm leads, on the other hand, would be anytime you have a friend in common or know someone from a familiar place. For instance, if you pass someone in your building every morning, or at your local coffee shop, there is a level of face recognition that raises you above "random stranger" status. If you see this person out of your normal context you can even say "hey, aren't you so-and-so from the coffee shop", and now there's connection. Most of my dates come from these relationships.
My apartment building had a greenscape (I know it's a gay term, but that's what it is called) on the roof where I would sometimes let my dag run around. Every once in a while there would be a group of girls up there laying out in the sun. The hound is OK for meeting girls in cases like this, so I usually quietly encourage her to walk in their direction (i.e. run and pounce on them) . There was a group of four girls that I saw up there the most: Anne, Gene, Halley, and Jackie.
One sunny Saturday afternoon this group was on the roof as usual (OK, so I took the dog up there because I figured they would be around) and we talked for a while. They said they were going out in Georgetown for drinks that night and invited me to join them, which I accepted.
That night we went to a few places in Georgetown for drinks. It was Anne, Gene, Halley, Jackie, and three guys and myself. No one was dating anyone, it was just 8 random people hanging out.
The girls: Anne was blond, cute, OK body, somewhat shy. Gene was a crazy New Yorker, decent body, but she had a huge nose. Halley had a great body but was annoying and a bit of a butter-face. Jackie was super hot, really tall, great body, I'm talking about a 8 out of 10, and pretty cool, but spoiled.
After the bars closed we all went back to Anne's apartment for a drink, it was probably 3am. We played asshole for hours. We drank all her beer, all that I had in my apartment, and eventually started on Gene's beer. 4am turned into 5am, and all I wanted to do was hook up, but this was turning into a war of attrition. Two guys had left so it was two guys and four girls, the odds were good. Jackie and Halley tapped out after a grueling round of cards where they must have drank two beers each in ten minutes, they were done. I later learned they took turns throwing up in the toilet. So now it was Gene and Anne, and this ass-clown-guy and I.
I really didn't care much for this dude, and we had both kind of set our sights on nailing Gene, so when she basically passed out mid-hand it was like the showdown at the O.K. Corral. It was clear that one of us was going to hook up with Anne, it was just a matter of being the last man standing.
At 5:30 or 6am the sun started to peak up, and I was toast. I clapped my hands together Vegas dealer style and announced "I'm out". I walked upstairs and promptly puked in my toilet twice. I hadn't thrown up in years and was thoroughly disappointed in myself, I was acting like a sissy. I threw up a third time and felt a little better. I splashed some water on my face and flopped into bed face down and fully clothed, shoes on an all.
Two seconds later I heard faint knocking on my door. I looked through the peep hole and saw Anne standing there..."Ding Ding Ding, and your winner is"...I vaguely recall very awkward, very sloppy sex. There was lots of falling, and fumbling around. The sex wasn't very good for me, and I am sure it was horrible for her.
Date 3: The Spy
My third date is DC was a blind date. Hold on to your seats for the lineage on this set up. My sister-in-law was in Florida visiting her sister. One night the sister had some neighbors over for dinner, and the Spy's mother was in attendance. One thing (and Martini) led to another, and that night at about 1am my sister-in-law calls and wakes me up from a sound sleep to give me the Spy's phone number. I hate blind dates, but I have gotten laid a few times from them, so I figured I had nothing to lose.
D3-Spy: The Spy was OK looking, she was pretty short, had black hair, brown eyes, and a cute body, but you could tell she didn't work out at all. She was non-descript in almost every physical way. However, she seemed like she was fun, and had a raspy Punky Brester voice that was kind of cute. The Spy said she was a "government contractor" which I would later learn is a coy Washington way of saying that either you don't want to tell someone what you do because it is security work, or you have a really mundane job and want to sound mysterious.
I talked to the Spy on the phone once or twice, and we decided to go to an Italian Festival by judiciary square one Sunday afternoon. We walked around for a while, but the place was pretty weak, the food was lousy, and there were maybe three Italians there, it was all tourists. We walked towards Chinatown and decided to go to the Spy Museum, which I believe was my suggestion
Side note: The Spy Museum sucks.
