Thursday, January 29, 2015


So I just finished my second stint in the last 7 years in Seattle.  This time only lasted six months, whereas the first was for a full year.  I think Seattle is quite possibly the US's prettiest city, both at the macro and micro levels.  I think it gets the nod over San Diego or San Diego because it has a much better skyline than San Diego and smells a lot less like pee than San Francisco.  You can't help but stumble onto a stunning view in most parts of the city proper.  And there's just so many trees.  It's goddamn gorgeous.

My favorite weekday lunch spot.

It's also filled with an aggressively miserable population of homogenous white people.  Seattle exists as if a every trust-funder named Brayden and MacKenzie went to San Francisco to see a Belle and Sebastian concert and thought, "You know, this whole San Francisco thing is alright.  I like that there are no black or brown people on this side of the Bay, but there's still a lot of Asians.  What this town needs is even more white tech bros and hipsters!  A city free of gluten, and overflowing with farmers' markets, mediocre craft beer, and overpriced cocktails served exclusively in mason jars!  I have a dream!  Who's with me!?"

Thus inspired, they got someone to take over their shared lease in the Mission District, headed to REI to buy up all the North Face jackets they could find, and headed north.  Once there, they planted a Whole Foods seedling and it sprouted into an entire city of scofflaw cyclists, hipsters with a weird lumberjack fetish, and people addicted to pilates and brunch.  Nary a GMO food in sight!

Dating in Seattle sucks.  Well, I guess it's fine if you're a young WASP with Amazon money, but if you're a slightly pudgy, bisexual, swarthy Latino man working in construction, the dating pool is considerably smaller.  I did learn a few things about dating there that might come in handy, though.

Lesson 1:  Even if you hate camping (as I do), DO NOT, under any circumstances, admit that you hate camping. This applies primarily to dating straight or bi women in the Seattle area.  Gay and bi guys are slightly more diverse in their feelings on the subject, but they'll all still have a picture of themselves rock-climbing, hiking, or camping because it's some sort of Seattle law to include one.  It's the Seattle version of the usual code words:  "active" and "healthy" and "I want someone who takes care of his mind AND body".  All just code for "Look, I workout.  Therefore, no fatties". 

Seattle women, on the other hand, are in some sort of pissing contest about who's the most outdoorsy:  "No, really, I love camping."  "No, I literally would live in the woods if I could."  "No, I'M the OUDOORSIEST!"  "I'm so much more outdoorsy than the rest of these bitches!  Look at all of my hiking photos!"  "Look at all of my rock-climbing photos!"  "I don't even go home after work, I just go straight to the nearest wooded area and take mark my territory, I'm that outdoorsy!" "Motherfucker, I will gut you like that fucking fish I caught in my pictures!"  "I SHIT Gore-Tex!" 

Camping is stupid.  We spent centuries honing our technology so we wouldn't have to sleep outside next to a fire.  We have beds now that conform to your body and adjust in temperature for maximum comfort.  The experience is now completely bear, bug and poison ivy free because we won at evolution.  Yet these assholes want to sleep on the ground--voluntarily!  It might be fun once every few years or so...maybe.  Get out into nature and away from the hustle and bustle of city life, maybe do a little hiking and fishing, etc.  But Jesus Christ in a free trade cup of coffee, these people are way too militant about it.  I guess it's because so many straight guys in Seattle are such yuppie weenies that they crave these superficial shows of masculinity on a regular basis.  "No, growing that beard and wearing flannel just isn't good enough, Brayden--you're gonna have to shit in the woods."

His underlying masculinity is betrayed by a jaunty bow tie.       

 Lesson 2:  Don't call Seattlites out for their shitty driving.  I know, I know, they really suck at it.  Apparently, Seattlites think Subaru is Japanese for "slow and inept".  Save yourself the headache, though, they're never gonna figure it out and they'll just get all defensive.

