When does sexual behavior cross from kinky to demented? What is the line between being sexual open and perverse? How do we determine when we've gone "too far" in bed?
One time ME and I were in line at the grocery store together and she was reading an article in Cosmopolitan about things guys like in bed, and she suddenly became very embarrassed. I asked what she read and it took me 30 minutes to pry out of her that the article noted how one guy wanted his girlfriend to play with his balls more. That was pretty tame, I thought it was going to say the guy wanted to be shit on or something. Then it occurred to me that to some people getting shit on is tame. Clearly this is a very subjective topic, but it's still interesting.
I've always been fascinated with people who have to set up a "safety word" before having sex. How does that conversation go? "OK, if I say 'Piano' you need to put the tiger back in the cage and disarm the C-4. Got it, 'Piano'". I suppose you have to be careful what you chose as a safety word. For instance, "harder" probably wouldn't be a good choice. I bet "dagger" isn't used very often either. My problem is that I have a shitty memory. I'd be tied up, getting the shit whipped out of me screaming "Pizza! Pearl! PEARL! Fuck, what was the goddamn safety word?".
I don't know why this pops into my head sometimes, but once in a while during sex I wonder what I would do if a girl put her finger in my mouth and asked me to bite a digit off. Could I follow through with that, or would I break skin them chicken out at the first taste of blood? I'm surprised by how often I think that exact thought.
I get how pain and sex can go together. They are similar sensations but on opposite ends of the spectrum, kind of like hot and cold. You know how sometimes you touch something and you're not quite sure if it's freezing cold or red hot. You hold your hand there for a second, then you think "Oh, that's nice, it's cool, or, cold. No holy fuck it's scalding hot", then jerk your hand away. Sex can be the same. Sometimes a little spanking or biting is nice, but there's a thin line between "nice" and getting read your miranda rights.
I don't think it would come as a surprise to anyone that I kind of like humiliating girls in bed. I like to cum on girls, tie them up, gag them, pour hot wax on them. But again, how far is too far? Where is the line crossed?
Frankly, I've been having sex for more than half my life, and I've never once had a girl ask me to do something and had to take a good hard look at myself, get introspective, and say "You know, I just don't think I can head down that road". Not once. And I feel like I'm missing out.
The problem, I suspect, is that I don't run in the right circles. My friends are pretty preppy and all come from what I would classify as "good" families, though I'm not sure that means the don't do weird shit in the bedroom. But I suspect that if I hung out with Hells Angels more I would be exposed to some really off the wall stuff.
One time in high school the girl I was dating said she had this rape fantasy that a guy would break into her house while she was home alone and force her into sex. After the initial shock of my 16 year old girlfriend telling me she wanted to be raped wore off, I filed that thought away in my head as "shit to remember". A few weeks later I was driving by her house and noticed that her car was in the driveway but both her parent's cars were gone. Seemed like a perfect opportunity to fulfil that fantasy. I parked the car at the end of her street and started snooping around the house. I saw my girlfriend in the living room vacuuming so I snuck back around to the garage, went in the back door, then tip-toed through the kitchen, dining room, and den so I could sneak up behind her.
The suspense was terrible, I was freaked the fuck out as I inched closer to her. The TV was on and the vacuum made a bunch of noise but I still felt like I was being louder than a Louisiana marching band coming up behind her. Every creak in the floor was amplified in my head by a factor of a million. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and all this crazy shit when through my head. "Should I tackle her? Should I take my dick out before I grab her? Will I be able to get hard? What if she hits me with the vacuum? When will her parents be home? Will the cops come? Is she wearing underwear? Does anyone in the house own a gun?"
When I finally got close enough I grabbed her around the waist with my left arm, tried to cup her mouth from behind with my right hand but missed and cupped her nose and poked her in one eye, then lifted her up and started to carry her backwards towards the couch.
However, the scream she let out when I grabbed her, the blood curdling, high pitched, primal terror shrill, was so awful that I froze up. In that second she arched her back, twisted around to the side, and elbowed me in the temple. So I dropped her.
We had great sex after that, but the scene really didn't play out like I thought it would and she didn't get to live out her rape fantasy from me that afternoon. But after she fucked this guy Ryan I knew while we were dating I always prayed she would get to live it out.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
"Every part of my body likes being fucked, except my hair."
The title of this post is from Blondie, said Sunday morning while she was brushing her hair. It sums her up very well. It was clever, direct, a little crass, yet sexy.
Things with Blondie are going well, much to the chagrin of my sister, who fucking hates her.
The problem is that I broke up with HW, my sister's friend, for Blondie. To compound matters, I technically cheated on HW with Blondie. So my sister doesn't so much hate Blondie, it's more that she's pissed at me, but conveniently shifted that anger onto Blondie. If the circumstances were different they would get along fine.
