date machine : internet dating

Date Machine: Bad Sex

airheadgenius — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:29:00 GMT

I kinda sorta think that this tale has been told already, but fuck it - go ahead and fire me. Oh wait, you already did! Boo hoo.

Contact deets at the end...

Zeitgeisty, on more than one occasion, has talked about some women being bad in bed. I’ve definitely experienced ordinary sex and uninspired sex, but other than a few teenage trysts that weren't very satisfactory, I can't say that I have had bad sex. Thank whomever the fuck you thank for things like that. Except for one awful time in 1999 when I first Internet dated. We'd gone out a few times, and got very very drunk on the last date (our third I think) and wound up at my apartment.

That night, we fell asleep in a drunken stupor, but had perfunctory sex the following morning. To quote a friend of mine "It would've been rude not to". I remember thinking "this has to get better", but I had been wrong before, wrong since and boy-oh-boy was I wrong then.

This man kissed really well. I had high expectations for him physically, although mixed feelings about him in general. The main misgiving was that he’d assumed a nickname as his “real” name that had been derived from a spelling mistake in 5th grade and involved an X at then end. It must’ve been killer funny aged 10, but at aged 30 it did seem a little inappropriate.

But that, I could’ve worked with.

However, there were deal breakers to be revealed: the man had an incredibly small penis.

The smallest I have ever encountered before or since. I didn’t notice when we were rolling around drunk, but in the morning as we lay against each other, I couldn’t feel anything. I kept thinking “it must be there somewhere!” and “maybe he takes a while to get a hard on”, but in fact it was already erect and simply very very tiny. If you’re thinking that I don’t sound like an active participant, let me confess that this was not the norm for me as I am not usually shy about grabbing the dick of a man I am in bed with, but in this instance I couldn’t bear to. Deep down, I knew the truth, but acceptance had not arrived and I wasn't prepared to rush it. Had I not been hungover and, therefore, my wits were more about me, I would have declined sex with the first fumble. But my addled brain coupled with my ludicrous tendency towards optimism and a – back then – not insignificant knack for denial enabled me to keep my hands out of his pants lest the sad imagined truth became an even sadder reality.

I won't regale you with any more gory details, but suffice it to say that it's inadvisable to try to put a shine on certain parts of the female anatomy however much you think it is desirable to do so. It's a clitoris, not a brace door knocker. About 10 minutes in, I decided that there was no point offering gentle instruction as you can't make a silk purse from a sows ear. I am not entirely comfortable with that idiom though... so I let him move on top of me and, to the extent that he could, knock himself out. Usually, one can say pounded, or banged, nailed or some such. In this instance, it would be kind to say poked.

He pricked me. Just.

I've had lovers that were fabulous at some things, ok at others, but certainly not terrible at anything. I feel confident that the same would be said of me. Especially the fabulous bit. So, like any other skill set, with each lover there were things that were played up and things that were played down.

This man was bad with his hands, nothing special when going down and terrible at penetration. The experience left me frustrated and wishing that rather than fuck him when we woke up together the next morning, I’d just made him a nice cup of tea and sent him on his way.

So, here are my questions...

1) Which is worse - bad sex or no sex? Or is there a sex/time/quality ratio? Like, after 3 months without, I have to get me some, even if it's crap. Or, after 3 months, I am only accepting good.

2) What, in your not-very-humble opinion, constitutes bad sex? Be demure, or be explicit. There will be a prize for the best analogy though.

This will - hopefully - be a broadcast brought to you by the Good Sex 2009 Party.

Thank you.

(And if you are reading this, man that worked for MTV back in ’99 and had a made up name ending in the letter X, I apologise)

Boo hoo. Very sad that we're being shit canned. If anyone wants to be in touch with me, I've just created my very own get in touch with airheadgenius email: airheadgenius@hotmail.com. Feel free to send job offers, paypal account info, writing gigs, food parcels, dick photos, whatever you like really. And I used to have an airheadgenius blogspot blog which I shut down, but no doubt it will be back up and running in a few.

Instead of the Daily Knob, here's a song for you:

Here are some I made earlier:
Separated
The sexiest man alive
Naked Photos
Ever decreasing circles - have you dated the same men as me?
Way too much information
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?

Date Machine: Way too much information.

airheadgenius — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 23:47:00 GMT

I had a little insight into what it is like to sit across the table from a date machine blogger this week. I've often wondered if Date Machine has a detrimental effect on my dating life and, since meeting up with Ambo and Zeit on Tuesday, I am now convinced of it.

Too much information.
Way too much information.

For example, both gentlemen are attractive and, at face value, dateable. So, had it been an actual date with either one I would have known vaguely what they looked like from their photographs and a little bit about their likes and dislikes from their profile and email. If there had been an email rally, I'd have a sense of at least the potential for conversation. And that would be sufficient. The date would have commenced, chemistry (or lack thereof) would have been established and a second date arranged, or not.

Instead, I know that Zeit likes: big tits, anal sex, coming in someones open mouth, being deliberately argumentative, farting, extreme bowel movements, body hair except on legs, being miserable and not going out very often. He dislikes humans.

Ambo likes flamboyant language, considering the minutiae of other people's sex lives including his parents, examining wrinkles and liver spots, staring at himself naked several times a day, video games. He dislikes many of his dates, physically at least, and is in love with someone else.

My dates know up front - those that read the blog of course - that I like tall men, skinny or built men but not fat men (or even a little shabby), foreskins, people that amuse me. Men also know that I am not a big fan of America or those pesky Americans that live here. To name but a few.

All of the above has been delivered in forthright and finite terms, as if any kind of deviation from the preferences as stated would be a deal breaker.

In fact, I've managed to (albeit begrudgingly) deal with a foreskinless penis, have dated some real shorties, even gone as far as to have two children with an American. (I will not compromise on the penis size issue however. If it is less than 6" and more than 8" then the deal is irreparably broken) But my ability to make concessions on these and many other issues is not remotely clear if one "knows me" from reading my blog.

Even though the three of us, by many accounts, are much more appealing in person, this abundance of insider information makes us much less appealing as a dating prospect. Especially as some of it, presumably, is written in jest or simply to be controversial.

In short, airheadgenius the blogger is shooting airheadgenius the dater in the foot.

Time for a new profile...

Here are some I made earlier:
ahg, zeit, ambo threesome plus booty calls
Is this thing on? Does anyone find love on Nerve?
Do you attract douchebags?
Jaded or pragmatic?
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm

Ok, so the last guy did not have a knob and thus threw everything into confusion. This guy appears to have a reasonably large willie, however he also needs to scratch even on camera which can only mean he's got crabs plus he's stoopid enough to put two watches on. Ah well, it's an imperfect world.

Personals drama: Jaded or pragmatic?

airheadgenius — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 18:06:00 GMT

Do you create personalities?

I got an email from a man last week expressing interest in meeting me.
I declined politely.
He wrote back.
I replied, but again without any indication that this was going to fly.
He is many years older than me which doesn't particularly appeal, but what's really off putting is that his interest is in women much younger than him. His top parameter for age is 8 years his junior. That turns me off completely.

He has since written 3 more times even though I haven't been answering.
Clearly he is convinced that we have something to talk about.

It seems to me that he must have constructed an identity for me. After all, even though my profile is ludicrously long, it still only gives a snippet of information about me. My photos show me on my best day, and me on a regular day, but again, just a snippet.

Somehow, he must have assigned traits and decided we'd get along. I read his profile when I got the first email. He seems perfectly pleasant, but there's nothing about him that I could particularly hang my hat on. Nothing that says he's my kind of guy.

I just wrote him a snippy email. Hopefully that's the end of that.

Do you do that though? Daydream an identity before you've met a person?
I guess I used to - back in my salad days of Internet dating. But after a couple of years (yikes) I tend not to have any expectations at all. If a profile appeals, then I meet for a drink and, if it doesn't work out then c'est la vie.

Does that make me jaded or just pragmatic?

Here are some I made earlier:
Let down badly by an Englishman
Dating and dying
Do your friends hook you up?
Is size everything?
King dong and kizz volume
Prostitues - yay or nay?
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum

Face is nothing special, but you can't have everything apparently

oh, he came out tiny! How disappointing! It looks like he's having a wank too. Ooer!

Date Machine: Are you too hot to Internet date?

airheadgenius — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 14:00:00 GMT

I was discussing Internet dating with my Internet date a few weeks back. He said something to the effect that really good looking people don't do it because they don't need to.

Ouch.

This is not a post on whether or not I am good looking - I am smokin' hot (admittedly with the subtitle "for a women in her 40s)
Or whether or not he has foot in mouth disease - clearly he has.
More, it is about the stigma still attached to the process.
Apparently, according to some, we are here because we can't get attention any other way.

Well, speak for yourself oh big mouthed date.

If I go out for dinner with friends, I tend to only speak to them plus the waiter. But if I go to a bar or club, I almost always get hit on. But not necessarily by men that I would want to be in a relationship with. For me, it's not worth my dating dollar to cruise the bar scene in the hope of meeting someone compatible. Especially as my dating dollars include the cost of a babysitter. It makes much more sense to me to preview a bunch of men from the comfort and relative affordability of my own home. (If a giant mortgage can be considered affordable that is)

I very rarely meet anyone through work: 15 years in the garment district meant for introductions to straight women, gay men and garmentos. These days, juggling my various different jobs, I am still meeting mostly women and gay men.

