I ALWAYS Have Time for a Quickie


The Close Call

     I had never seen so much camouflage in my life. His living room chair, all of the lamp shades, his toilet seat cover, and yes even his bed spread was camo. He had topped off his small studio apartment with two large deer heads plastered to the walls and two stuffed mallard duck trophies. It was quite the spectacle. The man had obviously not attended school for interior design…but perhaps more importantly he enjoyed the hunt, and was good at it. Dan had told me over dinner that once in a while he liked to go out with his best buddy…to the woods…all-alone…and kill animals (but I had no idea he was obsessed until that moment). I’ve never been a huge fan of the sport myself because let’s face it…most of us are STILL screwed up over Bambi’s mother being shot. But who was I to hold this man’s passions or hobbies against him?

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However, as we began making out…I started to ponder…

       Given that I had only known him for about three weeks, all of this was making me nervous. If he enjoyed hunting so much he clearly knew how to shoot a gun and had no repulsion for blood or guts. His burly demeanor made him blend into the crowd, and the fact that he hadn’t been that open about himself or his background was making my palms begin to sweat. Are we noticing an irrational theme here? More importantly, he had been telling me constantly “all women are the same,” “they all just want us for free meals,” “all women are users.” …So…he also HATED and highly distrusted the female gender. Hmmmmmmmm. Red lights started flashing (I know, finally right?!). I mean…this man was OBVIOUSLY on the path to being a serial killer. Did I really want to stick around for camouflage PJ’s, and a possible skinning after he gutted my corpse? Nah. I was good.

I quickly said I was late for meeting up with my friend, apologized, and ran back to my car. As I locked my compact door I sent up a quick prayer to the heavens, “Dear God, please don’t allow that man to stalk me on my way home.” It all worked out in the end. I let him down gently and he called me a ‘fucking slut ass cunt.’ I know…quite the gentleman right? It would’ve never worked though…I’m more of an herbivore.


Me Vs. The Bitch

I am a firm believer that everyone (well at least most people) deserves a second chance. So after a few months, some random text messages, and some HORRIBLE first dates, I decided to give the “Ear Licker,” another shot.

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I jokingly confronted his tendency to molest my ear with his oral appendage, and he responded to my criticism with a few witty quips of his own. We had a few dinners, a movie here and there, and I was beginning to think that while there still wasn’t much chemistry, I had written Drew off too soon. You never know right? His kissing needed work, but his passion made up for it …or at least I thought.

Everything was actually going great, until I met his other Bitch.

Spoiler Alert: He chose the bitch over me…and by bitch…I mean his female dog. Yes, an actual 5lb dog.

One night before work he had asked me to stop over and say hi before I went into the office. I knew he wasn’t interested in sex because I had already attempted SEVERAL times to initiate the dirty deed, but he had refused my advances so far. So I figured this was simply a quick hi, hello, how are you situation and then I’d be off.

However Drew had different plans. He started kissing me in his bedroom and I could feel his heart beat begin to race with my palm against his chest.

We laid down on the bed….and “Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” His teacup Chihuahua was going nuts! She did not like me on his bed, and she certainly did not like my on his lips. Now I have a dog of my own, I love those mangy mutts. …But I’ll tell you something…this dog looked me in the eye that night and I saw evil for the first time.

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Before I realized what was happening Drew stopped kissing me, and picked up the growling, barring teeth pup. He started laughing and talking to her with baby speak. It was cute how he adored her…but then it got weird. He laid her back on the bed and once again started kissing me. Her barking got louder, and louder, the growling more intense…and rather than ignoring her or setting her outside of the room, he picked her up again. He repeated these steps AT LEAST five more times with baby speak on each occasion. Not only had a 5lb dog made me question my attractiveness, but now I was worried about my own kissing abilities. “Shit! Am I an awful kisser?” My brain was racing.

The turning point was the last time he picked her up and she began to lick his lips without him turning his head. He accepted her mouth kisses and began to beam with a smile that stretched ear to ear. Indeed, Drew and I weren’t supposed to happen. He had just chosen to kiss his dog instead of me. As we said goodbye that night standing at my car and talking about his sweet spawn of Satan, I wondered if I would have to push his dog slobber lips away before they reached mine. Alas, he didn’t even try. He either A. knew that would be unacceptable or B. wasn’t truly interested in the blonde standing before him.

I took that night as a sign and ended things about a week later. I also googled “how to be a better kisser.” There’s always room for improvement. It’s ok…I judge me too.

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