Monthly Archives: September 2011
I really really like girls. I never admit that in real life, but even though I try not to look in a noticeable way, I am fascinated by the curvature of a girls shirt. Okay – I’m shallow, but I really don’t even remember what a breast looks like. I know I’ve seen a couple when I was single but the image doesn’t stay with you. I’m married and my wife is one person out of a billion and doesn’t have breasts. Surprise – we’re not allowed to watch porn either. She is religious and you can be sure nothing is going to happen in our house that the pope wouldn’t approve of.
It’s a long story but when we were dating, she took the time to work past my anxiety and I became pretty good at sex (I think). Though I realized the performance thing would have to start over with each girl because one weekend she went to Disneyworld with some others I went drinking with and spent the night with a girl I knew. She had huge breasts but the nipples were very wide and they didn’t look that great. Anyway, I was nervous again in bed. I later broke up with the girl and of course soon realized my prospects were limited. I freaked out when the only girl that seemed interested starting sounding me out to make sure I WAS a racist. I begged for the girl back and though was very unsure during the engagement, I just couldn’t do that to her. After we were married I worked up the courage to float the idea of breast work to her. Oh boy – not happening!
I don’t think she even noticed when her sister went through a horrible divorce, got a boob job and then landed a fantastic guy for life. She’s got a blind spot there. The fact is though, girl would be out of my league if she had that done. She just wants to be loved. I should try harder.
“Four ball in the side pocket” I called. It was after work beers with a few coworkers. A Friday regular occurrence that had morphed into regular outings with games of pool into the evening hours. Though facing the other direction, I sensed immediately Anna’s presence at the front door. I have heard devout catholics say they could sense the Pope entering a room without seeing it. This must have been similar. Whether a magnetism rippled through the air ahead of her or the awareness of a few guys heads suddenly and subtly turning their attention in her direction, I don’t know. But the effect was unmistakable; her presence was unmistakable.
She was becoming a regular, usually with her medical student boyfriend but this time she was alone. She joined us and fit in with our billiards games quite nicely. The place was popular and there was ample competition for the pool tables. Challenge games of doubles with winner stays on. Now, as a couple times before, she teamed with me. Also, now as before, I would play in a zone sinking winning shots and sinking better opponents. The connection was as real as it was unlikely. She, a tall striking nurse with chestnut brown hair that hung nearly to her waist – she turned heads in her wake; me, an inexperienced, habitually lovesick non-‘player’ who was excitedly being thrust into the big leagues. She was direct. I was scared but more excited than I had ever been.
It should have been clear that it was time for her to choose a mate for life and she was not sure about doctor boy. Sitting with her sipping drinks as the band played into the night, she told me she wanted to see me. Me? The doctor boy would be out of town. I was used to spending every waking moment obsessed with an overwhelming crush, but there was never any hope of more, until now. The infatuation hormones that made these lovesick feelings the end of all happiness had been turned 180 degrees. It was an adrenaline rush that didn’t end. Life, for the present, was unbelievably good.
On the first date I was to cook dinner. A pot roast with carrots and potatoes. I got instruction from my mother though I didn’t tell her why I was taking on such a culinary challenge for a bachelor. I don’t talk about personal stuff with family members. It was a fine effort all in all; of course as I served dinner she informed me she was a vegetarian – oops. It didn’t matter too much though; I sure did enjoy the making out on my couch. I couldn’t get enough of kissing a girl this stunning and really didn’t need things to progress much more than this.
I still struggled with acne flareups, didn’t have great teeth, and had a thinning spot on the back of my head. I didn’t even know this until she pointed it out. I was too dense to realize that her noticing stuff this, along with her periodically asking “ what are you thinking?” were signs that she was exploring the idea of life with me long term. She was 25 and ready to put her life on a path..
We later had dinner at her apartment. Pasta and asparagus – yum. We were going to go out but instead stayed at her place. Lots of long kisses. At the end of the evening she invited me to stay “no funny business” she added. Lots of making out and rolling around and the irrepressible question “what are you thinking’. I needed to open. I needed to take charge. I could do none of it. I became ‘soft’ after a while which made any thought of taking the plunge out of the question. I didn’t understand how I could ever be this way rolling around with the most beautiful girl in the world. Me – who day dreamed 20 hours a day about such an opportunity, me – who could jack off five times before noon on a Saturday. But this got into my head and my fate was sealed. Nervousness trumpts all sexual desire – who would have thought. I feared, and with good reason, that this would be in my head for any future opportunities. I even started to notice minor performance anxieties like being unable to pee if someone is at the urinal next to you such that the lack of the sound of a stream hitting porcelain was a giveaway for lack of performance. I thought there was a medical condition for everything but I had to give my problem it’s own name. I had cockfright and this was going to weigh on me heavily.
