When I was married, I used to think Sex and the City was a fairy tale, a fanciful, dramatic confection of stories spun together to entertain us women. I used to believe fiction was stranger than life, then I became single. I was shoved, by my own doing, to enter the dating world. Maybe I entered too soon or maybe I have expectations that are too high but I believe neither is true. Of course I had heard atrocious dating stories from Overstreet but I just assumed her dating life sucked because she lived in La La land, a place of false expectations and commitment based on who you love until someone better comes along. I was so wrong. Being single sucks ass, no, scratch that, dating sucks ass. In the two years that I have been dating, my love life seems to be one false step after another. At first it seems wonderful, the first blush of love, the random phone calls that ask about your day, the emails for no reason but to say they miss you or vise versa; but then something happens, maybe it’s me, most likely it’s them, things change. I have fallen for boys that can’t quite fall back.
There was the polyamorous (boom) boyfriend that claimed I was a “major life decision” and God forbid someone has to make a life decision. Then there was the short boy that told me he loved me but in a friend-like way, definitely NOT in a soulmate way, cause God forbid you love someone in a soulmate way. There was of course the drug dealer, who in his own way still professes his love for me but even he doesn’t want a girlfriend right now, his reason being that his career is paramount. Paramount is my word, not his. Even though I was having a series of ridiculous situations of love, I still carried onward, like a brave love solider. Valiant in my efforts to find someone I enjoy. I believe in God and I most definitely believe in signs. I also believe I wasn’t listening to the signs God was giving me. But with this last boy was God telling me to get the fuck out of the dating pool?
We will call him Sundance. I had seen Sundance on OKC and he seemed nice. He seemed reasonable and employed but I have rules against sending boys initial emails, so I like his profile and keep things moving. The next day he sends me an email via Okcupid and I once again ignore the fact that maybe I should be single for awhile, considering my last boyfriend basically ghosted me. I plunge forth into the date, not really wanting to go but hoping that maybe he is a good guy and maybe he’ll want to do things together. Perhaps he was a good guy but I discovered he definitely wanted to do things, different things than I wanted to do. I am no prude and I like sex as much as the next gal but in order to have sex certain things have to happen and one of them is an erection. I will spare you the details of my date and I will jump to the part that made me finally hear God. My date and I are in the back seat of my Volvo and we are making out (did I mention I am not a prude). He’s a decent kisser and I’m kinda into it, when he starts whispering for me to feel “it”. My first thought went right to Overstreet. I could not wait to tell her this because this is the kind of shit that makes us pee our pants with laughter. Sundance must have noticed my thoughts and my lips trailed off because he said it again, only louder and this time it was more of a question as opposed to an instruction.
Can you feel it?
“Well…” I whisper
“Is it hard? Can you feel it?”
Now in reality I couldn’t feel anything, not one firm thing, anywhere! I didn’t know what to do. Should I lie and spare his feelings? Could he feel something I wasn’t? Was this some sort of demented sex game so I COULD at some point feel something? I don’t know how to play demented sex games, I kept screaming in my head.
I was so bewildered that all I could do was pray.
“Dear God, please help!” I just kept saying in my mind over and over. I was praying for so many things. My first prayer was to remember every detail of this date, as I mentioned, I was Overstreet bound. My second prayer was one of peace because I didn’t want to make my date feel bad and laughing in his face about how he wants me to feel “it” is hurtful. He is kissing my neck now and my lips are free to speak. I say nothing but I hear all. My mind or God says, “Just stop. Go home.”
I heed the voice and I gently push his chest away from mine and eek out that I have to go home. I quickly hop out of the back seat and jump into the driver’s seat. As casually as possible I look back at him and say “Ya coming?” hoping that if I play off my urgency I can get the hell out of here and get my ass home. He lumbers out of the car as if he’s inconvenienced and slides into the passenger seat. I am trying to act as casual as possible but when I replay the day’s events in my head I begin to giggle. I can’t figure out if I am giggling because I was asked to feel something that wasn’t there or if I am giggling because I am so nervous. Either way I am full on laughing. I ask him where he parked and he tells me he just sold his car and he wants to be dropped off at the library, which introduces a whole new set of red flags. Homeless people get dropped off at the library. I drop him off at the library and as I do my tires literally make a screech noise as I pull away. I watch Sundance walk up the stairs of the library out of my rear window and relief floods my soul. You would think after this weird encounter I never saw Sundance again but you would be wrong. I did agree to see him again and the next date basically confirmed my suspicions of homelessness on his part, when he arrived covered in dead leaves from head to toe and smelling of stale Dewers.
My experience with Sundance was the final straw for me. I am done dating for awhile. I am on a dating sabbatical, if you will. No more boys. I now have the understanding that Sex in the City wasn’t a fairy tale. It was a documentary. The names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. But in my case, in my dating documentary, I am now protecting my innocence from the drug dealers, the polyamorous, the impotent and the short.