And So I Named Him Spanky

                             Spanky Grant. That was his full ( nick ) name.

                             Spanky Grant. That was his full ( nick ) name.

You know, it’s so funny to I re-read my copious notes from when I was in the very thick of whatever emotional rodeo I was participating in at the time. It’s very clear to me now how much of a teenager I was in POF years then and how much shit mattered to me. My angst and anxiety meter was never off/ often off the fucking charts. #exhausting

And by example, I present Spanky. Lord, I expended a LOT of fucking energy and all of it was completely about me, not him. At. All. Not that he was a bad guy by any means or particularly good; mostly, he was just a mirror. All the characteristics I gave him were the ones I wanted to have in someone who wanted to be with me. All the romance I attached to our connection was based on physical chemistry and alignment which, while nothing to toss aside, neither a Harlequin novel nor a whole IRL relationship does it make. Hello.

So. Spanky was right after Bill Nye the science guy and Ian the Indian; I liked his message right away because it was funny, sharp and literate. “I almost had a birthday reading your mail preferences.” Ha! It’s still one of my favourite lines and accurate – my list of do nots was pretty much everything. A girl’s gotta be careful, amiright?

"Spanky" came from a “I’ll put you over my knee and…” comment,  hence the best worst nickname ever but it didn’t stop him from asking me out for the following week.

Then for some reason, I checked him the next day and he’d put up a new pic. Holy fucking shit. I wish I could show you, dude. Seriously. When I showed Steph at work, she took one look and began laughing hysterically. I’m not even kidding. In person, Spanky was a good looking very gymed personal trainer but that PICTURE – Cary Grant handsome. 

Anyhoo! We met on the seawall for a walk n talk and really hit it off right away. He did say several times though that he was a solitary man and it suited him and when I asked him why he was on POF then, he said he wanted a LOVER. Not a partner. Not a mate.

Did I hear that? Yes. Did I fucking LISTEN? Yeah no. I wasn’t into the “be here now” vibe then, looking at my date as he was; I was into the “I feel him/ he feels me – DONE!” package that comes with its own set of descriptions for our future. Compatible! Happy! Together! POF Barbie with her own Ken doll. Finally!

We ended up at his place and he did this thing where he put his face next to mine and just…breathed. It sounds inane but it was absolutely so sexy that I jumped him right then and there. I know. Like a fucking teenage boy in his father’s Oldsmobile. Boom. Those were the days when I was literally sex starved. Now I’m #sexoverit. Shit fucking happens.

Loooonnnnggg story short, things with Spanky never progressed past a few pseudo sleep overs because he was one of those random, can’t even pin down for epic sex guys who truly was a man cave dweller as he warned me. While we had intense physical mojo and some emotional connection, when I asked him what he thought of me he said: “I try not to. You’re too distracting.” What.

The real story was not how things did or didn’t go with Spanky, it’s how I was a fucking mess because of how I thought I felt about Spanky. Oh. Lord. I. Was. Useless. Just like a moony teenager, ALL I could think about was the next naked date and I just didn’t get why it wasn’t a priority for him as well. I crammed everything into that sex box, pretending everything fit even when it patently did not. His ramblings about politics and conspiracies, his Mr. Universeness, his inability to make plans – let’s have more sex! That’ll make it all make sense!


To be fair, one of the reasons I went so gaga for Spanky in this very basic way was because it was so unusual then for me to have these amazing sexual feelings and desire for someone who felt the same about me. All those months after BMX was a whole lot of not even close to that. In fact, that’s still a fucking ongoing issue. #goodtimes So I went a little hormonally overboard, attaching emotion to what was soley an epic connection of two nether regions. Period.

But. At the time I really and truly thought it was a heart bone connected through the sex bone thing so I sleep walked through two months of hardly any dates, bereft. I wrote him two letters! But only sent one of them which oc was one fucking too many but. And then I finally sent him this text:

I miss you so much, Spanky. Still. I thought I was getting better but apparently not…It is what it is and I get it, I really do. I just hate it. Still. Just forget I sent this please. xo

Right?? Gah!

But he actually REPLIED and we finally had another date – a walk along my beloved Kits promenade where we got caught in a rainstorm and AGAIN he wouldn’t have sex with me. Pattern much?

However on this, our last date, Spanky talked and talked AND talked…a bunch of philosophical and political blah blah blah that I didn’t particularly jibe with or comprehend. Finally the other shoe dropped and I realized we had fuck and all in common. And just like that, the sexual thrall was literally doused in cold water and I was done. Now I know why they recommend cold showers for teenage boyz #justsaying

Spanky wasn’t the first sex driven “relationship” I’d have nor would he be the last but looking back to who I was then and being who I am now makes me feel I’ve gone from if not from “crayons to perfume” at least from “hormones to partial prefrontal cortex reasoning”. Ish. Or from my father’s Buick to my own home with my own bed and wine stash, waiting for the guy who actually makes sense and wants to jump ME for a fucking change #akanotaspanky

ps Found this note from right after that walk:

Spent time with Spanky, clothes on, and he began answering texts very quickly = alien Spanky phase. Disconcerting…especially when I realized we had nothing in common and he’s rather a misanthrope. I still very much wanted to fuck him though. Oc.


pps JUST saw Spanky again after fucking years and he was even more handsome than memory served. We caught up, with and without clothes, and it was fun. But. NO attachment. At. All. Just ex sex. And a reminder:

“When in the unrequited throes, remember: he too shall pass.”

Have you got a Spanky or two in your closet? At first sooo hot and sooo unavailable then eventually you're sooo over it? Remember, sharing is caring, girlies. 

xo Lucy