Things with Blondie are going so well that we've decided to go on vacation together for NYE. The half-hatched idea of going away for a week after only dating a few months came about the way most things in my life do: after consuming a lot of alcohol. Blondie and I were talking about places we've been, trips we have planned, and places we wanted to see, then, two bottles of wine later we agreed it would be a terrific idea to spend the week around NYE together. Once we sobered up and realized this may not be the best plan for any combination of a million reasons, I think we were both too embarrassed (or stubborn) to back out. After considering a bunch of possible places we wanted to go we settled on Costa Rica and booked flights.
This trip represents a lot of firsts (or close seconds) for me. The only girl I've traveled with in the past was ME, when we went to Miami together a little over a year ago, and that trip was only three nights. Blondie and I are going away for ten days. The thing about Costa Rica is that it's not the most developed place on Earth, and traveling around the country can be challenging. This isn't like going to Europe where there are high-speed trains, super highways, and four star hotels on every corner. Where we're going, the drive from the airport to the hotel requires a 4x4 truck to negotiate the two river crossings, which, coincidentally, was specifically forbidden in the rental car agreement I signed (luckily, my AMEX insurance was considerably more vague about coverage of vehicles swept away by rivers). My point is, we're going to be lounging around the beach and staying in a little cabana that may or may not have running hot water. In the immortal words of Captain Ron, "If anything's gonna happen, it's gonna happen out there". If Blondie and I are going to kill each other, it's probably gonna happen on this trip.
Things with Blondie are going well, much to the chagrin of my sister, who fucking hates her.
The problem is that I broke up with HW, my sister's friend, for Blondie. To compound matters, I technically cheated on HW with Blondie. So my sister doesn't so much hate Blondie, it's more that she's pissed at me, but conveniently shifted that anger onto Blondie. If the circumstances were different they would get along fine.
Things with Blondie are going so well that we've decided to go on vacation together for NYE. The half-hatched idea of going away for a week after only dating a few months came about the way most things in my life do: after consuming a lot of alcohol. Blondie and I were talking about places we've been, trips we have planned, and places we wanted to see, then, two bottles of wine later we agreed it would be a terrific idea to spend the week around NYE together. Once we sobered up and realized this may not be the best plan for any combination of a million reasons, I think we were both too embarrassed (or stubborn) to back out. After considering a bunch of possible places we wanted to go we settled on Costa Rica and booked flights.
This trip represents a lot of firsts (or close seconds) for me. The only girl I've traveled with in the past was ME, when we went to Miami together a little over a year ago, and that trip was only three nights. Blondie and I are going away for ten days. The thing about Costa Rica is that it's not the most developed place on Earth, and traveling around the country can be challenging. This isn't like going to Europe where there are high-speed trains, super highways, and four star hotels on every corner. Where we're going, the drive from the airport to the hotel requires a 4x4 truck to negotiate the two river crossings, which, coincidentally, was specifically forbidden in the rental car agreement I signed (luckily, my AMEX insurance was considerably more vague about coverage of vehicles swept away by rivers). My point is, we're going to be lounging around the beach and staying in a little cabana that may or may not have running hot water. In the immortal words of Captain Ron, "If anything's gonna happen, it's gonna happen out there". If Blondie and I are going to kill each other, it's probably gonna happen on this trip.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Date 1: Blondie
I will start by saying that my first date with Blondie was the longest continual date (without sleeping) in my life- 16 hours. I would also say it was one of the best.
After a few texts and phone calls Blondie and I decided to go sailing for the day last Saturday. We met up at my house around noon and drove to the boat together. It was nice out when we left, but by the time we got to the boat it was cloudy and very windy, almost too windy to sail (without a crew of people who actually know what they are doing). However, I decided I would look like a pussy if I didn't take her out, so I put up just the mainsail and we went out for a few hours.
Blondie is really easy to talk to. After spending a year with HW, who is quiet and you basically have to initiaite all conversation, it was nice to hang out and not have to pull the conversation out of her. The other nice thing about her is that despite being smoking hot (I think she's the hottest girl ever to say my name back to me) Blondie is extremely low maintenance (so far). She helped out on the boat and didn't care about getting dirty.
We sailed from 1 until about 4, then went back to the dock and popped open a bottle of wine.
Side Note:
I usually keep bedding on the boat, but I took the sheets and blankets off it last month to wash them and never brought them back out. When I was packing stuff to bring out last week it crossed my mind that the sail could turn into a sleepover, but ultimately I decided that a girl this good looking would never stay the night on a first date, and certainly not on my boat in October.
After an hour or so drinking and just hanging out I started to get hungry and asked Blondie what she wanted to do. She said she could eat, then asked "Do you ever sleep on the boat?". The answer is yes, but sleeping on my boat is basically like camping. Sure, there's a kitchen, a bed, and a bathroom, but there's no heat. If it's 50 outside it's 50 inside, period. It can be fun, but I didn't know this girl very well and I thought that I might actually like to have a second date with her and not just fuck her once then never hear from her again because she nearly froze to death in Annapolis Harbor. So I said "Sure, but I don't have any blankets on the boat and it's pretty cold out here this time of year". She left it at that and we packed up and headed back to DC.
