The Unrequited Fantasy

•February 3, 2016 • Leave a Comment

For a long time I’ve had this fantasy of going to Brazil and having a cross-cultural affair with a hot Latino who barely speaks English. It wouldn’t matter what he said to me verbally as I would only listen to his body language. It would be hot and lustful and animalistic.

I thought last week that Brazil had come to me instead. We’ll call him The Brazilian. That’s where he said he was from. I found his profile online. He was beautiful. Like a male model. Like there was no way he could be real. Dark hair, sun-kissed skin, muscles in all the right places. It was lust at first sight on a grand scale.

We had a brief online affair. In other words, we sexted. Fast and furiously. Hard. I sent pictures of parts of my body I wasn’t sure existed. It was raw and dirty. It was….. holy shit!!

The next morning he asked if I wanted to get together on Friday, two days later. Yes. Holy fuck, yes!! I mean, yeah, whatever. He suggested getting a hotel room since he has a roommate and I have a kid (19, nearing 20, please-for-the-love-of-lust, move out!!!). I was taken aback at first, but it made sense. What else were we doing? We weren’t going to go from sexting to some sedate coffee date.

On Friday, he sent me an address with a time to meet him. An address for a decent hotel downtown. It gave me hope. Hope that he wasn’t some weird sex troll. That he might actually turn out to be the sculpted marbled body he appeared to be. Plus, he had messaged me every night in between. Sort of sweet.

The Bestie and I went downtown for dinner and drinks as The Brazilian and I weren’t meeting until 10:30. Because he’s a nurse. A hot nurse. He had hot nursing duties.

Near the appointed time, I messaged him to alert him to the fact I might be a few minutes late. No problem, he was still at the hospital. I dropped the Bestie off at her car and drove over the hotel, valeting my car. I wandered to the bar to pass the time. What I thought would be just a few minutes. He messaged me that he would be another hour. Whatever,  you save lives or something, take your time.

I closed the hotel bar.

At this point I was quite inebriated but still hopeful. I settled in the lobby for a bit. He was hurrying. I went to the bathroom for a while. He was changing clothes, on his way. I went back to the lobby. I messaged that I was tired and needed to go home.

This is the part of the story where my bestie says, Really? What? Seriously? And I keep saying, No, there’s more, just wait!!

So I’m tired. It’s late. I don’t know where he is or why he’s so late. I tell him I’m going to leave. He tells me, No, please wait. I’ll give you $200.


That’s a new one. I’ve never been offered money before. Probably because I’m not a fucking prostitute.

Soon after I tell him no, I’m done. It’s time to go home. He asks if I’ve had a threesome. Yes, why? Oh, because he has shown my pictures to his friend and they both want to fuck me.

So…… I’m a prostitute and you pay for time to be with me and then I’m just an object, a Nothing to do what you want with?

No. I’m going home.

The next day I woke up So Disappointed. How did this happen? I read everything wrong. Of course he was Too Hot to Be True. Of course he was. But being hot doesn’t give you the right to treat people like shit and keep them waiting and assume they are sleazy enough to accept payment.

I’m a fucking lady, assface!!!!

It was a little rough the next day. A little ego-bruising. I recuperated by going to the dog park and allowing myself to be buried by the four-legs attending a pug meetup. Which is a real thing and totally awesome. And also like magic medicine. Because who can concentrate on how used they are when they’re surrounded by pug snorts??

Thus I dusted myself off. Realized how far Fantasy is from Reality. I took a literal tongue bath and cleansed myself of all the dirty insinuations The Brazilian had heaped upon me.

Two days later he messaged me. How was the night before? OH…. MUCH better than the night I was basically stood up and treated like a prostitute. Because that was fucked up. His response? What did you do last night. I did not respond.

Another two days went by. I got another message.

What do you want?


You fucked that up. No apology, no nothing?

It seems he had administered some invisible test. I had passed 200%!!!

FUCK your test!!!

It seems he doesn’t sleep with women he meets online. Okay, so say that in the beginning? He thinks I’m a “good woman.” Yes. I already know that. And I know that I am done now. I don’t need validation from some arbitrary, passive-aggressive “test.”