My pool of friends doesn't lead to introductions either. Most of them at this point are married or partnered with married or partner friends and then the single gals I know are mostly dying to meet a man and are hardly likely to share the wealth. In fact, if an eligible bachelor comes into the radar of a late 30s, early 40s women hoping still to have kids, there's practicaly a feeding frenzy worthy of a pyranha.

Which brings me back to Internet dating. Yes, sometimes it sucks, but what doesn't? With the exception of eating dark chocolate, which is unfailingly fulfilling, everything in life has it's high and low moments doesn't it?

Here are some I made earlier:
Bed
Where do these losers come from?
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single

Date Machine: Where do these losers come from???

airheadgenius — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 01:10:00 GMT

A while back, I exchanged a bunch of emails with this super cute guy. Fit body. Good hair. Seemed intelligent.
But fairly early on in the proceedings, it became clear that he had this spoilt brat rich kid thing going on and was used to getting his own way.

Before we'd even met, he asked if I'd bring the children over because he "likes children. It'd be fun"

I said no.

He got kinda snippy and said that surely it was a relief to find a man interested in my children and that I should take advantage of that fact. I pointed out that it's not like having a puppy - a cute thing to goof around with for half an hour. These are humans. With feelings and attachments and not remotely a part of my regular dating experience.

Rich kid got pissy.

Then pissier.

Upshot is that he emailed me an incredibly vitriolic missive calling me, amongst many other things, a cunt.

Anyways, I blocked him, thanked my lucky stars that I'd avoided meeting someone overdue for a stint in an anger management program and moved on.

Turns out I couldn't have blocked him after all because today he sent me an email saying "didn't we talk a while back? I know we didn't meet because I would have remembered you. What happened?"

I wrote back: "Yeah, we exchanged emails. You called me a cunt. I moved on. Bye"

He wrote back "Oh, sorry about that. I wonder what ridiculous thing sparked that off?"

Note to potential daters... I tend not to be terribly chatty after being called a cunt. I am old fashioned like that.

Jeez Louise, where do these losers come from???

Here are some I made earlier:
How many sexual partners have you had?
The time I dated Zeitgeisty
F*ck off yer ol git
It's not funny being single
The V Word
The taste of kitty
You people smell
Click Addict

Who the heck is this? I could use one of these in my closet - to pull out when I needed it, like the ironing board.

Date Machine: Are you insulted?

airheadgenius — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 03:38:00 GMT

There's been some confusion over on Ambo's blog recently as to what constitutes an insult or a negative description.
Sometimes, its all in the interpretation.

For example, I am not entirely happy with the word "quite" which I take to mean "less than".
As in a recent email from a candidate: "You're quite pretty".

It's not an insult by any means, but it would've been a whole lot better without the "quite" no?

If someone is bored in my company and I discover later that this was the case, I cannot imagine finding that to be anything other than negative.
Admittedly, we can't be all things to all people and so there are bound to be some conversations/dates/outings that smack of boredom, but my policy is to leave as the conversation is starting to wane/drone on depending and thus mitigate the possibility of full out boredom.

But, maybe I am just being negative about the words themselves. Maybe "bored, fat, chunky, flat etc " can be viewed in a positive light
.
For example

"I am so glad your conversation is boring. I am a little tired this evening and might manage to take a quick nap whilst you talk about your dog again"

"I have never been so bored having sex as I was with you last night. Thank you for reminding me why I chose to be celibate"

Maybe it's just all in the translation?

So, beautiful people, did you ever get a backhanded compliment?

Tyson Ballou. I wonder what he does in front of the mirror.

Here are some I made earlier:
Juicy Lips
Dear John, F*ck Off
Cry, get mad, move on soundtrack
Obama Babies
Granny Porn
Seriously, what is the point?
3 Basic Needs
Piercings - love or loathe?

Personals Drama: Dear John--F*ck off!

airheadgenius — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 21:33:00 GMT

Does it need saying?

If you go out on a date and get along ok but are not interested, do you send a Dear John/Jane and say thanks but no, or do you let it slide?

I used to be of the school that wrote a polite "I enjoyed your company but..." because it seemed impolite not to, but lately it just seems superfluous. If you get an email and have that momentary buzz of anticipation, it kinda sucks when you read "no thanks".

Less is more in this instance.

(I am following the recent female trend for extremely short blog posts)

Part of D'Angelo

Here are some I made earlier:
Cry, get mad, move on soundtrack
Obama Babies
Granny Porn
Seriously, what is the point?
3 Basic Needs
Piercings - love or loathe?
Deviant Sexual Practises

Date Machine: When good email goes bad.

airheadgenius — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 16:04:00 GMT

Life's little disappointments:

A hole in your favourite stocking.

A hole in your condom (far far worse, admittedly)

Realising that you have indeed been paid this month, but you've already spent the money.

This seasons trousers simply will not zip up.

You've talked to a hottie, smiled widely and returned home to find spinach in your teeth.

(If I had more time, I'd photoshop "NOT" in the middle of this picture. Use your imagination please)

We've all experienced it. You get an email from someone you find interesting. You respond. (In my case, eventually, as discussed in an earlier post)

A little barrage of email ensues. Happy little fingers tapping on happy little keys. Little zings of anticipatory glee as new email pops into your inbox.

Then a slightly sinking feeling as you check your inbox only to find ways to increase your penis size or remove plaque from your colon.

And then the realisation that another one's gone tits up.

With a nod to karmic fairness, I've been the one that dropped the proverbial orb on several occasions, so maybe I brought it on myself.
But boo hoo anyway.

(In case any of my ex emailers are reading this, I am a hapless correspondent for romantic and mystical reasons. Keep the faith next time)

Just image searched for Mark Strong and got this pic. Last time I saw him, he had more hair. The wonders of cosmetology.

Here are some I made earlier:
Age again, with more feeling
How young is too young, how old is too old?
Shaved or hairy?
Get more dick
Wishing
Longest confession of all time
How kissable are you?

Date Machine: Wishing

airheadgenius — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 18:09:00 GMT

I used to have Dan Wilson playing What a year for a New Year, but it came on automatically every time this page was loaded. I love the song, but if I hear it one more time before next new year I am going to have an attack. Hence its removal.

New Year's Eve and New Years Day are emotional times aren't they?
I vowed last year never to be home for this holiday again, but then my dad got sick and it seemed like the right thing to do.
So inevitably it's been a mixed bag.

Sometimes it's hard to see the wood for the trees. When you're single, singleness can become all consuming and the label that's applied to you. Although perhaps it's just me that thinks that. I've run into a bunch of old friends and not one of them has asked if I am married. Maybe they just assume so because I have kids? In any case, I feel particularly un-partnered at New Year.

The New Year's Eve that really sticks in my mind is the millennium. Ringing in 2000 on the banks of the river Thames with literally millions of people was quite something. But most years, it's just like any other party. Funny how it's the one day that gets blown out of all proportion.

All day, I've been sad that I don't have any big plans for tonight. I've been let down by both of my siblings and, since I am staying in a small rural town, there isn't anything to latch on to at last minute.

I try to be positive, but my nature tends towards the "half empty" scenario. Especially when I am at home. When I am here, my focus is on what's missing not on what I've got and consequently I've been thinking about what didn't happen this year.

On Christmas Eve, I talked at length to an old friend from high school. He'd recently got divorced and has yet to have kids even though he wants them. We were talking about the perils of Internet dating in ones 40s and he said "you are so lucky to already have children".

Yes, I am.

In 2008, my children turned 5 and 7. One learned to swim, the other learned to swim better. Training wheels came off. Baby teeth fell out. They grew taller and stronger. They said "I love you" a million times. It was a good year.

Tonight, I will ring in the New Year with my sons. I've got alcohol for me and sparkling apple cider for them. We've got Jools Holland's Hootenanny on the telly and sparklers to wave in the back garden.

Have a Happy New Year. Resolutions are often more like wishes, so I hope a few come true.

Here are some I made earlier:
Longest confession of all time
How kissable are you?
Happy Boxing Day
Merry Miserable Fabulous F*cking Christmas
Persistent, interested or just plain annoying?
Do blondes have more fun?

Nerve Confessions: L-o-n-g-e-s-t confession of all time

airheadgenius — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 17:10:00 GMT

In case you missed it, here is the longest confession ever from the Nerve Confessions page:

"i dont understand what i see, or maybe now its to the point where i dont see anything at all but the fact that i am in denial will not allow me to stop aknowledging you. maybe i like the chase, maybe i like knowing that i will never ever know how you feel, and in that insanity and create sane love stories of us being together. maybe its because i had a taste, because my lips had the chance of salivating and coming in contact with yours. and your lips were so big they over powered mine. maybe i like felling suffocated in ur big man arms. i felt like i was in a straight jacket when we cuddle. for those moments i was crazy for you. scratch that, i am only crazy about you when i am not in your presence. when we're together it feels perfectly normal. im completely comfortable. i sit here everyday and question what you dont see in me, because i see everything. i see how i cant make you laugh, like really laugh. i see how i stratch your head in all the right spots. i see how when we cuddle and our bodies are entwined , you fall right into place with mine, you head fit right on my chest, my legs tucked neatly by your stomach, and everything feels good. i tell our sad hopeless chance of nothingness love story to random people, just because i think that maybe the next time i tell it i will find an answer. its not even like you are unpredictable, because you are completely predictable. i can pin point when you're going to ignore my i.m, when you're going to get upset, when you're going to pretend like you dont care, but the truth of the matter is you care more than we all know. you have developed this character for yourself, this male being that feels the need to sit on a pedestal, one that is held up by the women that go weak in the knees for you. you live to never be captured.to never be seized, couped, entangled in a teenage love affair. you are the john tucker of the bronx, corny to say, but true to the tee. but like i said you are the main actor in your own play. you direct the scene, you choose the cast and you potentially decided the ending. i want to be the leading lady, the one who pulls down the stage curtains. the one that wipes away the makeup, who ripps the script and alters the ending. i want to bring your alter ego to a demise.i think that i just want to capture you, to change you. i know, i know, i am not a super hero, nor a witch, and have no supernatural powers. I JUST WANT YOU TO FUCKING SEE WHAT YOU ARE MISSING OUT ON, DAMMIT. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU. i have tried it all and you have tried nothing, yet you take the lead. i bake the cake but you eat it in all its glory. i hate this, i hate how vunerable i feel. i hate how weak i make myself look, how im willing to do anything for you to notice how great i am. i am getting tired so i will end my thoughts here for the night, just know this is not over."

