Sounds like the beginning of a joke, right? Well, it is. ;-)

First dates … potential disasters or sparks within seconds? When you go on a date, you always hope that lightning strikes and you find your soulmate. Not that I was looking for a soulmate, because I was still very much clarified in the fact that I didn’t want a new boyfriend.

I still enjoyed my freedom after 29 years of marriage, and nobody was going to change that at the time. Especially now, dating Doom had opened my eyes. I felt like a kid walking into an enormous candy-store, with great expectations of what pleasure could be. Sex COULD be great, even fantastic, and I felt that I wasn’t even close to understanding what my body could do, and what sensations was ahead of me. So now was not the time to settle with one single man.
Besides, the biggest kink at that point was actually the feeling of strange hands on me. For 29 years it had been the same moves, the same kisses, the same sensations, now everything was new and exciting. I wanted more of that.

After Doom I had a series of dates, most of them never came to more than the first date, some came to the end of first date with a kiss, and stopped there, and some got a chance for a second date. I am a practical woman, so if I decided to have a second date, I wanted to “try them out”.
Yeah, I know, objectifying men, you poor sods, but I ensure you that they never came to harm. ;-)

But I (mostly) enjoyed all the dates. I really do like to meet new people and listen to them talk about their lives.

So let’s dive in …

First … Cowboy-dude.
No, we don’t have cowboys in Denmark. If anything, we have farmers in overalls. No sexy guys with a Stetson, a wind bitten face and a straw hanging from the corners of his mouth. Would be nice though … 😉

Cowboy-dude was a strange personality. We met up at coffee-shop and got a cup of coffee (or Chai for me), and within minutes I realized that he was a victim. Or so he thought himself. Everything was everybody else’s fault. You know the type.

But the tale was quite strange, actually. He told me that he was adopted. Because he was adopted, the teachers in school hated him, and therefore he never graduated. Therefore, he had to work at a cowfarm, therefore he was crushed by a cow and became paralyzed for a while. Therefore, he fell in love with the nurse, and she became his soulmate and therefore she died. Apparently, she was driving to see him and ended up in car accident. Horrible story, but he connected all the things. So, if he hadn’t been adopted, he would never have caused her death. He actually blamed his biological parents for his soulmate’s death. There was more, stories about employers who froze him out of the workplace and even some accusations of harassment, which I didn’t quite catch. At that point I knew that he wasn’t my type, so I was just thinking about how to get away fast enough.

Hmm … Then there was Beat Box Dude

He was actually quite cute, and we clicked instantly on writing. We had the same type of humor and wrote really well with each other, and I had very high expectations to our first date. As it went so well with Mr. Redhaired Young Stud with a dinner date, I thought that would be a good idea.

It. Was. Not.

That dinner was the longest meal in the history of mankind.

First of all, he had exactly (and I don’t even mean slightly, I mean exactly) the same mimic and body language as my little brother. That was a huge turnoff. Nobody wants to date one’s siblings. And then there were the sound effects.

For EVERY sentence he said, there were a sound effect in the end of it. Pew, Bing, Bong, Puf, Pflumpf, Pewpew, Boing, schreetch … what every sound you can imagine, it was there. I didn’t even remember what we talked out, I just hoped that the damn food will come really, really fast, and that he was a fast eater. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to get pass that, but everything was so awkward and embarrassing. So … no Beat Box Dude for me.

Then there was teeth-guy.

Again … a guy with whom I really communicated well with in writing. Fun, sweet and cheeky. He had sent a lot of photos where he smiled to me with closed mouth.

I think you can guess where this is going, but I didn’t! Damn, I still had much to learn ;-)

We met up for a walk (I maybe still had much more to learn, but no more dinners for me, thank you very much!), and when I approached him, I noticed that he was missing every other tooth. And the rest were just really poor. I can’t have that.  So new dating rule for me. Check for photos with smiles with teeth.

There was a couple of more first dates, which I don’t bother going in to. The man who didn’t blink, while telling about his corvette, the auditor who really, really was eager to meet me, but only wanted to meet up in dark parking lot in the middle of winter or the window cleaner who never asked one single question about me, but rambled on for half an hour about his ex-wife.

Then there was the psychologist … You know I talked about the Young Redhaired Stud? He was 36. Then the Psychologist came along, and he was only 32. I do have something for younger men, as you will hear more about. And I thought … well I already crossed that boundary, so what the h***.

We met up, had our first date, it went well, and the next time I went over to his place.

The psychologist was an extraordinary young man. First of all, he was very handsome, way out of my league actually, and on top of that he was almost a genius. He had an IQ of 140 (which he of course told me). And then he had ADHD. I have no problem with that, I have near family members who has is as well, so I do understand and are able to follow an ADHD brain.

But the sex part … oh my God it was lousy. You know the Duracell Rabbits? Imagine that with speed x 4 and you will have the result. He f***ed like he was on amphetamine (which he technically was), and because he was extremely hairy, he started to curl up.

You know the longhaired pigs? Imagine a wet one, then you have it.

It was bad! So, so bad, I was underneath him, and couldn’t really move anywhere, so he was the in charge most of the time, when I tried to slow him down, it worked for about 2 seconds, and then the rhythm was back again.

When we were done (or he was), I laid beside him, trying not to get in contact with his wet fur, and then he said … and I kid you not ….

“The next time, you don’t need to hurry that much.”
“I don’t think I was the one in control here,” I tried, but he just kept rambling on.

Then I hurried up and got my clothes, and in an awkward silence while putting on my shoes, I joked with the parking system at his building.

“I don’t hope that I get a parking ticket,” I said, and he just smiled and said:
“Then it was all worth it, wasn’t it?” he said, in all seriousness. 

It blows my mind when men are so much out of tune with their partner. Are they even there? I am no sex goddess, but for me good and fantastic sex is when both (or more) parties participate equally and turn on by the others excitement. This wet and speedy experience … in what world was that good?

It baffles me.  

Thumbnail picture by Elsemargriet from Pixabay