Archive for dating
Take a Walk on the Wild Side
Posted by: | CommentsTank and I’ve been chatting about it for a couple weeks. How and when to cross the line from the private world we’ve created for ourselves into the vanilla part of our lives. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But somehow, somewhere we started talking about the possibility of having me meeting his daughter.
It may have begun with the sandals I left at his home a few weeks ago. His daughter was enchanted by them. Thought maybe they were for her. So I know they talked about me. I didn’t ask what they discussed. It just didn’t seem to be all that important.
And then I had my epiphany. On my daily walk. I get these very strong intuitions. About people. Situations. What I need to do. They’ve compelled me to act all my life.
I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could find the exact same sandals for his daughter and pair them with a journal as a gift?” This month, not only does she graduate from high school but she also turns 18. And I know from her dad that she likes to write. So, I came up with this idea of giving her a new set of shoes for the next part of her journey—the journal is for her to capture memorable moments walking in them.
I told her dad my idea on the phone. He actually liked it. Liked it so much that he told her about it. Now, I must tell you I was taken aback just a bit about the disclosure. In my world, gifts are meant to be a surprise.
And then he told me why. He wanted to find a way for her to ask to meet me. Which she did. She said she couldn’t accept a gift from someone she hadn’t met. Which gave him the entrée to say he could solve that problem. So we scheduled a dinner for this evening. Just the three of us.
Only, things changed yesterday. I learned about it when Tank and I connected late in the afternoon.
“Tomorrow night . . . it’s going to be more like trial by fire.”
“What do you mean, Tank?”
“Well, it’s my nephew’s birthday. And everyone is getting together for dinner.”
“What do you mean, everyone?”
“My parents, my sister and her roommate, me and my daughter, my brother and his family. And you.”
And me. Me. The woman who hasn’t met a guy’s family in eons. Truth be told, I’ve only met the kids and family connected to three men that I’ve dated in the last 11 years—the last encounter being five years ago.
This change made dressing for a house party or the gangbang seem like child’s play. Last night I tore my closet apart, trying to find just the right outfit for that first impression. And here it is, Friday morning, and I still haven’t made that decision. Which means I haven’t decided what color eye shadow would look best (or whether to wear any at all) or what shoes to wear or what jewelry to put on. And a million other items ….
I’m very mindful of the fact that the bad girl side of me needs to go dormant for the rest of today. And that the good girl needs to come forward. Wish me luck, eh? And I promise to tell you all after I take a walk on the wild side!
CNN, Are You Serious?
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I first read this article (“The Downside of ‘Friends with Benefits’”) the day it was published. The premise is that “friends with benefits” have more “concurrency” (several relationships at once) is speeding up the transmission of STD’s because they don’t protect themselves given they know each other. Evidently, people in romantic relationships tend towards monogamy and thus don’t have this issue.
Really? Huh. What’s wrong with this picture? Who made the assumption that people with multiple partners don’t use protection in their sexual relationships? Or that “friends” don’t talk about the subject? Or that romantic relationships imply monogamy?
When I was 26 years old and divorced from my first husband, I went to work in a hospital in the town in which I’d gotten my college education. One of my closest friends was a woman in Human Resources, Barbie, who interviewed me when I came to the organization. She was gorgeous: tall, perfectly proportioned no matter what she ate, dark brown shoulder-length hair long and thick eyelashes, and porcelain skin accentuated by a perfect smile. I idolized her.
Not only did we see each other at work, we exercised at the same gym four nights a week and went out together on Friday evenings for happy hour as part of a group of about ten women. One of those evenings she stumbled onto Jim. He projected as the perfect gentleman—and had a terrific job. They quickly fell in love and saw each other every moment they could. The rest of us loved him too. We all socialized together. What a gem of a guy.
Several months later, I sauntered to Barbie’s office—we had planned to go to lunch together that day to plan the upcoming weekend’s activities. Only I was told she was home ill. Ill? I’d just seen her the evening before and she seemed just fine. Something didn’t feel right. SO I took a chance and called her at home. Her ex husband, who I also knew—a really sweet guy—answered the phone.
“What are you doing at the house in the middle of the day?”
“I’m doing some laundry for Barbie.”
“Laundry?”
“Yeah. She needed some help.”
“What’s going on? What’s the matter with her?”
“Hold a sec. Let me see if she wants to talk with you.”
Barbie sounded fine when she got on the phone. Didn’t seem like she had a cold or the flu.
“Hi. I was worried about you. They said you were sick so I thought I’d call and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
“No. Nothing you can do.”
“You sure.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You ok?”
“No. Not really.”
“What’s going on, Barbie?”