As we walked through the museum I noticed two things that would later lead me to believe that Spy Girl may have been somehow involved in espionage. The first is that she was very quiet and unimpressed as we walked through the gallery of spy technology, and even commented on how some things have been much improved since the days of old. She also knew a ton about past US spies suspected and/or convicted of treason. I realize there are lots of explanations for these things, and that they don't prove anything, but I wanted to point it out. I also remembered that my sister-in-law mentioned that The Spy traveled a lot and couldn't tell her mom where she was most of the time. Whatever, not really important.
I was starving by the time we finished the rip-off spy tour, so I suggested we cook some pasta, since we were both craving it after the Italian Festival that had no Italian food. We stopped at a store and picked up a bottle of wine and some groceries.
Back at my house we made penne with vodka sauce, drank a bad bottle of Merlot, and chatted. I really wasn't all that into the Spy, she was dull, but we started making out on the couch anyway. Most of our clothes were off within fifteen minutes, but nothing was really happening, just a lot of heavy petting. The Spy was neither fun to hang out with, nor make out with, so after an hour of that I made an excuse to get her out of there.
The Spy called and left a message the next day saying that she had enjoyed herself and suggested we go out again. I had didn't call her back for a few days and then received another message from her basically saying the same thing. Again, I didn't call her back right away, but I actually intended to. I was regularly getting laid with Kate from D2, but that wasn't going to stop me from nailing the Spy, I was just distracted and never got around to calling her that week. After the first week, though, I wanted to call her back but was embarrassed to after two unanswered calls. One night I saw her number come up on my phone and was really surprised to see her calling again, but there was no way I was going to answer. The Spy's third message was probably what you would expect, she lambasted me for being an asshole and not returning her calls. I felt guilty but didn't feel too badly, it's not like I slept with her or anything.
After the third call I never heard from the Spy again. However, my sister-in-law did call me a month later (again from Florida at her sister's house) and said that she met the Spy, and that she did not have nice things to say about me. All I could do was admit I was kind of jerk to her.
D3-Spy: The Spy was OK looking, she was pretty short, had black hair, brown eyes, and a cute body, but you could tell she didn't work out at all. She was non-descript in almost every physical way. However, she seemed like she was fun, and had a raspy Punky Brester voice that was kind of cute. The Spy said she was a "government contractor" which I would later learn is a coy Washington way of saying that either you don't want to tell someone what you do because it is security work, or you have a really mundane job and want to sound mysterious.
I talked to the Spy on the phone once or twice, and we decided to go to an Italian Festival by judiciary square one Sunday afternoon. We walked around for a while, but the place was pretty weak, the food was lousy, and there were maybe three Italians there, it was all tourists. We walked towards Chinatown and decided to go to the Spy Museum, which I believe was my suggestion
Side note: The Spy Museum sucks.
As we walked through the museum I noticed two things that would later lead me to believe that Spy Girl may have been somehow involved in espionage. The first is that she was very quiet and unimpressed as we walked through the gallery of spy technology, and even commented on how some things have been much improved since the days of old. She also knew a ton about past US spies suspected and/or convicted of treason. I realize there are lots of explanations for these things, and that they don't prove anything, but I wanted to point it out. I also remembered that my sister-in-law mentioned that The Spy traveled a lot and couldn't tell her mom where she was most of the time. Whatever, not really important.
I was starving by the time we finished the rip-off spy tour, so I suggested we cook some pasta, since we were both craving it after the Italian Festival that had no Italian food. We stopped at a store and picked up a bottle of wine and some groceries.
Back at my house we made penne with vodka sauce, drank a bad bottle of Merlot, and chatted. I really wasn't all that into the Spy, she was dull, but we started making out on the couch anyway. Most of our clothes were off within fifteen minutes, but nothing was really happening, just a lot of heavy petting. The Spy was neither fun to hang out with, nor make out with, so after an hour of that I made an excuse to get her out of there.