Lesson 3:  Despite the fact that Seattlites drive most of the time, you're still expected to ride a bike because reasons.  I don't know, it's a thing.  Again, we've developed awesome car and transit technology so we wouldn't have to put our lives on the line by riding bikes in the street.  Seattle certainly doesn't have adequate infrastructure to accommodate all the cars and buses let alone goddamn bikes, but here you are on this bit of antiquated technology, dealing with shitty drivers and idiot pedestrians.  Only now you're doing it without a one and a half ton metal cocoon of air-conditioned crumple-zone protection.  Up hills.  In the rain.  Voluntarily.  Fuck if I know why.  Traffic in Seattle is pretty horrible and parking is really expensive, I guess that's why.  I do know that if you don't ride a bike AND you don't go camping...well, you may as well just move to a different city altogether and start over.  Actually, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea at all.

Lesson 4:  Just eat the salmon.  Again, you'll get looks if you say you don't like salmon.  Yes, salmon sucks.  It's not something anyone wants to eat, outside of Seattle anyway.  You eat it because your doctor says you need to "raise your good cholesterol".  No one outside of Seattle, in the history of ever, has said, "Shit, you know what I'm craving right now?  Salmon."  Elsewhere, that sort of thing is reserved for yummy food like pizza, or cheeseburgers, or donuts. 

Lesson 5:  "Seattle Chill" is a real phenomenon.  If you thought you could start up a random conversation with strangers in, say, a bar, well think again.  Even the bartenders are pretty stand-offish and tend to stick to established customers.  It's weird and really unlike any place else I've ever been.  Seriously, don't even bother.  If you go out by yourself, then you need to just put on your best resting bitch face, nurse your drink, and play with the dating app of your choice on your phone.  Because if you don't have an in, you're not gonna talk to anyone.

Seattle:  Home of the Sour Puss.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A First...

Conversation is going well, we're sharing dinner--and then her Grandma died.  Yeah, you've heard about people using that as an excuse to ditch class, or skip work...but on a date? 

Her:  "My brother has been trying to get a hold of Grandma has died."
Me:  "Shit.  That's horrible.  Do you need to go?  Or at least call someone?"
Her:  "No, no, I'll be OK.  There's nothing I can do anyw..." (Starts crying)
Me:  (Wow, she's not just trying to get out of a date, this actually happened.  I hate that I'm so cynical that I
        was even worried about the former possibility.  FUCKWHADDOIDO!?)

It all ended up turning out OK.  Well, for me anyway, though not so much for her.  Her Grandmother, the woman who pretty much raised her, had died after a long battle with cancer.  And then, after flying back to Chicago for the funeral, got caught in the middle of a huge rainstorm that flooded her parents out of house and home and prevented them from being able to bury the body in the cemetery she'd chosen for at least a week.  But we're supposed to go out again next week.  Still, helluva first date.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Post a Fucking Picture Already!

Despite the fact that I'm socially retarded, I do surprisingly well any time I go out to a bar with the intent of meeting a guy or girl.  There's very little remarkable about me, never the best-looking guy in the room, and I stumble over my words whenever I'm in the presence of someone I find attractive--and yet I my fair share of dating "leads", if you will.  And yet, despite proving this to myself time and time again, I insist on putting most of my efforts on finding that special someone into online dating.

It seems counterintuitive to me, that going out to a bar or coffee shop is the superior method, because when browsing through online profiles of potential dates you get to see more than just whether you're physically attracted to that person.  On OkCupid, you get more than just a glimpse into their educational background, their political affiliations, their tastes in music and other entertainment, and all of the information they're willing to give on the internet.  There's no surprises later on like, "Oh, I didn't tell you I'm a creationist?"  Or at least the chances are greatly reduced.  The essay questions are pretty decent and you have the option of answering as many opinion questions as you like, such as:  What are you opinions on gay marriage, gay adoption, God or the lack of one, ethics, etc.  And once you've filled out this info you're given a percentage of how likely the OkCupid algorithm thinks you are a potential match with others.  Seems logical enough.