“Jim and I broke up.”
“Over what?”
“He didn’t tell me he had herpes and now I have it too.”
“Oh my God.”
Only what she didn’t know was that the “oh my God” was not so much for her as it was for me. My mind immediately flew back to my activities two weekends earlier. Barbie had gone out of town for a conference. And Jim had called me, wanting to know if I’d like to play tennis. Having nothing else on my calendar, I immediately accepted. We played outside for hours. Afterwards, we went back to his condo for a beer. When I tried to get up to leave, my whole body ached something fierce. Jim had me lie on the floor on my tummy and proceeded to give me a slow, sensual, full body massage. Before you knew it, we were fucking our brains out in his bedroom. We went through a box of condoms. He had great endurance. The (unprotected) oral sex was also fantastic. Before I left, we both agreed not to say a word about what had happened.
And now, here I was, listening to Barbie tell me he has herpes. And that she did too. I panicked. I wondered if I did. Who would I see? In a hospital, words gets around, no matter which physician you saw or the Hippocratic Oath. Nothing stayed confidential.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood, the only place I knew I could go and spill my guts.
Twenty-five years later, I can still recall that phone conversation as though it happened yesterday. It left an indelible imprint on my mind. And a lesson that’s served me well through the years.
Suffice it to say, I don’t buy that people in romantic relationships are monogamous. All you have to do is look at the number of people on the Ashley Madison website where affairs are GUARANTEED. Or that the communication about sex and STD’s is heightened in these sorts of relationships. Nor do I buy that people in concurrency relationships—people like me—aren’t strict about the use of protection. Because we are.
But then again, that sort of story wouldn’t ever make the news.
One Big Reason I Avoid Dating
Posted by: | CommentsWe’d chatted numerous times by phone and gotten together twice in person—once for drinks—a second time for chai latte and for an outdoor concert on an evening where all the stars in the sky were visible. His last contact with me was to say he really wanted to find a woman in the lifestyle that he could date and potentially marry.
So, we went our separate ways. What I learned last night when we chatted is that he found that sexy, kinky woman in November—the best fuck he’s ever experienced—and has been dating and playing with her for months. Even fell “in love” as opposed to merely loving her (Tank says this is an important distinction). And he told her so. Which sparked him looking for apartments near her home so they could spend more time together.
And then, without warning, she ended everything. Didn’t even offer an explanation. His heart was hurting badly. You could hear it in his voice.
Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this story from men. My very best friend, B1, had this occur after dating a woman for four years long-distance and finally getting a job in the city in which she lived. One day she was telling him how much she loved him and couldn’t wait for them to marry. And literally the next, she was gone.
Drama. Too much drama.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time for this sort of shit. Life is too short and I need my energy to run my other businesses.
As serendipity might have it, Tank had just informed me that he didn’t think he could accompany me to a party in a few weeks. He told me so I’d have ample time to find someone else to go with me. So, I seized the moment. I invited Drew. No big deal to me that he’s just broken up with someone—actually, that might make him more horny LOL 
Plus, the photo he sent me of his chest after twice-daily exercise sessions took my breath away. The way I figure it, if Tank finds himself available, the three of us can go together. Drew agreed it would be awesome for us to show up as a threesome.
These last six months I’ve gotten my intimacy, relationship and sexual needs met, all without having to be concerned about whether or not a “guy” was going to still be in my life the next day. And, for the most part, the men I’ve met and spent time with are exactly the type of men I’d hoped to date—who showed zero interest in me since my last divorce in ’99. Ironic, isn’t it.
As a 51 year-old woman, I have far more control as a swinger than I did trying to date in the vanilla world. Important to me as a Leo! Now tell me, why would I ever want to go back to dating?
A New Challenge
Posted by: | Comments“You travel way too much.” (It’s true, I do. It’s a necessary part of how I make most of my income.)
“You’re physically larger than I thought you’d be.” (It’s true. While I’m 5 foot 1 inch tall in bare feet, I vacillate between a size 10 and a size 14, sometimes even a 16 but we’ll not go there right now. Today I’m a 12.)
“You can’t be in my bed every night.” (It’s true. Now, why exactly is that a bad thing?)
“You live too far away from me”—said by men who live less than 30 minutes away and by those who live across the continent. (It’s true. I don’t live next door. But, how myopic can you be? I have a friend who met his Aussie wife on a flight back to his hometown of Seattle.)
“You’re very self-assured and don’t seem to need a man in your life.” (It’s true. I don’t “need” a man; it’s not like I’m missing an arm or a leg. Yet, I’d like a sensuous, caring man in my life. I truly loved being married. And, at times I do get scared.)