The Spy called and left a message the next day saying that she had enjoyed herself and suggested we go out again. I had didn't call her back for a few days and then received another message from her basically saying the same thing. Again, I didn't call her back right away, but I actually intended to. I was regularly getting laid with Kate from D2, but that wasn't going to stop me from nailing the Spy, I was just distracted and never got around to calling her that week. After the first week, though, I wanted to call her back but was embarrassed to after two unanswered calls. One night I saw her number come up on my phone and was really surprised to see her calling again, but there was no way I was going to answer. The Spy's third message was probably what you would expect, she lambasted me for being an asshole and not returning her calls. I felt guilty but didn't feel too badly, it's not like I slept with her or anything.
After the third call I never heard from the Spy again. However, my sister-in-law did call me a month later (again from Florida at her sister's house) and said that she met the Spy, and that she did not have nice things to say about me. All I could do was admit I was kind of jerk to her.
Date 2: Friday Happy Hour
My first two weeks at work were a whirlwind. I would arrive at 6:30 or 7am, and would get home at 7 or 8pm. For some people those are normal working hours, but for me it was about 20% longer than I was accustomed to. Working all those hours, and being the new face in my building, I did manage to meet a cutie in my building. We chatted in the elevators and in the deli in our lobby. When D2 learned that I just moved to DC, and that I hadn't seen much of the city she offered to show me around Dupont that Friday night at happy hour.
D2 (we will call her Kate): Kate was cute, about 5'6", medium length brown hair, light brown eyes, big boobs, and a good handful of a butt. Kate was sharp-tongued, very funny, and I would later learn, extremely mercurial.
On Friday afternoon Kate and I met at the Metro stop near our office and rode to Dupont. She looked really good. It was warm out, so she had on a somewhat tight button down shirt (showed off her boobs nicely) and a knee-length skirt. I hadn't noticed before, but she had killer legs, and wore fairly large high heels that made them look even sexier. I am a sucker for sexy legs (ok, I am a sucker for almost every part of the female anatomy). Our first stop was a Mexican place on Connecticut Ave, and we had a few drinks over the course of an hour and a half. Kate was really easy to talk to and interesting. Her trademark was her edgy rants. No one was immune; politicians, Hollywood stars, the homeless population, even the attendant at our parking garage, they could all be verbally strafed in the same paragraph, or singled out for a more in depth lashing. I was thoroughly entertained.
After our third drink Kate recommended we move to another bar. I don't recall many names of the bars we went to, but I would guess we hit 5 more bars in two hours and had at least one drink at each. I was surprised and nervous that Kate, whom I out weighed by at least forty pounds, was still drinking at a good pace and not showing any signs of slowing. I, on the other hand, was pretty hammered. I did notice that Kate was leaning in much closer when we talked, and by the time we reached our third bar I was pretty sure I was at least going to get head.
We did a huge loop through Dupont, and eventually circled back to Connecticut Avenue. We stopped at Circa (or someplace like it) for what must have been drink number 10, then walked down a side street to another hotel bar. It was a really cheesy place filled with booths (or maybe not, I was a wreck) and Euro trash. It did have a large outdoor section, but around midnight they closed it so the hotel guests could get some peace and quiet. We finished our drinks and walked outside to see if there was anyplace in Dupont we hadn't gone. Somewhere between the front door of the hotel and the street I grabbed Kate and we started making out. Generally speaking, I am opposed to PDA. However, I didn't think I could go on with our little pub crawl much longer, and wanted to test the waters and this seemed like a logical time and place to do so. Kate was more than happy to reciprocate, and I suggested we go to my place for our next drink. I realize this is not a particularly creative line, but why make things more complicated than they need to be.
We hailed a cab, and once inside we proceeded to give the cabbie a little show. While nothing very technical took place, there was a lot of groping and sloppy kissing, and I am pretty sure we would have had high ratings on The Taxi Cab Diaries. We made out the whole way to my place, all the way up the elevator, and maybe even a little down the hall.
