The Big Ugly Blog is an honest and uncensored collection of anecdotes recounting the madcap shenanigans of a perpetually 39 year old divorcee, as she wades through the mire of the murky online dating pool - ravenously searching (evidently in vain) for the man of her dreams...Keep On Dreaming, Baby!


Sunday, May 30, 2010

What a Crop of SHIT!

If you asked me to, I couldn't even begin to remember when it was that the Crop of Shit first said, "Hello" to me on OkCupid. We talked a bit at first, but because he was a good deal older than I, as well as married (although allegedly in an "open" relationship), I didn't feel the need to invest a lot of time in getting to know him any better. And after sending a few lackluster emails back and forth, we eventually quit communicating altogether...until...right about the time fucking Matchstick Man started wreaking havoc on pretty much every aspect of my online activities.

Here I had Matchstick Man, popping up constantly soliciting me to chat, while also giving me a ration of shit for always writing about young guys, in his thinly-veiled ploy to coax me into giving him a chance to "rise to the challenge" a la My Marine (dream on)...and then outta the woodwork comes the Crop of Shit (like Matchstick Man, also 52) heart-in-hand...hoping for another shot at establishing a "friendship" with me. I remember thinking, "Jesus Christ...what is this? Fucking - Old Guy Week or something?"

The Crop of Shit has been following my blog since we first spoke months ago, and although completely cognizant of how red-faced he could become upon reading whatever I might eventually write about him (should we ever decide to meet) it did not dissuade him from taking that chance.

I was already knee-deep in one old guy's sheize (in the midst of writing my first unfavorable blog post about Matchstick Man) and I was in no particular hurry to risk adding ancillary old dude drama to the already ample pile. Not to mention, at the moment I was singularly focussed on my upcoming second visit with My Marine, Yip! But, the notion that something blog worthy could transpire - always emblazoned on the back of my mind - I politely tolerated the Crop of Shit's emails and responded to them accordingly.

As is commonplace in my online correspondences...with each subsequent email, the Crop of Shit and I revealed more and more about ourselves. And after reading an epic message that he sent one day, I began to change my tune a bit, about the naughty old codger.

He recounted in elaborate detail, a recent tryst that he'd had with a woman - a weekend-long sextravaganza, so to speak - complete with hand-picked green willow switches for flogging, which amplified his manipulation of her mind and her body, and culminated in repeated sexual rewards for both parties ( he claimed) His tale resonated with my recent urgency to be dominated by a lover skilled in that particular field of expertise, and since now - he was so much more appealing to me - I did agree to meet him for drinks.

In the last email that he sent before we were to meet, the Crop of Shit put the finishing touches on my growing desire to experiment with him, when he told me that he was bringing something along on our date...a red and black...riding crop.........Looked like things could get pretty spicy...*gulp*...and because of that, I was well as pretty fucking terrified!

The Crop of Shit had beaten me to the restaurant and when I got there, I saw him, but walked right past him thinking, "Ok, well I know that's not him." Maybe it was the shock of thinning white hair, I dunno...but when the hostess saw me looking around the place, she came over to me and led me to the table where the Crop of Shit sat, correctly assuming that I was the girl for whom he'd mentioned he was waiting. I sized him up quickly - not bad looking, but not at all my type, either. I guess I've just been so spoiled (having enjoyed such a nice, long run with my much younger men) that it definitely took me a second to adjust to his, well...his age.

No matter what topic we discussed (kids, work, the usual) my mind stayed fixed on the thought of that red and black riding crop...and although the Crop of Shit didn't fall under the confines of my physical ideal, he was good enough for me to picture him back at my house teaching me all sorts of new tricks...(we just might have to add blindfolding to the day's repertoire, that's all) And then after one hour, no more - the Crop of Shit asked our waitress for the check and apologized for needing to leave so suddenly..................

I was stunned. Like seriously fucking confounded, man. Weren't we going to pop my bondage cherry and put a little flogging on top?!