Now there have definitely been some criticisms about the writing ability of the bloggers on Date Machine, so you might think that I don't have a leg to stand on when voicing criticism, but I can't imagine being moved by something so badly written. Can you?

It occurs to me that I am deciding on dateablility depending on the quality of the emails I receive. The emails that appeal to me are witty and entertaining and they are the ones that I take to the date stage. But what if someone just doesn't have good writing skills? With my formula, they are toast.

I am not too concerned about sentence structure and "correct" use of language, if that isn't abundantly clear already, and can manage to overlook your and you're if I really try, but what I can't abide is those "interview" type emails with formulaic questions and no personality. If that's all a person can come up with given the luxury of time and re-writes, it doesn't bode well for a spontaneous conversation.

BUT

One of my best friends in London is fantastic company - witty, engaging, hilariously funny. Yet her emails are pedestrian.
If she'd written to me via the Internet we would never have made it to the great friends stage. And that would have been terrible.

How else to decide? How can one tell if there's a witty conversationalist trapped in the body of an ordinary emailer? Maybe the dull emailer just doesn't have good typing skills and his thoughts flow faster than he can commit them to paper? Screen I mean.

I've exchanged several emails with one man and there seems to be no flow developing. His profile is interesting, his photos are appealing, but his command of the written word at least, leaves me cold. To pursue or not to pursue, that is the question.

See, I could give the not-very-engaging writers the benefit of the doubt, but risk a dull date. Or I could continue with my strategy and risk passing on the man of my dreams simply because he's a 2 finger typist.

The main issue is, and to quote Aaron Neville, "My time is too expensive"
If I went out every night, I could blast through a ton of suitors - witty writers and otherwise - and find the one I want. Like getting a new job.
But at $12/hr, it's not such a viable plan.

I was wondering why I've gone out on dates with so many writers. "Duh!!!"
I guess I have to give this more thought...

Here are some I made earlier:
How kissable are you?
Happy Boxing Day
Merry Miserable Fabulous F*cking Christmas
Persistent, interested or just plain annoying?
Do blondes have more fun?
A nod to amboabe
The road less travelled

Personals Drama: Persistent, interested or just plain annoying?

airheadgenius — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 18:57:00 GMT

I got an email yesterday from a new man. Perfectly reasonable opening gambit, decent profile, nice looking.

I read it, wondered if he might have potential and went to bed. This morning, I got up, took one of my kids to the doctor, took my dad to the supermarket, had lunch, baked mince pies, then went with my kids to the park, all of which brought me up to about 4pm.

And then I checked my email. The same man had written and said that he'd thought he would at least get a smart ass comment from me.

Easy now tiger. I have better things to do, or at least things to do, than write back return of post.

This has happened a bunch of times - a very short amount of time has elapsed from an original note and the chappy in question has written a second and even third email trying to determine if there's any interest from me.

And I've got to admit it, it pisses me off.

It doesn't annoy me because of any notion of "correct" behaviour. I don't mind getting several emails in a row from someone I've started a correspondence with and, if I think of something to tell a friend/potential date, then I will go ahead and do so, regardless of whether or not it's my turn. It's just this idea that I have nothing better to do than write back. It says plainly on my profile that I have children - doesn't that at least suggest that I have things to do?

On top of that, I like to email people when I have something to say other than just exchanging pleasantries or, worse still, responding with some pedestrian note that doesn't suggest any personality whatsoever. I feel the same way about responding to comments here - sometimes I am just not in the mood to think of pertinent replies, so I leave it alone.

In some instances, no news is good news.

Anyway, now I feel badgered and it's kinda killed the mood for me. Hopefully he wasn't the love of my life...

(I don't want to jinx myself though. It's not that I don't want to get email - I love email! I just don't like being nagged)

Daniel Henney

Here are some I made earlier:
Do blondes have more fun?
A nod to amboabe
The road less travelled
Stupid computers Stupid internet
Sexy Ass
How do you feel about penetration

Date Machine: The road less travelled

airheadgenius — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 17:56:00 GMT

This is a quickie. I am in the midst of packing for my trip home for the holidays. Which got me to thinking about travel and then some of the people I've dated over the years...

I am by no means well travelled, but have notched up maybe 15 countries. I've been to France probably 20 times, Spain about the same, Italy at least 10.

All of my trips have been in Europe with the obvious exception of America and an extravagant long weekend in Aruba for my 40th.

I've dated a few American men that had never left the country. One guy didn't have a passport until he accompanied me to England. My mind boggles at that and I can't imagine a young English person not leaving their country. (Although unfortunately a fair few have only been to the Costa del Sol)

Travel broadens the mind. There's no doubt about that. And I can't imagine dating anyone that hasn't at least left the safety of their own homeland. A lot of my frustrations with the greater American public is that they just don't seem to understand much about the rest of the world. THERE IS A REST OF THE WORLD PEOPLE!

Maybe you are travelling in your own country, given that it's pretty big, but Australia's big also and those fuckers travel like no ones business.

There are of course the travel obsessed who've been to each and every continent and wear their journeys like a badge of honour. More power to them, except my days for doing that are temporarily numbered - unless we win the lottery. Slumming it with children isn't a look I am going for.

Anyways, my question of the day:

Do you travel oh beautiful Date Machine readers? And how do you feel about thems that do and thems that don't?

(We leave at 5am. Apparently it's best to pack some time in advance. How old fashioned)

Here is my daily (door) knob. How bloody marvelous is this???

Here are some I made earlier:

Stupid computers Stupid internet
Sexy Ass
How do you feel about penetration
I suck at internet dating
Zeitgeistys Missing Man
Politics of Contraception
Turning into Zeitgeisty
Feeling my age
The real deal profile

Date Machine: Drunk Emailing with J, or How to Fail at Seduction

amboabe — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 06:23:00 GMT

This is my second time using an online service for dating. In LA two years ago I signed up for my first account. I had no idea what I was doing or what to expect, but I knew at least three other friends who had thrown their lot into the anonymous internet wading pool so I decided to blow up my floaties and join them. I went on four tepid dates over the course of six months and canceled my profile. My strategy was to forget I had a profile for weeks at a time then come home after a night out with friends and drunkenly spam everyone I found remotely attractive with an avalanche of winks. The next day I would wake up and find a trickle of responses, most from women that I can't imagine having ever been attracted to in the first place.

In this second round of internet dating I've tried to be a little more careful about who I try to start a conversation with. Still, I've had some moments of fantastic stupidity. After my office holiday party last week I came home reeling from a shot of fernet that I had thought would somehow be a good gesture of camaraderie to share with a co-worker. Why my company has chosen to host their holiday party on a weeknight for two years running remains a mystery to me. Nothing says end-of-the-week productivity like a party with an open bar on a Thursday night.

As I was trying to reconcile with the painful prospect of four hours of sleep on a roiling stomach-full of chardonnay and Italian voodoo vinegar I decided I was also in the perfect frame of mind to check my emails. I saw that I had gotten a note from a pretty woman I had written to a few days earlier. I opened her email and didn't even finish reading it before I started composing a response.

I'm not shy about telling people when I think they're attractive. I'm not all that inspired by physical symmetry, but it's really the only barometer I use (in conjunction with age and occupation) when looking at people online. So I was all too happy to write back an innuendo-laden email to J. I used the word "us" repeatedly, made reference to astrology. To complete the circle of stupidity I tried to make a glib joke about her mentioning a trip to Argentina for the holidays as a "Central American" excursion. Drunk people are only charming when in like company, and even less so when the record of that awkward fumbling is viewed the morning after in harsh black and white lettering.

I liked J. She used exclamation points when she wrote to me. She was a painter. She teased me about the first few questions I asked her. I do not think I'll hear from her again.

