I blame my sweet pussy for getting her jollies on when I browsed his online dating profile. He was cute, mildly interesting, completely fuckable. Why not? I thought. We had exchanged a few emails and a few texts, and he finally asked me when I was available.
“Saturday,” I replied.
“Okay, let me check to see if I’m free then…”
My vadge isn’t a very patient lady (as we all know), so I’m not going to wait around for some online guy to make up his mind when he wants to take me out. Contrary to the male mind, women aren’t lounging around on the couch waiting for you to give the go-ahead to give some head.
No, I don’t need a man. I want your penis (I’ve got needs), but I’ve also got two dildos at home with enough vibrating action to help a sister out.
So I strapped my big-girl panties on, and I laid down the law. “Listen, if you can’t give me a definite answer… let’s just reschedule.”
Two milliseconds later, he responded. “I can definitely do Saturday.”
Saturday arrived and I was ready for a good night.
“Running late! Hope you’re not already there,” he texted.
Clearly he doesn’t know my dating finesse; I wait on no man. I’d never go the bar before I knew my date was already there. My time is only your time when you’re jackhammering me in the bedroom. Any other time, I’m going to pretend to be running late.
I wasn’t upset he wasn’t at the bar yet. More time to get ready is an extra inch on the dick for me. I love looking my best, especially for the first date when sexual tension is as tangible as Kim Kardashian’s ass.
Finally, he texted me and said he was there – aka it was time for me to leave my house.
“I just came from kite surfing so I’m dressed very casual,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. Here I am in my high heels, headed to an upscale bar, and my date felt it necessary to tell me he’s casual… very casual, last minute.
When I get to the bar, I immediately noticed his feet. He was wearing flip-flops! Here’s a tip, men: if you’re wanting me to abuse your walrus, don’t show up to our first date wearing flip flops like you’re about to go to the fucking beach. Normally, I like my men in thongs… but let’s be clear, I want it to be the kind that parts your ass not your big toe.
“Wow, you’re dressed up,” he said.
Pretty sad of a guy to think I’m super dressed up when I was wearing my most “casual” dress for the night. Coming from a guy wearing flip-flops on a first date, he’d probably think wearing a potato sack with heels was the perfect attire for meeting the fuckin’ President.
I shrugged. “Nice to see you’re not trying to impress me on our first date.”
Of course, I was livid. My pussy and I are pretty rational ladies. I get that he was out kite surfing all day, but you’re not a girl. You don’t need to fix your hair for hours, agonize over what outfit to wear, and meticulously put on makeup. You’re a guy for fuck sake! Getting ready consists of scrubbing your armpits, combing your hair with a wash cloth and cleaning your ball sack (I hope!) – a whoppin’ three minutes. He had obviously gone home to change, so what’s so hard with putting on a nice pair of shoes?
Clearly, he could have cared less about our date. I don’t want some guy who half-asses on a date with me; I mean, think about how awful he’d be in bed with that attitude!
I sat at the bar and he grabbed some drinks. He stood beside me, but it was clear his mind was a million vaginas away. He’s looking all over the place as we’re talking, locking eyes with all the other girls there. I mean, I love taking in the scenery of a trendy place, but when you’ve got a ridiculously hot girl in front of you – can’t you pay attention? I even wore my push-up bra for this shit, and you can’t give my girls a lingering stare?
Then he started shifting around… One second he was leaning over the bar, the next he was facing me, and then he was leaning with his back up against the bar, but looking out at the crowd. God, I hope he doesn’t switch sex positions this fast, I thought.
When someone isn’t into me, I can easily take a hint. I wasn’t exactly into flip-flop guy either. But damn it, I took time to get ready so I’m going to enjoy myself on someone else’s tab. It was the least this casual loser could do. I decided to order one more drink, two’s my limit for this date. We kept talking, when he confessed.
“I didn’t think I’d like you, but I really do find you beautiful and smart.”
Was he even talking to me? This guy has barely looked my way the whole night. How did he even know what I looked like?
“I wore flip flops,” he continued, “because every time I see a hot chick online, she’s dumb as a doornail. I always end up leaving after thirty minutes. I kinda thought you’d be another one of those girls.”
What an idiot. The dating coach in me wanted to slap him. When you go out on a first date, you take your time to get ready because first impressions are big. I don’t go out thinking this guy may be sexy but I’m sure he’s dumber than my first boyfriend’s dick, so I’ll just come from the gym in my workout clothes. I go on dates thinking this may be a great guy, and if he turns out to be a flip-flop wearing frog… no big deal.
After his confession, he whipped out his phone (I know the old phone trick, very immature, just tell the person you have to leave) and asked for the check. Guess this date is over.
“I’ve got to head out now,” he said. Guess to another date or a booty call.
I got in my car, and he told me again how much he likes me and would love to go out again. He even tried groping me up; his “shy” personality suddenly out the window.
I let the “fuck you” expression on my face speak for itself as I started the car and drove away.
If you can’t take the time to dress up on the first date, you sure as hell don’t deserve a second.
– Sienna Sinclaire® – The Single Girl ®: Your Naughty Lifestyle Guide