He settled the bill (which was greatly appreciated since it spared me having to spend the twenty that I'd borrowed from my child's piggy bank) and almost acted as if I should have somehow known that he'd be expected home shortly to perform his husbandly duties - firing up the grill for Sunday dinner and all that. He then followed me out to my car...(and let's not forget - it was only like 5 in the evening, so still completely broad daylight outside) The Crop of Shit kissed me...and lifting my shirt, he reached under my bra to grab at my very expensive, perky little tits. I knew that everyone out there on the patio had to be enjoying the show (happy to oblige) and I thought for a minute that he might change his mind, since he was clearly aroused by our passionate, public display. I hoped that in pinching and twisting my nipples - that fucking hard - he was segueing into our original plan, and that we might indeed go back to my house to do - god only knows what else. But the ultimate outcome was a definite - no dice. He insisted that he had to go home. He leant to give me one last kiss, but I pulled away to instead chastise him for being such a TEASE - cuz he WAS! And then I watched him walk over to get into his Prius (not the black BMW M5 I'd imagined) and like a good little boy, he drove up the road that would lead him back home to mommy...

To say that I was miffed would be an understatement...I was 100% raging pissed off! What in the world had that fucktard been thinking, when he allotted one puny hour - for our date? And what was all that crap about the crop, anyway? Like, why'd he even brought that shit up? I for one, had never mistaken this to be a polite "get-to-know-you" first date, the kind where you don't wanna wreck your chances of ever seeing the guy again by screwing him the first time you meet - this was absolutely not that. I had made my intentions very clear - that my interest in him was of a purely sexual nature, and I was even willing to overlook his average appearance in order to redeem his original offer to school me on things previously foreign to me...I'm talkin' - on our date...that very day!

The Crop of Shit knew right away he'd fucked up. I couldn't believe how quickly he was falling all over himself to apologize. Had to have been literally the minute he got home, that he composed and sent an email, in which he stated something to the effect of - having learned so much about me from reading my blog, he was convinced that in person I'd prove to be a "callow, superficial, mindless harpy" (and yet he was the one pursuing me!) But he confessed that, upon meeting me, he'd found me to be, "witty, charming, smart and so fucking hot that I would have gladly taken you to the gazebo, bent you over the rail, and fucked you in whatever hole that I happened to hit..." My question is, "Well then why didn't you? Did Poppa forget his Viagra...hmmm?"...and he threw in that, on his way home, he'd purchased a riding crop from a saddlery...which had my name on it...and that if I was willing to give him another try, he'd be very willing to use it...

I thought about ignoring him entirely, but wound up breaking my brief silence with this,

"I came to meet you yesterday, fully prepared to live up to our flirtation, should we find that we shared a mutual interest in one another. And I think it was fairly evident that I was willing to see the whole fantasy come to fruition. You on the other hand a.) misled me into believing that you'd already purchased a crop which you would have in your possession and would be eager to implement and b.) didn't even allot enough time to do so, should we be so inclined...

I dunno...I'm a pretty impetuous girl, I tend to fly by the seat of my pants. And the fact that you chose not to strike while the iron was hot - after you yourself masterminded the whole plan - was I thought, not only somewhat rude , but also caused me to lose steam over the whole thing. I'm not even sure why you bothered creating such tension at all, if you were never really serious about seeing things through.

I guess the long and short of it is, that it was very nice to have met you, but I'm 'fraid that you've just blown your one chance...



His mood changed dramatically after receiving my response, and was of a decidedly less-apologetic nature,

"Sorry, a mismatch of expectations. I guess I should've known better after reading your blog. But I never expected it would be drop my pants and do it in the parking lot of a horse country pub..."

Oh, how quickly they forget (comes with the age, perhaps) Had he not just written in his email before, that he wanted to do me on the gazebo? Parking lot, gazebo - the fuck is the difference?!

And furthermore - what is it with these last two old fucks, who came on so strong...praising me for my blog and brazen wantonness...but then as as soon as I lay down the hammer of rejection, they turn everything completely around. It's just embarrassing for them both, really...tsk, tsk, tsk...

My conversation with the Crop of Shit miraculously came to an abrupt halt, after I gave him my final two cents. And one thing I'll say about his hasty retreat, is at least he displayed more dignity than Matchstick Man, who I expect will continue to be an ass...

"Ok Big Man, if writing something so ludicrous as your last note, makes you feel better about your lack of prowess as well as your laughably false air of chaste...then so be it. But you know as well as I, that doing it in the parking lot was never my intention and incidentally, let's not forget who grabbed up whom...and had the raging hard-on to boot...

And just for the record...reading my blog was precisely the reason you were so hot to trot, you ole horndog..."


  1. HA! You still love me!


  2. I would GLADLY do you in the parking lot of a horse country pub!