Tag Archives: dater x

Dater X: He Won Me Over In The Morning

They say that, within five minutes of meeting a guy, a woman decides whether she wants to have sex with him. But it only took me 30 seconds to know that there was no way I was screwing The Juggler.

After chatting for a few days online, I agreed to meet him at a bar in Manhattan. When I arrived, I instantly spotted him sitting on a bar stool. There was no denying that he was cute. But as is often the case with online dating, he was a little shorter and a touch older-looking than advertised.

But that wasn’t the issue. Keep reading »

Dater X: Debriefing With The Latest Ex

Not to get all touchy-feely on you guys, but I am a person who wants to improve myself. I spent months not dating so that I could figure out what I’m looking for in a relationship and analyze my dating patterns. I’ve been a little startled to realize that, when I click with someone, things go amazingly for a few weeks. And then at the month mark, almost uniformly, they lose interest. I’ve thought about what I might be doing to lead to this, but just can’t put my fingers on the magic bullet. At this point, I feel like I need some outside feedback.

So when Tall Guy, the last guy this happened with, IMed me and asked how I felt about being friends, I saw it as an opportunity. “Of course, I’d like to be your friend,” I typed back. “But I do need to hear a bit more from you about what felt off with us. Would you be willing to share?” Keep reading »

Dater X: Three Extreme Dude Fails — Or Were They?

“What do you do for a living?” I asked the hot guy who’d just bought me a vodka and soda. He had turquoise eyes and a freshly shaved head that I wanted to run my hands over. His bicep muscles bulged where he’d rolled up his plaid shirt. All in all, he was one of the 10 best-looking guys I’d ever talked to in person.

“I’m an FBI agent,” he responded.

“OK, what do you really do?” I shot back.

“I’m a magician.”

I stared at him with a look that (I hope!) said both I-want-to-make-out-with-you and cut-the-crap. “What do you really do?” I asked.

“I’m a sanitation worker,” he said.

Buzz. Killed. Keep reading »

Dater X: My Return To Dating

You know when someone touches you for the first time? Not an incidental arm graze, but a meaningful, purposeful touch that says, “Hello, it is on.” I was standing beside Tall Guy in Central Park, watching a softball game when he casually reached a tattooed arm around me and hooked his hand around the narrowest part of my waist, my favorite body part. Every nerve ending in my body jumped to attention. I think I let out an audible gasp. He pulled me closer to him and I instinctively laced my arm around his back. The non-verbal, “Oh yeah. I’m feeling it, too.”

This was the first physical contact I’d had with a guy in months. And it felt amazing. Keep reading »

Dater X: I Am Done With Dating

You haven’t heard from me in a while. Apologies for the radio silence. Here is why I haven’t felt compelled to write lately: For the past three months I have been stuck in the same pattern.

  • Step 1: Vibe with a guy at a party/bar/online and make plans for a date.
  • Step 2: Go on said date and either (a) have an ick time and end things there or (b) have a great time and set up a date two, three, etc.
  • Step 3: As dating continues, get to know and like said person. Usually start sleeping with them circa date four.
  • Step 4: Have an awkward or unsettling talk/phone call/email exchange with said person that makes one or both of us question our potential as partners.
  • Step 5: We decide not to see each other anymore.

And thus, I am left with a G-Chat bar full of guys who, for a short period of time, I talked to constantly—but who I wouldn’t dare to message now or probably ever again. Their names in my phone just seem like a cruel reminder of how hard it is to find someone you could actually have a relationship with.

And so I have decided that I, Dater X, cannot date anymore. Keep reading »

Dater X: A Guy Who Doesn’t Like BJs?

I sat on the couch straddling him, our chests pressed together and my hands pulling softly on his hair as we kissed. For the past half an hour, we’d been slowly unpeeling our many layers of clothing and we were down to just my pair of lacy underwear and his boxer briefs. We’d had a lovely third date—I adored that he called me “Ringlets,” just like Sawyer dubbed Kate “Freckles” on “Lost.” As the conversation veered into sexual territory a few times, it became more than obvious that, tonight, we were ready to seal the deal.

“Shall we take this into the other room,” he said, pointing towards his bedroom. We stood up and he grabbed my hand, leading me down the hall. I sat down on the side of his bed, and he stood before me. Good lord, he was hot. I began to take off his Calvin Kleins.

“Can I go down on you?” I asked, looking up at him. As soon as I said it, the question struck me as strange. Had I ever asked this before? Was this a question with more than one answer? After all, on our list of “27 Things Men Never Say,” the phrase “I’m not really into blow jobs” came in at number eight.

“No,” he said. Keep reading »

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