Except that the whole thing is fucking stupid.  We all know someone who's met their husband or wife online, that cousin or acquaintance who found their match on eHarmony--well, those people are assholes.  Don't get me wrong, I've had some fun dates from my time on OkCupid, and met some great friends, but as far as meeting my highest percentage matches, my efforts have been for shit. 

One weird phenomenon that keeps popping up, women who don't want to post a picture of themselves on a dating site.  I don't message these girls, 'cause I'm not messaging anyone who doesn't have a picture, but they message me and then wonder why I don't want to go out.  I don't think it's weird or at all unreasonable to want to put a face to the personality I'm talking to.  That's not even a shallow guy thing, that's just you know, I'm putting myself out there so I'mma need you to to do the same.  I know what I like.  If I'm not attracted to you then it's likely not gonna happen.  That doesn't mean you need to be a classic beauty, I'm attracted to a wide variety of shapes, styles, etc., but I do need to be attracted to you, mind and body.  One girl's reasoning, "well I don't want to put a picture of myself on here because I see people I work with on here."  Sooo, people you work with don't assume you have a dating life?  "Did you hear about Diane?  She was on the internets looking to have "the sex"."  Seriously, we all have lives outside of work.  You've seen them on the website, do you think less of them because they have an online dating profile?  If so, you're a dick.  Has it effected their career path?  I'm gonna guess it hasn't.  And then, to top it off, she sent me a link to her Facebook profile...which was not set to private.  Which divulges way more compromising information than a fucking dating profile.  Jesus Hufflepuff Christ, how are you possibly an 84% match with me?! 

People are weird about the internet.  I kind of get it, we're all a little afraid of shit we say or do coming back to bite us in the ass.  But really, if you're on it you're already plugged into the system.  The proverbial "they" can get whatever information they want on you so relax and go with it.  Like the real world, just don't say or do anything you're not willing to be held accountable for should it find its way back to you.  Besides, what kind of picture are you going to take?  I have pictures of my goofy ass just being me.  Engaging in normal, every day activities like a softball game, out at a bar, on a road trip and so on.  I don't have a self pic of me in my tighty whities doing duck lips in a mirror.  That would be stupid.  That I would be embarrassed by and not want my friends, family, co-workers and potential dates to see.  That's why I don't put it on the internet.  Seriously, one or two clear, unambiguous photos of yourself in your dating profile really doesn't seem like too much to ask.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Regional Exceptionalism

I'd think a majority of people like their hometowns.  I grew up in a suburban town about 18 miles southeast of Los Angeles proper, a city called Lakewood.  There's absolutely nothing remarkable about Lakewood, it was a blue-collar bedroom community for neighboring Long Beach's McDonnell-Douglas aircraft manufacturing plant and the rest of Southern California's aerospace industry.  Not quite the image most people have of Los Angeles suburbia; we weren't living next door to the Bradys, there were more Reagan democrats than hippies, and there were a lot more pick-up trucks than convertibles, but it was unmistakably Greater Los Angeles.

I like Lakewood.  I hated it as a moody teenager.  But it's freeway-convenient, there's a mall, natch (though there's a better one in nearby Cerritos), an abundance of parking, huge parks, tons of trees, and all the chain restaurants one's clogged arteries could ever desire.  Unlike newer cities in Southern California, there are no housing associations and though the houses are all tract homes, they've been modified throughout the last 50 years.  So, although they still look similar, Lakewood has a bit more character than towns further to the south and east.  And while I have no desire to live there now, I can't help but feel more than a little nostalgic any time I drive it's tree-lined streets on my way to my Mom's house.  These days I have a much greater appreciation and fondness for the people I grew up with and the place that shaped me.

All that said, it's not the greatest fucking thing since sliced bread.  If you didn't grow up there why would you give a shit about Lakewood?  If you told me you drove through it and thought, "Meh", I wouldn't give a rat's ass.  So why do so many people get so uppity about their hometown?  I can understand a bit of pride in where you come from, but people take it to ridiculous extremes.  Especially here in Los Angeles.  I don't mean people from Los Angeles, I mean the transplants.  You run into this all the time on dating websites.

