Greetings singles, couples... mom? I'm sorry? Allow me to introduce myself.
I am the the Elusive Straight Male, a lover (part of the Puerto Rican kind), a student, a teacher, and (newly) single. Though I have been subjected to two hard break-ups the last year (especially this current one), I have gotten to this point in my life due to breaking the "rules" while creating my own. As a teacher, I fully agree to the quote, "teachers make the worst students." Instead of following a curriculum, I'm rewriting it and these posts are my evidences.
Where does this leave me with "surrogate daddy" drama"? It all started with a click...
Like many others, two years ago, I looked to OkCupid to solve my dating woes. I was a Senior at a NYC university and aside from a very awkward first-time experience a year before (that's for a future post), I have been single, slightly jaded, but eager to explore what the site offered more than just quizzes. I have made a few friends and had some flirtations through it. However, no successes came from it until...
Maria.*
Maria, the first Hispanic woman I've been attracted to in years.
Maria, a firey, fierce, flirteous, luscious, full-figured nursing student from Connecticut one year my senior.
Maria... who had a 3 year old daughter from a previous relationship.
I was 21, three months away from graduation and four months away from meeting the first of the two women who separately captured my heart this past year. I was a month removed from a crazy Spring Break in Miami where I was wilder than previously thought.
I was ready, I was willing... even willing to meet someone traveling a few hours via Peter Pan bus to see them for what became nothing more than an one-night stand.
Thank. God.
When I was picked up and driven to her house, I was greeted immediately by the hi's of her daughter. So sweet, smart... and exactly not who I wanted to see first after Maria. With a build-up of three weeks of steamy, sensual flirting, there was really only one thing I had in mind... and it wasn't seeing what would be the result of unprotected actions.
Still, I rolled with it.
Her daughter occassionally came in and out of the living room where we spent time cuddling and watching TV. We didn't get any kinds of horizontal until her daughter was well-asleep. Yes, the time was steamy. Yes, the time with her built up my sexual confidence and experience (that my suitors after her all benefitted from). Yes, I felt mostly comfortable hanging out with her...
But still. Her daughter...
Regardless of how fun the experience was, I could not shake her daughter out of my mind. Could I see myself coming up to see Maria every other week, providing an emotional daddy base? Even if that was never asked of me, I'd feel compelled to. I'm a care-taker and being a teacher a few months after that experience only emphasized that side of me. Could I come up just to "slam, bam, and thank you ma'am" while trying to shut myself out from her daughter?
Could I, as a 21-year-old with no job, no degree, and no place to live (at that time), really play that "surrogate daddy" role?
We talked online a few times afterwards, but nothing more ever came from it. She moved to North Carolina, Facebook friends no more, and the last time I saw her profile, she was smiling and in a new relationship. As she moved on, I moved on, which will be addressed in future posts.
MILF? Sure, but like the myths porn and other guys state are true, it wasn't as good as it seemed. De-mything.
Until next time.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Legend of Stillman
There is a legend among us.
The Legend of Stillman.
Stillman was a fresh-faced young first-year adopted by Jezebel at the beginning of our junior year. Stillman had curly red hair. Stillman wanted to join the Israeli army. Stillman played Ultimate Frisbee and wore a lot of plaid. Stillman looked kind of like a 15-year-old grunge rock enthusiast.
Stillman also got more ass than the three of my housemates (and myself) combined.
This was a mystery to us. We were four eligible young ladies of various sexual persuasions. We were smart. We dressed well. We took care of our personal grooming. We were, I daresay, reasonably attractive. So why was this one crazy freshman so much more successful than us?
One evening, we finally asked Stillman what her secret was. She shrugged and said: "Well, basically, you go to a party, drink some beer, and start asking every single person if they want to have sex with you."
We blinked. We looked at each other. Then we shrugged too. It made sense.
So Stillman played a numbers game, but none of us were sure that her method was one we wanted to employ. We merely marveled at her prowess and enjoyed watching her in action. My single best Stillman story is the night that she had a threesome with two other girls (one supposedly straight) on our living room chair. This was in the middle of a busy party, and yes, there are pictures on Facebook that we didn't take ourselves. Thankfully they eventually moved it to the bathroom. There are football players out there who remember our apartment as "the lesbian house," which we think is kind of unfair.
Stillman eventually transferred to U of W - Madison, and I'm sure that she has banged every women's rugby player on campus by now. But all of that is neither here nor there. The point is: before Stillman left, she passed on a tiny silver pinkie ring to Jezebel. I was pining ineffectually after a certain bespectacled young man at the time, and Jezebel took pity on me. She passed the ring onto me.
