When it rains it pours, what’s old is new again,  two steps forward one step back, back to square one, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, there’s someone out there for you, I wasn’t looking for love, you can’t hurry love, and my personal favorite; I thought love was only just for fairy tales. These are all lovely cliches we’ve heard from friends or in songs time and again. Some of it true, some of it designed to keep us going. I may not know much about love or the inner monologue of the opposite sex, but the one thing I don’t know is that it all happens in cycles.

And after an extended time on the top of the wheel, 12 o’clock has become 6.  It wasn’t more than two weeks ago that I was messaging/texting/OkCupiding/dating 4 girls. Now 4 is a bit much for me. I’m not looking to be juggling 4 different women, but occurrences happen and you have to take opportunity when it presents itself. So over the next few posts I’ll go into detail about the rise and fall of the wheel.

The culperates are as follows.

• The Addict
• The New York Post
• Sports Girl
• Quantum_Entropy

I met the Addict on OkCupid.  She seemed cool enough. Liked South Park, enjoys a good whiskey from time to time and is studying Psychology.  A girl with a drive for something is important. But we made plans to meet up and she cancelled a few times. Excuses like, I got home from work and took a nap, slept longer than I meant to, raised a bit of a red flag. My guard was up, but no reason not to meet her.

Eventually we built up enough comfort via text, and I called her a few times, and we set a date. There’s a cool wine bar on the east side that a good classy/fun first date. La Cava is the place. At first glance, her body type was a little bigger than what I’m used to (not fat but definitely pear-shaped.) But she had a pretty face and talking to her was easy and interesting. There was definitely something non-verbal going on.

As we got to chat more (around drink number 3) we started to get a little more personal. We both revealed we were into some fetish/kinky stuff. Her interests definitely complimented mine.  Then she revealed she had some “bootie calls” relationships going on. I’m cool with that. If guys can do it, why can’t women. But at this point I’m thinking this is a girl I’d like as more than just a “bootie call.” By then we were making out in the bar (being THAT couple) and decided it was time to head out.

We stumbled back to her place (on 50 something and York) and I’m wondering how she has a place there. Trust fund maybe? We’re in her bedroom and she gets a phone call. Suddenly she’s like, “You have to go.” And I’m like, “Uh…why?”

Her, “I didn’t think you’d end up back here tonight, so I got another guy coming over and he’ll be here in like 5 minutes.”
Me,”You’re seriously doing this to me?
Her, “I know. I’m sorry, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Me, “Wait, why did you bring me back here if there was another guy coming over?”
Her, “I don’t know, he cancelled on me, but now he’s coming over.”
Me, “So let me know, if a guy did this to you, would you EVER talk to him again?”
Her, “I know. But I do like you!”

At this point she grabs my hand and is putting it down her pants. I pull my hand away. She starts rubbing her ass against my leg. All of a sudden that “pear shape” goes from sexy to repulsive. I just want to get out of there.

Her, “I’m a sex addict. I’m sorry. Will you hang out tomorrow?”

I leave.

Okay so the story wasn’t quite as explicit as I made it out to be. I cut out some details, but you get the idea.  I wandered around the streets of New York pretty much a wreck. In retrospect, I was able to see what it for what it was, a girl who is really into sex had too good of a backup plan. But in the moment, drunk, mega blue balls, and having  just been kicked out of a bedroom, I took it personally.  I felt like the thing that garbage had rejected.  I was a mix of lividly angry and broken to my core.  When you get in that head space, all you want to do is tear yourself down. And that’s pretty much what I did the whole way home.

Next: The New York Post girl (or maybe I’ll do the Sports Girl Virgin.)

-Big Mack Attack.