Like any of the bigger cities, L.A. has a shit-load of transplants.  People come from all of the country and the world to work or go to school here, and some of them bring a gigantic chip on their shoulder based exclusively on where it is they grew up.  Part of it is that Los Angeles seems to be the most hated city in America.  Why, I don't know, I guess because people imagine it being overrun with Hollywood douchebag types, but I'm sure people in New York and other cities deal with the same thing.  People from the Midwest really feel they're nicer and more humble than everybody else.  I might believe it if they weren't constantly telling me how much nicer and more humble they are than everyone else.  People from the Northwest seem to think the same thing.  People from Northern California seem think they're smarter than they are.  Or, at least smarter than Southern Californians.  As do people from the northeast.  Well, thanks to Orange County and the Inland Empre that might actually be true.  People from the Northeast also seem to pride themselves on being "straight-shooters".  East Coast types loooove to say, "I tell it like it is.  I call 'em like I see 'em.  I'mma straight-shooter".  Blah blah blah.  People from the South seem to think they're nicer and better than everyone else, just 'cause.  Having been to the South I can say that southern hospitality is a real thing, so long as  you're white and in no way deviate from the heterosexual, Christian norm.

I've been to all of these places.  I haven't been through the northeast a great deal, not like I have the other regions, but I've gotten more than a taste.  I've enjoyed my time in most parts of the country.  Who doesn't love New York, Chicago, Portland, Austin, Seattle, New Orleans, Minneapolis, etc.?  I've met awesome people just about everywhere I've been (except Arizona...fuck Arizona).  I've run into my share of assholes.  My old job was unique in that I was sort of like a fly on the wall in office and retail locations throughout the country.  I just sort of melted into the background, so most people felt free to speak candidly despite my presence.  Very candidly.  It was awesome.  I got to hear the gory details about anything and everything in people's daily lives: their problems, their relationships, drug habits, sex lives, etc.

What I learned is that there are definitely some subtle differences between regions, but get right down to it and you find that Americans are pretty much all the same.  So, why then do people think their hometown's shit doesn't stink?  One Midwesterner wrote on her profile that, "People were so much less racist where she was from."  I've been to her hometown, there weren't any people of color there for racial tension to occur!  Look, not to make Los Angeles out to be the be-all end-all, it's not, but 4 million fucking people live within the city, 9.9 million within the county and about 18 million in the greater metropolitan area.  Most of them aren't white.  They come from all over the fucking world, they speak different languages, they have different customs, eat different foods and tend to gravitate towards people of similar ethnicity and background.  Any time you throw in that many different kinds of people into one area, make a lot of them poor, add shitty traffic and you have the perfect recipe for a bit of racial strife.  So fuck you, lily white woman from flyover country, but I saw and experienced racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and misogyny everywhere I went.  Everywhere.

My biggest complaint about the Midwest is that if they spent half as much time actually being nice and self-deprecating (how someone can actually be self-deprecating while telling you how self-deprecating they are, Midwest!?), rather than telling me how nice and self-deprecating they were, my time there would have been even more enjoyable.  Apparently, "nice" actually means passive-aggressive in the Midwest.

Now this "tell it like it is" business from East Coasters...well, this one's a bit trickier.  I believe that the people you grow up with (family, friends, acquaintances, etc.) are naturally going to be the ones you most likely rely on to shoot straight with you.  So when you move and people are nice to your faces, well, they're not being fake, they're just not being assholes.  They don't know you that well, and don't want to speak out of turn.  At the same time, people in most East Coast cities aren't as rude as typically portrayed.  Or, in some cases, as rude/tough as they like to portray themselves.  Some love to perpetuate this mythos that they'll spit in your face if you pass them on the street, but if you're hurt they'll carry you on their backs.  Well, yeah, it's bullshit.  Well, except maybe the Philly/Jersey area...and it's only the spit in your face part that's true.  I would say Boston, too, but I think I'm just biased because I hate that goddamn accent.  But Christ do they whine a lot, and it's just made that much worse by the world's most grating accent.  Bostonians would complain about getting a blow job.  "It's too fackin' WET!"  I dunno, maybe they're nicer in the summer or spring.

