FIRST DATE: Two Girls/One Cup and a Masturbating Muppet.

August 10, 2011

What? Like you expected my first date to REALLY go any way OTHER than that? Really? Really? Yeah, no. I’m not even the least bit surprised that my first date involved an encounter involving the infamous “2 girls, 1 cup” video, the muppets (P.S. You’ll never, ever, ever recover after seeing Kermit jerk off. That’s right. I said jerk off. As in felty green frog spanking it. Yep.), and naughty clothespins (you.don’t.want.to.know.–but I’m going to tell you anyway). Nope, not even a little bit surprised. So, about that. I don’t even know where to start.

So to recap, tonight was date numero uno with the AC/same shirt Wild Child, who entirely lived up to his name. He was right, he was a big guy. Ok, whatever. He did, I guess by some assessments, become kind of a wild child. sorta. not really. He was also super nice.

At this point I should say, that going on a date with me is an assumption of the risk. You are in the zone of danger. I am going to without fail, come home, and pick apart the date. I’m not going to hold in my sarcasm, my displeasure, or hold back from telling the juicy hilarious disaster details. It’s honest, but it may hurt. Let’s hope they never read this. My bad.

And now to the juice!

So he was super nice. And super nervous. Like, I was pretty sure halfway through he didn’t like me AT ALL (and totally at the same time thinking to myself, REALLY? YOU don’t like ME? Because, no way on that one. I mean, No, just no. It was the same feeling as if you offered to blow a virgin/homeless dude/scary tossed salad man in prison–and they turned you down. Does. Not. Compute. lol. Ugh. Anyway. He was so nervous it just came off that way–and it also affected our banter/conversations. [We had talked the night before on the phone and we totally hit it off. It wasn’t like the challenging hot banter that makes my eyes light up and my mischievous grin hit overdrive, and my eyes sparkle in hot pursuit, but it was fun.] He seemed LESS than interested in any story I had to share, and then alternatively acted really interested. It was like when he finished his plate of pasta (which wasn’t very big) and said he was stuffed, and I gave him this look like, yeah right, you are a big guy, and I would still be hungry if I ate that meal. Ok, crazy. 10 bucks says he went home and had a second dinner. Lord knows I ate hardly anything and went home and considered gnawing on my arm. (I think I have decided, if I get so hungry my dogs start to look like a good snack, I’ll stop this crazy diet and eat something real).

 

The Date

So, he shows up, and he definitely scored points by making the plans, researching, and putting the evening together. I admit it, my FF is right, I like a man to be a man. It doesn’t mean I reject all other gender roles, or am adverse to banging a hot bi guy every so often (hell, I love bi guys–they help out–I mean, say there’s some guy you don’t want to blow–the bi guy will totally hit that for you. It’s like having a stunt cock at your disposal, and hellllloooo, that’s just fing awesome. Although, my ex never let me actually yell “STUNNNTTT COCCKK!! during one of our fun with friends encounters–I so wanted to, hmm, it’s good to have future goals).

Anyway, now that half of you have turned away in horror, moving back to the story.

So he scored some points. He shows up, and eh, it’s so so. I mean, attraction is more than the physical, but I had seen pics and preferred his hair shorter (more bad boy) to longer (more altar boy). And since I’m not a perverted Priest, you know, bad boy does a lot more for me than altar boy ever would. Like, never ever. But ok, haircuts are do-able. He has a goatee, which I’m not partial too. I mean, if I wanted to make out with a vagina, I totally would. But since I was aiming for your face, not so much.

Anyway, so we get lost looking for the movie theater, which ok, he got us lost. I saw, and pointed out the sign for the theater, but he told me I was wrong, and so I followed him away from what was clearly the theater. I peed my face off laughing at the movie–it was so damm good. But he wanted to sit up front–and I’m sitting there and thinking, wow this is really really close. Like so close it feels like the screen is wrapping around my head. In fact, I couldn’t see right for like 4 hours after the movie. THAT CLOSE. He made a few comments in the theater, which sadly escape me right now (no food=no memory apparently–and I keep falling into things), and I remember sitting there thinking that I felt like I had walked into a joke. Surreal.