We looked on Stillman's Ring as a magical object, an object infused with her unstoppable mojo. Surely, by wearing it, it would pass some of her glory onto us.
To make a long story short, I did not win the love (or lust) of the bespectacled young man. The ring stayed in my jewelry box for the next year or so, but Jezebel would always tell me to wear Stillman's Ring to one party or another. Finally, I crooked my beringed little finger at a tall young man, and he walked me home. And took me out for dinner. And eventually took off my clothes. The relationship lasted a little over a year.
Jezebel, of course, saw this as proof of the ring's magic. I was a little skeptical. Why did it take a year to go into effect?
I broke up with my tall young man on a lovely spring day (this is a story for another time). 36 hours later, I met someone else. I didn't know he would be Someone Else at the time, but a little over a month later, he too was taking me out for dinner. That was in May. Now he wants to take me home for Christmas.
Jezebel decided that enough was enough. "Give me back Stillman's Ring!" she told me. "You've had your share. I need it now."
She came down to DC for a business function and we made the trade in the middle of a conference center. I smiled as I gave it to her, feeling decidedly unprofessional. We hugged, and she left for New York again. I wished her the best.
(No, my current young man did not break up with me the next day. Stillman's Ring giveth and does not taketh away.)
I'm writing this history because approximately 30 minutes ago, Jezebel sent me an angry text: "You broke the Stillman Ring and I may never forgive you..."
I reminded her that the ring takes a full year to adapt to its new owner and starting working its magical. She was not happy to hear this.
Jezebel: Believe. And may the Stillman be with you.
The Legend of Stillman.
Stillman was a fresh-faced young first-year adopted by Jezebel at the beginning of our junior year. Stillman had curly red hair. Stillman wanted to join the Israeli army. Stillman played Ultimate Frisbee and wore a lot of plaid. Stillman looked kind of like a 15-year-old grunge rock enthusiast.
Stillman also got more ass than the three of my housemates (and myself) combined.
This was a mystery to us. We were four eligible young ladies of various sexual persuasions. We were smart. We dressed well. We took care of our personal grooming. We were, I daresay, reasonably attractive. So why was this one crazy freshman so much more successful than us?
One evening, we finally asked Stillman what her secret was. She shrugged and said: "Well, basically, you go to a party, drink some beer, and start asking every single person if they want to have sex with you."
We blinked. We looked at each other. Then we shrugged too. It made sense.
So Stillman played a numbers game, but none of us were sure that her method was one we wanted to employ. We merely marveled at her prowess and enjoyed watching her in action. My single best Stillman story is the night that she had a threesome with two other girls (one supposedly straight) on our living room chair. This was in the middle of a busy party, and yes, there are pictures on Facebook that we didn't take ourselves. Thankfully they eventually moved it to the bathroom. There are football players out there who remember our apartment as "the lesbian house," which we think is kind of unfair.
Stillman eventually transferred to U of W - Madison, and I'm sure that she has banged every women's rugby player on campus by now. But all of that is neither here nor there. The point is: before Stillman left, she passed on a tiny silver pinkie ring to Jezebel. I was pining ineffectually after a certain bespectacled young man at the time, and Jezebel took pity on me. She passed the ring onto me.
We looked on Stillman's Ring as a magical object, an object infused with her unstoppable mojo. Surely, by wearing it, it would pass some of her glory onto us.
To make a long story short, I did not win the love (or lust) of the bespectacled young man. The ring stayed in my jewelry box for the next year or so, but Jezebel would always tell me to wear Stillman's Ring to one party or another. Finally, I crooked my beringed little finger at a tall young man, and he walked me home. And took me out for dinner. And eventually took off my clothes. The relationship lasted a little over a year.
Jezebel, of course, saw this as proof of the ring's magic. I was a little skeptical. Why did it take a year to go into effect?
I broke up with my tall young man on a lovely spring day (this is a story for another time). 36 hours later, I met someone else. I didn't know he would be Someone Else at the time, but a little over a month later, he too was taking me out for dinner. That was in May. Now he wants to take me home for Christmas.
Jezebel decided that enough was enough. "Give me back Stillman's Ring!" she told me. "You've had your share. I need it now."
She came down to DC for a business function and we made the trade in the middle of a conference center. I smiled as I gave it to her, feeling decidedly unprofessional. We hugged, and she left for New York again. I wished her the best.
(No, my current young man did not break up with me the next day. Stillman's Ring giveth and does not taketh away.)
I'm writing this history because approximately 30 minutes ago, Jezebel sent me an angry text: "You broke the Stillman Ring and I may never forgive you..."
