Gay Or Just Too Nice 11/11/2009
Somewhere along the way during my adult dating life, I lost my conscience. I’m not sure where it has gone or why but it has officially left the building. I’ve considered putting out an APB on it but can’t figure out if it would be worth the time. Let me ‘splain… Last night I had an impromptu date with someone I had chatted with online but never actually met. I believe our initial contact was through AmericanSingles.com about five years ago. Nothing ever came of it and I had long forgotten about Mr. Nice Guy but when he added me on Facebook about a year and a half ago, I was all for it. Great sense of humor, cutish and employed. Perfect. I fully believe that the reason we didn’t meet was because of me. With my self diagnosed A.D.D. I often times will give the online dating thing a rest for several months to regroup so I think he was just an unfortunate consequence of bad timing. Through Facebook, we reconnected and I was reminded at how funny, amusing and down to earth Mr. Nice Guy was. We didn’t have a constant stream of communication but would chit chat every now and again. This time around it seemed more platonic than romantic. At least on my end. Sure, we flirted here and there but nothing hard core where I got the feeling as though I just had to meet him right then and there. Until last night. I was bored and so was he. He commented that he had some Malibu Rum so I gave him directions and told him that I had the perfect place to store such a delicacy. My tummy. An hour and a half later I was buzzing him into my building. Not only did he bring the Rum but he also brought a cooler full of food. He had BBQ’d steak, sautéed vegetables, beans and a baked potato. Considering I would rather starve then boil water his ability to cook and share almost made me want to show him my “O” face before the formal introductions had even been completed. He was cuter than his pictures which was a pleasant surprise. We had nice conversation while fixing and heating our plates. But there was just something about him that gave me the feeling that I would not be sleeping with him that night. Or any night. He was more soft spoken than I’m used to and almost effeminate without being girly. He was…well, for lack of a better word…sweet. It was also at this time that I came to the stark realization that if a man isn’t carrying a club and trying to drag me by the hair I automatically assume he’s gay. This was the case here. I’m not sure why I equated sweet with gay but for some reason I did. He really just seemed…too nice. We settled down to eat and he began sharing stories with me about his karaoke adventures and past Halloween costumes (apparently he makes a good looking woman?). He was nothing short of flamboyant and I found myself forcing myself to laugh just so to not hurt his feelings as he did appear to be somewhat nervous around me still. He definitely gets an A for effort. He was cute and adorable with his story telling in only a way that can be described as me wanting to pinch his cheeks and put him in my pocket. Especially when he shared his impression of a Spanish Steve Irwin. He was…well, adorable. GAH! In case you all haven’t read a single word I’ve ever written, I’m not the “adorable”, “nice” or “sweet” kind of gal. I’m hard, I’m cold and I’m often times a bitch. And that’s on a good day. We kept drinking and I had offered to let him stay the night in case he had too much too drink. Which, by the looks of it was pretty much after I’d opened the first bottle. Pfft, lightweights. He continued to talk and share. I continued to listen and look interested. As the night wore on I secretly wished I had rescinded my offer but he was clearly making himself at home. The later it got the more obvious it became he had no intention of leaving. By this point, he was warning me that he was going to start flirting with me and that my pictures hadn’t done me justice. He still hadn’t so much as touched my hand so him telling me that he was going to start flirting with me was highly amusing. Especially considering that I wasn’t sure if I was his type or my roommate Mike was. He went to change and get ready for bed since our fate had been sealed. Five minutes later he came out in a tank out and dolphin shorts. Okay, totally kidding here, he was in regular shorts but just imagine how great my story would have been if he came out dressed as Richard Simmons! Anyway, I’m not sure what he was carrying in his overnight bag but he suddenly had biceps. Nice, beautiful biceps. Apparently, he was talking to me but the moment I saw those beautifully sculpted arms my mind went blank. It took me a minute to actually realize he was talking to me. He laughed and I snapped out of it. He offered to sleep on the couch but I said he could join me in bed. All thoughts of him being gay had been swept out the window when he put that tank top on. We talked a little more and finally Flame Boy attempted a kiss. Suddenly Flame Boy wasn’t so flaming. I’m not sure what switch turned on but something happened and he suddenly had the confidence and self assurance of a male gigolo. I can honestly say without hesitation that he was the best make out partner I’ve ever had in terms of skill. I complimented him on his abilities for I like to give credit where credit is due. To which he replied… “Do you remember the end in Revenge of the Nerds where the cheerleader was amazed at the nerd’s ability to make love? He said it was because they’ve had plenty of time to practice. That’s me. I’m a nerd.” I couldn’t stop laughing. He was being adorable all over again! If it weren’t for the fact that I knew he was 37 I would have sworn I was in bed with a 14 year old virgin. And no, for the record, I did not sleep with him. The next morning he took off and I was left reeling trying to decipher what had just happened. It hadn’t been an evening of unrequited lust and wandering hands. It had been a simple night of good food, a few cocktails and conversation. It couldn’t have been any milder if I had been alone. Here’s my problem. He’s a perfectly nice and good looking gentleman. What’s wrong with me that I can’t just like him? On paper he’s perfect. He’s got a great personality and he seems to be a caring and thoughtful person. I know how awful and clichéd this sounds but he really is just too nice. I don’t feel that spark. I want to pet him and give him a water dish, not have mind blowing mattress falling off the box spring sex (which by the way, has happened to me before. I’m not bragging or anything but I am). And despite him turning into Super Stud behind the bedroom doors I just don’t feel that umph! A few hours later I got a text from him basically telling me what a good time he had and how he looked forward to seeing me again. I have a feeling that without realizing it, I may potentially yet inadvertently hurt him. I’m a hypocrite. All I’ve done is ask for a good man with good intentions. I get one and I accuse him of being gay and nice? Yep, I have some serious issues. Now, on to Geico.com in search of my caveman. My hair was getting a little too thick anyway… **Please note that I have no problem with men that are gay. I just choose not to have intimate relationships with them. They never put out... Comments Comments are closed. |