Bottom line, I've been told off nearly as much on the West Coast as in the East, and I think the difference could could be as simple as the shit weather they have to put up with in the East.  Yeah, you can try that "Oh I just love the seasons" bullshit, but I'm not buying it.  The weather sucks 80 percent of the year on the East Coast.

I'll stop here, 'cause I'm tired and this is getting too long...but I can't be the only one who feels this way about this subject, can I?

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The Gays...

If you want to save time browsing through gay mens' profiles on "dating" websites, allow me to present to you what constitutes about 70% of the profiles out there.  First there's the headline:

"Are there any SANE guys out there???"

There's a lot of strange people in this world, thus are a lot of strange people in the dating scene, but I hate the guys who make it sound as though they're just a beacon of stability surrounded by a sea of insanity.  We all have our quirks, issues, and baggage, I know I do, so stop pretending you don't.  Odds are, if you feel the need to put that as your headline--or anywhere in your profile for that matter--you've got more than your share of problems.  Like attracts like, more often than not.

Then there's the body of the profile:

"VGL, fit/athletic, masculine guy seeks same.  I workout about 5-6 times a week and generally take care of my body, you should do the same."

Just a roundabout way of saying, "no fatties".  Guys in general can be pretty shallow, so I don't really care too much about that, what bothers me more is the assertion of masculinity.  All too often the guys that write that are basing it on qualities that are just as superficial as their sense of aesthetic.  If you drive a truck that doesn't make you masculine.  Neither does vulgarity, e.g. using "fuck" every other word.  I reeeeally hate guys who try to overcompensate by using curse words as though they're going out of style.  "Fuckin' that shit was fuckin' stupid as fuckin' fuck.  Shit."  Watching football doesn't make you masculine.  It doesn't make you a meathead either, unless you let it.  I got pretty creative with my swearing during the NHL playoffs, despite the fact that my team actually won the Cup!  The Dodgers are constant source of inspiration for new curse words and phrases for me.  It's an easy trap to fall into, but that's not what makes one a man.  So stop being an asshole to the guys with the limp wrists.  It's pretty much the queer equivalent of the straight guy who buys a motorcycle in a desperate attempt to stay young, it's just sad and you're not fooling anyone.  We all suck dicks, we're all men, get over yourself.

"I'm laid back and only attracted to guys who are free of drama."

No you're not.  You just typed a headline that says the exact opposite.  In fact, since it's an obvious exaggeration, it sounds like you might be a bit of a drama queen yourself, Nancy.

"Not into black or Asians.  Just a preference, get over it."

It's always white guys that put this.  There's superficial and there's narcissistic, this strikes me as narcissism.  "Let's see, I'm good-looking--I'd fuck me--I'm only gonna go out with guys that look like me."  You can't create the master race through butt sex, dumbass.

"Looking for guys 18-28."

Your age:  49.  Again, a universal problem with guys, not exclusive to gay or bi guys.  But, really, come on.  If you happen to find love with a younger guy, fine, but guys your age are hot too.  Are you seriously eliminating them from your search?  And 18?!  Guys that young might be fine to look at, but they're stupid.  They aren't even good at sex yet, give 'em a few years to marinate.  Meanwhile, try someone closer to your own age, you perv.


"Not into old guys.  Gross."

There are some hot older guys out there, why the hell would you write them off?  The ones that aren't looking exclusively for hairless twinks are past their stupid years.  They're homos so they still look younger than straight guys, they've likely got their shit together, and they're "experienced", if you know what I mean.  Giggity.  And those "gross" old guys?  They're the reason you have shit so good these days.  They had to be gay back when doing so was really tough.  That's not to say that what some guys still go through these days isn't difficult, but yeah it was a lot harder just a couple of decades ago.  You may not attracted, but show a little respect, please.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Jesus' Son

I've always been drawn to people who would probably be considered eccentric by most. I'm not talking about the chakra readers on Venice Beach or the guy that makes art from his own poo, I just mean quirky types. Particularly artists of all stripes, such as painters, musicians, comedians, designers, etc. That's not to say that I've never found a buttoned-down C.P.A. to be sexy, I have, it's just less likely for me.

