dating

Boy Child

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Keith’s parents were some of the richest motherfuckers I’d ever met. They hosted their only son’s high school graduation party in a ballroom at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in downtown Denver. It looked like a wedding, just filled with a bunch of teenagers and old relatives that couldn’t take the noise.

I said hello to my best friend, my fellow graduate, then looked around the room for the last third of my crew.

Dante was hovering over the punch bowl when I approached him. It must have been spiked. We didn't get past "Sup" and a fist bump before I felt hands suddenly covering my eyes. 

“Guess who?” Kayla asked.

Her high-pitched squeal was easy to recognize. I moved her hands away from my face and caught the tail end of Dante holding back a laugh. Kayla was the most popular girl in school. She had long blonde hair and enough booty to make a black girl jealous. She had a perfect face, a tight body, a tolerable personality, good grades, was head cheerleader, blah, blah, blah. Every girl hated her and every guy wanted her, but she was mine. We had been a “couple” for about six months now. According to her warped logic, as long as she kept swiping Daddy’s credit card and supplying more than half of my wardrobe, my heart and my penis belonged to her and only her. Boys will be boys and fools will be fools.

I turned and faced her.

“Hey, baby,” I said, kissing her on the lips.

“Where’ve you been? I tried calling you after your party.”

“With Denise,” would have been the wrong thing to say so I settled for, “just busy, sorry.”

“It’s okay. At least you’re here now.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, assuming her usual octopus positioning when we were around other people. Sometimes I swore she’d pee on me when other girls were around just to prove a point. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” she said. She buried her face in my neck and it felt good. My neck was my spot. Information she knew.

“Gotta smell good for you, baby, always for you.”

“Ok, love birds,” Dante interrupted, “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Bye!” Kayla chirped, bubbly as ever.

As I gave Dante a head nod, I noticed a girl just beyond his left shoulder. She had long, wavy hair and wore a tight, black dress that made her look like sex on legs. My favorite style. Her eyes were on mine and she smiled, gave me a wink. I wondered how long she was watching. I made a mental note of her gaze but gave her no physical response. I looked back down at Kayla before she followed my wandering eye.

“You want to get out of here?” she asked.

“I just got here.”

The girl in black moved towards Kayla and me. She stopped and started talking to this guy that I think was in my photography class.

“But, I have a surprise for you,” Kayla whined.

I tried to focus on the girl in front of me but, as fine as she was, new pussy always looked better than old pussy. Kayla took my left hand with her right, looked around the room, checking our limited level of privacy and slid my hand down her pants. I felt her silky smooth skin and nothing else, no granny panties, no boy shorts, no nothing.

“I shaved her clean for you, daddy,” she said, trying to whisper seductively but eventually having to speak up because the music was so loud.

Fuck. That felt good. I let my hand linger there, enjoying the fact that we could be spotted at any moment. I curled my middle finger up inside of her, making her moan before I pulled my hand out of her pants and back into my pocket.

“Damn, baby,” I exhaled, halfway speaking to her, halfway to myself. I was torn. Kayla had skills to say the least. She would do anything I asked her to do in or out of the bedroom. A week ago I told her that I wondered what she felt like completely shaved and now here she was, smooth as silk. But she was getting too clingy. A girl who would do anything for you eventually would want everything from you. I needed her to know that her pussy didn’t control me, that I wasn’t going to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted like she did for me. Besides, the less affected I acted, the more she needed to please me.

“She feels good,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

I bent down to give her a kiss and the girl in the black dress caught my eye again. The dude from photography class was talking her ear off. She was clearly uninterested as she kept her eyes on me. I kissed Kayla but kept my eyes, unlike Kayla’s, open. I stared at the girl in the black dress as I sucked on Kayla’s tongue that was already in the back of my throat. She was standing only about ten feet away from us and I felt like she was the one I was kissing. The girl in the black dress stared at me, stared at me and bit her bottom lip. She was bold. Anyone who had any sense and a good pair of contact lenses could see what she was doing but I guess she didn’t care. The more I kissed Kayla the more the girl in the black dress bit her bottom lip, licked her top lip, and slid her fingers up and down the middle of her dress. Holy shit, she was turning me on.

“Ouch!” Kayla screamed.

My eyes darted back to the girl in front of me. She was repeatedly touching her lip and drawing back fingers smeared with blood.

“Darren! What the hell? You bit me!”  

Keith, who happened to be walking by, gave me a Please, no drama look. I gave him a head nod, letting him know I wouldn’t disrespect him like that.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Kayla, trying to calm her down.

I didn’t even notice I bit her, didn’t feel my jaw clenching, my teeth closing down on her thin lip. I was way too lost in thought.

The girl in the black dress licked her lips one last time, turned her back to me and started walking out of the room, leaving that guy from my photography class standing alone, still rambling. She reached the doorway that led to the hotel’s main lobby, pivoted to give me one last look, then left. My eyes were glued to her body and this time I couldn’t hide it.