We got back to my house around 7 and had a cocktail on my deck. It started to get cold, and we were both hungry, so we decided to walk to H Street to get some dinner. Blondie said "I only have jeans, nothing fancy, is that OK?" Obviously that was fine, so she went into my room and changed while I changed in the bathroom. Five minutes later she walked out of my room looking like a million bucks. She had on tight jeans, a black tank top, and red high heels. I don't think she had on any makeup and was still drop dead gorgeous.
We walked to H St and got some sushi, then went to Smith Commons for a drink. One drink turned into three, and we stayed there until about 1am, at which point the place was pretty empty. It was getting late so we walked back to my place.
I had been with Blondie for about 12 hours at this point and was having a great time. There were a few points in the day/night where we could have politely said good bye and separated, but it never came up. One thing just led to the next. So while we were walking I said "Would you like to take a dip in the hot tub?", and she didn't even hesitate, she just said "Sure, but I don't have a suit, but I have a tank top". No problem.
Back at my place we opened a bottle of wine (our third of the day/night) and I poured us each a glass. Blondie said "I'm going to go change", so I threw on a suit and brought the wine outside. A minute later Blondie walked outside in a tiny black thong, a tight white tank top and got in with me.
We relaxed for a while then started kissing and fooling around. After thirty minutes my suit and her shirt came off, then her thong was pushed to the side and we played "just the tip" for a long time. Blondie did the whole "God I want to but we shouldn't" routine, which is basically a cliche in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, I would have loved to have sex with her right then and there, but I wasn't really pushing all that hard (no pun intended) because I did have some minor moral pangs about the fact that HW was still in the picture and it wasn't a very nice thing to do. Also, I didn't have a condom on me, so I had that in the back of my mind as well. Call it splitting hairs, but I really didn't want to have sex with Blondie while I was still technically dating HW.
I'm not sure how, but we stayed in the tub until 5am. My entire body was pruned-up by then, so we climbed out and went to my room. Blondie said "I can't stay, I have to go home", which I thought was ridiculous given the hour and how far she had to drive to get home (she lives about 20-30 minutes from my house) but I said that was fine and walked her out to her car after she put on some clothes.
Sunday was a day of mixed feelings. I was psyched about Blondie, but I dreaded having to break up with HW. I knew it wasn't going to go well at all. It never goes well, clearly, but I had a feeling HW was going to take it very hard, so I REALLY didn't want to do it. To further complicate matters, I had about nine texts from HW asking what I was doing and why I wasn't returning her messages (she was out of town with her girlfriends). I told her I was out on the boat (true) and that my phone had died (a lie).
I decided to break up with HW when she got home Monday.
After a few texts and phone calls Blondie and I decided to go sailing for the day last Saturday. We met up at my house around noon and drove to the boat together. It was nice out when we left, but by the time we got to the boat it was cloudy and very windy, almost too windy to sail (without a crew of people who actually know what they are doing). However, I decided I would look like a pussy if I didn't take her out, so I put up just the mainsail and we went out for a few hours.
Blondie is really easy to talk to. After spending a year with HW, who is quiet and you basically have to initiaite all conversation, it was nice to hang out and not have to pull the conversation out of her. The other nice thing about her is that despite being smoking hot (I think she's the hottest girl ever to say my name back to me) Blondie is extremely low maintenance (so far). She helped out on the boat and didn't care about getting dirty.
We sailed from 1 until about 4, then went back to the dock and popped open a bottle of wine.
Side Note:
I usually keep bedding on the boat, but I took the sheets and blankets off it last month to wash them and never brought them back out. When I was packing stuff to bring out last week it crossed my mind that the sail could turn into a sleepover, but ultimately I decided that a girl this good looking would never stay the night on a first date, and certainly not on my boat in October.
After an hour or so drinking and just hanging out I started to get hungry and asked Blondie what she wanted to do. She said she could eat, then asked "Do you ever sleep on the boat?". The answer is yes, but sleeping on my boat is basically like camping. Sure, there's a kitchen, a bed, and a bathroom, but there's no heat. If it's 50 outside it's 50 inside, period. It can be fun, but I didn't know this girl very well and I thought that I might actually like to have a second date with her and not just fuck her once then never hear from her again because she nearly froze to death in Annapolis Harbor. So I said "Sure, but I don't have any blankets on the boat and it's pretty cold out here this time of year". She left it at that and we packed up and headed back to DC.
