The Dirty Guy, or, It's Always the Religious Ones

I consider myself on the dirty end of the spectrum when it comes to sex.  I'm not a hearts and flowers girl in the bedroom, but I think that you know if you've been reading this blog.  You don't need a powerpoint presentation of my preferences at this point, but I'm adventurous and naughty and dirty, and I don't really get turned on by sweetness in the bedroom - I want to be desired and taken and manhandled.  In my adventures, I haven't really been pushed too much by guys in this respect, they're either not really dirty or maybe equally as dirty, but no one has really pushed the envelope.  Until Dirty Luke.  Dirty Luke has the distinct honor of being the dirtiest one-night stand of my life, which actually became a 2 year connection that neither of us can really seem to shake.  I met Dirty Luke 2 years ago the night before Thanksgiving.  And he has been Dirty Luke since the moment I met him.

The night before Thanksgiving is a pretty good night to go have a few drinks in the city where Stoney and I live.  Everyone is blowing off some steam before the holiday and getting crazy in anticipation of having to spend the next 2-3 days with family.  You know the drill.  A couple of friends and I were out this particular night and ended up at a bar where we proceed to just get torn down.  Across the bar from me was this tall, meaty, dark, broody guy, who I immediately locked eyes with and stared down for way too long.  He looked away first, but was smiling when he looked away.  A few more glances from me like that (yes, I'm about a subtle as a kick in the teeth) and suddenly he materialized at my elbow.  He looked down at me (tall!) and asked why I was "eye fucking him from across the bar." That made me laugh.  He talked to me for a while, and then leaned down and whispered in my ear, "We're going to get in a cab and go to your place now, right?"  I didn't even think about it - I said yes immediately.  And we seriously set our drinks down, said goodbye to our friends and walked out and got into a cab. 

The minute that we got into the cab I jumped on top of him, kissed him, and literally tore open his shirt.  Buttons flying and all.  We basically attacked each other viciously during the 5 minute cab ride.  When we got into my house, I took off my jacket and he tore off the wife beater I was wearing under it in one swift movement.  He put me on my dining room table, yanked my pants off and slid inside me.  We moved to the bedroom eventually, and while I was on top of him riding him, he grabbed my arms and growled, "Slap me across the face."  Which I did, without 1 second of hesitation.  He told me to get on my knees and came on my face.  I seriously couldn't say no to anything that he asked.  During the second round, he growled at me to say his name - which I couldn't because I'm pretty sure he hadn't told me at this point.  I looked at him blankly, and he said "It's Luke.  SAY IT." I mean Jesus!  It was so intense and crazy, I couldn't stop.  We fell asleep and he got up the next day and said, "Give me your number." Everything is an order with him.  So I did and he left. 

The next day, Thanksgiving Day, at my parent's house, I pull my sister aside and begin telling her the story.  She is in tears laughing about not being able to say this guy's name because I didn't know it.  As I’m relaying the story, my phone starts to ring.  IT'S DIRTY LUKE.  In what fucked up, crazy, parallel universe does the world's dirtiest one-nighter not only contact you less than 10 hours after leaving your house, but CALLS???? I just about flipped.  He left me a message that he wanted to see me again over the weekend.  Another order. 

Dirty Luke came over a day later.  I was in a complete and total sexual frenzy by the time he arrived, after anticipating it all day.  Sex with him was intoxicating to me because I had never been with someone who was so unafraid to ask for or do what he wanted with no coyness or apologies.  It was outstanding.  After a marathon night of practically hurting each other, we started talking.  And here's the kicker (because there is always a kicker) he works for a religious organization.  Missionary work through sports.  HE IS A BIBLE BEATER. And there I lay, playing over in my head my bellowing from only moments earlier: "jesus oh god fuck yes god jesus".  The fact that taking the Lord's name in vain with a really religious person was my issue even after I had just let the man come on my face, gives you a little insight to exactly how completely and totally fucked my moral compass is.

So Dirty Luke and I go to breakfast and continue our conversation.  I am really fascinated by this guy, he's interesting, smart, well-traveled, and very dryly funny (he tried to convince me with a completely straight face that redheads have no rights in China).  Then he tells me the story of his last girlfriend that he was with (over a year) and how they had agreed to not have sex unless/until they got married.  How he wanted to be sure that she possessed the qualities that he wanted in a partner (other than a vagina) and that she wasn't really into sex and was, in fact, scared by it.  I looked at him, totally dumbfounded.  Did he really think that his sexual appetites weren't going to scare the shit out of this poor girl on his honeymoon?  Did he really think that he could separate his sexual self from his wife and never want the things that he did with me ever again?  I started asking him all of these questions.  It was clear that he doesn't get questioned a lot.  He was uncomfortable but answered everything very honestly.  He had the WORST Madonna/Whore complex that I've ever seen and he seemed constantly surprised that I was intelligent and funny and easy to talk to.  