Kayla finally stopped touching her lip when she realized I was no longer engaged in our situation, realized my ‘I’m sorry’ was nowhere near sincere, realized I was checking out another girl. Now both Kayla and I were staring towards the exit. With all of my might I tore my gaze away from my next potential conquest and looked down at a girl who was obsessed with me. She had tears in her eyes. She said nothing, just stared deep into my eyes for a moment and then walked away.

I wasn’t fazed.

I got what I wanted without having to try. Kayla knew she was not the apple of my eye, that she could be replaced. That’s how I needed it. No commitments. No strings. She ran over to her friends that wrapped her in a blanket of pity, hugging her, stroking her hair, telling her it was okay, telling her I was an asshole, and giving me looks of death.

Once again, I went unfazed.

I turned away from that bullshit and headed for the exit. I hated to leave my boy’s party so soon but opportunities like this didn’t come up all the time. Well, they did, but still, the girl was fine...

The Usual Booth

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They sat in their usual booth at the usual place. Two booths down from where they sat on their first date. 

Tonight wasn't their second date or third or fourth. Well, at this point they weren't really dating anymore. 

He wanted attention and sex and a comfort blanket while he sorted through the emotional residue of his ex. 

He'd deny all of that, though. He was a nice guy after all. 

She wanted love and security and longevity and validation from an outside source as opposed to a mantra she repeated to herself every morning. 

She'd deny all of that, though. She was an independent woman after all. 

He smiled that smile that could move her to tears.

She moved her lips in that way that made it impossible for him to hear a word she said. 

They both tried to focus. 

She told herself before hand that she wouldn't bring it up. There'd be no talk of "What are we doing?" "Why am I here?" "What do you want from me?"

He told himself... Well, I'm not sure what he told himself. 

They ate and drank and joked with the waitress. 

He cracked jokes with that Will Smith charm.

She poured out her intellect and he drank every drop. 

He reached over the table and hovered his lips in front over hers. He killed her with anticipation. 

They kissed.

Again.

And again.

She knew there was nothing better. 

He wasn't quite sure. 

She missed being loved.

He teased her heart and she enjoyed the fatal stimulation. 

He wanted her but...

He wanted her but something...something she'd never really know. 

No matter how many times he explained it. 

She felt victim to karma. A seasoned heartbreaker herself. 

Alas.

He walked her to her car after she refused to "sit and talk" in his.

He asked to see her again. She broke her promise and asked him why...why not...why not me...why not so many things.

He spurted words but did not answer. 

They kissed again and said goodbye.

She kicked herself as she drove away and choked on the cliche caught in her throat. 

She said goodbye without him. She said goodbye for good until they'd meet again. 

When the Giggle Goes

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It's one of the first things they notice. 

One of the first traits they complement.

The giggle.

My giggle.  

"Damn girl, that giggle is so cute."

"So adorable."

"Too goddamn adorable."

"You keep giggling like that, gonna mess around and make me want to do things to you."

The higher the pitch, the better.

The more I giggle like an innocent schoolgirl in response to their manly bravado, the harder their dicks get. 

I could stop the giggle.

Never tease them with the sound of voluntary submission, executed with ease and a smile.

But, shit. I'm just as guilty.

Their manly bravado turns me on, makes me coo and wiggle. And when I'm feeling flirtatious, that's the laugh that escapes my lips.

But then it comes. It always comes.

The time when the giggle goes. 

When my cooing is replaced with feminist diatribes of truth and self-respect. 

When the giggle goes and the questions come. 

When the giggle goes and challenge comes.

Pushback comes. 

Opinions come. Opinions that differ from theirs arrive and stay and don't back down. 

That's when they run. Chuck up the deuces and continue on their trek towards the next giggling cutie. 

I let them go.

But those that stay?

Well, that's a different story. 

When my giggle goes and the depth creeps in...

There are certain men that don't run. 

They don't roll their eyes. 

They lay down that male bravado and engage me as an equal, a worthy and welcomed opponent and teammate in the battle of wits.

Well, let's just say that's when the panties drop. 

The giggle goes.

It always goes. 

But for the right ones, the real ones, it's always sure to return. 

A Tinder Love Story

After reading the title alone you've already decided that the following blog must be undeniably bullsh*t. Tinder stories are a dime a dozen but a tinder love story is simply some unicorn, dragon, tooth fairy nonsense. We've all heard of our co-worker's sister's dental hygienist's mom finding love on tinder in stories our friends tell us to prove that it can happen for you too! But we all know these stories can't possibly be real. Even if they are, it doesn't matter because love never finds us, only our co-worker's sister's dental hygienist's mom, right? We are the rule, never the exception, right? 

Well, luckily for me, I've always believed in dragons. 

Here's some helpful backstory for my tinder love story:

1) I've been on tinder for a while.

2) I think women are sexy. 