So when I met Matt (not his real name) I was instantly drawn to him. Matt is extremely good-looking; attractive to just about anyone who's ever laid eyes on him. Matt is also pretty fuckin' weird. Now see, in my experience, one of the major differences between dating a guy and dating a girl is that guys usually let you know right away just how crazy they are; usually before the end of the first date. And let's face it, we're all varying degrees of weird. Women are every bit as nutty, but with women you have to wait, sometimes months, before you find out just how weird. They hide it well. Like the girlfriend who would only pee with the lights off, or the girlfriend who didn't believe in evolution, or the girlfriend that still had a crush on her brother (yes, all real life confessions I've heard).

Now Matt is a Creole Jew from Alaska...yeah, I know, right!? So of course he's gonna be a little out there. And he was a bit strange from the get-go. He was an unemployed raw foodist with his own personal infrared sauna in his apartment and had aspirations of being an actor. He also gave himself enemas on a regular basis; common practice among gay men (for sex reasons which should be fairly obvious), but Matt was doing it strictly for "health reasons". These are all things I found out very early on in the relationship. OK, so those are all somewhat unusual, but, to me, not grounds for a break-up. Not when he's also a very sweet, kind, funny, intellectually curious guy. And he's cute as Hell with a butt like an apple. Damn, he's cute.

So, basically I thought these strange habits and lifestyle choices were the extent of it. And I actually found myself really falling for Matt. This was the first time I'd found myself falling for a guy. He made me laugh like few people ever have. I enjoyed making him laugh. He was incredibly thoughtful and giving of himself. Life with him just very warm and felt so right. He was there for me for an extremely volatile time in my life, and for that he'll always have a place in my heart. But then came the aliens.

Full disclosure: I've always had an interest in the paranormal. I am not a believer in UFO's or ghosts or Bigfoot, but I would say I'm an enthusiast. I like science fiction and I'll watch almost any show on the paranormal if it's on TV. This was something Matt and I had in common. So one day, we were watching a show about UFO's and Matt asked me my opinion of them. I told him that I while I enjoy thinking about the subject I've never seen any conclusive proof of alien visitation. Everything I've ever seen had a possible down-to-Earth explanation, though I am open to the possibility. Odds are there is intelligent life somewhere in the Universe besides Earth. So I asked him his opinion...and that's when he dropped the bomb.

"Well, when I was a kid I was abducted by aliens." At first I thought he was kidding; he has a dry sense of humor and he liked to say off-the-wall things to make me laugh. So I chuckled and said, "Yeah, sure." And that's when he let loose with a story straight from every crazy-ass alien abduction movie you've ever seen. And then he began adding shit that would make even the craziest conspiracy theorist skeptical. You see, the aliens chose him because he was the most prized of abductees...he was a direct descendent of Jesus. Yeah, that Jesus. The water-to-wine, died-on-the-cross, reason-for-the-season guy. The aliens had abducted him, taken him to an underground base somewhere and conducted experiments on him. He wouldn't elaborate on these experiments, but would only say that they had to do with the supernatural/Jesus-like traits that he used to possess as an "Indigo child".

I don't know which part of it I found harder to believe; the aliens, the abduction, Indigo children or Jesus. There are a million details that I'm forgetting from what was something like a 4-hour conversation, but you get the gist. So, I left his apartment that night unsure what to think. He wasn't jerking my chain, I could tell he really did mean what he said. Almost immediately I began trying to rationalize it, was it so much weirder than some of the stuff that devoutly religious people believe: talking snakes, Adam and Eve, Noah's Ark, people turning into pillars of salt, creationism, etc.? Maybe not, but then later that week he told me about the "spiritual training" he'd been doing with his psychologist. I knew he was seeing a psychologist. Not so unusual, who couldn't use a little therapy now and then? But, as it turns out, this wasn't your typical, "how does that make you feel?" kind of therapist. No, this one specialized in hypnosis and was actively trying to help Matt "regain" his supernatural powers, the ones he thought he'd once possessed as a child. The ones the aliens had somehow managed to rid him of.

