So. Yesterday encompassed a “full range o’ dating” in which I messaged with my new favourite online guy Bourbon St., fancy dinnered it with the American on our second date and then sexed it up with Fable in my newly rommateless apt. All within like a 16 hour window. Honestly, even for me it was a first.
And here’s the thing: when I reviewed everyone and everything, the most enjoyable interaction, pound for pound, was with the guy I haven’t met yet.
Now, before I go any further, I”ll give you the “talk to the hand” at your “false intimacy alert!” Hello. We’ve all been here before via my TWO posts about how I cyber romanticized the shit out of an innocent POF bystander x2 and how well THAT went for me. Therefore, I know that in choosing Bourbon St. over the other IRL guys, I’m once again that girl. Or am I?
Because this time, I’m not talking about putting all your hopes and dreams into a profile sized basket to take to your first meet and oc, when I say you I absofuckinglutely mean me. I’m talking about talking. I’m talking about the Caravaggio of conversation. I’m talking about how if the guy in fucking New Orleans at a strip joint can beat out the guy in Vancouver at the super pricey Japanese joint with Nicolas fucking Cage as an extra and the guy NAKED IN MY APT. then yeah, something is DEF whack in the Lucyverse and it ain’t me. FOR ONCE!
To begin at the beginning of this suddenly Susan sitch:
For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you’ll know I’ve got a FWB right now nicknamed Fable. He and I met a couple of months ago and had a really cool, really hit-it-right-off-couldn’t-stop-talking! first date and he was very clear he was looking for a relationship. Period. Long story short: three weeks later not so much. In the meantime though, we’d begun to get naked and it was very good. As in very VERY good. So. When I noticed that his actions were no longer in alignment with his words, I told him I felt it was time I began dating again. He agreed. I said: “But if you want to keep having epic sex until I meet someone else, I’m up for it.” He agreed!
I didn’t know how it would go, emotionally speaking, but since he was adamant that he wanted to keep me in his life, with or without clothes, I thought: Why the fuck not? And it’s been, for the most part, easy and literally fucking fun until the last couple of times when Fable’s been very stingy with his words and his sharing. Basically, it’s been “wham bam, thank you ma’am” time and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Without the friend part, the even the spectacular benefits start losing their shine, tbh.
The American I met last week, surprisingly enough. He’s not my physical type and he’d messaged me three times before I carelessly replied. I’m still not sure why but then you know my sacred contracts theory, right?
To cut this one to the chase, our first date was not Fable sized but it was still fun and full of interesting and connected convo. We def had the words flowing like a chocolate fountain thing going on and he asked questions about me like Fable used to. But date two last night…not so much. I had to work to keep the awkward silences at bay; no fucking idea why. And Nic Cage was just a walk through. Also silent. MEN.
Do you see where I’m going with this, kids?
Finally, I introduce Bourbon St. who first messaged me on the weekend. I replied and we’ve been “talking” since, in brief but constant emails and it’s been uber fun. He’s fucking hilarious. So far, he’s told me about being stuck on the tarmac without any alcohol then being on Bourbon St. with a mint julep and a beer “Fuck. Ya”. Then he went on a fan boat to go alligator watching – he saw 25! – before looking for more cocktails and fried chicken. I got quoted “Forrest Gump” during the small hurricane that was shaking his hotel windows while he was again mint juleping then this jewel:
“I got dragged to a strip bar. Not my thing. But the girl climbed 40 feet up the pole.”
In between, I refused his request to text, confirmed that while he still could not call me, saying he was “black listed” was a little harsh ( not to mention overly dramatic ) and agreed to meet the day after he returns because yes, he’d have to meet me to chat with me. “IRL. That’s how I roll."
So here’s the thing: I HEART communication. I CRAVE communication. Tell me about the minutiae of your day and ask about mine and I’m fucking all yours. TALK. TO. ME. And keep talking to me! Maybe it’s all the years I’ve been single. Maybe it’s the solitary nature of writing which I love but can also be too isolating or just maybe the continual exchange of ideas and emotions and opinions with a male soul in verbal sync is what really turns me on. Like HIGH.
The American messaged me online the day after our first date and asked me out again. Sweet. Then I didn’t hear from him again for a week. Fable also went a week without a peep. I just sent him a text this am saying: “You’re no longer talky. What’s up with that?”
But Bourbon St? He was at a conference today but still messaged me first thing in the am and then again and again, asking about my plans for the day and telling me he’d worked at the old location of the bar Boo works at now. Adorable. Finally, he said:
“I sure hope we have some good chemistry. You sound like a blast.”
Now, I know comparing men online and men IRL is like comparing handcuffs and vibrators but just the same, if you’re not talking to me, engaging me, fucking making a wordy effort with me who counts conversation as queen, then maybe yeah - you do deserve to fall behind the computer screen and eat Bourbon St.'s dust.
And that’s the scoop behind my epic full course dating yesterday. The moral of the story? You had me at hello…and then you didn’t say anything else of note so I’m fucking out of here to meet the guy who messaged me alldaylong. And no matter what happens next with Bourbon St., he legit won the day. #fyi#latergator #GoSaints
How do you feel about great conversational skills, girls? I mean, are you okay with having to pull teeth if your guy has other attributes you value equally or more or are you like me – needing it like water? And I don’t mean he can blather the day away kind of charming working the room bullshit; I mean a genuine sharer of words to express his authentic self. You know, the fucking unicorn of manhood.
Sigh. Please tell me I’m not alone in this POF cone of silence here.