So . . . imagine what it must have felt like when I got a slew of messages no more than 60 seconds after pushing the “submit” button on my new swing profile: from an over-50s private party crowd (yikes! they “look” old in the photo they sent), from couples (even though I said I was seeking a male partner), and from single men. Heck. I got more than 500 page views within the first hour.
To put it mildly, I was stunned. Shocked. Speechless. Overwhelmed. I didn’t feel comfortable calling anyone to share what was going on. At this point in my life, other than Maestro, only one man I knew who lived in DC, my last husband (don’t ask . . . ), and two of my girlfriends even had an inkling of what was happening on the swing side of my life.
And so I laughed. Hysterically. Out loud. To the point of tears. The floodgates had opened and invitations were pouring in.
How does one respond to so much mail? It would have been easy to ignore most of it. But that’s not my style. I learned a long time ago that common courtesy and graciousness go a long way in life. You never know when you might meet or need someone that you dissed.
I started by sending the same message to all the couples:
Thank you for your note. At this time, I’m seeking a single male swing partner. Once I find him, I’ll be back in touch. Feel free to check my profile regularly for updates!
Have fun!
Randi
I never did respond to the party invite. Just because I’m 51 doesn’t mean I look my age or want to play with those who are older. I love young–and I mean young—men. Where the word, “retirement” doesn’t enter into any conversation.
And the single guys? I read each and every profile—and every single note. All of them received a response, customized to what they had shared. But that only got me more mail! Geez. They all worked fast.
I decided to interview these men. Yes, you heard me. Interview them. For the job of swing partner. My good girl brain had collided head on with my bad girl desires.
After screening for age and marital status (men over 54 years of age and those who were married/separated/engaged/living with girlfriends were immediately sent “no thank you” notes) I had four criteria to start with (only the first and last of which I shared with those I met; the other two I kept to myself):
Are you smart enough to stimulate my brain (the primary sex organ) and keep me from getting bored?
Can you hold a decent conversation so that couples would be enchanted by you—and me?
Can you make me laugh?
Are you experienced in swinging and in partnering with a single female swing partner?
I set up my first interview for the next afternoon. There was no time to waste. I was actually going to be home for two full weeks. Really . . . how hard could it be to find a swing partner in 14 days with this level of interest?
The Next Step
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Before our break-up, Maestro had suggested I scan Craig’s List for couples who might be interested in playing with us—and for other men who could occupy my time on the weekends he spent with his kids. Pilot’s ad was short and sweet: “Seeking a woman to take me to a sex club. Have never been to one before.”
We’d had a pleasant exchange of e-mails. And he’d sent me a few nude photos—which had caught me off guard. It made me wonder if I was really ready for what might happen.
As I walked toward the entrance to the Mexican restaurant he’d selected, I saw him approaching me from my left—he’d been waiting in his car for me to arrive. Over six feet in height, he bent down to give me a warm hug. “So nice to meet you.” I smiled.
I didn’t get a chance to look at the menu. Seems he’d been coming to this place a lot and had a favorite entrée that he suggested we share. While I was hungry enough to eat one all by myself, I obliged.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about how you chose to become a pilot.”
He chatted non-stop every time I asked him a question. But, when I went silent, so did he. You know, those awkward pregnant pauses that make you wonder if the other person is really interested in getting to know you. So, every once in a while, I’d insert some information about myself and then he’d ask me about it. But still, the conversation seemed lopsided to me.
I hadn’t expected to work so hard to make small talk. While I’m practiced at it, I was still exhausted from my break-up with Maestro the night before.
We both departed 90 minutes later for home—after a hug and a brief kiss. I was relieved. What an excruciatingly long evening. I’d gotten used to the effort-free conversations that Maestro and I had had for hours and hours on end. Now I knew why I’d given up dating so many years ago.
The next morning when I woke up, I found an e-mail from Pilot.
Hello Randi,
I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you last night. That was one of the most interesting and enjoyable conversations I think I’ve ever had. Also there is no surprise to me why you would have a “fan club” at the clubs, you are a very attractive woman. I loved your laugh.
Hope we can get together again soon. I’m off Sat-Weds and would be up for about anything, movie, dinner or just another talk.
Hugs n nibbles
Pilot
Crap. Now what do I do? I had no idea what to say.
So, I took a nap. One of the things I love about sleep is that if lends a new perspective on life. Only, when I woke up, I didn’t feel any better about my “date” with Pilot. That’s when it dawned on me that I’d have to do something I’d never been in a position to do before—graciously say “no thank you” to a guy who was truly interested in me.
So tell me: Is learning this skill a part of the good girl—or the bad girl—talent set?
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
