Separated by Sex

My date was a man whose status was labeled separated. That was my first mistake. It’s the unknown of is he getting a divorce or is he going back to his wife. He was a nice guy nevertheless.

He picked me from my house in a beautiful black Mercedes. It was quite plush. We drove to Doheny State Beach and he said we were going to watch firework dancers. They dance with a long string of fireworks and it’s electricifying. I believe it’s illegal but it is still mesmerizing.

He had everything planned out. He grabbed a few blankets from the trunk and a bottle of champagne (another illegal thing on the beach) and some glasses. This man came prepared for us to basically get cited. Alright…well when in Rome I suppose.

So we find a spot on the beach. It’s already dark out and it’s pretty chilly. Divers are in the water hunting for spiny lobster.

The firework show is amateur hour but wonderful just the same. The conversation is flowing well. It’s all going very swimmingly.

And then the waterworks start. Nope not rain. But Niagara of Tears. This man broke down and became the most vulnerable crushed man I’ve ever seen. He missed his wife and children. He exclaimed he only ever wanted to be married to her. He curled up into a fetal position on the blanket and I stroked his bald head as he continued to sob.

I felt bad for him but it was confirmation to me why I don’t date men who are only separated. Plus I’m stuck out there with him because he drove.

Shortly after the waterfall stopped, a cop started to roll through. I’ve never seen a man gain his composure so quickly, leap up, grab everything and hightail it to the car. He even had the gumption to go talk to the police officer about the beautiful weather we were having.

We get in the car. I’m still a little sandy and he turns to me and says:

him: “Wanna have sex?”

Yea….no thank you.

Rogue Rose

Crane of Tears

The hardest part about dating again is being vulnerable. There are some dates that you go on and your heart isn’t entirely in it. You just go in and are not expecting fireworks. And there are others, your hopes are so high that you think, just maybe, just possibly, this person is the one.

I’m a hopeless romantic to begin with, which is a blessing and a curse. A hopeless romantic is a positive refillable fool who gives all of themselves and hopes and prays it’s returned in abundance. I am that fool. I won’t apologize for it. But I’m fully aware of the consequences of it.

I met a man. A man a few years younger than me. Divorced single father. We chatted for a week. Our conversations were so immensely passionate and intense. You know when someone just gets you. Gets you to the core and you let down those walls. You become vulnerable. You become hopeful. I truly understand how you can become so attached to someone without actually meeting them.

We were going to meet and had been planning it all week. Sushi dinner. I was dressed and looking super pretty. I even snapped a selfie and sent it to him. He loved the picture.

He is a business owner and was only going to be busy in the morning. Then took another job. And another. We were still planning to meet.

And then nothing. No contact. No nothing. Text went unanswered. Phone call wasn’t returned. Nothing.

I was basically stood up. Not going to lie….I shed a tear.

Rogue Rose

Lackluster Love

Being a single mom today is not easy especially dating. Let me tell you, I am an attractive broad with a body somewhere between Kim Kardashian and Mama June before she dropped 34 dress sizes. A natural redhead and a classic Dita Von Teese look, I’m quite the catch.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the typical South Orange County twit that graces your televisions on some bogus housewife show. I’m a real, homegrown, barely educated, blow-job giving woman with tits for days. Natural tits.

And I’ve dated everyone. Well, maybe not your husband, but certainly your brother and possibly your father. And maybe your sister too.

You see, this isn’t exactly how I envisioned my life at forever 39. I was married with three kids. Good kids. Beautiful kids. Lousy husband. So-called lousy husband decided he wanted an online social life and joined twitter. He fell in love in 140 characters or less. To her, whom shall forever be nameless, but lovingly referred to as Mrs Fugly. Yes, I used the title Mrs. She was married too, with children no less. They now live a miserable life together and he complains about her children. Ha! Good riddance.

So here I am dating again and what a trip it is. From an award-winning director to a twenty-one year old who still has spots on his face. I’ve been there and done that. Well, maybe not “done” that. I’m not easy….okay, maybe a little bit. I like sex. There I said it. Sex. Its fun, especially when I’m on top. On top of the situation and on top of the man.

So to kick-start this blog, I’ll tell you one of my dating adventures. Stop me if you have heard this one: a woman walks into a restaurant, meets a handsome man with a good reputable standing career (which I will not state because I’m not one to air dirty laundry), who use to play college ball. Tall, broad shoulders, pouty lips to boot. Small talk is going well, flirty hair tousle and he is staring at my breasts because they are practically grazing the table and it begins.

him: “I have a certain lifestyle.”

me: “Oh…”

him: “Yes, so from now on you are going to call me Master and I’m going to call you Slave. Got that?”

me: “Yea, that’s cute. You serious?”

him: “Slave, I’m thirsty. Hand me my glass of water.”

me: “Your water is right in front of you.”

him: “You didn’t call me Master. You will be punished next time.”

me: “Okay, Master, your glass of water is in front of you. Since you invited me to dinner, you are paying for dinner. Waiter, check please. I’m out.”

 

Rogue Rose