For the record, I asked him why go through all the trouble? Why the ruse? I didn’t get an answer.








Au Revoir

•January 28, 2016 • 1 Comment

Got a message from a young one the other day. Asking the same thing they all do, “Do you like younger guys?” Who doesn’t like to bat a little cub around now and then? We engaged in conversation for a brief period of time. Let me know when it would have gone downhill for you.

He told me he’s a teacher. He’s educated. Um, okay. Congratulations? We can hang our degrees side by side?

He’s French. Like from France. He has an accent. Oh…. you mean you sound sexy when you speak your big, edumacated words? Thanks for pointing that out. Repeatedly.

He asked if I’ve ever been with someone from another country. I guess he assumed I have lived in the same one-horse town my whole life and I ain’t never met no Frenchman. Garsh…..

He asked if I was ready for an exciting new experience. He was not talking about racing on a professional track or going sky-diving or even watching pigs race. He meant dating him. Because he’s French.

He left me a short voicemail so I could hear his sexy accent. I had to get a Q-tip to clean out the pretentiousness that was dripping off of his words. He’s educated but couldn’t pronounce my name correctly.

I must not have been googly enough over his Frenchness as the conversation ended there. Seriously, his kind is the reason the French get such a bad rap.

Au fucking revoir.

The FWB Interview

•January 26, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I met the potential FWB for a drink last night. I got there early so I could have a pre-drink and scope him out when he came in. I forgot to tell him that I cut my hair recently so he walked right by me. My text corrected him and brought him to my table quickly.

I may have shorter hair, but he didn’t have any of the hair he had in his profile pics. Leather jacket, black, Dexter-style henley, jeans. The hair and stubble he does have is all gray. He’s three years younger than me. Still, he was attractive enough.

He apologized profusely for not recognizing me. Such a polite southern boy. His mama raised him right. His sister called but he didn’t answer. We talked about our families, what it’s like to have teenage daughters. How he’s like a kid in the snow. Briefly discussed our divorces, described our jobs.

He had to leave for a prior obligation so he paid the check and walked me out. Gave me a hug. Said we should get together again and have a proper dinner.

What the fuck just happened? Was that a date? He’s asking for a dinner date and not a fuck date? I’m not sure he’s understanding the plan.


Jesus, Part 2

•January 25, 2016 • Leave a Comment

In the week before taking Jesus Boy to my bed, he was loquacious with his compliments. How sexy I am, how he loved getting to know me more and more. Blah blah. Etc, etc. The day after he wanted me to know that he didn’t treat my like a one-night stand. That I am a lady.

But, in essence, that is what he did. We had the yucky conversation that led me to believe he lashed himself for two days after our little tryst, and then crickets. Oh, except the next day there was a New Girl. Whaaaat? Already?

He messaged me last night. When I asked where his new girlfriend was, he informed they are already over. Shocker. When did he meet her? Ten days before. She had a kid in jail that he didn’t know about but she loved Jesus too. So maybe that was just half a day of lashing?

The unfortunate part is that we work in the same building but he claims he is miserable here and wants a new job. I might actually say a prayer for that to happen.

Twenty Four Hours In the Sea

•January 17, 2016 • 1 Comment

I’ve been on Tinder for a while. It used to be the hook-up site but is now apparently the place to find relationships. Why can I not find casual sex anymore??

So I got back on Plenty of Fish. Which should be called Plenty of Assholes. Here is what happened during my first 24 hours of swimming with the fishies.

A lot of guys messaged me who clearly hadn’t read my profile. Like rednecks and the uneducated. That’s to be expected and par for the course, but still annoying.

One guy told me that he’s a pharmacist. Shortly afterward he told me that I needed a spanking and then was upset when I wouldn’t give him my number. Um…. you have access to pharmaceuticals and you’ve already crossed a boundary. I guess I’m overreacting by not trusting you enough to give you further access to me. My bad.

Super Cute Guy messaged me. Finally, someone I could actually get turned on by. I did give him my number. He responded with a non-solicited dick pic. What the ever-loving fuck, dude? He asked if I’m passionate and if I like giving head and anal. When I told him I’m a fucking lady and not a cheap hooker, I was told that I must not be passionate. Damn. The cute ones are always disappointing.

