Mrs. Robinson Strikes Back

Things have been fairly quiet on the dating front of late. I’ve been out with two or three guys, but nothing much to talk about. One guy was very skilled at taking pics of himself in such a way that you’d never know how round he was. Imagine kind of a human light bulb. Combine that with the fact that he wore man Spanx {or Under Armour? Some kind of containment device that was in constant danger of failing catastrophically} and smelled very much like he just lost all control of his bladder, and it was just too much for this girl to deal with. Ain’t NOBODY got time for that! Another guy was very sweet and charming one-on-one, but in public {or, at least, in Facebook land} he was vulgar, rude, and downright adolescent. Ain’t nobody got time for that, either.

So I was kind of in dating limbo, when Stacy suggested that I contact this guy from one of the groups we’re both in on Facebook. I checked out his profile and he seemed decent enough and kind of cute, so I took a chance and got in touch with him. We started chatting and seemed to be getting along pretty well, but then he casually said that he was 28. 28?? {brakes screeching}

That didn’t end so well last time, so of course I was hesitant to continue. He insisted that age meant nothing and he really wanted to meet me. I finally agreed and we met for dinner later that week. He was sweet, funny, and easy to talk to. He had an odd way of eating tortilla chips with two hands, but otherwise he was pretty normal.

We went for a walk after dinner and did a little smooching. It was nice and simple… just what I needed. He worked kind of crazy hours, but he made a point to try to see me whenever he could, which was refreshing. He was very attentive, texting every day and calling almost every night. I mentioned his age to Stacy, and we started referring to him as Finch {as in the guy with a thing for Stifler’s mom in American Pie}.

Stifler’s mom has got it goin’ on

After we had been talking for two or three weeks, he called me one night and said he was on his way to the hospital to see a friend who had just been in a car accident. He ended up staying in the ER with this person until well past midnight. I found out later that the friend was female. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that but I let it go. A few days later, he said he was on his way to meet a friend who had asked him to help “them” go shopping for a new car. I immediately knew it was a female friend. Otherwise, why not just say he was going with one of his buddies? I didn’t immediately say anything about it, until he called back after he was done car shopping. He said, “I hope I don’t regret what I did today.” I jokingly asked if he had bought a car. He said no, but he had financed his friend’s car. What the hell? I don’t know about you, but I don’t think any of my friends would consider financing a car for me, no matter how close we are.

I said that I knew he was talking about a female and told him that after he spent the wee hours in the ER with this girl {it was the same one, by the way} and now financing her car, I couldn’t help but wonder where I could possibly fit into the equation. He insisted that they were just friends, nothing more. Hmmmm…now where had I heard that before? He also said that if I had a problem with this friendship, then he guessed we’d go our separate ways. Umm…what? He’s supposedly so interested in me, but if I’m not comfortable with his involvement with this girl, I’m the one who gets kicked to the curb?? Needless to say, I saw it as the beginning of the end for Finch. We did talk later, and cleared the air a bit, but I was still apprehensive about the whole thing.

At this point, we’d been talking and sort of seeing each other for about a month. Nothing beyond some making out had ever occurred, mostly because we hadn’t had any real privacy yet. He had gone to first base a couple of times, so I was under the assumption that he’d welcome some actual fooling around. One weekend, I knew my daughter would be with her dad, so I asked Finch if he wanted to come over. I said I would fix supper and we could watch movies. Sounded like a nice evening in, right? We watched two movies, and other than a little making out on the couch, nothing happened. I had asked if he wanted to stay over, and he said he couldn’t because he had to run errands for his elderly mother in the morning. It sounded like a lame excuse to me. After all, what errands could he possibly have that would be hampered by him staying at my place? But I let it go.