Dirty Luke lived in another state at the time, and started texting and calling regularly.  We would get together when he was in my city on business.  After another a dirty night together, he would disappear for a few weeks - likely wearing a hairshirt and flogging himself with a razor-blade covered whip as penance for enjoying himself with me.  This went on for over a year - talking, fucking, then silence.  Surprisingly, he could be soulful and sweet, which was really disarming coming from the big, intense guy. He told me more than once that he continually struggled with seeing me, that he wanted to be in my bed so badly but he tried to stay away. (WWJD?) What really bothered him about me, though, was that he wanted to be with me - lying on my couch talking, going to dinner at the place around the corner with the patio, and having me listen to him.  I really think he wanted to just be able to see me as a giant walking vagina, but Reader, I make that difficult sometimes with my fabulousness.  And I really think the fact that he actually liked me and enjoyed me as a person drove his religious self nuts.  I was a Whore, for God's sake! I mean, he enjoyed himself and our dirtiness, but if I did, then in his book I MUST be a dirty, useless Whore.  Because Good, Smart girls saved themselves for the person they were going to marry.  They were not dirty. 

After one silent period, Dirty Luke reached out to let me know that he was going to move to China for his job for 2 years.  Stay tuned to find out if being in China cools his ardor.  HINT:  Ever dirty skyped??? 

-       Rita 

Bathroom Shots (and other creeptastic background shit) or The Art of the Self-Portrait Shot

Our previous Plenty of Fish post still remains our most visited entry to-date. So here we go with Round 2.  I would like to dedicate this one to all of those who think that bathroom self portraits are acceptable, which they are not and here are just a few examples of why not.

UMMMM!!! WHAT? WE CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! Oh and get the hell out of that public bathroom before taking your own damn picture!

Clean up your damn room before you take any fucking pictures that you post. FUCK, RANDY!

Picking out the worst thing in this image is tough! Is it his horrid faux hawk, 1994 patchwork plaid shirt, or the way he tries to nonchalantly pose leaning into the bathroom while keeping that stunningly sexy look on his face?

A couple of things: Just because you own weight lifting gloves doesn’t mean you are ripped and armpit fat does not equal sexy.  That is all for now.

What the hell part of taking your own picture in a public restroom doesn’t sound creepy as fuck?

I’m not even sure why I have to point out why these dumbasses chose the wrong profile pictures (Fucking morons):

Chocolate milk negates the tough guy scorpion tattoo. Just sayin.

Again. Photos taken in public restrooms are fucking creepy.  Quit that shit. Oh and at least pretend to be happy in your photos, so we can waste time and go out with you before we find out that you are a miserable schlub.

Laziness is not taking the tags of your clothes or getting off the phone to webcam photo yourself. Oh, wait, that shits Burberry. Leave the tags on so people will know you paid way too much for a fucking hoodie, you dumbass.

Gotta love the fedora.  It's a douchecap!

What you actually look like:

I know we said “get you a gay,” but don’t get you one that still thinks he’s straight. He’ll just confuse you both. CHEE!

His mom’s house, his mom’s digital camera (circa 1995) and a douchecape. Where’s his mom to pick out some better clothes for him and take his picture?  Also, we need to take a moment to point out the date stamp on some of the photos on POF and other sites. I just pulled this picture off of POF last week. So it’s safe to say this is NOT a recent picture and this dude is probably really fat by now. Not judging, cause food is good, but com’n let’s try and represent ourselves accurately on this free hook up dating site.

This guy has a barn. He has an ax. And he has a tarp.  When you meet him on your first date, he is going to wrap you in the tarp, shove you in his trunk, drag you into his barn, torture you, chop you into little bits and bury you in the back 40.  Then he’s going to come back into his mother and his house wash his hands, put on a suit and have her take a picture. Maybe.  I mean, I guess he could be a good guy too but it’s really probably the first one.

Nothing says "hood" like a picture taken in grandma's formal dining room.

What you took a picture of:                                    

What we see: 

Sadly, I have so many more of these photos saved for your viewing pleasure but this was getting out of control long.  So until next time...Happy Fishing!