I reminded her that the ring takes a full year to adapt to its new owner and starting working its magical. She was not happy to hear this.
Jezebel: Believe. And may the Stillman be with you.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Problem with Dating Unemployed, Local, West Coasters
Now. I thought I had found the jackpot of online dating:
1) From Washington State. Which probably means he's at least half hippie. Probably values the outdoors, and probably nice and arty. Also has a 97% chance of loving Dan Savage (which he did). Cheers, Dan!
2) Said boy is now living very locally to me. Now this could potentially be an issue if things didn't work out. Especially because of one New York City rule. Despite the 1.6 million people living on the island of Manhattan alone, you are almost guaranteed to run into the one person you are trying to avoid. Repeatedly. These odds are even higher, if the said person you're hiding from lives a whopping three blocks away. HOWEVER, if things do manage to work out for a bit, then you can have dates in the neighborhood, no one is traveling too far, and a lot less planning is involved. You can be lazy about it like a pair of sprawling puppies.
3) He is unemployed. Another borderline plus. However, he volunteered at a highly esteemed art museum. So he wasn't wasting away his time. And, was rather available. He did manage to live in Manhattan, and seemed to support himself. Perhaps he had a high-paying job in the past? Independently wealthy? Perhaps he ran some sort of gambling den out of his apartment? Irrelevant. He had time to spare, yet also managed to give back to the community through volunteering. Awesome.
How could it go wrong, you ask? He was into me and ALL THESE THINGS! The potential for true love was never stronger. Allow me to explain. When you are not cohabiting with your parents, while living in Manhattan, and not earning a cent, your money runs out. A minor detail that I'd managed to overlook. When your money runs out, and you are living on the opposite coast from your family and relatives, chances are you will have to pack up your things and move back home. When you've been dating a girl for only ... three-ish dates? There are not a lot of options in terms of a future. And so, you break things off to sort out your life.
And that's where things went awry.
Which makes me almost (but not quite) as sad as this kid:
1) From Washington State. Which probably means he's at least half hippie. Probably values the outdoors, and probably nice and arty. Also has a 97% chance of loving Dan Savage (which he did). Cheers, Dan!
2) Said boy is now living very locally to me. Now this could potentially be an issue if things didn't work out. Especially because of one New York City rule. Despite the 1.6 million people living on the island of Manhattan alone, you are almost guaranteed to run into the one person you are trying to avoid. Repeatedly. These odds are even higher, if the said person you're hiding from lives a whopping three blocks away. HOWEVER, if things do manage to work out for a bit, then you can have dates in the neighborhood, no one is traveling too far, and a lot less planning is involved. You can be lazy about it like a pair of sprawling puppies.
3) He is unemployed. Another borderline plus. However, he volunteered at a highly esteemed art museum. So he wasn't wasting away his time. And, was rather available. He did manage to live in Manhattan, and seemed to support himself. Perhaps he had a high-paying job in the past? Independently wealthy? Perhaps he ran some sort of gambling den out of his apartment? Irrelevant. He had time to spare, yet also managed to give back to the community through volunteering. Awesome.
How could it go wrong, you ask? He was into me and ALL THESE THINGS! The potential for true love was never stronger. Allow me to explain. When you are not cohabiting with your parents, while living in Manhattan, and not earning a cent, your money runs out. A minor detail that I'd managed to overlook. When your money runs out, and you are living on the opposite coast from your family and relatives, chances are you will have to pack up your things and move back home. When you've been dating a girl for only ... three-ish dates? There are not a lot of options in terms of a future. And so, you break things off to sort out your life.
And that's where things went awry.
Which makes me almost (but not quite) as sad as this kid:
Monday, November 22, 2010
Somewhere Something Went Right
Picture this: it's a balmy Saturday night and three lovely ladies are lounging about in Bryant Park, deciding how to spend their evening. "I'm so frustrated with online dating!" says one, and the others quickly agree. The men they are meeting online are either too timid or too aggressive, too unattractive or too good-looking to be true and most of the time things weren't panning out for these lovely gals. Now, they are all gorgeous and accomplished young ladies, but meeting available single men while out and about in NYC proved to be difficult; what, you ask, is a lady to do?
One suggested - "Why not try speed dating?" The others were quick to dismiss, thinking that it was too weird or expensive (because, you know, everything is expensive here in NY!), but they thought about it some more. Finally, one bravely decided to google it, and see what the World Wide Web said; lo and behold, there was a speed dating event that very next evening for "single young professionals!" The ladies were still quite hesitant and decided to sleep on it. The next morning, they quickly decided to bite the bullet and sign up - there was no turning back!