We got back to my house around 7 and had a cocktail on my deck. It started to get cold, and we were both hungry, so we decided to walk to H Street to get some dinner. Blondie said "I only have jeans, nothing fancy, is that OK?" Obviously that was fine, so she went into my room and changed while I changed in the bathroom. Five minutes later she walked out of my room looking like a million bucks. She had on tight jeans, a black tank top, and red high heels. I don't think she had on any makeup and was still drop dead gorgeous.
We walked to H St and got some sushi, then went to Smith Commons for a drink. One drink turned into three, and we stayed there until about 1am, at which point the place was pretty empty. It was getting late so we walked back to my place.
I had been with Blondie for about 12 hours at this point and was having a great time. There were a few points in the day/night where we could have politely said good bye and separated, but it never came up. One thing just led to the next. So while we were walking I said "Would you like to take a dip in the hot tub?", and she didn't even hesitate, she just said "Sure, but I don't have a suit, but I have a tank top". No problem.
Back at my place we opened a bottle of wine (our third of the day/night) and I poured us each a glass. Blondie said "I'm going to go change", so I threw on a suit and brought the wine outside. A minute later Blondie walked outside in a tiny black thong, a tight white tank top and got in with me.
We relaxed for a while then started kissing and fooling around. After thirty minutes my suit and her shirt came off, then her thong was pushed to the side and we played "just the tip" for a long time. Blondie did the whole "God I want to but we shouldn't" routine, which is basically a cliche in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, I would have loved to have sex with her right then and there, but I wasn't really pushing all that hard (no pun intended) because I did have some minor moral pangs about the fact that HW was still in the picture and it wasn't a very nice thing to do. Also, I didn't have a condom on me, so I had that in the back of my mind as well. Call it splitting hairs, but I really didn't want to have sex with Blondie while I was still technically dating HW.
I'm not sure how, but we stayed in the tub until 5am. My entire body was pruned-up by then, so we climbed out and went to my room. Blondie said "I can't stay, I have to go home", which I thought was ridiculous given the hour and how far she had to drive to get home (she lives about 20-30 minutes from my house) but I said that was fine and walked her out to her car after she put on some clothes.
Sunday was a day of mixed feelings. I was psyched about Blondie, but I dreaded having to break up with HW. I knew it wasn't going to go well at all. It never goes well, clearly, but I had a feeling HW was going to take it very hard, so I REALLY didn't want to do it. To further complicate matters, I had about nine texts from HW asking what I was doing and why I wasn't returning her messages (she was out of town with her girlfriends). I told her I was out on the boat (true) and that my phone had died (a lie).
I decided to break up with HW when she got home Monday.
Blondie
HW is out. Blondie is on deck.
I've been a pussy, I admit it. I should have broken it off with HW months ago, but a combination of laziness, procrastination and lack of balls kept me from doing it. But unlike wine, time doesn't do anything for festering relationships and the longer I waited, the harder it became to do the inevitable.
Then, riding home from work one day I met Blondie, and I had to sack-up and sever ties with HW.
I spotted Blondie walking down the sidewalk near my office one day this spring. She was tall, with long blond hair, killer legs, she is just a really pretty girl. I then saw her again a couple of days later, then once in a coffee shop, then nothing. Every day that I didn't see her I kicked myself in the ass for not introducing myself. It got to the point where I couldn't walk to my car or cross the street for a sandwich without looking for her. I've never been to a shrink, but I don't think it would be a stretch to say I have mild to moderate OCD.
Anyway, after not seeing her for a month I figured Blondie moved back to the place where obscenely beautiful Viking women live when not tormenting DC guys. I was bumbed, but life moves on. Then two weeks ago I was on my bike heading home from work and I spotted her crossing the street and heading right towards me. My light turned green so I called an audible and pulled the bike over (almost in front of her). She didn't even look at me, she kept walking, so I took off my helmet and said "Excuse me, but I see you around here all the time, and was wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?". I'm not sure how or why I said that, it just came out of my mouth. She smiled and said "sure", and started to walk away. The whole scene couldn't have been more awkward. I was sitting on my bike in the crosswalk, she was slowly walking away, there were a few people from my office nearby and a homeless guy trying to get me to give him money. It was full-on AWKWARD. I said "What's your name?". She told me, I said "Nice to meet you, I'm...", and that was that.
So, why didn't I ask her for her number? Great fucking question and I have no idea. That's exactly what I asked myself, out loud, after I put my helmet on. Then it occurred to me that I didn't remember her name. I'd been stalking this chick for months, I finally meet her, and I forgot her name, what an asshole. She had just told it to me eight seconds earlier and I could only remember the first lettter. Jesus, I have the memory of a goldfish.
I fired up my bike and rode off, in complete disbelief of my inneptness. I had all the embarrassment of a ridiculously awkward encounter without the payoff of the digits. I half-expected one of those double-decker Brittish tour buses to run me over and complete the circle.
