The Facebook Fool

When I was still trying the online dating thing, I met Ralph. He was an accountant with two kids and I felt like I had finally met a contender. He was cute and funny and we had great conversations. He told me that lots of guys claim to be nice guys, but that he genuinely was just a really nice guy. After we had been chatting for a week or two, he added me on Facebook. This looked promising!

One day, as I was browsing Facebook, I noticed an exchange between him and some girl. They were taunting each other about a football game, but it sounded very flirtatious. I asked him about it, thinking that if there was someone else he was interested in, I’d bow out gracefully. We hadn’t met yet, so no harm, no foul. He assured me that she was just a friend who used to work with him. I let it go and more or less forgot about it.

We had been trying to make plans to meet, but our busy schedules {not to mention the fact that he lived 45 min away} kept getting in the way. Finally, we were due to meet on an upcoming Saturday. He wanted to take me to his favorite steak place {did this guy know the way to my heart, or what?}. The Wednesday before our first date was to occur, we were texting after work. I asked what he was doing that night and he said it was his best friend’s birthday and that they were going out to dinner. He said he’d call or text when he got home, and I didn’t give it another thought.

Later, I was bored and surfing on Facebook, when I see in my newsfeed that he had been tagged in someone’s post. More specifically, he had been tagged in a girl’s post who was gushing about the wonderful dinner she’d just had and how wonderful he was etc etc. It had clearly been a date, not just a dinner between friends. Oh, and the girl writing the post was the same one he was “just friends” with. NICE.

I followed the post for the next hour or so, as her various friends chimed in wondering who this guy was. He finally piped up to accept the accolades, and said he thought she was wonderful and that he would never hurt her. How NICE! I was sooooo tempted to either click ‘like’ on the comments, or to otherwise call him out in front of God and everybody. I really kind of regret that I didn’t. Instead, I took the semi-high road and sent him a text that said, “Well, I’m assuming our date for this weekend is off. Just friends, huh? Have a nice life. Oh, and btw, you were wrong. You’re not a nice guy. You’re an asshole.” Surprise, surprise, he never responded.

Fail.

Fail.

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Chocolat

Until my divorce, I had never dated black men before. Not because of any personal preference etc, but simply because none had ever asked me out. The first guy I was with when I found myself newly single was black. I think it’s safe to say 99% of the guys I’ve been out with in the past three years have been black. My friends have teased me, saying, “Once you go black, you never go back.”

They may be right.

I wouldn’t say I’d never consider dating a white guy again. I’ve been out with maybe a handful in the past few years. And if I really clicked with a guy who happened to be white, or Hispanic, or Asian, or any other non-black race, I’d certainly give him a chance. But that has yet to happen. I just find myself way more attracted to black men for a few reasons.

For one thing, they seem way more confident in their masculinity. Actually, they seem way more confident, period. When I’m at the store, or the club, or walking down the street, it’s the black men who will give me an appreciative glance as I pass by. It’s the black men who will actually ask for my number. It’s the black men who have no fear of rejection. They have no problem expressing their interest, regardless of whether I might be interested in them. I’ve been with white guys who were pretty submissive, expecting me to take the lead or make all the decisions. I’ve known plenty of white guys who told me that they once had such a crush on me. Huh? If you were interested, why the hell didn’t you speak up? I like the man to be the man. Not act like a control freak or order me around, but to take the lead.

Another thing that really appeals to me about black men is that the ones I’ve met prefer women with some curves. I grew up in white suburbia, where it was the petite, thin girls who got the guys’ attention. I’ve always been on the thick side, and I was never the girl guys chased after. I’ve been told more than once that if I’d grown up in certain other areas, I would have had guys beating down my door. But I never truly felt sexy, desirable, or totally ok the way I was, until I started dating black men. When I was married, sex was ALWAYS with the lights off. I never felt comfortable getting dressed or undressed in front of my ex-husband. But the black men I’ve been with have loved seeing me nude. Pretty much insisted on it. I never feel self-conscious or embarrassed of my chubby legs or my big behind. Rather, I feel appreciated, attractive, and beautiful in the presence of black men. Part of the reason black men are sexy is because they know exactly how to make a woman feel sexy. They see what they want and they go after it, almost in a predatory way.

My ex-husband stuck strictly to missionary with very little variety. If anything, I was very occasionally on top {meaning *maybe* once a year}, and he refused to do doggie. Like, ever. Our sex routine was just that… routine. I could set my watch to it. Few minutes of this, few minutes of that, then once he thought I was turned on enough, he’d climb on and hump away, without regard to whether I was enjoying it or not. Very rarely, I came during sex with him. But mostly, I’d wait til he went into the bathroom to clean up after he came, then I’d finish myself off. This was my sex life for YEARS. Ugh. His usual move to let me know he was in the mood was to snuggle up close and tell me I smelled good, then maybe grope me and whisper, “Am I being bad?” That ain’t sexy. AT ALL. Occasionally I would suggest different positions, and IF he actually tried it, he kept saying, “Does that feel good? Is this what you wanted?” I didn’t want to discuss it, I just wanted to frigging DO it!!