Once inside my place we moved right to the couch. My dog was locked in my bedroom, so I didn't have to worry about her sniffing around and killing the mood. It took a few minutes to get Kate's top and thong off, but for some reason her shoes and skirt remained on. I went down on her for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually she tapped me on the shoulder and pulled me up. Things got a little tricky here. My condoms were in my room, not easily reached, and she was making it very clear that one wasn't necessary.
Side Note: I always use condoms for random hookups. I am terrified of diseases, and a wise man once said that condoms are easier to change than diapers. The only girls I have had unprotected sex with were long-time girlfriends, and only after we both were tested for STD's. What can I say, I try to be safe. I smoke, I drink, I drive too fast, but I always use condoms.
That is, except this time. We had sex on the couch, once in my bed, and once in the shower that night. I think I managed to walk the dog somewhere between the second and third time.
Second Side Note: My ex-girlfriend, Gina (again, not her real name), whom I broke up with the week before moving to DC, was a dirty talker. She would say the nastiest things in bed, and after a while it was a habit I picked up. I became quite an accomplished dirty talker myself, but I hadn't realized until that night that it had become a major part of my sexual repertoire.
I'm not sure exactly when I said it, but at some point on the couch I suggested Kate rub herself, and the word clit was mentioned. I remember very clearly that her eyes got about 50% wider. Surely, Miss No-rubber-sex-on-the-first-date had heard the word clit before. I tried a few more key phrases that Gina loved, until finally she said "I can do without the potty mouth". Potty mouth, wow, that's so not dirty talk that it's the antithesis of dirty talk. As a matter of fact, it turned me off. I felt like I was in kindergarten and being reprimanded, but not in a sexy teacher fantasy kind of way. I was mostly silent for the rest of the night.
The next morning as I rode my motorcycle home from dropping Kate off at our building I burst into laughter at the thought of the term "potty mouth" being used while I was inside a girl, and I made a mental note to remove most of my dirty talk from my coitus vocabulary for a while.
D2 (we will call her Kate): Kate was cute, about 5'6", medium length brown hair, light brown eyes, big boobs, and a good handful of a butt. Kate was sharp-tongued, very funny, and I would later learn, extremely mercurial.
On Friday afternoon Kate and I met at the Metro stop near our office and rode to Dupont. She looked really good. It was warm out, so she had on a somewhat tight button down shirt (showed off her boobs nicely) and a knee-length skirt. I hadn't noticed before, but she had killer legs, and wore fairly large high heels that made them look even sexier. I am a sucker for sexy legs (ok, I am a sucker for almost every part of the female anatomy). Our first stop was a Mexican place on Connecticut Ave, and we had a few drinks over the course of an hour and a half. Kate was really easy to talk to and interesting. Her trademark was her edgy rants. No one was immune; politicians, Hollywood stars, the homeless population, even the attendant at our parking garage, they could all be verbally strafed in the same paragraph, or singled out for a more in depth lashing. I was thoroughly entertained.
After our third drink Kate recommended we move to another bar. I don't recall many names of the bars we went to, but I would guess we hit 5 more bars in two hours and had at least one drink at each. I was surprised and nervous that Kate, whom I out weighed by at least forty pounds, was still drinking at a good pace and not showing any signs of slowing. I, on the other hand, was pretty hammered. I did notice that Kate was leaning in much closer when we talked, and by the time we reached our third bar I was pretty sure I was at least going to get head.
We did a huge loop through Dupont, and eventually circled back to Connecticut Avenue. We stopped at Circa (or someplace like it) for what must have been drink number 10, then walked down a side street to another hotel bar. It was a really cheesy place filled with booths (or maybe not, I was a wreck) and Euro trash. It did have a large outdoor section, but around midnight they closed it so the hotel guests could get some peace and quiet. We finished our drinks and walked outside to see if there was anyplace in Dupont we hadn't gone. Somewhere between the front door of the hotel and the street I grabbed Kate and we started making out. Generally speaking, I am opposed to PDA. However, I didn't think I could go on with our little pub crawl much longer, and wanted to test the waters and this seemed like a logical time and place to do so. Kate was more than happy to reciprocate, and I suggested we go to my place for our next drink. I realize this is not a particularly creative line, but why make things more complicated than they need to be.