The only thing that kept me from jerking the bike into oncoming traffic on the ride home was the idea that, completely on accident, it was kind of cool that I didn't ask her for her number. Or at least I told myself that it was kind of cool because I didn't seem too anxious (just accept this and move on).
As luck would have it, I was walking to my car last Monday and saw Blondie on the other side of the street waiting to cross in my direction. I waited on my side of the street and kind of waived as she crossed. Long story short, we talked for a minute and I said I was on my way home, but got her number and asked if I could buy her dinner sometime, which she said would be nice.
I had a bit of a moral dilemma here, because I was now making plans to go out with someone else while I was still technically dating HW. After speaking with Blondie last Thursday, we made plans to meet out Saturday, so I only had a few days to break it off with HW before our date. Further complicating the matter was the fact that HW was leaving Saturday morning for a trip, and we already had plans for Friday night. In the end I wound up going out with HW Friday night and decided to break up with her when she got back from her trip.
Saturday I went sailing with Blondie. More to come on that.
I've been a pussy, I admit it. I should have broken it off with HW months ago, but a combination of laziness, procrastination and lack of balls kept me from doing it. But unlike wine, time doesn't do anything for festering relationships and the longer I waited, the harder it became to do the inevitable.
Then, riding home from work one day I met Blondie, and I had to sack-up and sever ties with HW.
I spotted Blondie walking down the sidewalk near my office one day this spring. She was tall, with long blond hair, killer legs, she is just a really pretty girl. I then saw her again a couple of days later, then once in a coffee shop, then nothing. Every day that I didn't see her I kicked myself in the ass for not introducing myself. It got to the point where I couldn't walk to my car or cross the street for a sandwich without looking for her. I've never been to a shrink, but I don't think it would be a stretch to say I have mild to moderate OCD.
Anyway, after not seeing her for a month I figured Blondie moved back to the place where obscenely beautiful Viking women live when not tormenting DC guys. I was bumbed, but life moves on. Then two weeks ago I was on my bike heading home from work and I spotted her crossing the street and heading right towards me. My light turned green so I called an audible and pulled the bike over (almost in front of her). She didn't even look at me, she kept walking, so I took off my helmet and said "Excuse me, but I see you around here all the time, and was wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?". I'm not sure how or why I said that, it just came out of my mouth. She smiled and said "sure", and started to walk away. The whole scene couldn't have been more awkward. I was sitting on my bike in the crosswalk, she was slowly walking away, there were a few people from my office nearby and a homeless guy trying to get me to give him money. It was full-on AWKWARD. I said "What's your name?". She told me, I said "Nice to meet you, I'm...", and that was that.
So, why didn't I ask her for her number? Great fucking question and I have no idea. That's exactly what I asked myself, out loud, after I put my helmet on. Then it occurred to me that I didn't remember her name. I'd been stalking this chick for months, I finally meet her, and I forgot her name, what an asshole. She had just told it to me eight seconds earlier and I could only remember the first lettter. Jesus, I have the memory of a goldfish.
I fired up my bike and rode off, in complete disbelief of my inneptness. I had all the embarrassment of a ridiculously awkward encounter without the payoff of the digits. I half-expected one of those double-decker Brittish tour buses to run me over and complete the circle.
The only thing that kept me from jerking the bike into oncoming traffic on the ride home was the idea that, completely on accident, it was kind of cool that I didn't ask her for her number. Or at least I told myself that it was kind of cool because I didn't seem too anxious (just accept this and move on).
As luck would have it, I was walking to my car last Monday and saw Blondie on the other side of the street waiting to cross in my direction. I waited on my side of the street and kind of waived as she crossed. Long story short, we talked for a minute and I said I was on my way home, but got her number and asked if I could buy her dinner sometime, which she said would be nice.
I had a bit of a moral dilemma here, because I was now making plans to go out with someone else while I was still technically dating HW. After speaking with Blondie last Thursday, we made plans to meet out Saturday, so I only had a few days to break it off with HW before our date. Further complicating the matter was the fact that HW was leaving Saturday morning for a trip, and we already had plans for Friday night. In the end I wound up going out with HW Friday night and decided to break up with her when she got back from her trip.
Saturday I went sailing with Blondie. More to come on that.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Cracks In The Armor
I realize I've taken a long break, but between the new job (which for every hour worked shortens my life span by two) and things going well with HW, I haven't had much time or material to write.
However, in the past few weeks things with HW began to implode, so I thought I would share.
The Good:
Since meeting in October, HW and I have gotten along rather well. The most notable trait was that HW never gave me a hard time about anything. We always seemed to be on the same page. We did a lot of fun things together, she was adventerous, and I always enjoyed hanging out. She gave me plenty of space, but was always up for hanging out.