They arrived that evening after spending just a bit too much time getting ready and made a beeline to the bar - liquid courage was necessary for this endeavor! All too quickly, they were told to split up, take a seat and await their manly suitors! This lady was nervous as hell, but decided to just see what happened; it was then that her first suitor sat down in front of her. They quickly struck up a conversation about NYC neighborhoods and BBQ'ing and other things and the 5 minutes passed pleasantly - this lady was then pretty damn excited because this first suitor had definitely piqued her interest.
Needless to say, for this lady, everything began in those 5 minutes. It's been a few months since that day and this lady knows that she definitely won the prize that night...Time will tell, but, for now, she is infinitely happy that she took a leap on that balmy Saturday evening.
One suggested - "Why not try speed dating?" The others were quick to dismiss, thinking that it was too weird or expensive (because, you know, everything is expensive here in NY!), but they thought about it some more. Finally, one bravely decided to google it, and see what the World Wide Web said; lo and behold, there was a speed dating event that very next evening for "single young professionals!" The ladies were still quite hesitant and decided to sleep on it. The next morning, they quickly decided to bite the bullet and sign up - there was no turning back!
They arrived that evening after spending just a bit too much time getting ready and made a beeline to the bar - liquid courage was necessary for this endeavor! All too quickly, they were told to split up, take a seat and await their manly suitors! This lady was nervous as hell, but decided to just see what happened; it was then that her first suitor sat down in front of her. They quickly struck up a conversation about NYC neighborhoods and BBQ'ing and other things and the 5 minutes passed pleasantly - this lady was then pretty damn excited because this first suitor had definitely piqued her interest.
Needless to say, for this lady, everything began in those 5 minutes. It's been a few months since that day and this lady knows that she definitely won the prize that night...Time will tell, but, for now, she is infinitely happy that she took a leap on that balmy Saturday evening.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Kiss The Girl
What better lesson to learn from The Little Mermaid? For those not familiar, the temporarily mute Ariel has to get the strapping young prince to kiss her or she'll have her soul eternally signed away to the witch-octopus-queen and she'll live a life as a shriveled unhappy girl in a garden of shriveled unhappy souls. In an attempt to save her soul, her friend Sebastian tries and sets the ambiance for an awesome first kiss by singing the following song:
Thankfully, the stakes are rarely this high. However, that pit (or is it butterfly?) feeling in your stomach when waiting for that first potentially wonderful, potentially awkward, kiss can sometimes feel like the leap between a life as a miserable singleton and the bliss of mutual affection.
After a second successful date, I was walked home by an awkward, sweet, smart, awkward boy. We had shared a bottle of wine and I was slightly flushed and at that face-numb pre-buzzed place. A good place to be. He walked me up the two stairs to the front door of my building...
Silence.
I turn myself to face him square on.
Nothing.
I angle my face slightly upwards.
He shifts uncomfortably. It is apparent that I do not have a lovable crab, turtle drums, crickets, or a romantic boat ride to help my case. I immediately worry that I've misjudged the situation. In my not-quite-tipsy state I may have made some incorrect assumptions. I freeze in my somewhat uncomfortable pose trying to figure out how to quickly remedy it. Smile, say goodbye, search for my keys? Pretend to be stretching my neck? I smile and start to shift. He shifts and takes a half step towards me and whispers, "I don't know what to do!" I take a half step towards him and say, "Kiss me!"
And he kissed the girl. Sebastian would be proud.
Thankfully, the stakes are rarely this high. However, that pit (or is it butterfly?) feeling in your stomach when waiting for that first potentially wonderful, potentially awkward, kiss can sometimes feel like the leap between a life as a miserable singleton and the bliss of mutual affection.
After a second successful date, I was walked home by an awkward, sweet, smart, awkward boy. We had shared a bottle of wine and I was slightly flushed and at that face-numb pre-buzzed place. A good place to be. He walked me up the two stairs to the front door of my building...
Silence.
I turn myself to face him square on.
Nothing.
I angle my face slightly upwards.
He shifts uncomfortably. It is apparent that I do not have a lovable crab, turtle drums, crickets, or a romantic boat ride to help my case. I immediately worry that I've misjudged the situation. In my not-quite-tipsy state I may have made some incorrect assumptions. I freeze in my somewhat uncomfortable pose trying to figure out how to quickly remedy it. Smile, say goodbye, search for my keys? Pretend to be stretching my neck? I smile and start to shift. He shifts and takes a half step towards me and whispers, "I don't know what to do!" I take a half step towards him and say, "Kiss me!"
And he kissed the girl. Sebastian would be proud.
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