Confessions of a Certified Dick Magnet

Man alive! I really just needed to catch my breath for a sec. before picking up where I left off, Sunday night. Woohoo! K, I think I'm good now...Let me rewind a bit, back to last Saturday night. Sometime after I blew off Mr. Cyinical but before Propel Bottle came by to model for me and in all likelihood - coinciding with the Two Quarters incident, I was in the midst of working out the details with Propel on IM, but still bouncing around from dating site to dating site when I came across a profile which I had never seen before, ahhhh...fresh meat! The stud in the picture was mid-jump, above a diving board, exhibiting perfect form, his scrumptious, in-motion physique - unencumbered by excess clothing, merely enhanced by a teeny purple Speedo. He didn't look to be 6' 1", the way his profile suggested, but whatev...And see, I have a diving picture of my own on my profile as well, so I was sitting there pondering having something somewhat unique in common (can you say, "private lessons"?) He also had composed the most brilliantly sarcastic profile I have ever read, so tongue-in-cheek, I felt it would be remiss of me to not praise his sardonicism but before I even had a chance to fire off a message, he had beaten me to the punch. So, Speedo and I shot a few e-mails back and forth and then sped up the getting to know each other process on IM. It took no time at all for me to be beguiled by his biting wit and captivated by his surprisingly sophisticated, seductive speak. I had to bid an abrupt, "Ta ta" though, when I looked at the clock and realized that Propel Bottle would be arriving at my place, momentarily. I rather enjoyed making Speedo squirm by boasting that I had a date (a gross overstatement, but he didn't need to know that) in just a few minutes. He insisted that I find him online after my date (I was a little worried since there was the very real possibility that I might not get free again til morning, but no sense in getting my panties in a wad, right then) He reluctantly sent me on my way, saying that he hoped I had an awful time. I assured him that if history continued to repeat itself, he could count on it...

Later that night as Propel Bottle scooted his way out my door, moderately dejected but still able to give me a disingenuous hug, I couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of a bet or wager between him and his schoolmates, riding on what they thought might (or might not) transpire that night at my house, you know- like, could he bag the milf or not. Everyone who bet on "REJECTED" wins the pot! No worse for the wear, I dashed over to my trusty ole Mac to see if I could find Speedo. I signed on and POP! There he was. We excitedly bantered back and forth til 2:30 in the morning or so and then continued our dialog on Sunday night, during which time Speedo got comfortable enough with me to start letting fly a string of illicit sexual innuendoes. I was like, ok big guy...settle down, there. You know, I had just been so hoping that he would prove to be a smidge different from all the rest of the libidinous fucks with whom I had had the misfortune of crossing paths, and possibly spare me from "going there" that early on. But, I tried to rationalize his behavior by telling myself that his methods had more class, or style or were more sincere, or something. I'm an idiot...Anyway, his diving photo emblazoned on my easily impressionable mind, I went ahead and made arrangements to meet for lunch the next day, Monday (that's the way I roll...) And there was one unusual element that we both agreed might put a quirky spin on our first date, we decided to try and not talk, at all...strange - I know, but I sorta liked the idea.

