Honestly, I don’t go out to bars looking to hook up. I often get made fun of by my single friends for how I tend to befriend the oddest, oldest person in the bar. My friends are all talking to single studs and I’m talking to the guy who looks like the Empire Carpet man. What can I say? I like characters and am entertained by strangeness and interesting life stories.
This is not to say I don’t meet people. As you have been reading over the last year, I don’t have a problem meeting a lot of people. It’s never my intention, yet it continues to happen.
Not too long ago, I was befriended by a like-aged ginger who I found interesting. He was a musician, liked movies and writing, and the creative arts overall, and also had a penchant for weed, apparently. I figured I could overlook him being high 24/7 if he could carry a beat on a banjo.
He took my number and immediately contacted me, asking me for my last name. I asked him if he was planning to friend me on Facebook. If he was, I told him I would not be accepting his friend request. If you want to get to know me, get to know me. Don’t go through my pictures and comments to try to figure out who I am. Not to mention this blog!
It was a bit of a red flag, but didn’t stop me from agreeing to go out with him. We met for drinks, and he was 15 minutes late. I was annoyed, but he was apologetic and I didn’t want to let it ruin the night. Right away he started talking about his obsession with eating organic and healthy food, blah blah blah. There went any hopes of us getting the fried bacon as an appetizer. Wah wah.
He informed me that a few years ago he lost 50 lbs. He was now very fit and muscular, so I commended him on a job well done, and then inquired whether the weight gain had been a lifelong struggle or just happened as an adult?
He got pretty defensive, which was not my intent at all. He then proceeded to tell me, in detail, about how ripped he had been in high school, even having scouts try to recruit him to model at Abercrombie & Fitch.
Seriously? Within 10 minutes of sitting down you try to regal me about your six pack 10 years ago and how you were almost a model? Gag me. Gag me now. (Preferably with fried bacon.)
But once again, I stayed the open-minded person who I am and quickly changed the subject. We started talking about our families, in particular about the wacky thing our grandparents say. He began to tell me a story about him talking to his grandpa about how he’s shrunk, to which his grandpa answered, “That’s not the only thing that shrinks, your dick shrinks too!” I giggled, but was also deep in thought about this. I mean, I always knew the balls started hanging lower, but then the dick SHRINKS? Holy hell. I’m going to be a cougar for life.
At my giggle, he nudged me with his elbow and said knowingly, “Good thing we’re REALLY well-endowed in my family.” As he said this, he eyed his crotch with a smile. I tried to mask my eye rolling and look of disgust as I once again quickly changed the subject and polished off the rest of my beer. Nothing is more disgusting than a guy talking about the size of his package. Especially if he’s bragging about it. If that’s all you have to offer, you have issues. Big ones.
I’m not going to lie: size matters. But it’s not the only thing that matters. I don’t care how big you claim to be; if you’re a douchebag, you’re a douchebag who will be sleeping alone. Hope you have fun with your big ‘ol dick.
I tried to take all of these comments with a grain of salt. I know I get nervous and say stupid things all the time. On a first date? Don’t even get me started. I tend to tell inappropriate stories not meant for ANY date, let alone a first date. I wanted to go easy on Diggler.
We continued to dinner and actually had a swell time. Despite the weird comments, he was probably one of the more chivalrous men I had been out with in awhile. I tend to be attracted to creative, free-spirited types and he was just what the doctor ordered.
He offered to drive me home and I willingly accepted. We shared one of the best good night kisses I can remember experiencing in a very long time. It was hot. The date was definitely picking up!
UNTIL he suggested we go up to my place. I let him know he was not invited upstairs and that I wanted to wait to take things to a more physical place. “Well, we could jump in the backseat then,” he suggested.
Que? By WAIT I didn’t meant 3 seconds. Yeah, I didn’t want to invite you upstairs on the first date, but I’ll willingly jump into your backseat naked. NO!
“I seriously have a really big dick, though,” he then said to me, desperation in his eyes. I was at a loss for words for a few seconds. Was this really happening?
“Okay, I want to get something straight,” I said, as I swallowed the vomit forcing its way into my mouth. “ I don’t want to hear about your size number one. Number two, it’s usually the guys who talk about how big they are who can’t deliver. If you are packing, the proof will be in the pudding. No need to state it.”
Any normal person would have caught the annoyance in my tone. But no, not him! “I won’t disappoint, I promise. I’m seriously REALLY big.” He repeated as he pulled me back in for a kiss.
The following day was April 20th. As I was sitting at work diligently working on my blog stories and Internet surfing, I received a text message from him saying “Happy 4/20.” He asked how I was celebrating.
What are we, in college? I said I was planning to work out and watch a movie in my PJs. “Take out then rub one out?” he asked.
What. The. Hell.
A couple of days later I received another text from him telling me to have a happy Easter. Considering he was acting human, I decided to do the decent thing and respond, wishing him a happy Easter and also sharing with him exciting news that I had scored a second interview. We had talked about it on our date and I figured he might be as excited as I was.
His response? And yes, this is a direct quote. “Congrats on the job search. Totally hot. I mean not in a bent over my kitchen table in heels and stockings hot, but hot in a job search way.”
What? How is a job search in ANY sense of the word hot? Like ever? That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. I wrote him back the next day telling him his sexually charged texts were bothersome considering we had only gone out once. I said that it made me think he was only interested in one thing, which in turn made me not interested in him.
Little did he know, as I texted that I was, in fact, bent over a kitchen table, typing into my phone while wearing stockings and high heels. I may or may not have also been fantasizing about his big schlong.
Once again, you should not have to try to convince someone to sleep with you. You know, ever.
If you are taking the desperation route, don’t try to entice a girl with how big your dick is. That’s seriously disgusting. Any guy who is bragging about the size of his dick obviously doesn’t have very many other things to brag about.
And have I mentioned it’s disgusting?
As you can guess, I chose not to go out with this organic-eating, weed-smoking, perverted, big- dicked bastard again.
Although I’m not going to lie, I was a little curious on what actually was happening down south of the border. It’s a shame, as I actually was somewhat intrigued and entertained by his personality, not to mention we had major chemistry. If he would have played it cool just for a few dates/weeks longer, he might have gotten a chance to show off his one-eyed monster!
Then it would have been his turn to be disappointed. I might have DDs, but when I take my bra off and can actually tuck them into my pants, yeah, eh, not the look guys are usually going for.
Them: “Is that a C-section scar? I didn’t know you had kids.”
Me: “No, that’s just the way my fat rolls.”