After the movie, we had some dinner. It was decent and the whole “doesn’t seem into my stories” thing came up again. Our waitress was a huge ditz, which was solidified in my mind when she came over carrying the utensils, place mats, and napkins–and then proceeded to look confusededly down at the table. She put them all over the place-like this was her first time at a table (moving up from the trough?). So, there I am, sitting on a wet chair with a tablecloth over it to soak the rain, in an Italian restaurant, listening to Spanish Wet-Tshirt-esque Spring break music, trying to not to attack the pile of bread and olive oil they put out in front of me like a rapid dog, and pointing out to this guy the waitress’ boobs. (We got talking about water bras, the likes of which are totally lost on me, and I pointed out our waitress had like negative boob and her superwhite water bra was showing through her white skimpy shirt. He said he didn’t notice–yeah, ok, what guy misses the EYE LEVEL super white outlined boobs in their face? lol Like I believe that shit, hell, I even noticed them! SO when she came by I gave him the cue when to look at her boobs. I’m a giver.

 

The Smell

There was also this weird smell. It was mostly in the car, and it was like a menthol thing. I wasn’t sure if it was him, his cologne or something, or the car smell/air freshner. All I know is there is a weird see through grease circle on my shirt from that night. Like dinner plate size. Was it him sweating on me? Was it the car? I mean, we didn’t hook up, so it couldn’t be any weird bodily fluids (let’s hope not at least, I mean he did show me his nipple in the car, so who the fuck knows at this point). I guess I should be thankful for the small things, like not asking me for money.

 

The “Truth or Dare”???

SO, after that we get in the car and he suggests just hanging out. He wanted to play online truth or dare. In. The. Car. Now, let me paint the picture, it is a somewhat deserted street in nyc, on a block where drunk people, sketchy wanna be ganstas, and some guy who looked like he was fleeing either the scene of a crime or a penitentiary regularly runs/walks by. It is late at night, it is dark, and did I mention we’re in a CAR? What kind of non-sexual (b/c uh, no) dares can occur in a tight car? I took like no dares, first because they were all sexual and I wasn’t putting out on some random corner on a random first date (yeah, rather get the t-shirt to prove it than the herpes or arrest record), and second, even if the dare was non sexual like get out and run 2 laps around the car chirping like a bird–I’d still say no. No way I’m even unlocking my door, forget getting out. So, he uses the game as a way to give me a peck on the lips and cheek. Which would have been fine, except the damm game also had him licking my ear, face (ew), and fingers. I also got to see his nipple, his top of his underwear, and heard him howl like a wolf. I fared no better, and my truths backfired by exposing me as the whore that I apparently am. The question comes up, “when’s the last time you had sex?” Now, I think to myself, do I lie? Nah, the truth is way funnier. So I’m sitting there visible squirming trying to decide how exactly to answer, and he looks at me and says,

DATER: “Aww come on, I’m not going to think bad of you.”

ME: “You’re going to judge me or think I’m a whore.”

DATER: “No way, I won’t. . . I mean, unless it was like last Tuesday, then I will. ha ha”

ME: “It was Monday”

DATER: “THIS Monday???”

ME: Yup.

DATER: “oh….”

 

Yah. AWESOMENESS. He then told me (that while I’m out cavorting in the nude with my fuckfriend), he hasn’t gotten laid in over a year. DING DING DING who’s the whore in this conversation? OH, that’s right, apparently it is me. Right. Then he asked how many people I’ve been with, but at least I know well enough to know that there is NO right answer for that question as a woman. So you can either lie your whoohaaa off, or you can stop counting early so that you never really had a number in your head (or at least not a ball park estimate you’re willing to divulge), or, you could just start blowing him. Men tend to forget whatever you were talking about once you start doing that lol. 😉

So back to the truth or dare game on the cell phone/app. We selected the “progressive” option, meaning we assumed, that it would get progressively (read slowly and proportionately) naughtier as the game went on. Appppppparently someone doesn’t know what “progressive” means (aka the maker of this game). It went from “When’s the last time you had sex?” in one round, to the next question (being a dare) being “put a clothes pin on each of your pussy lips and spread it wide.” Um. Uh. Errrr. Uhhh. I looked at him and almost dropped the phone lol. We laughed, awkwardly, assuming it was either a glitch or something. I clicked to go to the next dare instead, thinking it couldn’t be worse. It said,

“woman make your man lay on his back. Make him cum into your mouth. Then let it pour into his open mouth. Then both kneel facing each other and share a hot deep kiss.”