Previous Posts:

Sex Machine: Listening to the Neighbors Have Sex

Date Night: In Which I Try To Believe In Aliens

Date Machine: Rate My Pick-Up Lines Redux

Love Machine: Loyal as a Dog

Date Machine: Rate My Politics

High School Machine: Ten-Year Reunion Fantasies

Date Machine: Setting Up Your Friends

Sex Machine: Having Sex at Weddings Redux

Love Machine: Making Love to ESPN

Date Machine: 5 Things I'm Thankful For

Sex Machine: Having Sex at Weddings

Love Machine: What Work Is

Sex Machine: Sleeping Naked

Love Machine: Breaking Up in a Text Message

Date Night: The F U Date

Sex Machine: Shave My Bush

Love Machine: Taking A Break From Dating

Date Machine: The Celebrity You Most Resemble

Sex Machine: I Kissed A Boy

Vote Machine: No Gay People Can't

Sex Machine: Let's Have an Orgy

Sex Machine: My First STD

Sex Machine: There's a Possibility You've Been Infected With HIV

Crying In Public: Some Corner in Brooklyn

Personals Drama: I suck at internet dating

airheadgenius — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 03:38:00 GMT

In light of Zeitgeisty and Amboabe's recent posts about pick up lines, I decided to review my inbox to see if I'd got any good opening gambits to share.
I've deleted a lot of my emails though since I have this arbitrary management system: the first time my inbox reached 200 emails, I deleted the oldest 100 and then let it creep back up again. Every time I get back to 200, I delete 100 of them. It's a pretty unsophisticated system admittedly, but for whatever reason, having more than 200 little messages screws with my dating karma. In my mind at least.

So, today as I scrolled though, I came across at least 20 that I'd failed to reply to. These guys fell under the heading "I have no interest in you whatsoever", but I meant to send them at the very least a quick reply saying thanks, but no.

Much more worrying though, were the 20+ men that I had fully intended to reply to. 20+ eligible men, according to their profiles at least, that I found interesting.

And that's my fatal Internet dating flaw - I don't write back.

I noticed one guys profile had been turned off. He wrote to me when I first signed up about, yikes, close to two years ago now. He wrote to me and I failed to write back for an entire YEAR. I then wrote and said I'd been busy. Haha - cracking myself up here - and he wrote back, still interested. We exchanged a few more emails and he asked me on a date several times, but I dropped the ball again.

I have a lot to do most days and dating post kids is not as spontaneous or convenient as it was pre-kids, but it is certainly not impossible and my logistics don't preclude the exchange of email.

Sometimes I wonder if the possibility of meeting someone fabulous is an easier notion to deal with than the cold hard reality of a meeting followed by a dearth of physical attraction. Or maybe Internet dating just isn't the right medium for me.

My profile has been viewed 15,000 times and I've gotten myriad emails from men both before and after we've met in person. It would be reasonable to surmise from this that I am either ridiculously picky or just don't have that much of a desire to be in a relationship.

Bob The Builder (he of the same slogan as Obama, 'cept Bob had it first) At least he'd be handy. My hallway needs painting.

Here are some I made earlier:
Zeitgeisty's Missing Man
Politics of Contraception
Turning into Zeitgeisty
Feeling my age
The real deal profile
In my bedroom one will find
Biggin it up
The facial hair pubic hair conundrum
The trouble with rich men
5 Things I am Thankful for
British Personal Ads
How do you like to be dumped?
Not much to do with dating
Duh!
Do you date aliens

Date Machine: Feeling my age

airheadgenius — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 03:19:00 GMT

Yesterday, the afro peeps and I were travelling home on the bus when a woman said to me "your grand kids are beautiful". I gave her this kinda half smile and she said "Oh MY God, you're the mom. I'm so sorry. They are beautiful. It wasn't me who said it. It was my twin. Ignore her. They are beautiful".

It was funny. But a little bit upsetting nonetheless.

The woman that said it was about 50 or 55. Maybe she had grand kids of her own older than my children and so that's her frame of reference. Let's face it, I could've had my children at 17 and they could've had kids at 17 and so my kids could conceivably be my grands.

But they ain't.

Before kids, I used to look young for my age, but since having them I don't get enough sleep for that phenomenon to continue. But I don't look older than my real age either. The circles that I move in, most of my friends are mid 30s to late 40s all with kids under 10. To us, this is normal. But, according to the 2006 census, the average age of a woman giving birth to her first child is 25.2. That makes me just shy of a decade late.

It's almost impossible to imagine having kids any younger. To have missed out on all the things I did before they arrived. It's also hard to think of being 41 and middle aged, or thereabouts.

One confession resonated very strongly with me:

When I glance over profiles of men in their 40s, my overwhelming feeling is that they look like old farts. And I've no desire to date them, much less see them naked. But then I look at profiles of men younger than me and they make me feel exhausted. Maybe I'm an old fart too?

On that happy note, I am going to try to go to bed early. See if I can't sleep off a wrinkle or two...

Zeitgeisty is almost bound to draw a picture of me as an old lady tomorrow. Save it four-eyes, I'm one step ahead of you :)

Hot old fart (you do him though - he's much too old for me)

Here are some I made earlier:
The real deal profile
In my bedroom one will find
Biggin it up
The facial hair pubic hair conundrum
The trouble with rich men
5 Things I am Thankful for
British Personal Ads
How do you like to be dumped?
Not much to do with dating

Date Machine: Daddy's Girl

airheadgenius — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 15:04:00 GMT

I am not a daddy's girl as far as the usual use of the term goes.

My dad does not think that I am his precious princess and that no one is good enough for me.
In fact he thinks I am opinionated and bossy and his sympathies have almost invariably been with my boyfriends.

He doesn't think I am his beautiful baby girl either.
The closest I've ever got to a compliment from him was, and referring to me and my two siblings, "you're not a bad looking lot really".

And we had a hellish time when I was a teenager. He just couldn't figure out why I wasn't remotely afraid of him, even though he's almost a foot taller than me.
Nothing personal dad, I just don't scare easy.

I've challenged his perceptions over the years in a way that my siblings haven't. He didn't expect me to out earn the rest of the family put together, nor did he expect me to move to LA or NY. He wasn't exactly anticipating mixed race grand kids either, although he couldn't love them more if he tried.

Since I've had those kids though, we've kinda got into a groove and we just get along. He's funny. We share a sick sense of humour.

And today he had major surgery to have his stomach removed, which is why I am in England.
I wasn't sure whether or not to come - the kids and I will be here at Christmas after all.
So, I asked him: "dad, are you planning to die on the operating table?". He laughed. "I can't say I am planning to, but I'll buy your ticket so you can be here in case".

We understand each other.

The best thing about my dad is that he knows stuff. He's one of these people that reads the newspaper and absorbs and remembers most of what he's read.
"Dad, could you explain the origins of the Arab/Israeli conflict"
"Dad, I want to move a load bearing wall in my house. How do I do it?"
"Dad, what time of year do I cut back the rhododendron?"

Before the Internet, I had questions for my dad a couple times a week. But even though I can find all the things he knows on the Internet, I like to ask him. I like that he just knows.

And that's what makes me a daddy's girl.

I am distrustful of men that can't build stuff. Or fix stuff. Or ones that won't get their hands dirty.

I am bright and resourceful, but was at school in England in the progressive "silly 70's" and my general knowledge is a testament to that - my grasp of geography and history is appalling and I barely know an acronym from my elbow. I need a man that has facts at his disposal. I don't need the emotional repression or the inability to express feelings that is common in my dad's generation, but I do need a big strong capable man in my life.

So, I am inordinately glad that my dad, surgery risk that he is, made it through today. I am sitting in the hospital cafeteria with my brother, waiting to go see him in recovery. Have an equally relief filled day if you can.

The obligatory back catalogue:
I need a Frenchman
What I want
The Fart Edition
Fisting and small snatches
How bloggers date
Did he die?
Je t'adore
Zeitgeisty's Behaviour
Rate my Profile
My kink is better than your kink
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

As you can see from the shape and size of his ball(s), Danny Cipriani plays rugby. (That's an English game you daft lot) By all accounts he's a tough tackler.

Date Machine: I need a Frenchman

airheadgenius — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 19:08:00 GMT

So, I've exchanged a bunch of emails and had a conversation with a day trader turned academic.

And exchanged a bunch of emails with an academic turned lawyer. (The latter being 5 years younger than me - he says - with a face as fresh as a daisy.)

Between their schedules and my schedule, we have yet to actually meet. To be fair, my life is less hectic, but a single mother's spontaneity requires 24 hours notice. Ha freakin ha.

But it gets me to thinking.... as so many things do - that New Yawkers HAVE to be busy. It's kind of an unwritten law. Part of the contractual obligation of living here. Even if you're sitting home with your thumb up your arse, you have to SAY you have plans.

Then again, maybe internet daters are by definition busier than 'real life' daters. Maybe the reason we are on here in the first place is because we don't have time to engage with the real world beyond our jobs or family obligations. Maybe.

In any case, I am tired of the overscheduled under satisfied New Yawkers. I need to find myself an Englishman. Surely one of my own would have plenty of time for a beer, that being our own cultural requirement. Unless said Englishman had succombed to the pressure of the city and was working late rather than drinking in an approximation of a pub.

Here's a plan - I need a Frenchman. Yep -that's my new strategy. They ALWAYS have the time for alcohol.

If you are French, dear reader, please drop me a line.

The obligatory back catalogue:
What I want
The Fart Edition
Fisting and small snatches
How bloggers date
Did he die?
Je t'adore
Zeitgeisty's Behaviour
Rate my Profile
My kink is better than your kink
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

Olivier Martinez. If only all Frenchmen looked like this...

Personals Drama: Did he die, or does he just not want to date me?

airheadgenius — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 20:33:00 GMT

So, he didn't ever write back to me.
The man that I married in my head.

It's ok really I know, but irritating none the less.
Where are his manners?
I mean, anyone can make a polite excuse - I met someone else, I am moving to Baltimore, I have inoperable cancer. See how easy that was?

To cap it all, we'd spoken on the phone. So, not only has he rejected me on the grounds of email, he has also rejected my dulcet tones. And don't forget I've got that accent going on. Gotta admit it, that stings.