She didn’t completely give up on me yet. A couple of more uneventful dates including going to see CATS which I slept through. At the end of this her doctor boy roommate worked a little stakeout of his own and confronted us car to car driving down the road. I was totally wimpy and blah blah blah next thing I heard they were engaged. I guess he started looking pretty good to her after I showed her enough weakness. I would be doomed to spend many months hopelessly lovesick and feeling sorry for myself. I never would have had to look at another girl again – I almost had it all. I was so desperate I even wrote her a love letter and left it on her windshield after she was married. I let the ‘one’ get away.
It was my third year living in the dorms. Same roommate all three years. Danny was unusual in our dorm in that he attracted girls; even more than he wanted. A jew with a chiseled face, deep blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair on an athletic six foot frame. With these credentials he easily could have joined any fraternity but he had his reasons for slow playing college in the dorm with our sub-fratworthy crowd.
He would go do things with his family or high school friends and always return later than expected. One evening, he was out and I was watching a rerun of Charlie’s Angels. The old ones with Cheryl Ladd. Now if you’ve seen the twenty something Cheryl Ladd you would remember – probably the prettiest and hottest girl ever on TV. The tension was unbearable and not from the plot. So afterward I laid down on my bottom bunk and relieved the tremendous pressure that built inside me from seeing her bulging shirt, her gorgeous face, and her hips that scream on some sort of evolutionary level ‘mate with me and I will bear perfect children’. I dozed off after a powerful orgasm. Sperm that probably thought they were going to swim in Cheryl Ladds sweet fluids leading to eternal life of genetic greatness but instead died on a towel in a dorm room with so many other zillions of wasted half-lives. It’s okay though, the door was locked.
Not ok! Danny for once got back early. Not only that but he executed a world record key in the door maneuver with no missed fumbling attempts and a kick open of the door all in one motion. I woke up quick, and scrambled to the closet and hoped maybe I somehow escaped unseen. It’s probably okay and even exciting if a girl got caught doing this but a guy – expecially a guy who clearly doesn’t experience the real thing – not okay. My hopes that he overlooked anything didn’t last long because he never entered the room after this without considerable loud talking to himself and atleat 30 seconds of fumbling with his keys. I had learned my lesson – what kind of jerkoff did he think I was?
I really didn’t talk to a girl until I was in college. I wasn’t completely hideous or anythng – well, I was a little too tall and thin and a little self conscious I guess. I had plenty of guy buddies, but girls – completely terrified of the entire species; and the pretty ones – well, it was a lot safer to look at them in magazines thank you very much.
They have pretty much classified every possible roadblock to happiness as a medical or physical abnormality (if your mind wanders a little you have A.D.D) – except this. The term ‘shy’ just doesn’t seem to cut it. In ninth grade one time I received some very clear signals that a girl liked me; and not just any girl but one who ran with the pretty and popular crowd. This was way out of my league and a disaster that sent me into full avoidance and denial. I knew my limitations, this had to blow over and of course it did.
Did I spend just about every minute thinking about girls? Oh yes, and I had a fully active sex life with myself. My imaginary but highly climactic sensual encounters were with people like Heather Locklear or Jenny McCarthy or Kirstie Alley (the Cheers version – not the DWTS version); pretty much any cutie in tight clothes I might have seen walking by earlier in the day, it didn’t take much. At-least a couple times a day though privacy could be a challenge. I didn’t learn to use my hand; I needed to be laying down on a bed, on a towel with the underside of my stick absorbing the friction. Wondering how amazing it would be if someday I could have unencumbered access to the real thing. That was way too distant a thought – it was in the too good to be true category. For now, I could imagine anyone I wanted. No girl with a tight shirt who crossed my path was safe from being burnt into my memory for an upcoming fantasy. I went to bed early a lot.
I was 23 before I kissed a girl. Actually she kissed me. A group of mostly coworkers – we were having after work drinks. Somehow I gave Susan a ride home. Parked in her driveway where she lived with her grandmother I think; she didn’t immediately exit the vehicle in an efficient manner. I liked being around a girl but making good time was important too. We talked and then BAM! Long and wet right on the lips. It was wetter and not quite as fresh as I’d imagined, but still – wow– I was floating. I figured she probably didn’t sense my inexperience what with her tongue leading the way and covering up any lack of technique on my part.
Susan had a pretty face and nice long blond hair but was significantly overweight in the hip area. I like a big butt as much as anyone but this was more than that. She said her grandmother would be out of the way and asked me to come in. Well, the kiss was a big deal to me. I was flying higher than I’d ever been and I wasn’t going to risk it all by going inside and probably having a panic attack by not knowing what to do and how to act. I just wanted to go home and float the next day or two, so I did. I even included Susan in my end of the day fantasy self satisfication ritual. It was pretty exciting – and no pressure.