A Lot of Sex

November 3, 2008

Harley was still planning on waiting longer to have sex, but when I got back from California, I knew the waiting wasn’t going to last for much longer.  I had been thinking about him all week.  We had enough of a foundation set before I left for our relationship to continue to grow and evolve during the week.  I already knew I was serious about diving into a relationship with Harley.  I knew I had to be sure before I let him open his heart to me.  I also knew I would be second to open my heart.

The week apart gave me some time and distance to be extra sure I was ready to let him into my life and more importantly, let him into my heart.

So, on October 24, with the approval of my mom and son, we officially became “boyfriend and girlfriend.”  Although I had been feeling it for a while, it was the first day that I said what I was feeling out loud.  I told him I loved him.  He said he loved me, but I already knew that.  I knew he didn’t want to say it before me.  He didn’t want to scare me away.  He had already started loving me months earlier.  He had every intention and hope of being with me long before I considered the possibility.  He had been praying for a relationship with me.

I don’t know if it was “fast” or “slow,” but there was no other way for it to be.  We made love for the first time that night, or should I say the first few times?!

Much to his embarrassment, that weekend I texted our common female friends (my coworkers), telling them that he is amazing in bed.  He really is.  He is so attentive and soft and romantic and loving…more so than I am…although there is still hope for me!  I warned him that it takes forever for me to come, but he had no problem giving me an orgasm in record time.  Meanwhile, I am learning to be less of a guy when it comes to sex.  I slipped and used the f-word and he told me that each and every time he was with me, he was going to make love to me.


Everyone Likes Harley

November 3, 2008

When I was out of town the week before last, my mom came into town to take care of my son and dogs.  By the time I told Harley my mom was coming into town, I had already pictured him meeting her and helping her out during the week.  Of course, the first thing he did was offer to do just that.  I told him that would be great.

My mom is on the shy and reserved side, so I made sure she met Harley before I left town.  The four of us went out to dinner.  I couldn’t really tell what my mom was thinking.  I knew she would love him, but I didn’t know how long it would take for her to realize that.  I wasn’t sure if she was going to be put off by the color of his skin (get over it already! & he’s lighter than my son) or his occasional mannerisms.  Regardless, I knew it would be a matter of time before she saw him for who he is…a totally kind-hearted person.

Harley and I sat next to each other during dinner.  I had my hand on his leg.  I find it strange to be dating as an adult in the presence of my parents.  I’m normally not comfortable with PDA (public displays of affection), especially around my parents, but it felt comfortable.  Whatever self-consciousness and tendencies to over think everything (including people’s reactions to my behavior) were just not there.

While I was gone, he brought over a recliner for my mom to sit in (I just had inexpensive chairs from Urban Outfitters), a TV (my son broke our LCD TV, so we had reverted to a tiny archaic TV), and soda for my mom.  Harley knew she likes soda since she ordered it at the restaurant.  He wasn’t sure which kind she likes, so he brought her Coke and Pepsi.

I got back into town about 6 hours before my mom’s flight home.  Before I dropped her off at the airport, I asked her if she thought I should “officially” date Harley.  She said yes.  She told me I would need to learn how to compromise.  She also told me not to take him for granted.  Later that day, Harley asked my son if it was okay if he dated me.  Without hesitation, he said yes.  That was October 24.


Mr. Dubai, Willy Brown, and the Twelfth Planet

October 30, 2008

On our last evening in California, two of my coworkers and I met at a rooftop lounge for dinner.  It turned out to have a swanky nightclub atmosphere.  The view was gorgeous, so we decided to stay for a glass of wine before going out to dinner.  One of my coworkers arrived before us and was already in conversation with a man.  Another man, his brother, approached us.  Mr. Dubai immediately had eyes for me and rudely ignored my companions.

Mr. Dubai was dressed impeccably and had an unlit cigar in his hand the entire time he spoke with me.  To be more accurate, he spoke at me, but I am letting my words get carried away as I remember the illusion of power he was attempting to create in his movements and speech as he interacted with me.

As he attempted to test the limits of my political sophistication and liberal arts education, I rose to the challenge.  Not because I took him seriously, but because I was curious about him.  I didn’t like him or dislike him.  I knew it was unlikely I would ever speak to him again after this conversation.  That’s how I see the people with whom I cross paths, especially if I don’t particularly like them. If they are different and I don’t relate to them, I want to know how their brain works.  I want to know what makes them tick.