Not that I haven't dished out my own fair share of rejection. In all fairness, I've been the rejector more often than the rejectee. But I don't leave my suitors hanging, wondering why. (That was a bare faced lie I've just realised. Sorry hanging peeps)

Being the rejector is better for the ego, I guess, but bad for the id. My ego does not have to contend with the notion that I might have a face like a slapped arse, but then my id doesn't get to get it's freak on.

I wish I hadn't ended my hook up. I have hook up rules though... once someone has been dismissed from service, it seems inappropriate to just call them up for a drive by. Kinda rude. I mean, even non-commitment has it's commitment element no? Plus, he broke the service agreement and therefore negated the contract. He got a little too involved and then I got a call from the girlfriend that I didn't know he had. (Actually, neither did he. She was an ex and stalkers are not a beautiful thing)

Anyway, back to the subject of my rejection. What I hate the most about this site is that you can go look at their profile to see if they've been back to the site. He has. And thus my fantasy that he died in a fire is dispelled. Not that I wish death by flame on anyone, but surely it's better to think he met an untimely death than face the fact that he just doesn't want to go out with me. Oo - but wait - maybe it's not him on his profile. Maybe he died in his bed at the hand of a violent lover and some detective is ploughing through his history folder looking for clues. Yep - that's definately more plausible. Feeling a bit better now.

(In case no-one ever writes to me again, this is not a serious post. It is ironic. It's supposed to be funny. Chuckle you serious mothafuckas. Chuckle why dontcha)

And in conclusion, direct your ears back to the top and the words of Aimee Mann. Insert "almost" as appropriate.

This song could be Nerve's anthem...

The obligatory back catalogue:
Je t'adore
Zeitgeisty's Behaviour
Rate my Profile
My kink is better than your kink
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

Today, I am posting an anti-knob, because I just don't get what all the fuss is about. Benicio del Toro looks like my kid's pediatrician. She is a bit mannish it has to be said. In any case, other chicks like him so this one is for you other chicks.

Date Machine: Je t'adore

airheadgenius — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 23:56:00 GMT

I go through phases of dating and phases where I just can't be bothered with it.
But when I am in one of those "meet 6 people in a short period of time" moods, I tend to come up with more precise realisations about what I can deal with in a relationship. Not superficial characteristics like hair color or cynical ones like a base line salary (although there is always the minimum package size requirement, but we've been there already, hehe) it's more about their attitudes and how that might reflect on me.

And that's how I came up with today's new rule:

I need to be adored!

I've got a reasonably healthy self esteem. I am extremely confident about my intelligence and mental capability, reasonably at one with my personality and, for the most part content with my appearance. As a mother of two, I hanker back to the pre-kid-more-sleep days and wonder what on earth I was worried about back then, but when I look in the mirror, I am fine with my reflection. I am not a beauty, nor will I win pageants, but I am a good looking woman.

But I am not content with my lover, FWB or partner thinking that I am simply reasonably attractive. Nope. My lover has to think that I am the most gorgeous thing he's seen. The proverbial "best thing since sliced bread". Luckily for me, I've dated, bedded and lived with men who genuinely loved my appearance.

Yes, it's self esteem, not my-lover-makes-me-feel-better esteem. But it isn't about someone else validating me entirely, just that in my case, doubt sets in if I am not sure that the man is physically completely into me.

I am in no way shape or form a princess. I've been the breadwinner throughout my pregnancies and whilst raising my kids, I am a landlord and self sufficient financially. I lift heavy stuff. I put up shelves, paint, tile, change light bulbs, remove mice from mousetraps (although thank fuck that those days are over) and was the one that ploughed through the sewer leak in the cellar (what an awful time to discover that ones rubber boots were not waterproof).

I also don't seem to mind if my man thinks I've done something stupid, or made a bad judgement call. That aspect of my self esteem is sturdy and robust. This adoration requirement only seems to manifest in the physical.

So, if we've met and you think I am gorgeous, then please continue to be in touch. If we've met and you think I am just ok, then by all means keep it movin'.
This chick needs adoration.
Thank you.

(It doesn't take Freud to tell you that I wasn't complimented much as a kid. Must go and tell my children they are beautiful...)

The obligatory back catalogue:
Zeitgeisty's Behaviour
Rate my Profile
My kink is better than your kink
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

I used to have a giant crush on Dave Wakeling from The Beat (errr, they weren't called the English Beat ya know). I prolly would've done Ranking Roger a serious favour too.

Personals Drama: Do you rate my profile?

airheadgenius — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 01:46:00 GMT

Someone wrote to me yesterday and said that mine is the best profile they have ever read.
Aww, thanks.
But "if I were to critique it"....
WTF???

And my profile is apparently too long.
Men have written to tell me that
"it's really funny, but a little too long"
WTF mark ll.
Did I submit the thing for a critique? You want to send it back with red pen all over it? Grade me even???
Don't write to me, dear heart, if it's too long - don't waste your precious brain cells thinking about a response.

Now, please don't misunderstand me, I am not suggesting that mine IS the best profile in the world, nor that it is without fault. But it is MY profile, created and published by me as a means to meeting a lover or a partner or even just for some light entertainment. It was not launched into the ether in an attempt to garner critique on my writing skills.

I get a bunch of emails saying "I read the whole thing"
Err, and??
Aren't you supposed to?
I read your whole thing too - in fact, I remain captivated by the dullest of them sometimes. Like WTF were you thinking??? Is this working for you? Seriously? Anyway, I digress.....

Ok mine is long as a profile goes, but it's hardly long as a piece of writing.
You don't win a special award because you made it through to the end and spent, oh...maybe 3 minutes of your time.
You concentrated for 3 whole minutes! Yay!! Maybe your mother wasn't demonstrative or something.....

Come on now, if I was trying to attract the kind of man that can't even be bothered to read what I have to say as well as look at my pictures, then I'd just use a picture of my tits. Or arse. Or maybe this one of me in a towel from my old blog..

.

And if you find my profile a challenging read, for Christ's sake, don't ever get yourself started on Ulysses!
(Oh calm down, I am not comparing my profile to the work of James Joyce. It is merely a size comparison. Geez)

I am very aware that my profile puts off more people than it attracts - given that I have been viewed in the thousands and written to in the hundreds. Presumably my face is more appealing than my brain.
Whatever. That's cool too.

Because my brain is where it's at. In my opinion anyway.

If you can't cope with my profile, or better yet my blog, then what's the point of even a first date, let alone a second?
If you can't cope with a woman with a brain and the ability to express herself - then you can sod off too.

There's all this talk from the hairier gender about their desire for an intelligent woman. "Looks are sexy, intelligence is sexier" and all that horseshit. Us chicks know that it's mostly just marketing. Yeah, portray yourself as mister new man equality, with just enough rugged masculinity to keep us wanting you. You ain't slick. You don't think we're going to notice the change a few months down the line when you're watching the game, scratching your balls and asking us to crack open another beer for you?

If you want someone to pad behind you thinking you are oh so fabulous, get a freakin dog.

p.s. If you are a genuine "looks are sexy, intelligence is sexier" new age rugged man, please write to me quick style. Thanks.

The obligatory back catalogue:
My kink is better than your kink
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

One wouldn't want someone so campishly rugged in real life, but he's awfully cute to look at. Orlando Bloom.

Personals Drama: Tie me up, Tie me down. Or, my kink is better than your kink.

airheadgenius — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 00:39:00 GMT

Gotta love Almodovar. Ok, not so much a kink, more a choice.

As mentioned in my profile, a guy once emailed me saying that he would like to tie me to a tree and beat me. I declined the offer saying that it wasn't my thing. He asked why not. I replied that I am just as likely to be the one doing the tying as the one being tied. He responded that if I was looking for a submissive, then he was not my guy. Duh - we had established that. But I am not looking for a submissive, or to be dominant, necessarily. Just looking for nuance. I pointed that out (why I got into this discussion, I am not sure. Must've been a slow news day) and he responded with something to the effect that S&M was one of the most spiritually fulfilling experiences one could ever have. Maybe so. But surely it's only fulfilling if you're into it in the first place?

My point here is... why does your choice have to be my choice? And if I am not making a judgement on you, then why are you making a judgement on me? Just because I don't want to be tied to a tree and beaten, surely that doesn't make me sexually unevolved?

If you want to be into S&M, go ahead. Knock yourself out. On second thoughts, knock someone else out.

But in New York, everyone's got a kink it seems. Or at least a penchant for some strange activities. Check out this one from Nerve Confessions:

WTF??? Whilst bouncing?

Online dating, well New York in general, has been a study in the differences between Americans and English. A conversation was had a while back with an English friend and here's our conclusions... well, not conclusions, more ramblings:

It seems that the English are into having sex. Glorious sex. In whatever guise it comes - or not as the case may be. Now maybe it's New York, or maybe it's just that the times are a changin', but it seems that here and now, everyone's got a "thing". This one's into blondes with big tits, that one's into skinny, this one's into fat, S&M, etc etc. My friend's observation was that here, gay men are either tops or bottoms. Back home apparently it's more of a free-for-all.

So, peeps used to like drinking coffee. Now they like to drink a grande mocha 1% extra shot no whip whatever-the-fuck. Sex used to be just sex. Now, in this world of commodification and consumerism, you get to specify the exact sex you are looking for. Not "let's see what evolves", more "let's be clear before we even get naked".

I call it the Starbucks effect.

