Bad Dates

I’ve gotten away from the educational content lately, so let’s have a quiz.  Get a pencil, and no looking up the answers in the back of the book!

Why should you never brag about the size of your penis?

a) It makes you look like an idiot.

b) The woman you just bragged to is already fucking two guys who are bigger than you.

c) The woman you just bragged to has a blog you don’t know about where she will totally make fun of you.

d) All of the above.

Okay!  Pencils down!  Let’s see how you did.*

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the need to waste time writing all about some hook-up that was all wrong, but I can’t just talk about penis size for an entire entry.  Or can I?  Let’s see . . . so, the last bad hook-up I wrote about did the same thing.  At the time, I had just been with someone more *ahem* well-endowed than him, but was much too polite to say so.  And him?  All length.  Look at that pencil you just took the quiz with.  I am not kidding.  And that’s not what counts, right ladies? (and by ladies I mean the ones who are totally into The Penetration.  Not to be heteronormative.)  Also of note is the fact that skill counts.  It really, really counts.  And the two guys mentioned earlier?  Not the type to brag.  It’s awesome to me to meet someone and get to know them and be all, “Damn, that’s impressive!” and NOT have them be all, “Yes, I know, it must be difficult for your ladyparts to handle since I’m sure you’ve never seen such a thing before.”

I think that about covers it for my thoughts on size.  I like it. A. LOT.  But I do not like hearing you talk about it.  Well, okay, if you get kilt-checked and the ladies doing the checking want to talk about it and you politely answer their questions, that’s just being a gentleman.**  Otherwise, when you start to display other douchebag qualities, I will add it to the list.  And I will treat you like I would an actual douchebag by making sure you stay away from my vagina.

This guy I’m talking about right now, I met at the recent con I’ve mentioned here.  I met lots of people there, mostly awesome, and that’s kind of spoiled me.  Getting to know people better, in person or by e-mail, and finding out that they are even better people to know than I’d first thought makes me all warm and happy.  This guy wrote me a couple of really great letters.  Which annoys me, because writing me really amazing hot things does work well.  But if I end up feeling like the writing part was a tactic without much substance behind it, I am annoyed.

He mentioned that he has cousins in my town, and was planning to make the trip out this week.  I said that I’d be working all week, as usual, but could fit in some hanging out time after.  Cool, right?  So, yesterday was Monday and he texted me toward the end of my shift, saying I should call once I was off.  I “should” call?  Not, “Hey, I’m in town, let me know if you want to hang out?”

So I did, and suggested a place nearby to meet up for lunch.  I get there and, good job Sanguine!  Not open Mondays.  There’s a decent grocery store next to it though, and he did mention cooking for me since he does it for a living.  In hindsight, I wonder if I made it look like I was trying to get him back to my place quicker since I suggested a place in my own town that turned out to be closed and was right next door to the fancy grocery store.  I wasn’t, but on getting more information this dude seems like the type used to bullshit games.  Never mind that, though.  I don’t actually do that, so who cares.  Anyway, we get back to my place with good food and a bottle of wine he’d brought.  The cooking is awesome, and the food is great.  Offering me good food is right up there with the offering me good writing thing.  While we’re hanging out in the kitchen he said that during the drive up he had hoped he’d get pulled over so he could say, “Officer, I’m on my way to meet the most beautiful girl in the world and I am totally going to marry her and have lots of babies with her.”  Which would be cute as a joke, which is how I took it at the time.