We hailed a cab, and once inside we proceeded to give the cabbie a little show. While nothing very technical took place, there was a lot of groping and sloppy kissing, and I am pretty sure we would have had high ratings on The Taxi Cab Diaries. We made out the whole way to my place, all the way up the elevator, and maybe even a little down the hall.
Once inside my place we moved right to the couch. My dog was locked in my bedroom, so I didn't have to worry about her sniffing around and killing the mood. It took a few minutes to get Kate's top and thong off, but for some reason her shoes and skirt remained on. I went down on her for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually she tapped me on the shoulder and pulled me up. Things got a little tricky here. My condoms were in my room, not easily reached, and she was making it very clear that one wasn't necessary.
Side Note: I always use condoms for random hookups. I am terrified of diseases, and a wise man once said that condoms are easier to change than diapers. The only girls I have had unprotected sex with were long-time girlfriends, and only after we both were tested for STD's. What can I say, I try to be safe. I smoke, I drink, I drive too fast, but I always use condoms.
That is, except this time. We had sex on the couch, once in my bed, and once in the shower that night. I think I managed to walk the dog somewhere between the second and third time.
Second Side Note: My ex-girlfriend, Gina (again, not her real name), whom I broke up with the week before moving to DC, was a dirty talker. She would say the nastiest things in bed, and after a while it was a habit I picked up. I became quite an accomplished dirty talker myself, but I hadn't realized until that night that it had become a major part of my sexual repertoire.
I'm not sure exactly when I said it, but at some point on the couch I suggested Kate rub herself, and the word clit was mentioned. I remember very clearly that her eyes got about 50% wider. Surely, Miss No-rubber-sex-on-the-first-date had heard the word clit before. I tried a few more key phrases that Gina loved, until finally she said "I can do without the potty mouth". Potty mouth, wow, that's so not dirty talk that it's the antithesis of dirty talk. As a matter of fact, it turned me off. I felt like I was in kindergarten and being reprimanded, but not in a sexy teacher fantasy kind of way. I was mostly silent for the rest of the night.
The next morning as I rode my motorcycle home from dropping Kate off at our building I burst into laughter at the thought of the term "potty mouth" being used while I was inside a girl, and I made a mental note to remove most of my dirty talk from my coitus vocabulary for a while.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Date 1: Crash and Burn
Let me start by stating that my dating philosophy is that if you throw enough shit aginst the wall, eventually something is going to stick.
I met D1 at a bar in Georgetown one night after a long day of apartment hunting. This was before I actually moved to DC, so I don't recall the name of the bar we were at. D1 was a summer intern, and was meeting her brother (I later confirmed it was her brother) for a drink after work. We chatted for a bit and I got her number before I left.
D1: D1 was extremely cute, about 5'7", with long blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. She was very thin, with a great butt, and a smallish chest. She was from one of the Carolina's (does it really matter), so she had a slight southern accent, which I love. She was smart, fairly quick witted, and bordered on overly sarcastic.
Fast forward 3 weeks to Saturday, the day before I move into my newly rented apartment. I texted D1 to see if she wants to get together that week for drinks or dinner. She agrees, but would like to do it Sunday. OK, fine, no problem, I can swing this. I had a 25' U-Haul filled with all my Earthly possessions and planned on arriving in DC around 1pm Sunday. I figured one hour to unpack, settle in a bit, shower, and we would be good to go for drinks by 8ish. I confirmed that I would pick her up Sunday around 8pm.
I am sure you can see where this is heading.
My drive took 4 hours longer, and cost $400 more than I expected (Drive:9 hours, Gas:$800). My building wouldn't lock off an elevator for me, so unpacking the truck turned into a two hour affair, made even more aggrivating by the fact that my dog learned how to get out of my apartment in all of 15 minutes. So, when I got to my floor with my second load of junk the dog was laying in the middle of the hallway...great start, the neighbors loved that. By the time the truck was unloaded it was 7:30 and I was wiped out.