The obligatory back catalogue:
The good the bad and the ugly
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

And now on to my daily knob: I was thinking bondage, then punk naturally, then all the punk bands I'd seen back in the day and then the ones I had a crush on. Settled on The Stranglers, since I had a crush on JJ Burnel, Hugh Cornwell and Dave Greenfield. Sorry Jet Black, you were always a bit pudgy for my tastes.
This takes me back to Ipswich Gaumont around 1980

Date Machine: Personal photos - the good, the bad and the ugly

airheadgenius — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 01:13:00 GMT

It is highly possible that I have blogged this already. My brain has gone a little pear-shaped after a sleepless weekend, so please forgive the transgression. If indeed there is one.
Here goes nothing...

Zeitgeisty posted about women showing up on dates bearing little or no resemblance to their photo.

I don't have the balls to do that.

I've gone on dates where men have said they were relieved I looked like my pictures as, apparently, women show up years older and 50 lbs heavier.
Again, it takes balls to do that.
And blind faith.
But balls none the less.

Now several men have tipped up after apparently spending too long in the tumble dryer or something, because they've been considerable shorter than advertised. One guy, who claimed to be 5'7" said "you're smaller than I expected you to be". My profile says 5'3", but I was in heels and so was exactly 5' 6" and could see clean over the top of his head. Yet I was the one who appeared smaller. Oh-kaaay.

(Truth be told, I lie about my height since I am 5' 2 1/2", but there's no way I am showing up in bare feet and so actually am between 5'3" and 5'7", footwear dependent. But I digress)

Men lie about their height a lot. About their body shape a little - honey, that is soooo not what I'd call athletic - and and a few lie about their hair, or lack thereof. But the variables with the average man are pretty narrow. Especially after mid 30s or so. I think it's fair to say that most 35+ men have shortish hair. Americans are a conservative bunch in terms of clothing, so there's not much to switch up there.

Women, as my height example shows above, can change rather more dramatically. We can be taller or shorter depending on shoes, hair can be worn up or down, make up or no make up, push up bra or not, tight clothes or loose etc etc. A well cut outfit can trim 10lbs off a woman's body. Even a little make up can transform a face.

The folk that show up bearing no resemblance to their photo have played a foul and should be given at the very least a yellow card, but the ones who look maybe not quite like you expected should be given the benefit of the doubt. It is very difficult to cast a critical eye over your own photograph. We all know what we look like in the mirror - I for one look gorgeous - but unless we're actors or in the habit of filming ourselves for kicks, we have little idea how we appear to the viewer as the animated beings that we are.

I'd like to think that, as a mature grown women, I can spend an hour with pretty much anyone and find a way to be pleasant. Even if they're sporting a toupee or have all their tackle stuffed down one trouser leg. A confessor over on Nerve Confessions said she could see disappointment in her date's eyes. And as far as I am concerned, that's a red card foul. If your date walks in with a face like a slapped arse, pin a smile on your face and be a grown up. It's, at most, an hour out of your life and being civil and pleasant company gives you good karma for dates to come.

There should be a code of honour for Internet daters. A very short version of the Hippocratic oath--"First, do no harm".

Surely that's not too much to ask?

(Oh and yeah, I know that "first, do no harm" is not exactly in the Hippocratic oath, but that's the gist of it. This sentence loosely translates as "piss off yer purist!")

The obligatory back catalogue:
I am a whore
First Date sex?
Small Juicy Ones
The Perfect Blowjob
What is a boyfriend
Friends with Benefits
Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

I am loving the youtoob links and so, to that end, feast yourself on the dead, yet gorgeous, Jim Morrison. He was a hairy fucker fa reals. Damn fine tune too - Peace Frog. (And yeah, it does kinda sound like I'm Free by the Soup Dragons, but Jim got there first)

Sex Machine: Interviewing for position of Friend with Benefits

airheadgenius — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 19:35:00 GMT

One night stands don't cut it for me at this point. My lifestyle is not conducive and also there's a lot of ground work to do beforehand. You either have to plough through profiles or get into elaborate email exchanges, or spend time hanging out in bars. Plus, if you go through a dry spell, it's awful for a while and you feel like you're going to die from frustration, but like any addiction, the desire fades a little bit at least. A hook up leaves you wanting more, but almost inevitably the physical attraction is not matched with an emotional or intellectual attraction, hence the tendency for hook ups to be unsuitable as a partner.

Friends with benefits are more convenient since I like my sex on tap. A neighborhood FWB is the best friend of all. That way, I don't have to plan ahead, get babysitters, etc etc, all I have to do is dial up.

At some point in the next year or so, it would be pretty cool to get an actual relationship going on. A manfriend. But they are time consuming and i just don't always have the mental energy it requires. This is not to say that I am actively opposed to it, just that one is more likely to happen along rather than be orchestrated.

But I don't like to be without.

Hence the advertisement.

The applicant must be:
Reasonably good looking.
Not too flabby or shabby.
With a 6-8" penis.
A cunning linguist.
Decent conversationalist or the ability to keep quiet.
Physically strong.
Sharing none of a certain person's views on sexual conduct.
Must be friendly. Very friendly.

Please send your application listing qualifications, relevant experience and a recent photograph to airheadgenius.
There is no salary, but fringe benefits will be commensurate with experience.
First come first served.

I do not, however, require a friend like the one from this poor soul's confession:

And without further ado, it's my Daily Knob:

Got to do it really - today's offering, the magnificent Paul Newman

The obligatory back catalogue:

Real Women
Another quick pull out
Lesbian Lovers Come Out
Digits
Asymmetrical Knobbage
Cunning Linguist
Cunnilingus
Fabulous at 40
Winehouse Reveals
The Chick Facial File
Mirrors
Confession plus Daily Knob!
Abusive?
Celebrity Confessions: Boy George
Dick Trilogy Part 3
MORE dicks in my inbox
Dicks in your inbox
Read my Sodding Profile!
Nerve Confessions: Herpes
The Queen Confesses
The Arse Man Cometh
The Ass Play Chronicles
The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection
Bangin Ass
Deformed Dicks
Did I really dream that?
Why I don't date Celebrities
Fashionably late or just a slacker

Date Night: Do you need digits?

airheadgenius — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 01:46:00 GMT

I had a date last night.
I almost cancelled at the last minute.
Why I hear you cry? (Even if it's you, singular and I know who you are)
Because the man in question seemed reluctant to furnish me with his phone number.

We've been exchanged emails for a while. He contacted me at the beginning of the summer right when I was about to embark on an 8 week vacation, so I said I'd be in touch on my return.

Emails ensued when I got back state side and we arranged to meet. Now I am not one to talk on the phone with a potential suitor so didn't need to call him, but getting to a place on time is no mean feat and sometimes I just can't manage it. Before you start with me on the passive aggressive nature of lateness, let me assure you that I know all about it. And then some. Getting out of one's home on time when one is just one is like falling off a log. Getting out of the house when there's a babysitter and two little children involved is hardly an exact science.

So, "please text me your number" was my plea. But a text came there not. I asked again to no avail. Once we finalised the destination, I asked a third time for his number, with the assurance that I was not the stalking type in case that was his concern. But again, nothing. It occurred to me that I'd actually asked for it three times and so I started to get a bit anxious that there was a sinister plot behind his refusal to give up the digits.

You peeps don't know me from a bar of soap, but suffice it to say that I am not the anxious type. I've taken on many a "nerves of steel" type project without so much as a missed night of sleep, but this little episode was bringing out the paranoid in me.

See, I've heard of tales of Internet dates when one party walks into the bar, takes a shufty at their date and promptly turns on their heel and walks out. Luckily, this has never happened to me, but just in case I always call as I am nearing the venue to check that my date has arrived. I've developed this habit of calling as I walk into the bar. My date is then on the phone and more easily identifiable. It saves me scanning the bar for a man that's not there with the feeling that I've got a dirty great "I'm on a blind date" sign on my back. Plus, once in a while I keep talking on the phone even as I am standing next to the man in question because I'm juvenile like that.

And beyond that, as mentioned, there's always the possibility that I am 15 minutes late and I like to give my date a heads up, just in case he's the nervous type.

My day yesterday was hectic. I worked in the morning, did all kinds of house maintenance projects in the afternoon (the perils of being a landlord) and then cooked dinner for my kids. By the time I started contemplating getting ready, I was exhausted and had this weird feeling that I was going to get stood up. I just didn't have the energy for what could've been my first "I've been stood up" ever, so I wrote one last border-line snippy email saying something like "I am really not comfortable meeting you without getting your phone number first. Please text me or I am going to have to cancel". It was kind of formal and not "me" at all.

30 minutes later a call came in: "Sorry I didn't send it earlier. Completely slipped my mind. See you at 7.30".
I felt like a chump.

Very nice chap too.

Anyway Date Machine divas and dudes, how do you feel about meeting someone without a phone number and have you ever been stood up?

So, he's not always my cup of tea, but Brad Pitt in Fight Club is pretty spectacular. There's that scene when he's at a cosmetics counter and his pants are sitting really low, showing his hip bones...

The obligatory back catalogue:

Asymmetrical Knobbage

Cunning Linguist Cunnilingus

Fabulous at 40

Winehouse Reveals

The Chick Facial File

Mirrors

Confession plus Daily Knob!

Abusive?

Celebrity Confessions: Boy George

Dick Trilogy Part 3

MORE dicks in my inbox

Dicks in your inbox

Read my Sodding Profile!

Nerve Confessions: Herpes

The Queen Confesses

The Arse Man Cometh

The Ass Play Chronicles

The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection

Bangin Ass

Deformed Dicks

Did I really dream that?