It was getting late, and we were both getting tired. I asked if he wanted to lie down, and he said he was fine on the couch, then quickly said we could go lie down if I wanted to. So I got up and walked into the bedroom, and he followed me. We laid down on the bed and at first nothing happened. I kissed him, and then we started making out. Long story short, there was a handy J {not to completion}, and he gave me a handy J {to completion but only semi-satisfying}. Oh, and after he was done, he wiped his hand on my leg. Yes, really. What the hell is THAT about?? Shortly after, he said he had to go, and began getting dressed. I felt like some horny old broad, throwing myself at him. It wasn’t quite like that, but I initiated everything that happened that night, and he hardly seemed into it. Not great for the old ego, you know?

The next day when he called, I knew I was basically done. I said it really hadn’t seemed like we were on the same page the night before. He claimed that it had only been a few months since his last relationship and that I was the first girl he’d fooled around with since then. I later spoke to my friend Ace about the whole incident, to get a guy’s perspective. Ace said that if he was on the bed, going to 2nd, he was sure as hell rounding 3rd and heading for home, whether he had to leave or not. Stacy asked if Finch was a virgin when I told her about it. I would assume he’s not, since his last relationship had lasted for several years, but what do I know?

He continued texting here and there, mostly making small talk, for a week or two, and I didn’t see the point of continuing with it. When I said I had given it a lot of thought and really didn’t think we were right for each other, he didn’t seem terribly upset. He said he’d like it if we could stay friends. Fine, whatever. Now run along and play, little Finchie. Mrs. Robinson is going to stick to boys her own age from now on.

Kiss the Girl

I absolutely love kissing. I’d almost prefer a great kiss to sex itself. I’ve been kissed badly, I’ve been kissed passionately, and I’ve been kissed awkwardly. I’ve had kisses that curled my toes and kisses that nearly turned my stomach.

Here are my most memorable first kisses, from worst to best:

The Tongue
Jeff was a guy I met in high school at a dance. I’m not really sure why I agreed to go out with him because he was very obnoxious. I guess, even back then, I was too nice to turn people down. He called me and asked if I wanted to go to the mall. That sounded innocent enough, right? He picked me up and proceeded to drive down into our local metropolitan park. I asked where we were going and he said he thought we could go for a walk instead. We started walking, and I dumbly failed to realize he was steering me farther away from where other people were. We sat on a log and he started kissing me. If you can imagine kissing a snake, or a lizard, that’s pretty much what it was like. His lips were pressed tightly together and his tongue darted in and out of my mouth like he expected there to be a mousetrap in there. Then he started pushing my head down, and I never realized how strong my neck muscles were until then. Seriously? A blow job in the middle of a crowded park? Not bloody likely, pal. I ended up reluctantly giving him a messy handy j {I think you know what I mean}, and when we headed back to the car, he smiled and said, “You’re a fun girl.” Ummm….thanks? Needless to say, that was my first and last time getting together with him.

The After-School Special
Matt was a guy I knew from a couple of my classes sophomore year in high school. He awkwardly flirted with me, but I didn’t pick up on it. One day after school, I was heading to volleyball practice when I ran into him in the hall. We started talking and walking {in the empty halls} and ended up sitting on the stairs kissing. At this point, I had only been kissed once before, and it was just a quick peck on the lips. Matt moaned as we kissed, which was odd, and he was the first guy to ever French kiss me. After that experience, I swore I’d never do it again because it felt pretty gross to have someone else’s tongue in my mouth {thank goodness I’ve since gotten over that initial revulsion!}. He slid his hands up the back of my shirt, and when I felt his hand reaching for my bra, I backed off. He later asked me to the homecoming dance, but I made up an excuse not to go. I was very inexperienced, and the whole episode scared me off, at least for a little while. I later discovered how nice a good makeout session can be.