I can’t imagine any of the black men I’ve been with fumbling their way through sex that way. If we were in missionary position and they wanted me doggie style, they pretty much positioned me that way, or made it pretty clear that’s what they wanted. There was no bashful teenage-like asking what feels good or whether he can have sex with me. They just went for it. And with a few exceptions, it has been SO much better than any sex while I was married. Once, when we were still together, I told my ex-husband he had no idea if I was getting anything out of sex or not. His response? “I’m a guy, I don’t know these things.” Really? I’m pretty easy to read when it comes to sex. If I’m moving around, moaning, begging for more, digging my nails into your back, grabbing your ass to pull you closer, I’m into it. If I’m lying there, practically motionless, I’m not. Capiche?

This is somewhat secondary to the other reasons why I prefer black men, but I also like the contrast of dark skin against mine. There’s something so sexy about it. I love their thicker lips and the smoothness of their skin. I think that if I had ever dated a black guy before I met my ex-husband, I probably wouldn’t have dated him, let alone married him. Don’t get me wrong… I don’t regret marrying him. We did have some good times and because of him, I have a beautiful daughter. But he wasn’t the right guy for me. I’m only sorry it took me so damn long to figure out what it was I really wanted.

The One Who Raised the Bar

When I first started going to BBW parties, I didn’t really know what to expect. I admit, I was a bit jaded after years of a very unromantic marriage, and I really didn’t have high expectations of meeting someone special. It was mostly an opportunity for me to get back into the social scene and figure out all over again how to date.

At the very first party I went to, one of my friends told me about a guy she knew whom she thought I would like. She said he was a big guy {former minor league football player} and that he was a gentle giant. Toward the end of the party, I noticed a guy fitting that description who came in and started dancing. I was pretty sure it must be him, but I couldn’t find my friend to ask her.

As things were winding down, people were leaving, and the lights were turned back up, I was talking to my friends when this guy came walking over. He said hi to the ones he knew and gave my friend a hug. She turned and introduced me to Ben. He looked down, smiled, and shook my hand, then it was almost as if I had said, “HEY!” He had started to look away but quickly looked back down at me {he was easily a foot taller than me} like he was really seeing me for the first time. Then he started turning on the charm. He was talking and flirting and kept asking for my number. I didn’t know what to do, and certainly wasn’t used to any guy coming on to me like that, so I finally said, “Give me your number and I’ll call you.” He didn’t believe that I would, but eventually gave me his number.

The next afternoon, I called him. When he answered, I said, “Hi, do you know who this is?” At the party, my friend had teased him about being terrible with names and said he probably wouldn’t remember mine. But he immediately guessed who I was, name and all {score one point for the gentle giant}. We talked for a while, and he asked if I wanted to meet for dinner later that week. I accepted.

We pulled in at the same time, and he immediately came over to my side of the car before I was even all the way out. He had this big smile and gave me a big hug and kiss. I loved being wrapped in those arms. We walked together to the restaurant, which he said he had worked at years before. A few people there remembered him, and he introduced me to all of them {score another point}. During dinner, he held my hands across the table and gazed at me like a big lovestruck kid. He said that when he had met me, he took a double take because he had been mesmerized by my eyes. At one point, he said he wanted to show me where the restroom was in case I needed to go while we were there. I followed him over there and as soon as we got around the corner, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. He said he just wanted an excuse to kiss me, not to show me where the restroom was {points scored all over the place}.

After dinner, he tucked my arm in his as we walked back to the car. He held me and kissed me, and I was loving every minute of it. He called and texted every day, and we made plans to meet again. After talking for a week or two, I went over to his apartment one afternoon. We were on his bed kissing, touching, fooling around, and it was so nice. At one point, I looked at him and said, “You’re gonna make me fall for you.” He kissed me and said, “Go ahead and fall, I’ll catch you.” Hook, line, sinker. He had me.

As we were fooling around that day, he wanted me to go down on him. I didn’t know him well, but I knew him well enough to assume I wasn’t the first girl to be in his apartment. I also assumed I wouldn’t be the first girl in his bed to blow him. Something had to set me apart. So I ignored his request. We kept fooling around, and he ended up going down on me. My ex-husband had never been very good at oral sex. He only did it occasionally, and I was never really comfortable having his face downtown anyway. One time, when he halfheartedly did, I asked if he even enjoyed doing it. He said he only did it because he thought I wanted him to. So I told him not to worry about it anymore. I think both of us were relieved. But when Ben touched me with his tongue… I discovered for the first time what all the fuss was about. He had me digging my heels into the mattress, gasping, moaning… He was amazing.