Stoney

How Not to Ask for a Date, or, Pick Up Your Fucking Phone and Use It as Alexander Graham Bell Intended

We regret to inform you that we must create an entire post dedicated solely to thwarting the douchebaggedness that is the male form of "asking" a woman for a date. We (read as: us and our single female friends) have had some seriously unfortunate run-ins with the penis holders as of late that have made us nothing short of strident! So here it is, How Not to Date or more appropriately how-not-to-sound-like-a-complete-needy-self-consumed-asshat when asking (using that term loosely) for a date.

The following are some examples of what not to do when asking a woman out.  Keep in mind these are taken from our real lives and should be read with caution as they will piss you off as well, we have no doubt.

Example 1:  Rita went out with a guy once recently and he was decidedly looking for only a booty call (which is fine, but she couldn't decide if she was attracted to him or not).  So she gave him the Rita Treatment - Delete.  But he recently resurfaced a few weeks later and asked again if he could see her, he wanted to go out again.  She agreed to see him and told him to figure something out.  So a couple of days later, he texted and asked her if she wanted to go out for drinks after work - at 4:00 on said day.  No, Rita told him kindly, she already had plans for the evening.  Another time, perhaps.  A couple of days later, the same thing.  Text at 5:00 to ask if she had dinner plans.  Unfortunately, she already did.

The next day he texts again So when do you want to go out?  To which Rita responded:

Rita: If you would like to go out with me, I will tell you what you need to do.  Pick an event - be it breakfast, lunch, dinner, checkers, or parcheesi.  Then determine the next day in the future that you are free, and ask me if I am free on that day as well.  If I am not free, ask me when the next day is that I would be available for checkers.  Simple!
Orange Vest Guy (long story): Ok!  I would like to have lunch with you tomorrow. And play checkers. Are you free?
Rita:  Why yes, I am.  Where are we going?
OVG: Where do you want to go?
Rita:  No, this date is your idea and your event.
OVG: Ok, how about Restaurant at noon?
Rita:  That works!  See you then!


Rita actually took Connect Four, if you're wondering.  But I digress.  Yes, Reader, Rita had to tell a guy how to ask her out.  Commentary from Rita: This is a sad state of affairs for the men of our (ok, not mine, but maybe your) generation.  I mean really - don't other guys clue eachother in on this stuff?  Or didn't some girl didn't teach you before the age of 28 that you need to man up and figure out what asking a girl out means?  Or maybe my ire is misplaced - maybe you Under 30 Girls are actually so not occupied with other amusing things that when someone asks you out to dinner approximately one hour before said dinner is to occur, YOU GO.  FOR SHAME.  You are not that desperate.

Example 2: Stoney met a guy recently in a bar (go figure).  Sweet enough guy and very complimentary...of her ass. All the same, she gave him her phone number.  He repeatedly asked her, over the holidays, to come over and "cuddle." (Dear Fucktards, We are not stupid. We know we don't need a decoder ring to figure out that you want to fuck.  Sincerely, Most Women Over 20).  He always made this request at or after 10:30pm during various nights over the course of a week.  Then after these repeated declined attempts, he decided that Stoney wasn't interested.  Here are a few of his choice text messages (again, not an appropriate way to ask for a date).

The Cuddler 11:45PM: I'm wondering why you're not hanging out with me.
Stoney 11:46PM: Right now? Because it's 11:45 and I have to work tomorrow.
The Cuddler 11:49PM: Cop out!
Stoney 11:52PM: Maybe you could ask me to do something sometime...ya know, like during the daylight time.
The Cuddler 11:53PM: Haven't I done that a few times?
Stoney 12:02AM: Not really.  You've asked me to come over for a squeeze, get me from behind, come cuddle, etc but no usually until after 10ish.
The Cuddler 12:05AM: I do not believe I have asked to get you from behind. Just said I was thinking about it.
Stoney 12:05AM: Sorry. Autocorrect.

The next day at 2:45PM he text her and asked her to go to dinner with him that night.  Another fatal fuck up, gentleman, don't assume that we are sitting around waiting for you to call.  We don't leave our nights free just in the hope that you MIGHT ask us to do something.  Not to sound snide, but we typically plan at least 4-5 days out. Plan accordingly.

The Cuddler: It's gonna be time to hang out soon.

He continues to ask Stoney to come over, cuddle, watch a movie...on his couch. Again, we aren't stupid.  All of these mean you want us to come, fuck, and leave.  Just be honest. Worst we can say is no. At which point, you're no worse off than you were before, dumbass.

The Cuddler 9:45PM: How am I gonna get you to hang out? And don't tell me to try if you won't try me. Because I want to try you.