The Floridian
The summer I turned 15, I went with my parents on a cruise to the Bahamas. One afternoon, I met Patrick. I had wandered from the sunny deck into one of the bars to get a Coke, and we started talking. After that, my dad referred to him as ‘the wolf’ because it seemed like everywhere we went, Patrick was around {which delighted me but worried my overprotective dad}. We spent a lot of time together over the next couple of days, and on the last night of the cruise, we sat together at a small table, talking. He kept gazing into my eyes, making me blush. We exchanged addresses {too bad that was way before the days of texting and Facebook} and promised to write. He walked me to my cabin, and just when I thought he would walk away, he leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. It was just the briefest touch of his lips to mine, but it was my very first kiss and I knew I’d never forget it. We actually did keep in touch for a while, lost track of each other, then started talking again when we were both in college…

The Return of the Floridian
In my last year of college, Patrick and I had been talking quite a bit. At one point, he told me he had gotten a free flight anywhere in the continental US because he had been bumped from a flight. I jokingly said, “Well, you could always come see me!” Surprisingly, he thought that was a great idea. I was nervous and excited. We decided that he would fly up that summer, on a weekend when I was supposed to go visit a friend at her lake cottage. Oh…I suppose I should mention that I was dating someone at the time. But things were pretty blah, and there was no way I was passing up an opportunity to see Patrick. I picked him up at the airport and he looked amazing. The same, but much better. When I first met him, he was wiry and somewhat awkward and dorky. But now… Now he was a bit taller, muscular, sexy as hell. We drove to the cottage, catching up, talking, laughing, and I was smitten all over again. The first night, we were all sitting around drinking and having a good time {my friend had invited several other people up that weekend}, when we saw a movement against the curtains. We thought it was a bat but it turned out to be a monarch butterfly. I got it to land on my hand, and Patrick opened the sliding door so I could take it outside. We sat down on the steps, and I was in awe of the fact that this delicate butterfly was so calmly resting on my hand, trusting me not to hurt it. I looked over at Patrick, and he leaned over and kissed me. The whole world ceased to exist. This was what I had wanted since we had met 7 years earlier. We ended up doing much more than kissing that weekend, but then we both had to go back to our lives. A few weeks after that unforgettable weekend, the guy I was dating proposed. I said yes {I guess that’s a story for a later date} and the rest is history. I always thought of Patrick as the one who got away. If only we had lived closer to each other, if only circumstances had been different. If only, if only, if only. We recently got back in touch on Facebook, and he’s a happily married Air Force doctor with two or three kids. Sigh.

Mr. Holiday
During one of my several failed attempts at online dating, I met Charles. He seemed to have his head together. Serious family man, not into playing games, etc. We didn’t talk long before deciding to meet. He was tall, dark, and sexy. When I pulled up, he got the biggest smile on his face. We sat on a bench at a mall, talking for a long time. At one point, he saw someone he knew, and he actually introduced me. That scored big points with me because when I was married, my {now} ex-husband very rarely introduced me to anyone. He’d run into someone and stand there talking for 10 minutes without ever turning and saying, “Oh, this is my wife.” When I got upset about it later, he always said he had forgotten the person’s name who he was talking to. Whatever. Anyway, Charles and I talked for an hour or so, and I had to get going. He walked me to my car, hesitated for a minute, and then proceeded to curl my toes, knock my socks off, and blow my mind. He put his hands on either side of my face, tilted my face up toward his, and kissed me. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love that kind of kiss. So simple, but so amazing. I thought my knees might buckle. I refer to him as Mr. Holiday because he lives here but works out of state. So he’s only here once a month, if that, and often on holidays. So, many times on a particular holiday, I’ve heard from him, asking if I want to get together. Often, I have. There are so many things about him that really appeal to me, but I don’t think he’s emotionally available. He’s got so much on his mind with his kids, various family issues, health issues, and the fact that he works eight hours away. I don’t know if things could ever work out with him in the long run, but I really could see the potential.

Maybe I’m too much of a romantic, but what I dream of, what I long for, is my last first kiss. Something like this or this or this. Until then, there are more frogs out there waiting to be kissed…

Next up: The One Who Raised the Bar