I like men the way I like a good trail mix, totally unpredictable. Now, I am not really a huge fan of trail mix, so perhaps that is not the best metaphor to use here. But how else would you describe the kind of men I have a history of being attracted to? There is no common theme. They are tall, short, skinny, Not-skinny, hairy, hairless, metro’s, macho’s, brunettes, blondes, redheads, and bald guys. They are White, Black, and Hispanic. (Yes, strangely, I have never had it for an Asian, other than the hot Army captain from Disney’s Mulan.) I am the only common denominator. If you lined them all up side-by-side, there would be no universal physical trait to identify them as “my type,” except a great smile, which I admit to being a sucker for.
Such an epic line up would be a great opportunity for me to clear up some things with a handful of these poor saps. Reflecting, there are a few hearts that I perhaps stomped on and maybe a few physical encounters that became a bit sticky, and not in a good way. The power to put together my ex-conquest line-up is out of reach for now, but the power of the pen… or the Macbook I guess, is not.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Dear ___________,
I don’t know if you ever realized that the leopard print thong you so carelessly left out had been hung from the fire sprinkler in your room. I still wonder if you left it there.
Our fling was doomed from the beginning. I think we both knew it. That trip to the vineyards in California was fun, but I think anything can be fun after several bottles of wine. I don’t remember exactly, but did you really have the balls to go down on me on that bus ride back to the hotel? I am not sure… Surely there was someone in our group who was sober enough to remember… maybe not.
Now, help me out… did we fuck in the elevator that night, or was that a different night? We thought we were smooth thinking no one was on the elevator at 3:00 AM. That poor guy was either traumatized or thrilled to see your white ass pounding away when the elevator doors opened. I am sorry that I couldn’t stop laughing. Gratuitous public displays of sex make me feel a little silly. Plus, his reaction was classic.
“Uh… I’ll… uh… take the next one.” He said over my uncontrollable giggles.
I don’t think we finished… that seemed to be our story. The second time we tried to do it sober. Big mistake. I realized that I didn’t really find you all that attractive. I think your thought process was about the same, because you shriveled and shrank as I vainly tried to convince myself that I was turned on. I think we both decided at the same time that we were done trying. Have you every tried to stick a limp noodle in a rusted keyhole? That’s a metaphor, of course.
Everything was just so awkward. It took me until that last day to really figure it out. I don’t remember what brought all of us to your room, but there were several of us there. You were packing to leave and had apparently forgotten that all of your skivvies were on the bed for everyone to see.
All of the sudden it hit me… I have never had a good sexual experience with a man who wears thongs. Sorry, I just find it seriously creepy. Add to that the fact that they were leopard print and I think every person in the room was thinking exactly what I was…
“This guy is totally gay.”
Don’t get me wrong I love gay people. They give great décor and fashion advice and who doesn’t love a woman who will sport a t-shirt that reads, “I dig your girlfriend.” However, never did I intend to have numerous awkward, semi-public sexual encounters with someone who was questioning which team they wanted to bat for.
It wasn’t my idea to hang the thong up on the sprinkler. It was Joe’s. I don’t think that crazy Mexican likes gay people as much as I do.
A rumor surfaced only a few weeks after the trip. People started to say that you had been caught red handed with someone of the same sex. It was a big scandal for a while. I simply disregarded it. After all, I already knew.
Our fling was doomed from the beginning. I think we both knew it. That trip to the vineyards in California was fun, but I think anything can be fun after several bottles of wine. I don’t remember exactly, but did you really have the balls to go down on me on that bus ride back to the hotel? I am not sure… Surely there was someone in our group who was sober enough to remember… maybe not.
Now, help me out… did we fuck in the elevator that night, or was that a different night? We thought we were smooth thinking no one was on the elevator at 3:00 AM. That poor guy was either traumatized or thrilled to see your white ass pounding away when the elevator doors opened. I am sorry that I couldn’t stop laughing. Gratuitous public displays of sex make me feel a little silly. Plus, his reaction was classic.
“Uh… I’ll… uh… take the next one.” He said over my uncontrollable giggles.
I don’t think we finished… that seemed to be our story. The second time we tried to do it sober. Big mistake. I realized that I didn’t really find you all that attractive. I think your thought process was about the same, because you shriveled and shrank as I vainly tried to convince myself that I was turned on. I think we both decided at the same time that we were done trying. Have you every tried to stick a limp noodle in a rusted keyhole? That’s a metaphor, of course.
Everything was just so awkward. It took me until that last day to really figure it out. I don’t remember what brought all of us to your room, but there were several of us there. You were packing to leave and had apparently forgotten that all of your skivvies were on the bed for everyone to see.