I drove into the big city where he works and circled the block about a thousand times, waiting for 11:30 to roll around (our slated meeting time) and finally parked my big boat out front of his office and gazed out of the driver's side window wanting to avoid seeing him walking up the sidewalk to my car in order to be fully surprised when he jumped in, AND BOY WAS I! He actually really did startle me with his frenetic entrance, he was all agitated and unnaturally tremulous and before I had time to size him up completely, he threw himself over to my side of the car and assaulted my face with an oral triple-threat; excessive slobber, bad breath and more tongue action than one would think physically possible - all over my mouth and the surrounding areas and almost to the back of my throat. It was the most horrific way to kick off a first date that I could ever conjure up even in my overly active imagination. When he finally unstuck himself from my face, he sat back, clearly pleased with himself, and smugly basked in what he obviously mistook to be "ability". I gasped for much needed oxygen and prayed that I wouldn't see my entrails issue forth as he broke his plunger-like adhesion to my mouth...Ewww!!! OH GOD! I hate reliving it, it was hands-down, the single worst suck-face fest of my ancient freakin' life. Zombie-like, I plastered a nervous smile across my poor puss which was gradually pulled more taught as the thick coating of his nasty saliva dried. I straightened my cattywampus sunglasses which had been rammed hard and cockeyed into the bridge of my nose, and following his hand gestures (no talking - remember?) pulled out of the parking space and drove on, fully dazed from the slimy onslaught. We kept up the silence thing until we parked...at a park, at which time I looked down and noticed the wedding ring on his hand...first I motioned to it, pointing repeatedly, eyebrows raised and he just shrugged and looked at me like "What?" I couldn't keep it buttoned for one more second, Me: "You are wearing a wedding ring?!" Him: "I can take it off" It was becoming glaringly apparent what I was working with here, this guy was a complete fucking moron. And so was I for meeting him. I asked him if he was in fact separated, like he had promised in our IM conversations, and he said that they live separately, in the same house. I asked if he thought "she" would be ok with him meeting me, that day and he said, "I think she has someone" He was terrifically evasive, never actually answering any of my questions, directly. I don't think he ever answered one question definitively, not once. I hated him more every second, like way more than strongly disliked - I truly hated the fuck. Plus he was physically revolting to me, his face was kind of flaky and his teeth were more grey than yellow and one had a huge chunk missing, nice. He was weak looking, bordering on geriatric with skinny, old man legs, floating around in baggy old man pants, which were marred with unsightly stains. I guess I didn't rank high enough on the scale to warrant him sporting a clean pair of slacks. His hands were my least favorite hands I've ever seen, which made having them touch me easily a million times worse. The white part of his nails were way too long, for a man, but the overall nail was small, shortish, stubby and full of deep ridges, yuck. And he was such a hard-headed sonofabitch! I wonder how many times I actually had to pick up his lecherous hand and remove it from the various areas of my person that he methodically, presumptuously tried to explore. Did I mention that I HATE HIM!!! Thank god we were in a public place with mothers and babies in strollers and swings and pedestrians...I shouted out loudly more than once, in an attempt to thwart his relentless unwanted petting. I got the attention of several passersby which he fully resented, that's right asshole! I finally got him calmed down for a minute feigning hunger and took the brief moment of sanctuary to inform him that I was definitely NOT feeling a connection. He rolled his eyes and asked what I thought of his kiss, though, huh? Huh? I felt it was my duty to critique it honestly and told him without hesitation, that he definitely used "TOO MUCH TONGUE!!!" He shrugged it off, we ate the wimpy (grocery) bag lunch that he brought along and directly following my last swallow, he instructed me to recline my seat so we could stop avoiding the inevitable. I was like, "Hell frickin' NO!" I finally couldn't take his shit anymore and said that I thought it was time for me to take him back to his office, which I did. It was like he just wasn't getting it. He was about as thick as Two Quarter's cock. He just kept groping and molesting me the whole drive back and persisted even after I had parked to let his lame ass out (Go on now, GET!) I was so relieved when it appeared that he was marginally approaching the realization that IT WAS NEVER GONNA HAPPEN between us, and that his only option now was to beat feet - far, far away from me. But before he would grant me a pardon from his excessive pawing, he had one final request...Get this - he asked if I would at least give him my undies so he could take them back to work, so that he could bury his nose in 'em and beat off in the men's room. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT?! Strangely, in hindsight, it was almost like a more pornographic, less funny version of the panties scene in "16 Candles"...I should have known what a loser he'd wind up to be the minute he confessed on IM that he drives...a mini-van...

I recounted this story for my boss who suggested that I carry a gun. That's a nice idea and all, but the problem is that I am afraid I might actually use the fucking thing...

I was maybe never before so happy to be back home and more than that - out of my blessed car. It felt so good to stretch my atrophied legs and begin to let go of all the tension that had caused my whole body to seize up and cramp. It was too early in the day for a cocktail, but I knew just what to do to alleviate my residual dismay...I hightailed it over to my studio and jumped online straight away, eager to find someone, old or new, to distract me from my indignation. But guess who was the first responder to the emergency? That's right - Speedo was there, eagerly waiting for me so that he could make one last desperate plea for me to want him. That was it! For now I was home, safely out of his literal clutches and I didn't even try to restrain myself from ripping him up one side and down the other, first addressing his bogus profile pic., which I was now certain was definitely NOT of him, the liar! As was his nature, he hemmed and hawed, never officially admitting what a phony he was. Next I lit into him about his marital sitch and finally ended conversation with Speedo, forever, by telling him how repulsed I was by his objectionable, unwanted advances...there, done...I had washed my hands (and eventually my face) of that creep...

Right about the time I essentially told Speedo to get fucked, I heard from Big D. Did I not predict that he would make an appearance on Monday, after completely avoiding me all weekend? (I am good, aren't I...) He was IM'ing me from his office, and he didn't hesitate to describe his heightening state of arousal, brought about by studying my profile pictures. Jesus Christ! I mean c'mon, man! He insisted on phoning me, at which time he encouraged me to interject whatever I felt might help him find the end of the rainbow, so to speak...I asked if he could get away with all of that at work and he said it was no problem, cuz the door was locked and he had gotten a towel out of his gym bag, ewww. Honestly, I was just too mentally exhausted and disgruntled to service his needs by prattling on about some fabricated sexual scenario. Under normal circumstances, I would have relished the opportunity to weave a wondrous web of wicked words for his pleasure, but that day, I simply was not inspired. Turns out it didn't make a bit of difference, cuz Big D was nearly "there", as it was. I just had to offer up a few sultry, obligatory "Uh huh's" to his string of questions regarding what might happen if we ever met and - Poof! He found his little pot-'o-gold, and with only a modicum of effort on my part. This taboo tableau was reminiscent of the time Soldier Boy Jack Im'd me from his workplace in a similar circumstance (did I tell you guys this one, already?) the main difference being that he sat kinda out in the open at his job, and directly beside a co-worker. The conclusion was the same but his situation was complicated by the fact that he had to massage himself, inconspicuously under his desk and through his pants and then shoot his load right into his britches, I am not shitting you even a little bit. He assured me that it was cool though, because he was going home for lunch...

What is it with these guys? Does it say something somewhere in the unwritten online dating manual that this kind of behavior is de rigueur as well a par for the course? Does every girl tooling around on the web, looking for a man - have to endure equally disturbing vignettes? Or am I seriously some sort of magnet for the severely perverted and deviant...