Why I don't date Celebrities

Fashionably late or just a slacker

Date Night: Two Women in One Night

amboabe — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 20:23:00 GMT

There are a lot of things I've never done in my life. Picking up two women in one night ranks is on that list, though now I can cross it off. For whatever it's worth. When I was thirteen I used to tell my friends that I was a "honey magnet." I had no idea what I was talking about and I couldn't even look a girl in the eye for longer than a few seconds, much less serve as some kind of magnet to which honeys would gravitate to in some kind of knee-buckling frenzy. I had a mullet when I was thirteen. As far as I understand, mullets are the diametric opposite of magnets.

I didn't fare much better as I grew older. I was a "serious" boy with "serious" designs on becoming a poet, a composer, a philanthropist; I wanted to transform myself into some austere lover from a Michael Ondaatje novel. Surprisingly, this persona went over about as well as a mullet at college parties and the bars I skulked through in my formative years. It's a nice trick of age that you can take yourself less and less seriously as you inch towards death.

I'm thirty-one now and, somewhere along the line, I've managed to lose that fictive chip on my shoulder. I'm generally able to provide for myself all that "serious" intimacy that I sought so urgently in someone else as an angry fifteen year-old. Now I just want someone who'll tolerate my dirty jokes and lick me without prompting. Which is to say that I don't have expectations of people anymore. Combining that with my emotional unavailability at the moment has made me a much more appealing option for women than I've ever been.

To wit, I went to the park the other night to meet a woman I'd been chatting with online. My tack with dating since I stuck my toe back in the water has been entirely based on form. I don't want to meet new people and I'm not particularly enthused about using online checklists and form responses to cull my evening's companionship. Accordingly, I met H in a park with a bottle of wine near sunset. Whether or not the company turned out to be amusing, I was going to have a pleasant night getting drunk on the grass with the SF skyline blinking on in slow motion as the sun dropped behind the western fog.

I showed up early to find a nice spot with a good view, uncorked the wine, and then H arrived. I had an immediate agenda when I saw her. I recalled she had listed herself as an "occasional smoker" on her profile. I list myself as a "non-smoker" but this is a lie. I don't generally buy cigarettes but I lie silently in wait for someone else to produce a pack and then pounce on their stash for my three-minute fix. I wanted to see how long it would take for H to produce her cigarettes. Would she avoid smoking in front of me since I had listed myself as a non-smoker?

I was attracted to H as soon as I saw her. She had a pretty face, an ebullient smile, and seemed like one of those special people who is permanently tanned. We had boring conversation about work, the past, and all the regular checklist bullet points. I laughed lots to cover up my boredom. I think we had been together for 45 minutes before I got sick of talking. I looked away from her for a few seconds to create a pause in the conversation. It worked, she took a breath and looked out at the skyline. I turned back and stared at her face in profile, wondering what it would taste like. I leaned in so she wouldn't start talking again. She saw me coming and turned into me and we kissed. It was soft and nice. I pulled back to catch her eye for a moment, then kissed her again, working the tip of my tongue just inside the rim of her upper lip.

After a few minutes I sat back. "Now's my chance to get a cigarette," I thought. I asked if she smoked as nonchalantly as possible, and soon we were huffing away on her menthol 100's. The sun was almost down and shimmered in the glass of the downtown skyscrapers. There was a soft Indian summer breeze. I was on my second glass of wine, the hint of someone else's saliva on my lips. Things were nice.

We spent the next couple of hours kissing in the park, hardly talking at all. It was fun, like playing a pickup game of basketball in a schoolyard with some strangers. It was improvisatory and athletic and surrounded in relative anonymity. I have no idea what makes me attractive to women. I have no concept of what I must look like through their eyes during a conversation or at close range. H was nice enough, but I had little interest in her. I laughed when she told funny stories, but I didn't go out of my way to offer many of my own. I sat by passively, smiling here and there, quipping along every now and then, but I was wholly unengaged. I was a counterweight to the conversation, but I wasn't ever present in it. I was just propping up my end.

We both had outs for later in the evening, though we both fudged until 11 or so, when we finally retreated to our separate corners. I went out for another drink with a friend afterwards. We wound up in a quiet bar and had a man chat about women, work, politics, and commuting. Then another woman, a sparky brunette with short hair and profligate freckles, came up to me with some line about a bet and wondering if I was a furniture designer. She was cocky and well-rehearsed and even dropped a well-timed negative on me with a disappointed pout when I told her I was a writer.

We thrusted and perried for a few more minutes and then she retreated back to her friends. Before going home I ambled over to her table and we exchanged numbers, I'll see her again sometime next week. I genuinely could care less about meeting women at the moment, for once in my life. True to form, this is when I've suddenly become most attractive to them, when I care the least. I'm sure there are people out there for whom hooking up with one person in the evening and then being picked up on by another person is de rigueur. For me it's absurd. It's a delightful ego stroke, and absurdly fun to experience. But it's about as gratifying as the aisle of Twinkies in the 7-11.

And still, my inner thirteen year-old is gloating like a stuffed pig.

Previous Posts:

Date Machine: Kissing on the First Date

Nerve Confessions: Rate My Penis Size

Celebrity Confession: Tom Brady's Love Handles

Date Night: The Wine Bar as the End of Civilization

Crying In Public: The Sichuan Night Train

Love machine: How I Date On The Internet

Sex Machine: Zeitgeisty's Ass Bangin'

Sex Machine: Rate My Blowjobs

Crying in Public: My Cubicle

Celebrity Confessions: Boy George plus Nerve Confession: Boy Miserable

airheadgenius — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 04:34:00 GMT

It's my "Celebrity Confession" day, (err, well wednesday was and it's now thursday, Oops) but I must first confess that it's not my bag. I have a decade old TV attached to a DVD player for my children, but there's no cable and we don't even get the free channels. Once in a while, I watch online shows, but TV isn't really my thing. (Except when I am in Blighty when I overdose on it.) And I only read gossip magazines once every 6 months when I am getting my hair cut. I saw the Helen Mirren confession last week because it was in The Guardian.

Perez Hilton need not sweat in other words.

But, I do remember a confession from back in the day. When dear Boy George as he was being questioned about his sexuality and it hadn't yet become fashionable to be gay or bi, said "Sex? I'd rather have a cup of tea."

Which neatly (in my mind at least) segways into Nerve's Confession of the Day:

Is it permissible to not be out there having sex? It seems not.

We are all supposed to be dressed up (or dressed down Williamsburg wannabes) lipsticked and high heeled, if applicable, and out on the town. Flirting with boys, kissing with girls, fingers in arses, tongues in salads. Basically having a rare old raunchy time.

Back in the day, growing up in a town of 20,000 people, no one was ridiculed for not having a boyfriend or girlfriend. I guess it was an accepted fact that there were only so many people to meet in any given week and you couldn't shag all of them. An extended dry spell might raise a few guffaws, but in general it was "allowed".

But in this technological age, there's no excuse. There's Internet dating doncha know? Permanent access to new and exciting people across the globe. Even if you live in East Bumblefuck and there's only one other dater in the vicinity, there's no excuse not to be logged on and having phone sex with someone in a different state. And if you're in New York, LA or London where bodies are a plenty, then you must be some kinda desperate sad sack if you're sat home cutting your toenails.

The pressure is most definitely on.

Now I like dating - well, at least beyond the first date when you've met someone you like and the excitement is building. I like relationships. I really like to have sex. But some days I just can't be bothered. As a 40 year old woman though (actually 41, but that's a story for another day) I am comfortable with myself. If someone was to ridicule my sex life, I'd tell them to do one.

Why does this guy have to pretend to be a player? Maybe he would prefer to be having a cup of tea. Make that cawfee.

Maybe we all need to give each other a break and acknowledge that being home alone doesn't mean you are unattractive or unappealing, but rather that you are a discerning individual comfortable enough in your own skin to opt out. And if your friends tease you for your temporary celibacy and they are under 30, fuck 'em - get new friends. If your friends tease you and they're over 30, get them a few therapy sessions, cos they could surely use the help.

Would someone pass me the clippers...

Dick Trilogy Part 3 MORE dicks in my inbox Dicks in your inbox Read my Sodding Profile! Nerve Confessions: Herpes The Queen Confesses The Arse Man Cometh The Ass Play Chronicles The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection Bangin Ass Deformed Dicks Did I really dream that? Why I don't date Celebrities Fashionably late or just a slacker

Personals Drama: The dck trilogy part lll (Ultimate dck in my inbox!)

airheadgenius — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 00:31:00 GMT

(Read parts l and ll for a full explanation)

I've spent a lot of time daydreaming recently about my needs. I've not been demanding or sophisticated though as all I've managed to come up with is "man with big dick".

Be careful what you wish for.

This dude writes to me on the regular personals on nerve.com, not adultfriendfinder. That bit is important. He is very good looking and his email is witty and entertaining. Really funny actually and you know that's rare for a particular nationality who shall remain nameless so as not to piss off the bulk of my audience. Ha ha har says me.

I write back.

He writes again. This time he mentions the opening gambit on my profile. It says "Honey, it's long, brace yourself". See, many men write and say the profile is really long - I've told you this already - so I felt the need for a disclaimer. And, as an English chick, I am pretty much obliged to use double entendres wherever possible so my introductory sentence seemed like a fine opportunity. It is supposed to be sexual obviously, but in a haha cheeky way not in a slip me one immediately way.