Cracks In The Armor:
HW started to show some cracks in the armor right after she bought her condo. I know what she makes at work, so when she started spending lavishly on her new place, especially on her new furniture and kitchen renovation, I knew that her parents were significantly helping her out. This isn't my issue, because it's not my money (and will never be mine), but it showed me that she can't live within her means, and that was a turnoff. The second, and more annoying thing, was that she was wasteful with her spending. She would buy things then decide she didn't like it, put it in a closet, then buy another (though often nearly identical) item. This was the case with coffee tables, lamps, lighting fixtures, etc..
The other huge issue is that HW can't make a decision. A perfect example is the color of her large living/dining room. After she bought the place I helped her paint the room, which took a whole day. Two days later she decided she didn't like the grey she picked and painted the whole area a nearly identical grey. Two days after that she again decided she didn't like Grey #2, and painted three walls a third grey. The next day she decided she didn't like Grey #3, so she painted the whole place Grey #1 again. Mind you, all three colors were almost identical, it's not like she went from blue, to red, to green. It was like painting the room the same color four times, it just didn't make any sense.
Strike One:
One night a few weeks ago we had our first real fight. I drove through traffic to her house after work to pick her up for dinner. I parked the bike out front and she came down from her condo in a skirt, looked at the bike, and had a minor temper tantrum about having to wear a helmet. This never bothered her before, so I didn't understand. At dinner she confessed that she didn't like the bike because it was uncomfortable and made her back hurt. I enjoy the bike, and riding, so it's important that I be with someone who also does, so this was strike one. Do I like the bike more than her? Tough question. The bigger issue is that she knows how hard it is to park in her neighborhood, so her tantrum told me that she cares more about her being uncomfortable for a ten minute bike ride, than me having to drive in circles for 30 minutes in her area in my car searching for parking.
NN Fucks Up:
Not everything is HW's fault. One night a few months ago HW suggested we go to the Hampton's for a weekend. I then launched into a twenty minute diatribe about how much I hate the Hamptons. How it's far away, hard to get to, exhorbitantly expensive, and filled with the most obnoxious New Yorkers. A week later Uncle Charlie emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to his house in South Hampton with him and a bunch of other people, and of course I said yes and went. Clearly, this did not go over well.
I suppose I just don't like the Hamptons with HW.
Strike Two:
Knowing that things were a little stressed, I asked HW if she would like to take my boat out for a weekend. I said we could sail to Annapolis, spend a night there and go out for dinner, then sail to a secluded inlet and anchor for a night and cook dinner on the boat, then sail home on Sunday. She said "I have a confession to make, I don't really like the boat, and don't think I could spend a night on it".
So she doesn't like my bike and won't ride with me, and she doesn't like my boat and won't sail with me.
Foul Tip:
After a few stressed weeks due to the conversations noted above, I took HW to Chuck's beach house for the day during one of those days that it was 105 degrees. We hung out on the beach, had some beers, and swam. She said about ten words the whole afternoon. The next day I was talking to Chuck and he told me that HW was quiet to the point of being rude, and that she "sucks".
So my friends don't like her.
Gather My Stuff:
After Chuck gave her two thumbs down I decided a breakup was inevitable, so I made up some excuses and collected most of my "stuff" from her house. This included a ladder and painting supplies from my help with Grey #1, some clothes, and my Canon digital SLR that she borrowed.
Costa Rica:
Somewhere in the middle of all this fun, HW asked if I would like to go to Costa Rica in August together.
In my mind, the answer was no for four reasons. 1) I have a bike and like to ride in the summer when it's nice out. 2) I have a boat and like to sail in the summer when it's nice out. 3) Let's go to a warm climate in the winter, when it's cold in DC, not when it's nice out. 4) Who the fuck wants to fly towards the Equator in the middle of August!
Luckily, I had an excuse. I may have to fly to China in August for work, but don't have an exact date yet, so it wouldn't be a good idea to book travel and then have to cancel.
Two days later HW booked a trip with three girlfriends to Europe instead.
Bike Weekend:
To say things were "stressed" would be a severe understatement when I left for my annual bike ride last Thursday. We went out for dinner the night before, had sex a couple of times before going to bed, but it wasn't necessarily a fun evening.
Being on a motorcycle with nothing to do but mull over a deteriorating relationship isn't necessarily a great time. I like thinking things over, but sometimes you need outside input, an you just can't get that riding 70 mph for ten hours at a clip. You're alone on an island even though three good friends are just a couple of feet away from you.
So I'm not sure where I stand at the moment. For every reason I can think of to stay with HW, I can think of one to break up with her.
However, in the past few weeks things with HW began to implode, so I thought I would share.
The Good:
Since meeting in October, HW and I have gotten along rather well. The most notable trait was that HW never gave me a hard time about anything. We always seemed to be on the same page. We did a lot of fun things together, she was adventerous, and I always enjoyed hanging out. She gave me plenty of space, but was always up for hanging out.
