Social Graces - 2/10/07

You know...even in the world of kinks and freaks, who apparently do nothing but fuck and don't know better?

Walking out on someone is incredibly crass. And leaving them in a public meat market like the one you chose for the date? That's appalling - even to the filthy pervs.

I might suggest that before you look for someone to "step up to the plate", you be willing to play a fair game of ball, rather than just steal home without even suiting up.

'Cause for a guy who doesn't want to hurt anyone intentionally, you're awfully good at it.

Good luck, V

That's the letter that I wanted to send to my date last night. To be honest, there are a LOT of letters I wanted to send, but that's the one that I'd regret the least.

I had a date last night. This entry's hotlist only, so those of you on the hotlist know what a relatively momentous occassion this is. If you don't, let me spell it out for you.

In the 9 years since the boy's dad died, I've had less than 10 dates. Sure, maybe a few more if you count the play sessions or perv hook-ups, but I'm talking old-fashioned American Standard (not the toilets, you pervs, I swear to god, I know you thought it), but the "girl meets boy, girl and boy go out and eat/drink/be merry and get to know each other and have sex on the third date and be a little shy with each other and she plays coy and he plays flirty and both of them feel hot and sexy and wonder 'could s/he be...?' just a little bit" kind of dates.

I've had wonderful pervy friends (<3>)

Well the list goes on. I have been a lucky girl, and I know it. Don't think I don't, 'cause I do, and I love you guys for it.

But there was always an expectation of sex, or sex and play, or something more than just infatuation and feeling shy and blushing and having a nice date. And even when nothing more did come of it, there was disappointment, on both parts, 'cause that was the hope.

I didn't want that this time. I wanted the infatuation. I wanted the nervous jitters beforehand, and the feeling just a little less self-assured, and the excitement and the mystery and the hope for another date.

And of course, because I have an ego - I wanted him to feel it too.

He wanted to feel stuff as well. Sure, he wanted to touch and kiss and laugh and 'get to know me' and buy me a drink (I had 7-Up, I didn't want any excuse when I compromised my morals ) and listen to music and talk.

We did all those things. But when he said he wanted to fuck me (I think he had more class the first time he said it), I said "i want to fuck you too", because I did, and I do. I like to fuck, this is not news to any of you.

But when I also said ..."but not tonight", it turned into a discussion. He withdrew, ever so slightly, and withdrawal crescendoed as I stuck to that. When I said no, not Saturday, and no, not Sunday, he said "well what's the point", and, again, because I have an ego, I responded by saying "I don't know V, what is the point?"

Apparently I've not come as far with that vulnerability thing as I thought I had. I know what at least some of you are going to say (Phx, swing that big stick kindly and softly, please) - I should have put myself out there. "The point is that I like you, and I want you, and I want to try and do this some other way than I usually do, because while it might not be right, it'll be different, and different'll do me some good right now. I'm not saying never, I'm saying I want you to like me more than my cunt, and since in the end, it's just another cunt, I'm afraid if I fuck you now, you'll never know me. And then there won't be a point."

I didn't say that, even though I know I should have, because I was hurt, and I was afraid, and those things make me defensive and self-protective and pull the "pull back, hide" lever faster than you can say anal.

I asked why he was freaking out about this, and before I could finish my sentence he said "I'm not freaking out. Forget it, I'm out of here".

And meant it. Walked out of a crowded bar (less crowded where we were, we'd found a quietish corner to talk) and left me there to fend for myself.

Thank god it's near my place. I walked home, and all I could think was "ow".

I should be angry. Furious, really, and disgusted, i know. And I will be.

Just as soon as the sting abates a little.

I guess I should just stick to the other spastics, huh? At least they get me Tiffany and will smack my ass even if the date sucks.

This public-service announcement has been brought to you by Middle Aged Angst Society of Canada. Donations can be made direct to TDBank, in my name.