The next time I went to his apartment, all bets were off. Naked, kissing, touching, making love…it was so good. We went on dates, and every time, he was holding my hands across the table, being a perfect gentleman. It was as if I had conjured him out of a dream. THIS was what dating was supposed to be like! He was courting me, wooing me, and winning me with every kiss, every gesture, every moment that we were together. He came to a bar he had no interest in, just because he knew I’d be there. He went out of his way to be wonderful, paying for me on our dates and being so sweet and attentive.

I should have known this was too good to be true.

One afternoon, we were at his apartment in bed. I was contentedly lying there, with my head on his chest, when he dropped a bombshell on me. Oh, by the way, he had sort of a girlfriend who used to live here but was now living in Canada for work. They talked on the phone a few times a week, said the “L” word, and what he was really looking for was someone who was not only okay with him having someone else, but who would ideally have her own guy on the side so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. I slowly pulled back from him and felt myself inwardly withdrawing, like a turtle into a shell. He saw my reaction and tried to be sweet but I didn’t even know what to say. He had been acting like I was his girlfriend, but here he was telling me all he wanted from me was some no-strings-attached fun??

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

We continued talking, and after several days, we were back to going on dates and fooling around. Despite what he had said, he was acting so romantic, so caring… like a boyfriend, not a friend with benefits. I stupidly let my guard down, thinking maybe he cared about me more than he was willing to admit. But one evening, we were at his apartment, sitting on the porch and having a glass of wine, when the same discussion came up again. He said he hadn’t misled me, that he had made it clear what he was looking for. I said I didn’t like knowing I was nothing but a convenience to him. He tried to say that wasn’t the case but what else would you call it? He asked if I wanted a relationship. I said I didn’t know what it was that I wanted. I was getting more angry and feeling more and more foolish. I asked what he would have said if I’d said yes when he asked me about wanting a relationship. He said, “I would have said I’m not ready.” I looked at him angrily and said, “You’re damn right you’re not ready.” I took the last sip of my wine and said, “We’re done here.” I calmly {but purposefully} walked back inside and put my glass in the sink, intending to walk out of his apartment and out of his life. He tried to stop me, looking like he really didn’t like being the bad guy, but I left anyway. He told me to call him when I got home. I never did.

He texted me a few days later and I ignored him. I did my best to put him out of my mind, but too many things about him were exactly what I was looking for in a guy. I couldn’t forget him.

A few months went by, and I was out at a club one night with my friends, when who should walk by but Ben. I had sworn I’d never hook up with him again, but seeing him after all that time, all the memories came rushing back. We started talking, and I was trying so hard to just act like we were friends, nothing more. But then he asked me to dance. We had gone to this same club together before, and he had never really been into PDA. But this time, he got me on the dancefloor and couldn’t stop kissing me. He kept telling me how much he had missed me.

Needless to say, all of my bravado went right out the window and I ended up in his bed that night. It was better than it had ever been. The sex was incredible. He kept telling me how beautiful I was, how much he had missed me. The next morning, he had to drive his cousin somewhere very early, and he told me to stay there and he’d be right back. Before he left, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I was lost all over again.

The second honeymoon didn’t last long before we were right back to square one. I distanced myself without much fanfare this time, and even though I would occasionally hear from him, we didn’t see each other again…until several months later when he invited me to his cousin’s wedding. I was surprised and flattered and accepted the invitation. We had a good time until I noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off one of the bridesmaids. Every time she went by, his eyes went too. I finally saw him for what he was — a dog in his late 40s, still chasing tails. I knew I was done.

Ain't nuttin but a hound dawg

Ain’t nuttin but a hound dawg

For the longest time, I couldn’t put him out of my mind. I was mad at myself for giving any thought to a guy who clearly thought of me as nothing but an option. I couldn’t figure out why I was still thinking about him, but it suddenly dawned on me. He set the bar for how Mr. Right should be. Ben may have turned out to be nothing but a dog, but he was also so many things that I’m looking for in a man: attentive, romantic, sweet, great lover, funny, sexy as hell…

I’ve had plenty of dates, and while I’m not super picky, I do have certain standards that I’m pretty set on. Yeah, I’ve gone out with some guys who weren’t exactly what I was looking for. I’ve tried to be less demanding and not automatically rule out a particular guy just because of one thing or another. But the fact is that my marriage was 17 years of me constantly lowering my expectations. I’m not looking for the perfect guy, just the one who’s perfect for me. I have to be true to myself and hold out for what I really want.

Next up: Chocolat