27 People I "Dated" Last Year
20. ForgiveMe! I think ForgiveMe! was the worst person of the 27. And, of course, I slept with him. I was attracted to him primarily because he had a photo of his two cats on OKCupid. They were a pair of extremely fat white cats and they looked amazing. He was good looking even though he had a lot of rich guy signifiers and that turns me off. I don't feel comfortable around rich guys. I get into my own poverty shame while they talk all about the money and things they have. They act like they are not bragging, but they are. Mr.IndependentVoter let it slip that he made "six figures". Ugh. I wanted to say, "That's the tackiest thing I've ever heard anyone say," but instead, I said, "No shit. Can I borrow $10,000?" ForgiveMe! took me out to dinner at a nice little bistro down south. I had a fair beet salad, an amazing cheese burger, and we shared a creme brulee sampler that was delicious. I was wearing Chuck Taylors and he asked me my shoe size. I told him (9). He said, "I've got a pair to give you!" I didn't ask why but later found out they were for the last woman he dated (who turned out to be a coke-addicted realtor with a really hot body for someone in her fifties) and they had broken up before he gave them to her. I am not proud, I accepted them. Unlike other men I've dated, he and I had an interesting conversation about music. In fact, we had a wonderful conversation and a nice meal. By the end of dinner, we decided the next right step was to go back to his place and listen to Van Morrison's Astral Weeks on his deluxe rich guy stereo in his deluxe rich guy house. The house was pretty nice but nothing extraordinary and I felt that his mission style furniture was too big for his living room, but, his stereo was incredible. I love listening to music like watching a movie, just paying attention to the record and not doing anything else. We sat on the couch together and listened. It was a really nice night. We cuddled up a little bit and just before it was time to go, we kissed for a few minutes. He was a low key guy who didn't exude much sexiness. I was surprised how exciting it was to kiss him. It was a great date! We were both very happy about meeting and made a date to see each other a few days later. I drove home mentally rearranging his furniture and getting rid of his stupid framed rock posters. What can I say? It wasn't so terrible that he was rich and had a nice house afterall, was it? I was confident that Tina and I could be comfortable there. His cats were older and mellow, they'd all get along. I was sure. We traded fun texts between our two dates. We decided that for our second date, I would go to his place, he would make me fancy coffee and we would listen to Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot which neither of us had listened to in forever. I wore my good underwear and my lucky bra. I was absolutely thrilled about the date. When I got there, everything felt frantic. He was anxious and had his giant man TV on really loud. He paced around while he made coffee for me and explained that he needed to see the end of the show he was watching--a kind of Project Runway for tattoo artists. I was shocked. I sat on the couch with my coffee and waited for the show to end. If I hadn't been so freaked out (and still hopeful that we might have a nice time) I would've left. Who keeps the TV on for a stupid fucking show when a real live woman has come over to give you sex? An anxious freak is who. When the show was over, he killed the TV and apologized to me for being so agitated and weird. He told me, he'd had a crazy day at his big rich guy job and was still coming down from work. I was willing to accept that explanation because I was horny. I was willing to deny that this guy seemed disturbed, that my gut was telling me to feign diarrhea or something and leave. Instead, we made out. It was even hotter than the last time. There is something to be said for weird agitation vibes in terms of heightening erotic feelings. We decided to go upstairs to his bedroom to take off our clothes and do the deed. Once we were on the bed, I think he had a full blown anxiety attack. He wanted to fuck and then he didn't want to fuck, he was totally hot for me, and then he was telling me he wasn't sure this was the right thing, maybe we were going too fast. I said, "Hey, I'm happy to be here with you and we don't have to do anything. Do you want to go downstairs?" He said, "No! No! Let's fuck!" So we did. He came in two minutes and then leapt out of the bed, held his head in his hands, and said, "Oh god! I shouldn't have done that!" Then he ran in the bathroom. I was blown away. I felt horrible, as you might after a man fucks you, screams his remorse and runs out of the room. I got dressed as fast as I could and went downstairs. I had no idea what to do. I sat frozen on the couch, perfectly still with my purse on my lap. I decided to count to ten and then leave if he didn't come downstairs. I counted to ten a few times and then he appeared. I expected him to apologize and explain his behavior but instead he basically told me to leave. He tried to hug me but I ran out the door before he could touch me. It was fucking ghastly. The next day, I heard nothing from him. I sent him a text that night and said, "Whoa. Last night was nuts. Are you okay?" He responded with, "Really busy day." I was furious. I purged him from my phone, blocked him on OKCupid, my email and facebook. About three or four days later, he sent me a long apologetic email--he used a different email address. He begged me to forgive him, he was in a crazy place and would I be willing to try again. I replied that I understood, aren't we all just barely hanging on? I wish you all the best but no thanks, freak. Then I deleted his email and blocked the new address. I won't bore you much longer with this story except to say, over several MONTHS I received a bunch of "Please forgive me" emails, Facebook messages (from a different Facebook name) and texts on my phone. Each one was angrier than the last, he kept reminding me how he had apologized and apologized and I should give "us" another chance. I responded every time with a polite, "Hey, no worries, wish you all the best," until I stopped responding all together. After the last text I got from him--a really creepy one mentioning parts of my body he missed--I decided that if I ever heard from him again I would reply with, "Dude, you are nuts! I know where you live and if you ever contact me again, I will burn your fucking house down." I wonder if he felt or intuited my readiness to fuck his shit up for real because I never heard from him again. Well, at least not yet.
21. HotRod. Funny! Cute! Sweaty! Into racing old cars through mud, drove a '74 Cadillac hearse, didn't have a job, lived on a decrepit hippie commune in Bastrop, and was probably a sex addict. We had some fun. He was talented at phone sex and had a super-charged libido. He gave La Ganga a run for her money. The big problem with him was his stinky old man deodorant, his boring tales of sex and debauchery, and the fact that his "cabin" on the commune did not have indoor plumbing. The one night I stayed there, I marveled at how beautiful the stars were out in the country as I peed outside and vowed never to see him again.