Adventures in dating part 4

It’s at this point in the story that I start to feel like a bit of a shit person for rehashing embarrassing moments just to make myself and other people laugh. It’s reached a point where I should skip the rest and go to other horrific dating stories. It’s also at this point that I tell myself that if I had already gone too far- someone would have told me to pull my finger out. And past that point is the little devil on my shoulder who tells me that I want to tell the funny story anyway.

***********************************************************************

Following the hot garbage disposal part of this story, I met up with some friends for a night out.

Honestly, some women should just quit their day jobs and become a professional interrogator as it’s clearly their calling in life. No question can be avoided, no stone is left unturned. They know information as if they had stuck a teeny spy camera on one of your buttons.* It’s flattering in a weird way. That you’re interesting enough to get heavily questioned about this. But it also makes stomachs squirm. Sometimes you just want to keep your private life private- you know?**

And these interrogations are always done with a sly smirk. They’re thinking- I know what’s up. I know you did the thing. I’m impressed (and disgusted). TELL ME EVERYTHING.

Thankfully, I escaped the interrogation pretty unscathed. I did feel a weird little pit in my stomach (although that may have been the garbage melting in my stomach acid) in regards to my sexuality. No matter who you’re talking with- if you don’t do something on a date then you’re a weird prude and if you do anything then you’re a slut who should have waited.

As I patted my whirling stomach and told the old thing to behave as she had to help hold my liquor tonight, one of my interrogators turned towards me with a knowing smile.

“You know Andrew’s a virgin, right?”

Wait…what?

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, he told everyone.”

“Um…is this a prank? I know he likes comic books but…”

“He’s a virgin. Ask yourself.”

Now my stomach wasn’t the only thing that was whirling.

I hadn’t had sex in a year but he was a virgin? Jesus, what a perfectly matched sexless couple. No wonder our friends said we should get together. It wasn’t similar interests or personalities- it was probably our sad masturbations habits**** that got too much.

I considered this new piece of information. It made sense. I could tell he wasn’t experienced when it came to relationships but this level of inexperience hadn’t crossed my mind.

He was a virgin who couldn’t drive.

I announced this in the taxi and was met with strange looks because they didn’t understand the reference. In fact, I got told that I was being mean. Which is weird when you’re stating facts. I wasn’t embellishing. He’s a virgin who can’t drive.

I looked deep within myself and told myself not to freak out like the sky is falling in. Not to run away like I wanted to. This could be a positive. And not HIV positive since he wouldn’t have anything. Unless it really WAS possible to catch something from a toilet seat…
BUT this didn’t have to be a negative. He didn’t know anything and that meant I could teach him. I could teach him how to pleasure a woman because he wouldn’t have to unlearn years of no foreplay, half arsed thrusting like most men have known since they were 16.
And it was my chance to be someone’s first. My first and only opportunity, let’s be real. This isn’t a common situation. It was unlikely to happen again. And I liked the idea that I was the more knowledgeable one in that relationship. Compared to a virgin, I was a goddamn ninja warrior. Seasoned and battle weary. Ready to teach a young grasshopper.

I could be a mix of Cher and Tai in this situation. I wasn’t a virgin who couldn’t drive but I could see someone who was in need of a make over. I could help him. Even if it wasn’t a long term thing then I could help him grow and become more confident.

So, I was mature enough not to run away into the night screaming. I wasn’t mature enough to approach him directly about this information. You know, have an honest conversation about things. This is what I love about my current boyfriend. We can talk about anything and everything. There’s always a solution that can be found through rational conversation instead of ignoring the problem.

I…

Did not do that.

Instead, I became the embodiment of a fuck boy.

Think of those really annoying, cringy texts you’ve gotten from a fuck boy.

The sexually aggressive ones.

That’s how I handled things. I figured it would force his hand.
“OKAY, YOU GOT ME! I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE CLITORIS IS BECAUSE I’VE NEVER SEEN ONE! ANAL SEX? STUFF CAN GO IN A BUTT INSTEAD OF OUT?”

At this point we would launch into a rendition of Whole New World.

That’s what I thought would happen, at least.

***********************************************************************

If you’re asking yourself “wait a minute, I thought you couldn’t show off your stomach…how can you have sex if you won’t take your pants off?”

Here’s the thing about my stomach pre-tummy tuck. There were two separated parts. The loose upper torso skin which wasn’t a major deal Unsightly but meh. But then it dipped in at my belly button (completely hiding that little sucker and all belly button fluff) and hung over my vagina. Or mons pubis or vulva. You know what I mean.

This lower part of my stomach was always rolled up and tucked away into my knickers.

Once those pants came off- there would be no hiding or disguising it. No, “oh, this is just where I keep my snacks”. Nothing.

The pants had to stay on.

I am nothing if not a resourceful woman. If I wanted to have sex while still staying completely dressed then I would buy a body suit or Spanx with a snap opening at the vagina.

Honestly, I think those snaps are designed for peeing and not sex because once you’ve wriggled and waggled into those bad boys- you don’t feel that sexy.

But when there is a will(ie), there is a way.

***********************************************************************

Then came the big night, which was the only thing that came that night.

It became clear that not only was he bad at following directions but he wasn’t able to…do it.

When I mentioned that there were ways to solve his problem, ways around it, if sex was really something that he was interested in, he wasn’t interested. I tried to relate. Look, my body doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. I need have a major, expensive, painful operation to correct my problem. But that doesn’t stop me. If my problem could have been solved without a major, expensive, painful operation then I would have jumped at the chance. I wouldn’t be waiting for the problem to solve itself when it wasn’t going to.

Let me help you. Let me help you. Let me help you.

This can be fixed.

But only if you want to fix it.

When you get to the point of being a virgin in your mid to late 20s while everyone else is getting married**** and having babies…if you want to play, you gotta get in the game now or you’ll never catch up. Don’t just watch from the sidelines.

But the story with Andrew doesn’t end there, if you can believe that.

To be continued…

*Aye, someone has probably done this to check if their partner is cheating, right?
**Until you write a blog about it. I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite.
***It’s really not polite to do that during dinner.
****Unless you went to high school with me, in which case everyone was married and onto their third baby at 18. Those girls who would half heartedly post about their failing relationships while inviting you to their Jamberry or Tupperware bullshit parties. Why would I buy nail products from someone who has bitten their fingernails down to their knuckle. There’s not even a stump, just straight off no finger tip. You can miss me with that bullshit, Denise. I didn’t respond to your Facebook invitation because I’m ignoring it. I don’t want to come to your house and pretend that it doesn’t reek of sadness and cat piss AND pretend like I want to buy crap. I got better things to do- like sitting on the couch with my hand down my pants.

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