At this point, after reading Rita the entire excruciating text stream,  Rita tells her to give him the Checkers Speech (via text, of course, this is how we are doing it now, apparently) about what it will take to ask her out.  

Stoney 9:53PM: You should decide what you would like to do. Be it lunch, dinner, checkers or whatever.  And then you ask me when I'm available to do said activity with you.  I will respond with days that I am available in hopes that it coincided with a day that you are also free.
The Cuddler 9:54PM: When are you available? I don't care what we do!  I've been asking you to hang out for days and you haven't even really given me a no!
Stoney 10:06PM: Cause you've been asking me to come over to your house.  I don't know you. And I haven't said no because I don't want to.
The Cuddler 10:07PM:  Well then tell me you don't want to come to my house!  I can't guess these things!  I'll come to yours!
Stoney 10:24PM:  Are you upset?  That's a lot of exclamation points!
The Cuddler 12:33AM: Jerk
The Cuddler 2:23AM: jk, love you.
The Cuddler 12:38PM: I love you
Stoney 12:40PM: Are you day drinking?

Commentary from Stoney: I eventually gave up even trying to teach him HOW to ask me out when he tried to get me to go to dinner again on the day of asking.  Yes, I fucking have dinner plans.  It's 4:15PM...I plan ahead.  I've told you that!  


Also, Cuddler, please read your stupid ass text messages (complete with my responses) to a male friend so that he can tell you exactly where you went horribly wrong and fucked up any possible chance with me in any capacity.  I think coming from him you might find it far more plausible that you are a complete chode. 


The Cuddler clearly wasn't looking for an actual date, but let's be realistic I needed blog fodder so I kept fucking with him via text. 

Example 2: Stoney meets another guy in a bar, The Hippie Don Draper.  This is the guy that gets irritated when he doesn't get an immediate response to a text.  Seriously, isn't that why we text?  Don't expect an immediate response.  If you want an immediate fucking response, pick up the fucking phone and call me, listen to my voicemail and it will tell you to send me a fucking text cause I don't want to listen to your god damn voicemail.

It's New Years' Eve, we are drunk. In a bar. These things happen.  Hippie Don Draper  (HDD) gets Stoney's number and proceeds to text her his whereabouts for the remainder of the night hoping to see her again.  She's trashed and trying to break that horrible drunk texting thing that she's got going on.  By 4:30AM, he's sent her a picture of himself so that she doesn't forget what he looks like.  He texts her again the next day (hangover day) and asks her to go for a drink that night.  Um, Hello!!! Did you not see my tore down ass at 3am?  What part of that scene made you think that I would be drinking again today? Texting chit chat ensues as she already has plans for the next couple of nights, but lets him know that she is, in fact, interested in seeing him again.  A couple of days pass and she gets a random picture of him via text.

Stoney (keep in mind this is 5 days from their original meeting): Is this so I haven't forgotten what you look like?
HDD 7:05PM: Maybe.;)
HDD 7:30PM: It was nice to meet you ...wish you the best
Stoney 7:32PM: Are we not going to see each other again? I kind of thought we would...
HDD 7:55PM: I truly don't mean to be rude but judging by the lack of any real communication I find it very confusing that you would want to see each other again.  You seem very nice and I'm sure you are but let's be honest if you were interested we'd be talking...no harm no foul...I love bar we met at and I'm sure we'll run into each other again sometime.
Stoney 8:59PM:  Was I supposed to initiate?  I was getting though my weekend plans and starting the new year at work hectically, but I guess que sera sera.
HDD 9:03PM:  I initiated several times, but your right que sera sera

Commentary from Stoney: First off, no matter what the media, use the correct version of 'you're.' Nothing is more unattractive than poor grammar.  Well, that's not totally true...having enough back and shoulder hair that people think you are swimming in a sweater is more unattractive.  But I digress, he asked me to go to have a drink exactly once. Via text. When was this real conversation have happened?  He's been deleted. Pictures and all.  

We are left wondering how the ability to ask women out might have skipped a generation.  Does texting make it too easy?  Does being able to connect all day, every day negate the need to sit across the table from someone and get to know them? Or are we really doing the connecting via text and then just meeting to go to bed?  Will dating become the next lost art, like origami?  Say it isn't so. Stoney just asked if I was channeling Carrie Bradshaw...I'll step down from my soap box now. 


- Rita & Stoney

We've Got Ourselves a Gusher! or, Rita and Stoney Unsurprisingly Have Dirty Friends

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