After eating, I suggested we head to my room.  We’d already hooked up at con, so I knew there were skills to be enjoyed.  Then, as we were making out and shedding clothing, he said, “I don’t suppose you have anything handy?  I forgot to stop at a pharmacy on the way up . . . .”  Hey, I do have condoms!  Plenty of them!  And I’m going to totally ignore the fact that you showed up expecting sex to happen and didn’t think to bring any!  And the skills were enjoyed again.  By both of us.  So far, so good.  Obviously, my bedside drawer supply worked just fine, but he mentions that he *really* does need Magnums, and it’s *so* hard to enjoy it with the regular size.  Too bad.  Maybe I’m a bit blase after all the other sex that’s been going on, but I’m 1) Not really all that impressed, but more importantly 2) Sure as Fuck not going to offer/suggest barebacking. That is a super-rare activity in my world that only happens after much discussion and a clean bill of health.  From both of us.  If I may digress, I love it.  I love it so much!  But I also love being healthy.  And I love the fact that all the surgeries I had to go through to deal with precancerous lesions caused by HPV are likely in my past if I remain careful.  Safety is a whole long discussion, but for the purposes of this post, I don’t randomly allow dudes to go bare, period.  And maybe (the old Sanguine who regularly ended up in bad places due to an inability to lay down the law says) he didn’t mean it to sound that way.  Maybe that’s true, but the thrust toward my cunt sans protection makes me sense that dude is used to less-savvy partners.  As does our later conversation.

After the sex (which, if I did not make clear earlier, was somehow magically successful despite my average-sized condoms.) I wanted to duck out and smoke a cigarette.  On my porch smoking, he mentioned that he really did intend to marry me, and since I was probably not ready to discuss it was taking a slow approach.  I said that I may never want to get married again, and he said that’s why he’s “taking it slow”.  Right, whatever, I’m enjoying getting slightly tipsy and now I want a foot massage.  To the couch!  The conversation there meandered, as it will, and I mentioned my dream that instead of marriage I’d end up with a Victorian mansion full of good friends who would fall into some poly-type arrangement.  Possibly a Man-Harem, but more likely a group where everyone gets to do as they wish and is respected.  This would take an AMAZING group of people, but it is my current ideal for my life.  He said he should hurry up and get into X field, then. (He’s in school for Y field, but might be getting into X after that.)  I asked what that had to do with my fantasy life, and he said it was so he could afford to buy a big enough house.  I said, “No, I’d buy the house and everyone would pay me rent to go toward the mortgage!”  To which he replied that it would never work because my time would end up being split too many different ways and we’d “drift apart”.  What the . . . ?  And then I get a compliment.  He tells me that he is “way too obsessed with me” and thinks of me “way too much” and can tell because he usually “feels disdain toward women”.  What?  Oh, wait, am I like that one Black friend that an otherwise racist dude has because I’m so much better than most of “them”?  Well, yeah.  Turns out this guy identifies himself as a misogynist.  Full stop.  But he doesn’t feel that way about me, of course.  I mention that misogynists are usually shit in bed.  And he is the first one that actually describes himself that way.  So he says he loves women as objects, but usually not as people, so I’m so special to him because he cares about me as a person. So I (and I don’t know where this came from, but it’s clearly either me being more clever than I thought or just evidence that I read more than I interact with people.) said, “Oh!  So you’re a Heinlein misogynist!”

Cue laughter, right?  You get the joke?  He didn’t.  He didn’t know who I was talking about.  So I explain, in a nutshell, that the joke is that Heinlein is a writer (who you really should have heard of by now) who wrote some really misogynist shit but at the same time was married to woman he acknowledged as being smarter than him.  And who had a feminine ideal I sometimes identify with and than he goes off into his fantasies about fucking twelve-year-olds, so that really falls apart . . . .

So it looks like I nailed it.  I am dealing with a total sexist who somehow thinks I’m “better” than other women but I am Not Buying It since those other women don’t exist to make me look good.  They are just different than me.  But wait!  It gets worse!  I mentioned Old RAH as having that reverence of sorts for Virginia?  Dude tells me that “Dumb girls are easy to sleep with.”  (Yeah, since you got to sleep with me all of twice before I saw the MASSIVE RED FLAGS.  And you did tell me your IQ score, and yes, it’s higher than mine.  So what?)  So . . . let’s just skip forward to today, since I’m tired and want to finish this.

