Things Can Always Be Worse: A Retrospective

So James Marsden and I had a romantic, snowy, ski date all set for this Wed...until he had to cancel (work stuff.) I am at once relieved (I need all limbs intact right now!) and disappointed (who wants to kiss James Marsden on top of a mountain? ME!) Apparently, I am going to have to be patient and wait for that fantasy to come true (long. drawn out. sigh. here.)



Have I mentioned that patience is not one of my virtues?



But truth be told, this may all be for the best. I'm really kind of cranky and PMS-y this week, and who really wants to have to juggle looking sexy on skis with a bad case of PMS? Instead, I'm knee-deep in teaching, acting, and all that other stuff I do when I'm not dating. And there's something to be said for hitting the sack solo when you feel crap-tastic.



Actually, there's something to be said for hitting the sack solo...even when you're feeling a-ok. This reminds me of one of my worst dates ever (and it didn't even involve a gay waiter picking up my date.) Buckle your seat belts. This one's not for the faint of heart...



I met the FLYING TRAPEZE DUDE through Rita and her husband (yup, they know carnies.) Tall, blonde, and blue-eyed (not to mention the SLAMMIN' body, I mean OHMAHGAWD), he wielded a charming Southern lilt, and a serious hankering for me the moment he laid eyes on me (I was, once again, cooking dinner in Rita's kitchen that night--apparently that environment makes me irresistable. Note to Self.) The Flying Trapeze Dude was passing through town for a week or so in between circus gigs (naturally.) So when he asked for my number, I gave it willingly, and we made a date for later in the week. This all sounds reasonable, right?



The evening of our date, he got caught up playing mini-golf with friends and didn't show up to my place until 1:15am. Now, friends, this is where I SHOULD HAVE PULLED AN AMY WINEHOUSE AND SAID "NO, NO, NO." But my girlfriends and I rationalized allowing this EGREGIOUS breach of date etiquette by saying, "When are you EVER again going to have the chance to fool around with a flying trapeze performer? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!" So, he picked me up at 1:15am, we found a bar that was open at that hour, had the obligatory drink, and went back to my place. While making out on my couch, I had the passing thought that he had been out playing mini-golf all day and was not, ahem, hook-up fresh and ready. But I let it slide (he didn't smell at all) and we moved things into my bedroom. At this point, clothes came off and DAMN, he was fine! I'd never hooked up with a PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE before! Whheeew! We started fooling around more heavily, and I moved south on him when all of a sudden I realized...he had contorted himself so that his "bull's eye", was STARING ME IN THE FACE.



Ahem.



First off, this takes remarkable flexibility. I mean, that's impressive. Good work. All that circus-related stretching really paid off.



Secondly, you know what's ruder than making your date wait until 1:15am for drinks? MAKING HER COME FACE-TO-FACE WITH YOUR BUTTHOLE. REPEATEDLY. I mean, for the next hour it was as if it was following me around the bed. He finally said something sheepish, like "I really like it when someone licks me there...I had a girlfriend who was really into that". Let me get this straight...you're asking me to lick your unwashed butt on the first date? I politely declined. To make a long story short, he then tried to enter me without a condom (really) and then went soft. WORST HOOK-UP EVER. Eventually (around 4am) I rolled over and went to sleep. I was awakened about an hour and a half later, by the FTD frantically tapping me in the shoulder. "Hey! I'm hard! What should we do?"



We? What were "we" going to do?



I suggested he jerk himself off, which he did happily. He did angle himself so I was once more staring into his ass in the darkness, but really, I had given up on expecting anything else by that point. When he was done, all I could do was roll over once more and wish I were alone in my bed, instead of keeping company with an Ass-Master Flying Trapeze Dude with unfortunate (for me) flexibility.



Anyhoo, that's my story.



Don't try this at home, kids.