All of the sudden it hit me… I have never had a good sexual experience with a man who wears thongs. Sorry, I just find it seriously creepy. Add to that the fact that they were leopard print and I think every person in the room was thinking exactly what I was…
“This guy is totally gay.”
Don’t get me wrong I love gay people. They give great décor and fashion advice and who doesn’t love a woman who will sport a t-shirt that reads, “I dig your girlfriend.” However, never did I intend to have numerous awkward, semi-public sexual encounters with someone who was questioning which team they wanted to bat for.
It wasn’t my idea to hang the thong up on the sprinkler. It was Joe’s. I don’t think that crazy Mexican likes gay people as much as I do.
A rumor surfaced only a few weeks after the trip. People started to say that you had been caught red handed with someone of the same sex. It was a big scandal for a while. I simply disregarded it. After all, I already knew.
Dear ___________,
I am sure you noticed that I vanished. Sorry about that. Hey, at least we weren’t in a relationship! Yeah, I know that we were decent friends for a couple years before we went on that business trip to California. There was something in the California air, I think, or maybe it was the fact that I had tried to get it on with another guy who turned out to be useless in the dick department. I was feeling horny, so I decided you were “it.” It was a just a bonus that you’re good looking!
According to my plan, I ended up in your hotel room. What a great conversation! Music, chess, you have a brain! I thought I had hit the jackpot! I was thrilled when we kissed. You have a talent for it, for sure. I was definitely hot for you. I know the feeling was mutual. I noticed that as soon as we lay on the bed. Everything was going swimmingly when I decided to check out the goods. Well endowed to boot! At this point I was giving myself an imaginary pat on the back.
…And then you had to bust out what some would call a “shit-eating grin.”
Really? I have never been so terrified.
For a split second, I thought I had found a ticklish spot and was ready to laugh out loud until I realized that I had somehow awakened your inner clown.
In later conversations with close friends I have attempted to explain the horror that I felt at the sight of your face. You reacted as if I had touched your penis, given you a million dollars, and sent you down a roller coaster hill all in one instant. Was it your first time? I almost asked you this out loud.
To top it all off, you started to pant a bit. I think this is where my out of body experience began. I saw a horrified girl on a hotel bed holding the cock of an extremely happy Latino, who was quite possibly impersonating a golden retriever, drool and all.
That is about the time when I told you that I really liked you and that I didn’t want to rush anything. I wanted to save it and make it special. Well, sorry, I was feeding you a line of bullshit. I bailed as fast as I could.
I know that I promised to call and visit, but when you started to say not-so-subtle things about soul mates and marriage and litters of children, I started to sub-consciously plot your demise.
I changed my number and I am thankful to this day that we lived so far apart.
According to my plan, I ended up in your hotel room. What a great conversation! Music, chess, you have a brain! I thought I had hit the jackpot! I was thrilled when we kissed. You have a talent for it, for sure. I was definitely hot for you. I know the feeling was mutual. I noticed that as soon as we lay on the bed. Everything was going swimmingly when I decided to check out the goods. Well endowed to boot! At this point I was giving myself an imaginary pat on the back.
…And then you had to bust out what some would call a “shit-eating grin.”
Really? I have never been so terrified.
For a split second, I thought I had found a ticklish spot and was ready to laugh out loud until I realized that I had somehow awakened your inner clown.
In later conversations with close friends I have attempted to explain the horror that I felt at the sight of your face. You reacted as if I had touched your penis, given you a million dollars, and sent you down a roller coaster hill all in one instant. Was it your first time? I almost asked you this out loud.
To top it all off, you started to pant a bit. I think this is where my out of body experience began. I saw a horrified girl on a hotel bed holding the cock of an extremely happy Latino, who was quite possibly impersonating a golden retriever, drool and all.
That is about the time when I told you that I really liked you and that I didn’t want to rush anything. I wanted to save it and make it special. Well, sorry, I was feeding you a line of bullshit. I bailed as fast as I could.
I know that I promised to call and visit, but when you started to say not-so-subtle things about soul mates and marriage and litters of children, I started to sub-consciously plot your demise.
I changed my number and I am thankful to this day that we lived so far apart.
Dear _________,
I am so sorry if I hurt you. I should be real… I know that I hurt you. It was not my intention. I was truly attracted to you, but it never would have worked any way. It was a fling, and nothing more.
You were adamant that you had never met any one like me. I believe it. I am pretty sure that I don’t have anything in common with girls in LA. I don’t have any understanding of fashion or celebrities or botox… it’s just not my thing. And I knew that you hadn’t traveled much before…
I lied to you. I had a boyfriend back home. He was a waste of space and my relationship with him ended very shortly after I met you. Perhaps you were the catalyst for that break-up, and for that, I thank you.