Cracks In The Armor:
HW started to show some cracks in the armor right after she bought her condo. I know what she makes at work, so when she started spending lavishly on her new place, especially on her new furniture and kitchen renovation, I knew that her parents were significantly helping her out. This isn't my issue, because it's not my money (and will never be mine), but it showed me that she can't live within her means, and that was a turnoff. The second, and more annoying thing, was that she was wasteful with her spending. She would buy things then decide she didn't like it, put it in a closet, then buy another (though often nearly identical) item. This was the case with coffee tables, lamps, lighting fixtures, etc..
The other huge issue is that HW can't make a decision. A perfect example is the color of her large living/dining room. After she bought the place I helped her paint the room, which took a whole day. Two days later she decided she didn't like the grey she picked and painted the whole area a nearly identical grey. Two days after that she again decided she didn't like Grey #2, and painted three walls a third grey. The next day she decided she didn't like Grey #3, so she painted the whole place Grey #1 again. Mind you, all three colors were almost identical, it's not like she went from blue, to red, to green. It was like painting the room the same color four times, it just didn't make any sense.
Strike One:
One night a few weeks ago we had our first real fight. I drove through traffic to her house after work to pick her up for dinner. I parked the bike out front and she came down from her condo in a skirt, looked at the bike, and had a minor temper tantrum about having to wear a helmet. This never bothered her before, so I didn't understand. At dinner she confessed that she didn't like the bike because it was uncomfortable and made her back hurt. I enjoy the bike, and riding, so it's important that I be with someone who also does, so this was strike one. Do I like the bike more than her? Tough question. The bigger issue is that she knows how hard it is to park in her neighborhood, so her tantrum told me that she cares more about her being uncomfortable for a ten minute bike ride, than me having to drive in circles for 30 minutes in her area in my car searching for parking.
NN Fucks Up:
Not everything is HW's fault. One night a few months ago HW suggested we go to the Hampton's for a weekend. I then launched into a twenty minute diatribe about how much I hate the Hamptons. How it's far away, hard to get to, exhorbitantly expensive, and filled with the most obnoxious New Yorkers. A week later Uncle Charlie emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to his house in South Hampton with him and a bunch of other people, and of course I said yes and went. Clearly, this did not go over well.
I suppose I just don't like the Hamptons with HW.
Strike Two:
Knowing that things were a little stressed, I asked HW if she would like to take my boat out for a weekend. I said we could sail to Annapolis, spend a night there and go out for dinner, then sail to a secluded inlet and anchor for a night and cook dinner on the boat, then sail home on Sunday. She said "I have a confession to make, I don't really like the boat, and don't think I could spend a night on it".
So she doesn't like my bike and won't ride with me, and she doesn't like my boat and won't sail with me.
Foul Tip:
After a few stressed weeks due to the conversations noted above, I took HW to Chuck's beach house for the day during one of those days that it was 105 degrees. We hung out on the beach, had some beers, and swam. She said about ten words the whole afternoon. The next day I was talking to Chuck and he told me that HW was quiet to the point of being rude, and that she "sucks".
So my friends don't like her.
Gather My Stuff:
After Chuck gave her two thumbs down I decided a breakup was inevitable, so I made up some excuses and collected most of my "stuff" from her house. This included a ladder and painting supplies from my help with Grey #1, some clothes, and my Canon digital SLR that she borrowed.
Costa Rica:
Somewhere in the middle of all this fun, HW asked if I would like to go to Costa Rica in August together.
In my mind, the answer was no for four reasons. 1) I have a bike and like to ride in the summer when it's nice out. 2) I have a boat and like to sail in the summer when it's nice out. 3) Let's go to a warm climate in the winter, when it's cold in DC, not when it's nice out. 4) Who the fuck wants to fly towards the Equator in the middle of August!
Luckily, I had an excuse. I may have to fly to China in August for work, but don't have an exact date yet, so it wouldn't be a good idea to book travel and then have to cancel.
Two days later HW booked a trip with three girlfriends to Europe instead.
Bike Weekend:
To say things were "stressed" would be a severe understatement when I left for my annual bike ride last Thursday. We went out for dinner the night before, had sex a couple of times before going to bed, but it wasn't necessarily a fun evening.
Being on a motorcycle with nothing to do but mull over a deteriorating relationship isn't necessarily a great time. I like thinking things over, but sometimes you need outside input, an you just can't get that riding 70 mph for ten hours at a clip. You're alone on an island even though three good friends are just a couple of feet away from you.
So I'm not sure where I stand at the moment. For every reason I can think of to stay with HW, I can think of one to break up with her.
Friday, January 27, 2012
HW
I'm generally a glass half empty kind of guy. If someone gives me something, I automatically wonder what's in it for them. So I am not surprised that while things are going great with HW I am constantly waiting to find out what her issue(s) is(are).