Okay, that's all the backstory you need :) 

A few months ago, I'm swiping around on tinder and have my settings open to both men and women because (see #2 of backstory). I come across a lovely lady's profile and read her details. She says she's not looking for a hookup or a romantic relationship but more of a "BFF situation". My first thought is, "Who the hell looks for a best friend on Tinder? This sh*t is nutty as hell." So naturally, being the fan of the absurd that I am, I swipe right! And we're a match! Happy Day!

We get to exchanging some messages, then phone numbers and bunch of text messages later, we decide to meet up. Our initial "first meet" (what the young, cool, non-comital kids like to call a first date) was supposed to be attending a Buddhist lecture on death followed by some yoga (her idea because she's just that cool) but it didn't work out. I was sick or she was tired. I don't remember. Instead, we kicked it old school and just met for drinks. 

Driving to the brewery, I couldn't help but get a little nervous. Even just through the text messages we'd already exchanged, I'd felt a connection with this woman and I'd seen pictures, not too shabby, not too shabby ;) She'd told me she was interested in both men and women and I was (see #2 of backstory). I thought to myself, "Men f*cking suck and she's gorgeous. Who knows!?"

That first night we shut the place down. We sat and drank and talked and talked. I told her things no one else in this world knows about me with ease. She listened with an open heart and unflinching face. I felt an instant connection. 

At this point, my lovely best friend, Sarah, has grown to be the one person I'm truly comfortable around. Historically, I've always thought it impossible for me to feel completely at ease around another person, including family and/or lovers. I'm not sure why, well, maybe because I struggle with judgement...I always feel it, whether it's there or not. If it's there with Sarah she sure as hell does a good job hiding it but I don't think it's there. When I speak she listens and cares and is there for me. Whether I need to cry, dance, drink or drink and cry while dancing, I know who's always down to join me. 

Best friends are hard to come by, 'best friends found on tinder' isn't really a thing that happens but I suppose now my son's dental hygienist's patient's co-worker can say their co-worker's dental hygienist's patient's mom met her best friend on Tinder so there's always hope!

My dating life has never been easy...nothing unique there. I may also be in the process of getting my heart broken (still waiting on a confirmation text) but that's another blog for another day that I'm sure I'll never write so for now, you're stuck with my sappy best friend post because you know what? The bitch is fabulous and she deserves it. She's an amazing individual on her own as well as as a friend. Plus, she's one of those super woke white girls that speaks up against inequality every damn time so...winning. 

So for now, screw men; it's never going to happen for me blah blah blah, but that's okay. For now all I have to say is I love you, Sarah. Thank you for the love you give me in return. 

15 Reasons to Never Look For Love

1. Most obviously...you won't find it.

2. Insecurities you thought you were over will reemerge: Those stretch marks you forgot you even had will start to appear in your dreams. They must be the reason for the chronic rejection, right?

3. You'll start blogging.

4. Your blogs will be bitter AF.

5. You'll watch romantic dramas on TBS and convince yourself that this shit could ACTUALLY take place.

6. You'll spend all of your money on wine. All of it.

7. You'll start wondering if your borderline-abusive ex maybe wasn't that bad. 

8. You'll realize that the lesson taught to you at an early age really is true: A lot of guys, like a lot, will completely disappear once you have sex with them. Obviously, you KNEW this but never cared because you were free, white and 21 and didn't need shit from anyone, especially commitment. But now that you're an old, black slave looking for someone to really love you, you realize, "oh, shit," maybe I do have to preserve the cookies because dudes be ruthless in these streets and preservation can be hard, especially when you really like that guy...that will undoubtedly disappear. 

9. You will suddenly hate hanging out with your friends because they won't fuck you, pay half of your bills and make you feel safe. You'll want to smack every friend that has a vagina just because their vaginas aren't the shlong you're yearning for. 

10. Because in the middle of writing those bitter AF blogs referenced in number 4, ol' boy will text you, "Hey Stranger" like fucking clockwork. 

11. Because the one you want to text you won't... not before, during or after you complete your bitter AF blog. 

12.  You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for casual sex only to end up crying in a strangers bed at 3 in the afternoon...twice.

13. You'll start to convince yourself that maybe you can settle for that one guy that really really likes you...who cares if he's old, bald and delusional about his true sexuality. Minor details, right? After all, you're probably just rejecting the man that loves you simply because he loves you since you thrive off of the rejection of assholes, right? Yeah, it's you. Don't be a douche. Just marry the old gay man. You'll end up happy, watch.

14. You'll start to fantasize about being 35 and married and laughing about the times you were so worried about never finding love and how silly you were...then realize you're 36...and still fucking single.

15. You'll realize after talking to your married friends that most marriages are passionless and based in a not wanting to be alone...and you'll want to do it anyway.

Don't do it. Just don't do it. It can't be helped but try to help it anyway. Embrace your stretch marks and ice cream obsession and the fact that you can fart in peace in your own home because when you let go of the hope and embrace being single, you know what will happen??? NOTHING. No, this is not where I say love will find you but at least you won't have to share your bed with anyone! 

End rant.

Smooches.