Third Date, Last Date

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Truth.

My kingdom for  one good man! And apparently, it’s not this one….

The guy seems to have a lot of promise. Very intelligent, divorced for a couple of years, a guy I know from work  though   he’s  more  often  in  Panama  City  than here. Scientific      mind,  loves   to                 talk                         philosophically. Professional job, easy smile, lovely eyes, a  juvenile but somewhat wicked sense of humor. Seems to understand my spirituality and is willing to talk about it. Yes, a strong possibility here.

Yet I’m ambivalent.  My divorced friends tell me that “3” is the magic number when it comes to bedding a man these days. By then,  they’ve  established that he’s willing to spend some money on them and  they’re not a onenight stand and there’ll be absolutely  no misunderstanding                        that        they’re                  sluts      if             they       wait       until      the                   third date. Okay, whatever.

Even on the third date, I’m ambivalent about whether a goodnight  kiss is in the making. A peck on the cheek was as far as Date  #2 went  and that was a couple  of months before he asked me out on Date #3.          But this is actually drinks and dinner, so I guess the hierarchy  is in working order.

So we sit over drinks in a little bar and chat. He tells me how good it is to see me again and how much he likes this place. I’m still ambivalent but open to the possibilities of seeing this man on a regular basis. There are other men I’d rather be with, but sometimes I  really do want someone to share things with…and we seem to be hitting it off quite nicely.

By his second drink—I’m about 1/3 through mine— he’s heavily into the subject of how much he enjoys his freedom since his divorce. I agree. I mention how I like not being accountable to anyone but myself but he interrupts to tell me that yeah, his sex life is better than it ever was  before. In fact, since he and I last had drinks, he’s been  with   nine   different   women,   some   more   than once. In the Biblical sense.

And as if that’s not just the kiss of death for me—I like  that  illusion  of  believing  I’m  the  only  one,  sorry, however  unrealistic  that  may  be,  and  I  certainly  don’t want to hear about other women’s  attributes—yes,  as if

that’s not the kiss of death for any possibility  for a relationship, he  goes on to list all nine women and what he likes about each one…sexually.

The first was so anorexic that the slightest stimulation shot her into  the  orgasmic  atmosphere.  The  third one pissed him off because after he’d pleasured her orally, she excused herself and never returned (wise girl!). The ninth, well, she spoke only Spanish and he speaks only English but the language barrier didn’t slow them down as he described in explicit detail.

I don’t get the impression that he’s bragging. Maybe he thinks that  giving me his most recent sexual resume will be worthwhile for later? I don’t know. Why do men do that? Tell you about the woman they kept up all last night  or  how  well  they  please  other  women?                 Nine women in such a short time, most of them one-nighters whose names  he  didn’t know and can’t remember,  just doesn’t do anything to make me see him as more appealing. Just the opposite.

All I know is that I’m not at all interested in hearing about the other women in his “network.” And that, after 1/3 of my drink, I’m no longer interested in him.

My kingdom for a good man! Just one good man. Because this one ain’t it.