This probably isn't the best way to go through life, but I can't change the way I'm wired. I come from a long line of lawyers, so I was raised to always look for the potential liability in every situation.
Things with HW have been going very well. We have a great time together. She's funny, smart, athletic, sexy, well educated, likes dogs, and works hard at a career she enjoys. As far as I know she doesn't have kids and can even swim. As an added bonus, which is something I didn't even realize I was looking for, she doesn't freak out if we don't talk to each other every night. We can go a day or two without making small talk and she' fine. There's no "Oh baby, you didn't call me. What's wrong. You don't like me anymore" or any of that shit.
I wonder what the rub is? I bet she has a penchant for plucking the fur off live kittens, or collects human tongues.
On other fronts, I ran into Bartender last night. I worked late and decided to go out for dinner on my way home. I went to a new place near my house and she was just finishing up a drink on her way to meeting up with friends. We talked for a few minutes and then she asked if I was interested in going to a party that night. I was exhausted and declined, though I think she was just asking to be polite.
Today I was waiting in line at a deli for a sandwich and thought I hear ringing. I pulled my Blackberry out of my pocket and saw that my phone had ghost dialed ME. I hung it up then locked the keys. I'm sure she's wondering why I'm calling her.
This probably isn't the best way to go through life, but I can't change the way I'm wired. I come from a long line of lawyers, so I was raised to always look for the potential liability in every situation.
Things with HW have been going very well. We have a great time together. She's funny, smart, athletic, sexy, well educated, likes dogs, and works hard at a career she enjoys. As far as I know she doesn't have kids and can even swim. As an added bonus, which is something I didn't even realize I was looking for, she doesn't freak out if we don't talk to each other every night. We can go a day or two without making small talk and she' fine. There's no "Oh baby, you didn't call me. What's wrong. You don't like me anymore" or any of that shit.
I wonder what the rub is? I bet she has a penchant for plucking the fur off live kittens, or collects human tongues.
On other fronts, I ran into Bartender last night. I worked late and decided to go out for dinner on my way home. I went to a new place near my house and she was just finishing up a drink on her way to meeting up with friends. We talked for a few minutes and then she asked if I was interested in going to a party that night. I was exhausted and declined, though I think she was just asking to be polite.
Today I was waiting in line at a deli for a sandwich and thought I hear ringing. I pulled my Blackberry out of my pocket and saw that my phone had ghost dialed ME. I hung it up then locked the keys. I'm sure she's wondering why I'm calling her.
Monday, January 9, 2012
NYE
Things got a little crazy this NYE.
On December 26th I flew to San Juan, PR and met up with two friends, Chavez and Uncle Charlie, and two girls, Socal and Red. The five of us then flew to Saint Maarten where we had rented a house for a week.
Over the course of 7 days we wrecked a rental car, caused a few grand damage to the house, were almost deported from St Maarten, snuck into Anguilla, were nearly arrested, then snuck back out of Anguilla, and finally snuck out of St. Maarten before reporting the wrecked car.
It's not a large island, and basically everyone we came into contact with is pissed at us, so I'm not going to get into any more details, but the short of all of this nonsense is that I need to tone down the antics a bit.
Nothing we did was malicious or (in most cases) intentional. Like I said, things just got a little crazy. We didn't set out to break shit at the house, it was accidental, like friendly fire. We didn't mean to break the car, who knew it couldn't drive itself and that the doors don't open forward 180 degrees (or at least close again once they have been). And if the Anguilla's customs office closes early on NYE and certain guards can't be bribed, is that really my fault? I think not. My point is, if they don't have me or my passport in custody, I didn't do anything wrong...
What I meant was, I need to slow it down a bit, pump the brakes once in a while.
On December 26th I flew to San Juan, PR and met up with two friends, Chavez and Uncle Charlie, and two girls, Socal and Red. The five of us then flew to Saint Maarten where we had rented a house for a week.
Over the course of 7 days we wrecked a rental car, caused a few grand damage to the house, were almost deported from St Maarten, snuck into Anguilla, were nearly arrested, then snuck back out of Anguilla, and finally snuck out of St. Maarten before reporting the wrecked car.
It's not a large island, and basically everyone we came into contact with is pissed at us, so I'm not going to get into any more details, but the short of all of this nonsense is that I need to tone down the antics a bit.
Nothing we did was malicious or (in most cases) intentional. Like I said, things just got a little crazy. We didn't set out to break shit at the house, it was accidental, like friendly fire. We didn't mean to break the car, who knew it couldn't drive itself and that the doors don't open forward 180 degrees (or at least close again once they have been). And if the Anguilla's customs office closes early on NYE and certain guards can't be bribed, is that really my fault? I think not. My point is, if they don't have me or my passport in custody, I didn't do anything wrong...
What I meant was, I need to slow it down a bit, pump the brakes once in a while.
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