I made the mistake of giving a younger guy my number as well. He’s not even the ethnicity he portrays in his profile. He texted obsessively for two hours. “Can I see you Wednesday? If not Wednesday, how about Thursday? Do you like music? Do you like reading? Do you like to text all fucking day?” Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Then there are the ones who start with “Hello” but never answer my response. Why did you bother in the first place? Or the ones who go on and on and fucking on about how great I look. Once or twice is a nice compliment, beyond that I either think you’re lying or are completely incapable of holding an intelligent conversation.

There is one prospect for a FWB. He hasn’t asked to text me yet. He was upfront about what he wants without asking specifically graphic, gross questions. He left for NY for the weekend but asked if we could make plans later this week. So we’ll see.

I’ll keep you posted. Live vicariously through my pain y’all.




How to Be a Woman

•January 13, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I don’t know when the tables turned, but they definitely have. Men wear tight pants and spend unnecessary amounts of time on their hair and grooming. For fuck’s sake, the hipsters decorate their damn beards! Women brew beer and drink whiskey and leave their husbands home with the kids while they go off to war.

What I’m learning is that women are better at all of the roles then men are. We’re still better at dressing up and doing makeup. In general. I’m not going up against a drag queen in a make-up contest, so there are exceptions. We’re also learning to be better at being men. We take rejection better in dating situations. That’s what ice cream is for. We’re learning to be much better at being single. Our approach to casual sex is generally kinder and less messy.

Men, on the other hand, are bad at having vaginas. They’re bad at being sick so this makes sense but it’s completely frustrating. Guys are very bad at being needy and clingy.

So listen up, dudes. When you want more from a woman than she is willing to give, use sex to get love like we have done for the last billion centuries. It won’t work, but at least we get to have some sex. You will feel sad and used, don’t turn that on us. Cry to your boyfriends and get a favorite ice cream flavor. Maybe invest in some fluffy, comfy pajamas.

Don’t question us on the third date asking what we’re doing and where this is going. Did y’all ever like that when we did it? No. We don’t know what we’re going to wear tomorrow, we can’t think about how we’ll feel about you in another 6 months. Just take a breath and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts.

When we tell you we only want a casual sex, we mean it. You’re not going to change our minds no matter who much you try to romance us. If we want romance, we’ll ask for it. If we just want to bone once in a while, we’ll tell you. Please, please do not get butt-hurt if you get your little feelings hurt. We’re trying to be honest up front so that we don’t hurt you. If you need to cry, do it in your beer.

Now, I know this all sounds harsh, but we women have been doing it since the dawn of time. And, honestly, if you’re going to turn the tables and start saving yourself for marriage and talking constantly about wanting to settle down, this is what you get.

For fuck’s sake, just man up about it!


Oh, Jesus Christ

•January 12, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I am not a religious person. I went to church as a kid, but over the years the hypocrisy became too great for me to deal with. Unlike some of the religious right, I don’t feel the need to shove my non-beliefs down anyone’s throat. You do you, I’ll do me, no harm, no foul.

So I should have known when he posted daily about the Lord and Faith. When he excitedly asked if I am also a Christian. But hey, he flirted. He complimented me. He suggested we get together.I was afraid of what the consequences would be so I asked point-blank, “What does Jesus think about you having sex?” He responded that he doesn’t like it, but he understands. Yeah, sure buddy. You mean Jesus doesn’t like it but your penis understands.

I threw caution to the wind, banking on him being like most of the hypocrites. You know, sort of “do as I say not as I do.”

The deed was done. Nicely done. The next day the compliments were flying. The post-coital bliss continued. There was talk of a repeat performance. However, the next day was also Sunday.

On Monday I got a message that, although it was wonderful and I am indeed a lady, he has the fear of God in him and doesn’t want just a lay. I’m sorry, I must have read that wrong. All  my life I’ve been bombarded with messages that men want only one thing. And at the point in my life where I’m absolutely on board with that plan, Jesus is going to cock-block me??

Ugh, he’s ready to settle down. He hopes we can be friends. He has to live right by his beliefs. And while I don’t agree, I do have to respect those beliefs.

Seriously though.