So, here I had in front of me this African-American man of Jewish descent dressed to the nines, trying to reel me in with his charm, “power,” and intellect.  He made references to a wide variety of topics in an attempt to find a subject in which he was more fluent than I.  He jumped from politics to war to world trade and I didn’t miss a beat.  Finally, he resorted to flattery.  He started complimenting me, talking about how he is attracted to intelligent women and how much he admires and respects single mothers.  I have heard these lines so many times, I have a hard time believing it when people say it and actually mean it.  He might as well ask me if I come here often for all the good it’s doing him.

I made a reference to the fact that we were going to be finishing our drinks and going out to dinner.  That was pre-emptive strike #1.  Mr. Dubai was clearly looking for any and every available opportunity to dominate me and I was not going to let him take a single one.  No, I am not a shrub and no you are not going to pee on me, thank you very much.

 

He had a book recommendation for me and insisted that I write down the name of the book:  The Twelfth Planet.  More about that another time.  As he  continued to insincerely flatter me with lines he obviously didn’t realize I’ve heard many times before, I told him that even though he was dressed nicely and spoke well, that for all I know he is “completely and totally full of shit” (preemptive strike #2).  He played it off, saying he was full of shit and providing some twist on how that was somehow a good thing and meant something different than what I intended.

Mr. Dubai asked me if I was interested in a career in politics (he is supposedly a political advisor).  I said yes, possibly in a few years.  He immediately told me to find my phone and call “someone.”  I knew better than to ask who I was going to call.  This is all part of his attempt to dominate me.  I played along and dialed the number without asking any questions.  He told me that when the person answered or when I got the voicemail to say, “I am sitting here with Mr. Dubai.  He told me to call you.  I am interested in a career in politics.  Call me back if you would like.  My number is …”

Allegedly, the person I called was Willy Brown, a well known and well-connected politician.  I wasn’t born yesterday, though, so I had my (very serious) doubts.  At this point, Mr. Dubai decided it was time to go.  Interestingly, this is within a few minutes of our drink bill arriving (he and his friend had paid for their own drinks prior to our arrival).  This man, who supposedly travels to Dubai several times a year can’t pick up a $30 drink tab to impress the ladies?  It’s not like I was nice to him or anything, but I did watch and listen to him posture for a good 30 minutes.

The next day, Willy Brown (or a recording of his voice and number) left a message on my cell phone.  I “missed” the call because I was at a conference all day.  I also happen to know that you can use programs on the internet to call people’s cell phones and bypass the ringer so you only have to leave a message.  So, I am not about to fall for this pretend phone tag bull sh!t.  I can call “Willy Brown’s” number every day and somehow miss every single one of his return calls.  I have better things to do with my time.

Even if Mr. Dubai was for real, he was a total jerk.  A wealthy, well-dressed, well-educated, well-spoken dumb@ss.  Later that evening I asked my coworkers the following question:  Would you rather have a man spend his millionth dollar on you…or his last dollar?

Anyway, the moral of this whole story is that this was another one of those times I thought about how much I like Harley.  Actually, I love Harley.


Harley…Wow

October 26, 2008

Although Harley and I have known each other through work for more than six months, the Friday before last, we had our “first date.”  We’d been out to happy hour two times with coworkers and he had given me a ride home once, but this was our first time “out” alone.  It was kind of strange, though, since we’ve known each other for a while and the attraction and emotions have been growing during that time.

That Friday, 9 days ago, we kissed for the first time.  I was a little reluctant at first as I wanted to savor the growing attraction.  I was enjoying the arc of attraction up to the first kiss and the first sexual encounter and wanted it to last a bit longer.  It’s like building up to an orgasm, but the process can last for as many days, weeks, or months as the attraction to a specific person has gone unfulfilled.

Within a few seconds, my reluctance faded away.  This kiss was so nice.  He has such soft lips.  Damn, I’m getting turned on as I write this.  I had two orgasms Saturday morning thinking of him.  On Sunday, I had to go into work to prepare for a week-long work trip to California.  He stopped by.  We went to the mail room and talked and made out for at least an hour.  It was perfect.  It was hot, but it wasn’t the right place to take it any further.

And then I was out of town for the week.  The timing was terribly perfect.  Had I stayed in town, I think we would have had sex, even though we were trying to wait as long as possible.  He wanted to take things slowly.  He wanted things to be right.  I told him I am like a guy when it comes to sex; I wanted it to mean something.

We talked and texted each other during the week.  He took care of my mom and my son for me.  He made sure they had everything they needed.  He picked me up from the airport at 5:30 AM two days ago.  He lives on the opposite side of the city as the airport I flew into.  He was busy with work.  But he told me before I left he would pick me up and he did.  I didn’t even need a ride, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.


Social Class and Dating

October 17, 2008

This is something I’ve struggled with for years…how should social class issues factor into who I date?  In the past, I have usually dated guys in the lower middle class range.  At some point, I began to suspect maybe THAT was my problem with men…I was setting my “standards” too low.

