Pussification and burgers

I downloaded POF and Tinder. I wrote my profile over and over going for the perfect mix of casual and classy. I put a picture on the site that actually looks like me.

I’m not looking for “in love”. I no longer want or need to feel that emotion. I’m looking for friends, intimacy, connection, fun, chocolate, spankings, and a damn fine cup of coffee. That’s it.

It is difficult to put into words that I’m on a dating site but I don’t want a relationship…. But neither am I looking for a one night stand.

Is there an app for “I want to have long rambling conversations with you and drink wine and meet after work for coffee and get a text with a link to an article you like and maybe if the stars align we could take a tumble in the sheets, but not to really have expectations of each other either?”

No? Oh well…. Okay then.

So here I am on these sites and all I get is :

“Hey Baby”…. Um hey? I’m not your baby.

“Hey wyd, u Kik” … I know what you meant but if you can’t be bothered to type full sentences, then how am I going to have a conversation with you?

I could go on and on. So I took the proactive approach and began messaging people I found interesting. The conversations soon fizzled out. Except one.

We decide to meet for dinner. Great little hole in the way with delicious food.

He says that he does not want to have sex with me. Umm okay, that’s cool. But he said several times before our dinner and twice at dinner. I get it. Really, you don’t want to fuck me. Not everyone does.

But I went from “that’s cool” to “Wow I’ve gained weight and maybe I’m just unpleasant… Do I smell weird” lightening fast. But that’s what happens in my brain although he was probably just trying to come off as an honorable man.

Then I had to explain the concept of consent. It happens. Sometimes a guy just doesn’t understand that my body is mine until I give you permission to touch it and that raising boys to respect boundaries isn’t also teaching them to be pussies. (Skipping over the offensive term pussy… But we are taking baby steps)

I rambled on about this and that and learned about his life and childhood.

He walked me to my car and I noted he didn’t touch me.

The last man to hold my hand across a parking lot was my ex Daddy. I found myself driving home thinking of him and wondering if he misses me like I miss him.

I miss parts of him. I miss being comfortable. I miss the way he looked at me.

When I got home my kid asked how my date went “I’m not ready to date. I’m not even ready to not date. Plus he used the non word pussification. Great conversation, though and a fantastic burger.”

I’m probably going to deactivate my accounts. Not his fault, really. But I am not ready to date.

I need to restock my batteries.

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