Twyla

We have a guest post from "D" today.  Happy Dating!

I can still remember dear sweet Twyla (not her real name). Twyla was a teller at the bank I went to and she was kind of cute. Not the kind of cute that made me want to hop the counter, explore the vault and make a deposit, but more like a Kia Sophia rental car. I wanted to race it across town, burn the wheels off and then return it, no strings attached.

I flirted, she flirted back. I suggested going for a drink, she giggled. The warm up was good; I was just waiting to put it in drive.

Well, I got her number and said I would call in a few days. You might imagine my shock then when she called me the next night. Are you wondering why I didn’t mention that she got my number too? Well, that’s because I never gave it to her, she just went into the computer at work and got it from there…yea, no kidding.

Now I’m guessing psycho but I decide to play along because I’m still thinking Kia rental so what the hell. We agree to meet at this dive of a diner (absolute shit hole) for coffee. Prior to going I mentioned to my roomy that he needed to call me in an hour and a half and give me an out….just in case.

So what happens next is right out of Springer. I walk in, find Twyla, approach the table and discover that it’s a party of 3. Sitting comfortably in his car seat is a 6 month old baby boy. Next I’m told that Twyla’s mom and dad are sitting in the booth behind us…they are apparently there because Twyla does not drive and therefore needed a ride. I am then told that the parents decided to stay and have dinner because well, why not eat at this great establishment, you know you want to.

I struggled for the right words at first and probably made an ass of myself but Twyla was cool and seemed relatively peeved that mom and dad had stayed…although she was not too concerned about the effect of baby boy. After a sip of sumptuous diner coffee (made for old people with no taste buds), I started asking about baby. It turns out that dad split the minute he found out that Twyla was preggo and Twyla was not shy that she was looking for a “daddy” to help raise the little man.

At about that point my pecker had begun to head home. Willy was already pissed that some other guy had stolen the Kia idea but my brain and Willy don’t talk much so I got the message late.

Captain Squish

There are a few things I’ve done in my dating career that I really regret. But at least I try to learn from my mistakes.

One night I was out at my local watering hole drinking solo. I do that sometimes, especially when I’m single. It’s the best way to meet men.

So this sweet young thing starts talking to me, and he’s just adorable. He’s in a local band I’ve heard of, but never seen. I even know some of the people in the band, so we have tons to talk about. He’s very sweet, and five years younger than me.

The night turns toward the morning, and we’re still chatting. His friends, including his ride, come and ask him if he’s ready to go, I can tell he’s hesitating, so I offer to give him a ride home if he wants to finish his beer. He eagerly accepts my offer.

But here’s the thing: I’m having fun, but I’m really not DTF that night. Some nights you’re in it to win it, and some nights, not so much. This was not my night.

So by the time the bar closes, when we get into my car, I tell him, “Look, I’m enjoying your company, and if you want to come to my place for a beer, that’s cool, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”

He says he wants to come over, and he’s OK with the deal.

So we go to my place, drink some beers, and make out a bit. It’s getting late, very late, and I’m getting drunk. Somehow, and I honestly don’t remember the details, we decide to go to bed. Again, I tell him he’s welcome to stay, but I’m not going to sleep with him. Oh, yes, fine, fine.

I fall asleep.

Some time later, I wake up, and I realize my hand is on his dick. He’s got my wrist, and he’s pushing my hand into his dick. His flaccid dick.

“What the fuck?” I say, sitting up, “was that your dick?”

“Well,” he said, “I mean, I was kind of expecting more.”

I got up and turned on the light.

“No. Fuck no. You need to leave. Now.”

He pouted while he got his shit together.

“Can you give me a ride?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You can walk.” I lived miles from his house, and I didn’t care.

But you know what? I realized right away what an idiot I had been. I mean, seriously? Don’t let a 22-year-old boy sleep in your bed if you don’t plan on fucking him.

But also, boys, don’t press a sleeping girl’s hand into your fleshy, soft penis. That’s just gross.