So, for the past few years, I’ve made an effort to date a wider variety of guys.  I’ve leaned away from dating guys with “some college” towards dating guys with advanced degrees.  But life isn’t that simple.  There are so many other factors that go into the dating equation that changing one component of the equation doesn’t seem to make an obvious difference in the quality of my dating life.

The question has now come back to me, full circle…who am I to require a certain level of education or social standing in a potential partner?  Had I been born into different circumstances, my life would have turned out differently.  I am hesitant to judge anyones value based on arguably elitist standards, which brings me to another point…what is my social class?

I have experienced, in one way, shape, or form, every social class except for the “underclass” and the old-wealth capitalist class.

In walks Harley.  I smile. 

I guess he falls into the “lower-middle class.”  He’s into muscle cars and has the fastest “street legal” bike available.  He has a souped up Mustang with nitrous boosters in the trunk.  He is stocky and muscular.  He has tattoos.  When he gave me a ride home last night, he was telling me to give my mom his number in case she needs anything while she’s in town taking care of my son while I’m in California.  I looked over at him while he’s saying this and noticed he has a baseball cap on backwards.

Harley, like me, is a walking contradiction.  He’s ghetto, but not all the time.  He’s funny.  Sometimes he’s serious.  He cries when he watches the Biggest Loser.  He’s not white enough to be white.  He’s not black enough to be black.  He’s an entertainer; he’s the life of the party…he does this because he wants people to have fun, not because he needs to be the center of attention.  He loves his mom.  He loves his kids.  He works hard.  He exudes warmth.


Heartbreaker?

October 15, 2008

I just got off the phone with Harley.  I love that he is not intimidated by me.  He notices my idiosyncrasies and plays off of them.  He doesn’t take me too seriously, which is a relief.  What I mean is that when I give him funny looks or dirty looks, he isn’t phased.

This is in stark contrast to the last person I dated, who prodded me to be “more expressive.”  Little did he (or I?!) know that I wasn’t the problem…he was.

Anyway, I brought my son to work this afternoon.  Harley happened to ride his “bike” today, so he took Baby Bear down to see it.  Baby Bear needs a second nickname for this kind of situation.  I will call him Salaar, which last I knew, means warrior in Arabic.  I purposefully stayed in my office and let them do their guy thing.  I’m not really into testosterone and motorcycles and all that stuff, but I respect that Salaar needs his fix, growing up with only his brainiac mother. 

Anyway, Harley called me at work at 7pm because he knew I would be here.  I’m normally not here this late, but he had a feeling. 

Oh, I started writing this post with a point and then forgot what it was.  I wanted to bring something up.  In the past, I would NOT have dated Harley.  I think I may have mentioned this before…it’s because he is a nice guy.  He definitely has an edge about him that makes him appealing, but he is the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve.  But he has a level of confidence that balances it out. 

Dang, I’m tired.  My POINT is that I don’t know if it’s something about Harley or something about me…I suspect it’s about me?  AttainingMe and Cremello have talked about this…about not wanting to date guys if you think you will break their heart.  I’ve always been like this, too.  I have passed up dating quite a few nice guys because I knew that if anyone was going to get their heart broken, it would definitely be them.

With Harley, I know it will be him that will get his heart broken if things get “deep” and then don’t work out.  I totally have the upper hand in this situation.  But, I’m consciously choosing not to run away.  I’m not going to pass up this opportunity to explore getting to know someone because I might hurt them.  I am proclaiming that it is not my responsibility to shelter his heart from pain.  I do have a responsibility to be honest and gentle with him, as I would with anyone else, but I cannot take responsibility for protecting his heart from the risk of loss or rejection.


I Found the Cure for Loneliness!

October 14, 2008

 

I can’t believe it’s taken me this many years to figure it out.  If it was a simpler solution, I would have had this figured out years ago.  As it turns out, there is a scientific formula.  It goes something like this:

loneliness + desire to date + dating = confusion + frustration

dating + “free” dating sites = fear + disgust + cynicism

frustration + chocolate = less confusion

loneliness + vibrator = momentary happiness

dating + blogging about it + chocolate + vibrator = an absence of loneliness

I may not win the Nobel Peace Prize for the above calculations, but that’s okay.  The above sums up the degree of excitement (or should I say apathy?) I’m feeling about dating at the moment. 

The good news is that I am getting a serious change of scenery next week.  I will be checking out as many eligible men as possible in California.  It’s a big state and I’ll only have 4 or 5 days, but I’ll see what I can come up with.

Meanwhile, Harley and I have plans to hang out on Friday night.  Hmmm.  I wonder if it will pan out?