I sent D1 a text seeing if she was still up for drinks? Reply: "yup, still at 8?". I said "Yes, looking forward to it." I took a quick shower, threw on some jeans, and scribbled her address on a piece of paper. I usually ride a motorcycle, so I took two helmets off my floor (where everything else I owned was arranged in huge mounds) and hopped on the bike.
I arrived at 6th and C Street NW (not real address) right at 8 and instantly knew I was in the wrong place. I was surrounded by office buildings, restaurants, and closed parking garages, nothing looked residential. I called and asked her to confirm her address. I received my "quadrant lesson" sitting on my bike downtown that evening, and I can tell you that it was very humiliating. With hat in hand I fired up the bike and raced to her address. When I was out front I called and sheepishly announced "I'm here". She said she would be right out. It was now 8:20 (I got lost in DC's web of one-way streets and Capitol Police barricades).
While I waited I figured my Magellen-like navigations skills would at least give us something to talk about. A few minutes passed and my phone rang "Where are you?", she asked. "Right out front." Nope, wrong quadrant again. I was in SE and she lived in NE. Back on the bike and headed for my third 6th and C Street of the night. I think D1 had already given up on me for the night because she was inside and let me stand in front of her (brother's) house for a solid five minutes before answering the door. She looked really hot, and I was glad I hadn't given up and gone hom eafter the second wrong quadrant like I wanted to. I was also lucky because I hadn't told her about the motorcycle, so she was a little surprised, and didn't break my balls about being almost an hour late. We hopped on and headed to Old Siam on Barrack's Row, her suggestion.
Dinner went fine and conversation was pretty easy. We talked about the usual BS, and had a good time. After dinner I drove her home and parked in front of her (brother's) place to let her off. I turned off the engine, but it turns out that wasn't going to be necessary. We took off our helmets and she handed me hers as we said good night. I leaned in for a kiss and saw a look I can only describe as pitty. She gave me a really weak kiss and said good night again.
The next day, my first at my new job, I sent her a text message saying I had a great time and that we should do it again, minus my solo tour of NW, SE and SW. I never heard from D1 again.
Months later, while standing on the sidewalk after an open house of a property I liked, I crossed the street and looked up. It took a second, but I began to laugh when I realized I was standing in front of D1's (brother's) house.
I met D1 at a bar in Georgetown one night after a long day of apartment hunting. This was before I actually moved to DC, so I don't recall the name of the bar we were at. D1 was a summer intern, and was meeting her brother (I later confirmed it was her brother) for a drink after work. We chatted for a bit and I got her number before I left.
D1: D1 was extremely cute, about 5'7", with long blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. She was very thin, with a great butt, and a smallish chest. She was from one of the Carolina's (does it really matter), so she had a slight southern accent, which I love. She was smart, fairly quick witted, and bordered on overly sarcastic.
Fast forward 3 weeks to Saturday, the day before I move into my newly rented apartment. I texted D1 to see if she wants to get together that week for drinks or dinner. She agrees, but would like to do it Sunday. OK, fine, no problem, I can swing this. I had a 25' U-Haul filled with all my Earthly possessions and planned on arriving in DC around 1pm Sunday. I figured one hour to unpack, settle in a bit, shower, and we would be good to go for drinks by 8ish. I confirmed that I would pick her up Sunday around 8pm.
I am sure you can see where this is heading.
My drive took 4 hours longer, and cost $400 more than I expected (Drive:9 hours, Gas:$800). My building wouldn't lock off an elevator for me, so unpacking the truck turned into a two hour affair, made even more aggrivating by the fact that my dog learned how to get out of my apartment in all of 15 minutes. So, when I got to my floor with my second load of junk the dog was laying in the middle of the hallway...great start, the neighbors loved that. By the time the truck was unloaded it was 7:30 and I was wiped out.
I sent D1 a text seeing if she was still up for drinks? Reply: "yup, still at 8?". I said "Yes, looking forward to it." I took a quick shower, threw on some jeans, and scribbled her address on a piece of paper. I usually ride a motorcycle, so I took two helmets off my floor (where everything else I owned was arranged in huge mounds) and hopped on the bike.