I will never understand why you preferred to be called Pablo when it's not your real name. You were a gringo through and through. Such beautiful blue eyes! You were so sweet, and funny, and lord knows that I have always had a thing for chubby guys. They are usually the best in the bedroom, which you proved admirably, even if it was just orally. I am glad we never slept together. That would have made it too complicated and probably would have hurt you even more.
I knew that it would have to end. I knew it the night that I woke you up in your hotel room at 3 AM to come outside and see the snow. You had never seen snowfall before and the look on your face was priceless. It was romantic as hell when you danced with me in the snow, but then I noticed the look in your eyes. It was THE look, and I suddenly felt horrible. I knew that the very limited time we spent together in Utah meant no commitment, but you were wearing the commitment face.
I was a coward and I didn’t want to leave one crappy relationship just to jump in to a long-distance one. So, I did what a coward would do, I stopped answering the phone. It wasn’t right of me. I should have just been honest with you and for that I am so sorry.
To this day I wish you nothing but happiness and I hope that you have found another girl who can play pool, buy you a lap dance, drink you under the table, and dance with you in the snow, because that is what you deserve.
You were adamant that you had never met any one like me. I believe it. I am pretty sure that I don’t have anything in common with girls in LA. I don’t have any understanding of fashion or celebrities or botox… it’s just not my thing. And I knew that you hadn’t traveled much before…
I lied to you. I had a boyfriend back home. He was a waste of space and my relationship with him ended very shortly after I met you. Perhaps you were the catalyst for that break-up, and for that, I thank you.
I will never understand why you preferred to be called Pablo when it's not your real name. You were a gringo through and through. Such beautiful blue eyes! You were so sweet, and funny, and lord knows that I have always had a thing for chubby guys. They are usually the best in the bedroom, which you proved admirably, even if it was just orally. I am glad we never slept together. That would have made it too complicated and probably would have hurt you even more.
I knew that it would have to end. I knew it the night that I woke you up in your hotel room at 3 AM to come outside and see the snow. You had never seen snowfall before and the look on your face was priceless. It was romantic as hell when you danced with me in the snow, but then I noticed the look in your eyes. It was THE look, and I suddenly felt horrible. I knew that the very limited time we spent together in Utah meant no commitment, but you were wearing the commitment face.
I was a coward and I didn’t want to leave one crappy relationship just to jump in to a long-distance one. So, I did what a coward would do, I stopped answering the phone. It wasn’t right of me. I should have just been honest with you and for that I am so sorry.
To this day I wish you nothing but happiness and I hope that you have found another girl who can play pool, buy you a lap dance, drink you under the table, and dance with you in the snow, because that is what you deserve.
Dear ________,
I think it’s fair to start out by saying that you are a complete douche bag. Who spells Nick without a ‘C’ any way?
I find it wildly hilarious that you somehow thought you were the man. Let me clue you in to something, sir. You are anything but. In fact, your genitals are greatly lacking and your ego is as big as the moon. You know that day when you came out to your car after work to find a box of “finger condoms” (as we call them in the restaurant business)? My friend and I left those there for you after we decided to start calling you “Pinky Dick Nik.”
It was a shame that I wasted time on you. You were attractive in the face, which may be why I gave it a chance… the tequila helped. But the tequila certainly hadn’t numbed me enough. I remember thinking, “You’re inside me? Jesus, I have experienced more stimulation from my pal, Playtex.” So, I rolled you over. It was the only way that I was going to have any fun. When I kept saying “Shhhh…shhhhh” and putting my hand on your mouth, I wasn’t trying to make it hot. I just wanted you to stop saying, “Are you close? Are you close?” Jesus, what a turn-off. So I got off, hopped off, and was delighted to leave you hanging, if you can call 3 inches of pencil thickness hung.
A few weeks later you came to my condo for a party I was hosting. I had no issue with it. You were there with your latest lady, a bartender from our restaurant. I will never forget overhearing her telling another girl that sex with you was some of the best she has ever had. I laughed out loud, nearly choking on my Jell-o shot. All I could say was, “Wow, I am so sorry.” She looked at me with disgust as I continued to laugh. I am pretty sure you both left shortly afterward. Poor girl. I hope she found a thick one after you and realized what she had been missing out on… and why I laughed so hard.
