Dammit folks, I think I’m keen about this one:
We met at my work Christmas party. What’s ironic was that very same morning, I had made a vow to myself to eff online dating altogether after the disappointing date I had with The Groupie, and to focus on organic meetings only. Well, by the end of the party, The Friendly Giant had asked me for my digits. As organic as it gets. He messaged me as he was driving home that night and asked to see me the next day. I gleefully accepted. To paint a picture; he’s not hot, but he’s super charming. And huge. Like 6’5 huge. 275 lbs man huge. I’m an NFL linebacker huge. Polish. Witty. Intelligent. Life of the party type. Just my type.
The date worked in my favour; because we went to the friendly neighbourhood bar. Again. I’ve been there 3 times in the past 4 weeks with 3 different guys. I swear, I’m going to be known as the friendly neighbourhood sloore. The waitresses were asking if I want the usual!... awkward!
We chatted and laughed, and chatted, and drank. (Ps. This one drinks. Halleluiah!) After a few, thoughts of a night-night cap at my place came up. Wine and a shisha bong? Who wouldn't say yes! I casually agreed to the idea, but was secretly shitting my pants... at the thought that I might have to actually take off my pants. In reality, I'm pretty prude-ish. Having intercourse on a first date isn't how I roll. Although I was breaking out into hives, I felt like he was too into me, too gentlemanly-like, to want to just get his dick wet. So, I took my chances and ultimately let a total stranger, horny or not, into my condo.
We drank. So. Much. Red. Wine. And talked about everything. I have an actual scientific mental problem called "I don’t shut the fuck up when I drink". I’m the complete opposite of an introvert; more so of an extrovert on speed. I’ll tell you my entire life story in under 47 minutes, promise. He kept telling me that I was ‘glowing’ and that I have this ‘aura’ about me. It could have been the red wine – the fermented grapes make me look like I was left in the sun for 9 hours. Whatever, I took it as a compliment though, only because he kept repeating it.
Not sure how it happened, but I recall having The Friendly Giant’s tongue in my mouth, and loving every second of my life. What an awesome kisser he was. So passionate. Did I mention he was a Scorpio? Well, two Scorpios sharing saliva (among other bodily fluids) is what dreams are made of. Although, we kept it PG. Scouts honour. (Trust me, I would be glad to share all the juicy deets of my sex life with you!)
After that, I pretty much blacked out from the point when we were grade 10 make out sesh on the couch until I rolled over the next morning and there was The FG in my bed. Clothed, phew! I, however, was in my royal blue flannel pj bottoms and the same shirt as the day before. (God, why am I so sexy?) On a good note, my vag wasn’t throbbing, it felt intact and untouched. A clear indication we didn’t have intercourse that night. I mean, I would have remembered… right??
The morning was, well kind of awkward? It may have something to do with the fact that I have no fucking clue what happened during the time frame when I had my jeans on and then changed into my grandmother’s pjs. Combined with the fact that I haven’t had a male body in my bed for quite some time, so I was spooning him as though we had been married for years. It was so bloody hot in there too; I sweat all over my date. Orrrr, it could have been the fact that he told me I snored. All night. Oh wait, wait... there’s more. As he was about to leave, I decide, at the precise moment, to take out the garbage. Smart. Because I know what men love: they love the homeless, hung over, no makeup, messy hair, sweaty, flannel pyjama, garbage bags in my hands, Uggs on my feet look. That’s the last image of me he had in his head. Going on to 48 hours now... no message, no call. Wonder why the fuck that is. Maybe he just wanted sex and I didn't hit the homer. Maybe it was because I drooled all over him.
The only reason why I’m secretly freaking out is for obvious reasons... but dare I say/type it out loud? I actually l.i.k.e. him? Gulp. Dare I have felt a slight c.o.n.n.e.c.t.i.o.n? Gulp. Gulp. So I'll just sit here and wait. It's as though I enjoy self-sabotage: really though, were the fucking garbage bags necessary??
Hello. My name is La Blonde and I’m one classy dame.
La Blonde xx