Anyway, after that conversation I mentioned that my flatmate would be home soon and I needed to get to bed anyway, and on that note kicked him out (gently.  Probably more gently than was called for.)  Today is Tuesday, and as I was driving home from work my phone rang.  Figured it was him, but I usually don’t answer the phone while driving (safety!) so I waited until I got home to call back.  When I did so, he said he was on his way to my place.  What?  I told him I had Serious Business to deal with today.  I had to drop off some divorce-related paperwork at the courthouse and had suggested we meet up downtown for lunch after that.  I waited for him to get to my house, and then we headed down to drop off my paperwork in my car.  As soon as he got to my house he was telling me he’d gotten the *good* condoms and would be using a lot of them today.  Well, business, right?  Since he’s hanging out with me we’re going through the courthouse metal detector together.  He beeps, and I have to wait while he empties his pockets.  Which have sundry items in them, including The Magnums.  I am not embarrassed, since I have other things to worry about, and besides, why would I be?  But as the tray with the pocket contents is going through, he’s all, “It’s probably the CONDOMS.”  Since he’s been going on about himself all the way even though I’m dealing with Serious Business and besides, just got off work, I’ve been tuning him out for a while.  But there’s one more on the ever-growing list . . . .

Anyway, after I got my shit dealt with I know it’s time to start being less polite. Hard to break that habit, but I am not going to spend any more time with dude if I can help it, and I can.  As we head back to the car, I tell him I’m all cranky from dealing with all the official bullshit and need to have the rest of the day to myself.  He doesn’t understand why I’m still upset about the divorce since it’s almost all over, so I say, fine, whatever, I am, and besides, I’m tired and I have a ton of stuff I normally do during the week.  If he’d offered to sit and eat lunch or dinner with me, or have a drink or whatever and listen to me, I’d have been cool with having company.  But I already knew this was not the company I needed.  So I drove him back to his car, which was near my building, and on the drive back I was mostly quiet.  I kept almost telling him why things were Not Cool, but figured that was just old programming, and I should just worry about myself and not him.  At one point, we did start to talk, and he wanted to know why I needed time alone.  I said that I was used to getting lots of things done during the week after work, and he sarcastically apologised for taking up all my time.  (Note – he had, the day before, mentioned that the way he got so much shit done – and he does get a lot done in his own life if he’s not lying – is that he doesn’t care about anything but is good at everything.)  I said that it might help him understand if he thought of me as the opposite of him.  I do a lot of things (which he doesn’t know about) not because I’m good at them, but because I REALLY care about them.  Also that I need alone time a lot.  So he goes on and on about how he can do twenty things at once because he’s efficient (Nice try, dude, we Germanic types invented efficiency.) and doesn’t HAVE to have alone time because he can wall off the private parts and still function.  Good job insulting me – or is that a challenge?  I don’t care, I’m going home and am going to be alone once I’m there.

To wrap it all up, I had already agreed to go over to his cousins’ house for an early dinner tomorrow.  And I will go, and honestly need to steel myself for the Laying It All On The Table discussion.  I’m DONE, and since I am basically very friendly and accommodating, need to be ready NOT to be that, for once.

Which is kind of the point to all this vomiting up of a small bit of Why I Am Displeased.  I don’t do this a whole lot, but I really need support.  I need anyone reading this, lurker or regular commenter or random person who stumbled across this entry to comment here so I can see it tomorrow.  I still have a huge amount of trouble telling people shit in real life, but I am planning on doing so tomorrow, even though it means Entirely Defying The Purpose Of Dude’s Visit.  That is still really hard for me, and although I’m strong a little extra support is always welcome.

*It’s “d”, obviously.

**True story!  Also fun to witness.

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4 Responses to “Bad Dates”

  1. Your struggle is on my mind, and in my thoughts.

    I know you can manage this, and I offer my utter, complete support to that end.

  2. J. Wilson Says:

    a racist then a misogynist . I’m with ya. Drop the bomb.

    • Yeah, I know, I’m like a magnet for losers. I’m getting a lot faster at figuring it out and putting an end to it, though, so I can save my energy for things that matter. Bit of an improvement.

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