I find it wildly hilarious that you somehow thought you were the man. Let me clue you in to something, sir. You are anything but. In fact, your genitals are greatly lacking and your ego is as big as the moon. You know that day when you came out to your car after work to find a box of “finger condoms” (as we call them in the restaurant business)? My friend and I left those there for you after we decided to start calling you “Pinky Dick Nik.”
It was a shame that I wasted time on you. You were attractive in the face, which may be why I gave it a chance… the tequila helped. But the tequila certainly hadn’t numbed me enough. I remember thinking, “You’re inside me? Jesus, I have experienced more stimulation from my pal, Playtex.” So, I rolled you over. It was the only way that I was going to have any fun. When I kept saying “Shhhh…shhhhh” and putting my hand on your mouth, I wasn’t trying to make it hot. I just wanted you to stop saying, “Are you close? Are you close?” Jesus, what a turn-off. So I got off, hopped off, and was delighted to leave you hanging, if you can call 3 inches of pencil thickness hung.
A few weeks later you came to my condo for a party I was hosting. I had no issue with it. You were there with your latest lady, a bartender from our restaurant. I will never forget overhearing her telling another girl that sex with you was some of the best she has ever had. I laughed out loud, nearly choking on my Jell-o shot. All I could say was, “Wow, I am so sorry.” She looked at me with disgust as I continued to laugh. I am pretty sure you both left shortly afterward. Poor girl. I hope she found a thick one after you and realized what she had been missing out on… and why I laughed so hard.
Dear _________,
I consider the two dates we went on as nothing more than a comedic scene in my memory. I was never attracted to you. We were casual friends, but from a dating standpoint I thought you were creepy.
Nothing physical happened between us, thank goodness, not even a kiss. I find the idea somewhat revolting actually.
I guess the only reason I owe you a note is to clear the air regarding the night that I allegedly stole your car.
First of all, when you invite a girl to your birthday party, she usually expects a party. You and two of your idiot friends playing Nintendo does not count. Secondly, it is usually not the best etiquette to answer the door completely hammered drunk… that is supposed to happen as the night progresses. I politely sat long enough to drink one beer before I decided I had enough. I remember wanting to kick myself for being dropped off with no plan for a ride home.
I told you that it was time for me to leave and had made the commitment to call a cab. You followed me to the parking lot, keys in hand, stumbling belligerently, insisting that you could drive me home. I didn’t want to spend the fifty bucks it would take to pay for a cab, but I certainly didn’t want to end up dead either. So when I watched you fumbling through the keys and trying to decipher which car was yours… well, let’s just say that I have an inner evil laugh. It was too easy.
I slowly sat in the passenger seat and closed the door as you clumsily plopped in the driver’s side and tried to stick the key in the stereo. I watched the hilarity for a few seconds before you found the ignition. It was perfect. You hadn’t even shut the door. I shifted my weight and, using both legs, I kicked you out of the car and on to the pavement. I jumped in to the driver’s seat, shut the door and took off before you even had time to roll over. I probably could have just left it at that, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached my arm out the window, gave you the finger, and yelled, “LATER, FUCKER!!!”
I laughed for a solid 15 minutes on my way home. And, hey, I was nice enough to bring your car back the next day.
Nothing physical happened between us, thank goodness, not even a kiss. I find the idea somewhat revolting actually.
I guess the only reason I owe you a note is to clear the air regarding the night that I allegedly stole your car.
First of all, when you invite a girl to your birthday party, she usually expects a party. You and two of your idiot friends playing Nintendo does not count. Secondly, it is usually not the best etiquette to answer the door completely hammered drunk… that is supposed to happen as the night progresses. I politely sat long enough to drink one beer before I decided I had enough. I remember wanting to kick myself for being dropped off with no plan for a ride home.
I told you that it was time for me to leave and had made the commitment to call a cab. You followed me to the parking lot, keys in hand, stumbling belligerently, insisting that you could drive me home. I didn’t want to spend the fifty bucks it would take to pay for a cab, but I certainly didn’t want to end up dead either. So when I watched you fumbling through the keys and trying to decipher which car was yours… well, let’s just say that I have an inner evil laugh. It was too easy.
I slowly sat in the passenger seat and closed the door as you clumsily plopped in the driver’s side and tried to stick the key in the stereo. I watched the hilarity for a few seconds before you found the ignition. It was perfect. You hadn’t even shut the door. I shifted my weight and, using both legs, I kicked you out of the car and on to the pavement. I jumped in to the driver’s seat, shut the door and took off before you even had time to roll over. I probably could have just left it at that, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached my arm out the window, gave you the finger, and yelled, “LATER, FUCKER!!!”
I laughed for a solid 15 minutes on my way home. And, hey, I was nice enough to bring your car back the next day.
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