And still, breaking up with him was really hard. Not because I didn't realize I had to...I did, 'cause in at least one aspect of his life he was bat-shit crazy, but because I still genuinely cared for him and wanted him to be happy. I had no ill will towards him whatsoever, and no desire to hurt him. He still had a very kind and giving, if looney, soul. He was actually very understanding of my need to break up. He was cognizant of the fact that what he was saying was hard to believe (which also leads me to believe that he's not actually crazy). We bade each other good luck and promised to keep in touch. Which we do. He's still a friend and we chat from time to time, just not about his Divine ancestry.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Dating Is A Pain

She was cute. She had a quick, acerbic wit. She had a big, dumb, lovable dog named Tugboat. Jesus, how could you not love a dog named Tugboat! Our musical tastes weren't perfectly aligned, but there was plenty of common ground. And, most importantly, she seemed to dig me--a quality lacking in far too many women.

Conversation flowed. I felt comfortable enough to playfully tease her and she deftly gave it right back to me. We people-watched over dinner and joked about our surroundings. It had been a long time since a date had felt so right. This girl was different. This was someone that I could honestly see a relationship with from the get-go. Or so I thought.

We'd originally intended to go to a lecture for the second half of our date, but we were enjoying our conversation way too much to put it on hold for a couple of hours. So we decided to walk to the beach instead. I don't know quite how far we went, but round-trip it took over two hours. We got dessert at the Santa Monica Pier when she suggested we go back to her place. I was beside myself.

When we got back to my car she pounced. I'm not one for making out in or near public, so I was a bit apprehensive at first--fumbling for my keys, wanting to get back to her place as soon as possible, but she obviously wanted to make out then and there. So we did. Then she dropped the bomb. Though, she'd waited until I was my most undone and my penis in her hand. She breathily said in my ear, "God, you know what would get me really fuckin' hot?" "Hmm?", I grunted in response. "If you would run over my hands with your car."

I just kinda laughed at first and commenced with the making out. It didn't sound like she was joking, but she obviously couldn't be serious. Oh, how wrong I was. "I'm serious. Would you run over my hands with your car?" She said. "I can't do that, why would I do that?" "Because I want you to." She kind of glared at me as if to say, this doesn't go any further until you do as I say. As I'd done all night with great success I tried to make a joke and countered with, "Couldn't we start off smaller, like with a small piece of furniture first and gradually build up to maybe sitting on your hands?" For the first time all night my joke missed the mark, and at that point she reminded me that she was holding my manhood in her hand by squeezing it 'til it hurt. Bad.

"I like pain. It's kind of a big part of my sex life." My life flashed before my eyes. I instantly found religion and began asking God to get me and my wiener out of this. "Look, I'm sorry, but for me this is supposed to feel good, pain simply doesn't fit into this experience for me." "Have you ever even tried?!" "Well, no...but I'm pretty sure I don't..." "You have no idea, just fucking give it a try and I guarantee you'll like it." With that, she pinched the skin of sack really hard with her nails. It hurt like a motherfucker. I yelped in pain, withdrew and kind of shoved her off of me simultaneously. She looked at me with utter disgust, then she kicked me with her boot. "Fuck this. Fuck YOU, fuckin' pussy!", she yelled as she adjusted her clothes and got out of the car. She gave me the finger as she stormed off, pulling her dress down which had been hiked up above her waist.

I just sat there dumbfounded. I checked my nuts to see if she'd cut me. Not seeing any blood or other damage I stuffed my manhood back into my pants, put the keys into the ignition and started the car. I watched her as she walked away, unsure exactly what to do. I thought briefly about apologizing and at least walking her to her car, but I just sat there dazed as she turned the corner and was gone for good.