He says "what if it IS really long?"

I thought it was a joke. I wrote back. He wrote again. Really really funny, but again with reference to a big one. A 10"-er as it happens.

It was an incongruous fact in the middle of this wildly amusing email, so again, I really paid it no mind.

But the following morning, I saw another email from him complete with 2 attachments. I could vaguely make out the shape even when they were 1/2" big. Oh no you di'nt I thought. But, oh yes he did. I donned my glasses for a better look.

Two close ups of a giant willie. A 10 incher for sure.

I wrote back "I am confident I can fit that in my apartment, but that's about it".

The end. (Ha ha, inadvertent funny)

Actually, there's a bit more. What possessed him? That's the part I don't get. He'd mentioned that he had a big schlong. I guess I'd ignored this boast, or confession since one that size might pose more than a few problems, but I hadn't asked to see it. I mean, where does one go from there? "Come on over and I'll sit on it" maybe? Let's meet for a drink is suddenly charged with visions of fountains of ejaculate. To me anyway. As far as I was concerned, it was a photo-sending version of Tourettes - an inexplicable outburst in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation.

The great big dick I could have tried to get over (groan) but he weirded me out and I offended him and now his profile is turned off.

Shame, he was a funny guy and, like I said, you don't meet many of them in these parts...

MORE dicks in my inbox Dicks in your inbox Read my Sodding Profile! Nerve Confessions: Herpes The Queen Confesses The Arse Man Cometh The Ass Play Chronicles The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection Bangin Ass Deformed Dicks Did I really dream that? Why I don't date Celebrities Fashionably late or just a slacker

Personals Drama: Dick Trilogy Part ll (More dicks in my inbox)

airheadgenius — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 18:04:00 GMT

This is part ll of the dick trilogy. Check out part l here or this will make even less sense than it should.

So, the dicks kept flying in until my box was full to capacity (thanks Finbar) What struck me most was not quantity, although it was abundant, but quality. There were some fine looking penii in the crowd: long straight and girthy (ooo, new word) and nary a deformed or diseased one amongst them. What of the man behind the dick photo was the thought that kept popping into my mind. A face and body to match these delicious dicks would be nothing to sneeze at. But, let's be real, Ron Jeremy's dick is about a hundred times better looking than his face and a million times better looking than his doughy old body.

And thus an email was sent.

I picked the best of the bunch and wrote to it's owner. "I am new to this and appreciate your email, but can't take this any further without seeing what the rest of you looks like. Please send more photos".

A day of suspense passed, whilst myriad new dicks came in, and then the reply. (I must confess that at this juncture, the quality had gone down just a tad. The smoothness had gone a bit veiny. The uniform color blotchy and, sorry to the owner, but one had a distinct listing to the left. The first hit of heroin is apparently the best and maybe this is the path of sex addicts trying to recapture that perfect first time. In any case, dicks had gone down. As it were)

But I digress... He wrote: "I don't usually do this, but since you've asked here are more pictures"

GahhahahahhhhhhhhH!!!!

The man was magnificent. A 6' hard body of rippling muscle. Whilst not stunning, his face was perfectly pleasant. He looked like he could fuck for America in the next Olympics.

Gaahahahhahaha again!

Because I had no intention of ever contacting him, whether he'd been gorgeous or sporting a face like a bag o' spanners. Not because I don't do hook ups due to some arbitrary standard of morality, but because I live with children and my libido has to take a backseat to parental responsibility. It was, as asked by "Pants" the other day, somewhat of an intellectual exercise. (I use "somewhat" as a disclaimer since the intellectual element is arguable)

He remained but a beautiful beast equipped with a tremendous tool and not a thing that I could do about it. Sigh.

And there you have it ladies and gents. Maybe it was a one off, but there are gorgeous men touting their wares on adultfriendfinder. My curiosity satisfied, I went about my usual life.

Weeks passed and suddenly it occurred to me that I had not written back a "thanks but no" to the gentleman in question. His first big bold dick correspondence had been macho and confident, but on reflection, his follow up email with the requested photos had been humble and almost shy. I realised that I had accepted him on the basis of his dick (almost another one Finbar) and rejected him on the rest of his body! And how often does that happen???

I felt like crap. I had to explain. I launched adultfriendfinder and went to the sign in page. But what the fuck was my user name? Blonde something or other. English blonde something or other??? Ah, fuck it, I had no idea whatsoever. I tried to retrieve my name using my password, I was feeling badly at this point, but couldn't remember that either. I gave up.

And so, if you are reading this dear man with the big thick dick, perfect body and kind eyes, I apologise. It really was me, not you.

Read my Sodding Profile! Nerve Confessions: Herpes The Queen Confesses The Arse Man Cometh The Ass Play Chronicles The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection Bangin Ass Deformed Dicks Did I really dream that? Why I don't date Celebrities Fashionably late or just a slacker

Personals Drama: Dicks in your inbox, or Are romantic relationships becoming obsolete?

airheadgenius — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 03:50:00 GMT

As mentioned, I do love a good double entendre.

(Full disclosure: my regulars know this is one from the archives, but bear with me. There's a couple follow ups. A dick trilogy if you will)

I read an article in Business 2.0 about AdultFriendFinder and was somewhat surprised to find that it is one of the fastest growing online communities and ranks in the top 100 of most popular websites in the US. This I had to see.....

I created a user name. Man, that was quite a challenge given that there are SO many people on it and so few names left to choose from. All the obvious ones are gone. Forget anything with blonde in the title - the competition is fierce. Finally, I managed to think of something available, created a one line profile and - boom- I was in. Tits and dicks abound - as one would expect - complete with myriad claims of sexual prowess. A common theme seemed to be the desire to CAPITALIZE EVERYTHING and punctuate with dozens of exclaimation points. FREAKY AND HORNY!!!!!!!! for example.

Cut to the following morning. As I drank my tea and ate my cornflakes, I remembered the profile and so checked out my inbox. Hence my title. More dicks than I have ever seen at one time and certainly more than I'd seen during breakfast. A penis plethora. An abundance of appendage. Dick-a-licious (I've re-spelled him to protect his privacy) had a giant penis and a dubious shot of his bathroom floor. Note to dick photographers - get someone else to take it. You cannot do it yourself. But if you must, please clean your bathroom floor. Or trim your toenails.

I know it's a hook up site, but still, the speed at which the dicks popped up took my breath away. (Kinda rolling with the double entendre thing - sue me). My profile was not explicit. It had one line "looking for a friend" and no photo.

In amongst the profiles, I found earnest descriptions of men looking for love. Wrong site for you my love. You with your earnest smile and Kmart jacket.

So, what I am wondering is.... we all have friends, family, colleagues to hang out with. And now there's an incredibly easy way to get laid. It's like ordering in - just IM one of those big dicks and have them come right over. (Must stop with the double entendre. This is not Viz)

Are romantic relationships becoming obsolete?

Thoughts people.....

Back Catalog: Read my Sodding Profile! Nerve Confessions: Herpes The Queen Confesses The Arse Man Cometh The Ass Play Chronicles The Sandwich Blowjob Porn Connection Bangin Ass Deformed Dicks Did I really dream that? Why I don't date Celebrities Fashionably late or just a slacker

Personals Drama: Would you please read my sodding profile!!!

airheadgenius — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 04:42:00 GMT

I go to great lengths to describe myself accurately on my Nerve personals profile. Many would say it's over long, but I don't care. It amused me to write it and plenty of men have written and said they enjoyed it too, so I have no particular reason to change it.

But even if I did, does the content really matter? Apparently, it matters to those who find me entertaining, but so many men read it, or at least glance over the details and manage to miss out one very salient fact. Well, two to be precise.

I have children.

It's not written in code or buried deep at the bottom of the page. It's right there near the top, clearly stated "Have children: Yes. We live together". And what d'ya know beautiful people? That means that I've got children and, yep you've guessed it, we live together.

So this bloke writes to me yesterday expressing an interest. I check out his profile and he seems pretty cool, is an appropriate age for me, decent looking, but on further inspection of the "You" box, I see that he's said no to his date having children.

I write reply and point out that he seems to have missed the small print and that I actually do have offspring. He then writes back and says that he's not interested because "I grew up a stepchild and it sucked. I just want to be honest."

Now, I have no problem that he doesn't want to date a woman with kids. Back before I had mine, I wouldn't have dated a man with kids either, so it's pointless getting all high horse-ish about it now. But, surely a man that experienced life as a step child would be the perfect candidate as a step father. Since he knew exactly how it sucked, he could figure out how to make it not suck for someone else. Right the wrongs so to speak. The man doesn't owe me an explanation, but if he is going to proffer one, surely he can come up with something with a little more credibility. If I was a teacher, I would be sorely disappointed to read "my dog ate my homework"

Another man last week missed the fact of my two children and, when it was pointed out, he declined also. This time with "my last girlfriend had a child and that didn't work out so..." Yeah, complete with the last sentence hanging ",,,"

Now, if it didn't work out with that chick, and she presumably was female, did he stop dating women? His brand of logic would necessitate it no? If it's a given that all women are the same and all children are the same and all dynamics of human relationships are the same, then that's a fair extrapolation my friend. But given that none of that is true, it's just another dog ate my homework line.

The thing is with both these chumps, their inability to a) actually read my profile and b) extend their own train of thought would've been a major deal breaker for me, so in that respect it's an all round winning situation.

Over to you, Date Machiners, post your "my dog ate my homework" excuses here.

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