… outside tonight. It’s the kind of night that you want to be sitting with a lover’s arms around you and the cool breeze at your neck.
If you are an anti-vaxxer, a climate change denier, or anti-MeToo for any reason… we can’t be friends.
didn’t remember me.
Which is really fucked up because that means that he treats women like he treated me, all the time. And he thinks he’s doing nothing wrong.
Well, I’m going to tell you about a guy that I met on- line about 2 years ago. He was one of the first men that I met on- line and he was the last man that I met on- line without a public meeting first. For good cause.
We’d chatted several times on- line and he mentioned he had some really good weed so, against my better judgement, I invited him over to smoke. This was going to be our first in person meeting so I wasn’t sure if there was any physical chemistry or not, but at this point I liked him as a person if not a possible romantic interest.
Anyway, no chemistry when we met.
And I was very clear about this by moving away every time this guy moved closer to me. I never once touched him or turned my body to his because I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about how I felt.
We smoked a little weed, and as we did, he moved closer and closer to me on the sofa and I ended up smooshed in the corner.
Now guys, if a woman’s body is not turned towards you, she is not interested… so back the fuck off. There’s no reason, unless you’re already in the middle of a make out session for there to be four times as much room on the empty side of you as there is on the side that she’s on.
Next he asked to give me a massage. I agreed thinking maybe I could get him to leave after. It hurt so bad that I had to ask him to stop. Well, this made him angry and he gathered his things and headed for the door.
As he was walking to his car, I told him good- bye and got a side mouthed answer of “Prude Bitch”.
Well, no. I’m definitely not prude… read my blog – I know you do, photo below.
I just owe you NOTHING.
I don’t care how good your weed is (it was) or how good your massages are (it wasn’t)… I don’t owe you a touch, a kiss, or a FUCK. PERIOD.
Women owe Men Absolutely NOTHING.
Have a nice life dogowner1 because you finally made it to my blog. Which means… I’m done with you. Permanently. 😊
Seriously, though… I’m totally getting in on this!
I spent the majority of the weekend arguing with my ex until I had a revelation this morning…
He has a teeny weenie and has no clue how to eat pussy.
Why am I wasting my time?
So, if I had to describe how screening guy’s messages today in my online dating apps went – it went something like this…
No fucking way.
Oh My Fucking God!
The last one being over a message that I received from my deceased ex-fiance’s step-daughter’s sexual predator. Yes, I know that is a mouthful… all you have to take out if this is… HE’S A FUCKING CHILD MOLESTER!!!
Thankfully I knew who he was because his message to me was very literate and detailed, unlike most messages that I receive from men. His photos were not terrible, a good personality could cancel out any minor hesitations I might have had. This is the guy I would have responded to.
Nope. That’s it. I’m scared off dating for a good, long while…
“I’m toxic.” He said and with a downward glance he kicked at a stone that was next to his foot.
It made a clicking sound as it bounced off the rocks in its path away from the figure that had jostled it from sweet slumber.
“I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve been in.” He continued, still staring at the toe of his shoe as he dug it relentlessly into the sand. “You’re better off with out me.”
“That isn’t your decision to make.” I replied, my fingers twisting together as I struggled to get the words out. “You’re assuming that I’m not smart enough to take care of myself.”
A tiny spark of anger ignited somewhere beyond the grasp of my non-medical brain as I realized, once again, my own ability to protect myself from life was being brought into question. Sometimes it sucked being a female. (Mostly, it didn’t though.)
His eyes darted back and forth between the top of my curly brown hair to the now, notably, brown toe of his shoe as he repeated once again, “I’m sorry. I’m messed up. You’re really better off without me.”