O. M. G.

Now, not that this offends me, or that I might be adverse to it in other situations, but on a first date, in a car, with this guy, um. WHAT THE F! Yeah, and the game was over. I shut that down fast.

You would think this was the low point of the date. But you would be entirely wrong. At 1am, before bringing me home, but after the truth or dare incident, somehow the conversation turned to watching videos online. He asked me if I had seen “Two girls/one cup,” which, sadly, I had. (which, side note, if you haven’t–stop right here and go google it. I’m sure there is a wikipedia entry on it somewhere, trust me. like now). He debated the realness of it (like that was the biggest problem with it???), and then said that I “just HAD to” see this reaction video to it. Just had to? Really? How about no. Oh wait, too late. He had the phone out again, and in the blink of an eye, there I am, sitting in the car, my eyeballs being assaulted by the sight of Kermit the Frog, in all his green fuzzy glory, jerking off while watching the video. Apparently, frogs are into sexual shit-eating displays. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. And there is no way my kids (someday) will ever, ever be able to watch the muppet movies now. I sure can’t. Google it. Really. Do it. You’ll hate me for it. Oh, and Kermie moans. alot.

 

The Next Day (RUN!)

Fast forward to the next day when he tells me again that my flaw might be being too perfect. Ahhhh if only!!! So, he seems really interested, and I’m not sure what I think. I’m willing to see where it goes, but in that same token I’m not cutting down my potential mating options here. I have a date lined up with the other eharmony guy, who seems nice but overly secure. I am, a little worried however, from his enthusiasm that he is out picking out china patterns as we speak. Sounds a bit much.

And I saw an old sorta boyfriend–you know from when bfs were like hair accessories that you change twice a day, but still had some PG – PG13 hot and heavy make out sessions with. Yea, so I saw him last night, and it was a blast from the past. The chemistry was still there, and although I resisted, by the end of the night there was some PG hot and heavy (always what he was good at) making out and cuddling going on. I was shocked to find out that he was a naughty, kinky, and fun as I am in bed. That’s right, that’s me tooting my own horn (although not last night, he tooted it for me, or well this morning rather) aahaahaaa. Still it was pretty PG13 and while I felt a bit slutty afterwards, b/c he is dating material, it was super fun and I think he was happy with it too. I mean, in my defense, it was only PG/PG13. If the boob feel up is OVER the shirt, I think we haven’t left the realm of dating and flung ourself entirely into whoreland yet. Right? Right.

The only negative thing that happened, was that I was pretty sure during those hot and heavy make out moments that he may have possibly called me the wrong name. A name close to my name, and one that I get called by accident often, but still. I think I’m going to just chalk it up to role-playing and let it slide. It wasn’t a big deal, and kind of funny honestly. It totally reminded me of this one time I met a guy, ended up hanging out and went back to his place. (Cue slut). Anyway, halfway through hooking up, I’m laying there on his glorified mattress on the floor, head hanging over the end, staring up at his cracked ceiling, and it dawned on me: this man has NO idea what my name is. Not even an inkling. He kept calling me babe, and baby, and honey, and at first it seemed like he was being mushy but after like 2 hours, yep, he had no idea what my name was. So, being who I am, and unable to shut the f up and having little to no filter, I blurted out mid thrust, “You don’t know my name, do you?” He stopped on a dime, froze, and stared down at me with a look that can only be described as a cross between a deer in headlights and that look you get when you know you are about to puke–where you’ve cross the point of no return–and you’ve just realized there is no where to puke it into–and it’s gonna be BAD.

At least he didn’t pee on me. (that time)

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