I arrived at 6th and C Street NW (not real address) right at 8 and instantly knew I was in the wrong place. I was surrounded by office buildings, restaurants, and closed parking garages, nothing looked residential. I called and asked her to confirm her address. I received my "quadrant lesson" sitting on my bike downtown that evening, and I can tell you that it was very humiliating. With hat in hand I fired up the bike and raced to her address. When I was out front I called and sheepishly announced "I'm here". She said she would be right out. It was now 8:20 (I got lost in DC's web of one-way streets and Capitol Police barricades).
While I waited I figured my Magellen-like navigations skills would at least give us something to talk about. A few minutes passed and my phone rang "Where are you?", she asked. "Right out front." Nope, wrong quadrant again. I was in SE and she lived in NE. Back on the bike and headed for my third 6th and C Street of the night. I think D1 had already given up on me for the night because she was inside and let me stand in front of her (brother's) house for a solid five minutes before answering the door. She looked really hot, and I was glad I hadn't given up and gone hom eafter the second wrong quadrant like I wanted to. I was also lucky because I hadn't told her about the motorcycle, so she was a little surprised, and didn't break my balls about being almost an hour late. We hopped on and headed to Old Siam on Barrack's Row, her suggestion.
Dinner went fine and conversation was pretty easy. We talked about the usual BS, and had a good time. After dinner I drove her home and parked in front of her (brother's) place to let her off. I turned off the engine, but it turns out that wasn't going to be necessary. We took off our helmets and she handed me hers as we said good night. I leaned in for a kiss and saw a look I can only describe as pitty. She gave me a really weak kiss and said good night again.
The next day, my first at my new job, I sent her a text message saying I had a great time and that we should do it again, minus my solo tour of NW, SE and SW. I never heard from D1 again.
Months later, while standing on the sidewalk after an open house of a property I liked, I crossed the street and looked up. It took a second, but I began to laugh when I realized I was standing in front of D1's (brother's) house.
Welcome to my dating blog
Welcome to the car wreck that is my sex life! I won't tell you my real name, but you can call me Notnuts. I am an average guy that gets his fair share of ass despite himself, and decided to write all the details of my romps here for anyone to read.
I moved to Washington, DC from New England in 2006 and thought that it would be interesting to chronicle my dating escapades here.
A little background: I am a 30-something year-old male. I am average height, about 165 pounds, with dark hair and dark eyes. I hold a middle-management job in an international company based in the US. I like to drink, don't do drugs, occasionally bum a cigarette, and can't stand talking about politics or sports. As you will soon see I am heterosexual and a fairly active dater despite my highly average statistics.
About the Blog: I chose the name of the blog because I have found that the majority of the females I meet are crazier than a shit-house rat. While it would be nice to think that most women are crazy, I tend to think that I am just attracted to the nutty variety, or they are attracted to me. I will try to pull no punches, even if I end up looking like a retard in the end. I think that if you use your precious time to read my blog, I should have the decency to tell all.
Names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty, depending on the scenario.
Enjoy!
Notnuts
I moved to Washington, DC from New England in 2006 and thought that it would be interesting to chronicle my dating escapades here.
A little background: I am a 30-something year-old male. I am average height, about 165 pounds, with dark hair and dark eyes. I hold a middle-management job in an international company based in the US. I like to drink, don't do drugs, occasionally bum a cigarette, and can't stand talking about politics or sports. As you will soon see I am heterosexual and a fairly active dater despite my highly average statistics.
About the Blog: I chose the name of the blog because I have found that the majority of the females I meet are crazier than a shit-house rat. While it would be nice to think that most women are crazy, I tend to think that I am just attracted to the nutty variety, or they are attracted to me. I will try to pull no punches, even if I end up looking like a retard in the end. I think that if you use your precious time to read my blog, I should have the decency to tell all.
Names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty, depending on the scenario.
Enjoy!
Notnuts
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