What about Sex and Dating?

After dating for a while, that whole sex thing seems to end up as the prancing circus elephant in the room. Since I am Catholic, the Pope advises me against premarital sex. Sidebar: How does a man who has never had sex and wears a dress designed by Liberace have the right to tell me when I can have sex? This would be why I am a “wayward” Catholic. I can understand the whole “thou shall not kill” commandment. It would be bad form to beat Xhusband about the head with a baseball bat until he collapses to the ground, then slice him open, disembowel him, throw his entrails on the ground and dance around them naked while under a full moon. Not that it has ever crossed my mind. I am just saying I can see were the Supreme Being would frown upon such a heinous act of butchery and paganism. Unless, X was a rat-bastard of course, and then Her Holiness would completely understand and maybe even suggest the proper outfit for such an activity. Girl, Stay focused! Where were we? Sex, church and sins. Oh yes, why is committing premarital sex given the same punishment under God as committing murder according to the Catholic school nuns anyway?

This is one of those areas where I am thinking if the founders of the church had access to an excel spreadsheet; things might have ended up differently. The sins could have been categorized, prioritized, and sorted. For arguments sake, let us break the premarital sex sin into two categories: First being ‘Pre first marriage and you should be a virgin’ sex sin. Second being ‘Post separation/divorce I haven’t had good sex for 3 years, and you seem like you have a pulse and are disease free’ sex sin.

“Dude, what in the hell are you thinking? I know you haven’t had sex for 3 years 5 months and 8 days, but you cannot change Catholic Dogma,” says a husky female voice.
“Who are you?”
“God”
“No shit! Really?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What flavor are the green Lifesavers supposed to be? I know the package says lime, but it just tastes like green to me.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Oh, sorry.”
“According to Catholic Dogma, there is no divorce, so you would be committing adultery for the rest of your life. So my dating wonder, in the eyes of the Church, you will become Hester Prynne. Would you like that Scarlet letter tattooed on your chest now or just embroidered on your clothing?”
“Wow, any loops holes?”
“You could get your marriage annulled and bastardized your son or wait until X dies so you become a widow.”
“So if I participate in lustful desires of the flesh, I am to burn in hell with all the other damned souls collected since the dawn of time?”
“Pretty much, it’s eternal damnation!”
“I was married for 20 years to Xhusband. Can I get credit for time served?”
“Hum… how about 10 years of free sex sin credit, and the next time you make cheeseburgers, you toss one on the floor?”
“What?”

Everything is dark then suddenly the room comes into focus. The dog is barking at something outside. I am lying on the couch and must have fallen asleep. Well, if I plan on being an adulteress, I should have some standards at least. So, here are various things I have thought up before jumping blindly into bed with a new partner.

Would I be offended by any “kinky sex” asked of me by my new sex partner?
How would I go about finding evidence of odd sexual preferences?
Would I be able to state “things” which will absolutely not be tolerated?
What about my not so 20 year-old body being on display like a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s in a Macy’s window display?


Let us start with number 3 since it is easy, I hope. Emphatically, there will be no live animals including acting like an animal (CSI episode 167), golden showers, S&M, animal costumes (CSI episode 93), no dead people includes acting like your dead or foot sex. These are the deal breakers. There is fun sex, and there is ‘Damn, you are one sick MF and here is the address of Dorthea Dix mental hospital’ sex. I don’t care if I have to leave in the middle of the act completely naked with only a pillow case for a cover up. I am so out of there. Clearly, there are sexual acts far more disturbing then the items listed in the previous statement, but then I don’t know about them. I am happy to live my life in blissful ignorance. That is until CSI or Southpark does an episode on the topic, and it bores an unwelcome image into my brain. This causes me to look at my co-workers and neighbors with suspicion to determine if they go to conventions where they dress up in animal costumes and have sex orgies while wearing said costumes. I have my eye on Bob in accounting; he looks like the type to dress up as Randy the 6 foot raccoon chasing a purple squirrel with silver glitter for eye shadow. But I digress.

The pre-sex talk is necessary for full disclosure and to level set any expectations so there are no surprises which may cause coitus interruptus for either partner. You see here is the nightmare that plagues my dreams if likes and dislikes are not discussed previous to the act of intercourse (Mother would be so proud of my use of proper language). I am quietly making love to my partner. Exchanging soft kisses when he whispers, “Can I tie you up?” In my mind, I think he would use that nice silk scarf I was wearing earlier. What the heck? Where is the harm in that? This could be fun. Holy bondage, Batman! Sexdude, shackles me with handcuffs in less then 2.4 seconds to the bed post, zips a black leather mask over his head, tells me the safety word is “Wisconsin” all while holding a leather cattail, reaching for his pet hamster named Sniffles, and introducing me to his taxidermied cousin Jimmy who is pulled out from under the bed. STOP! ‘Stay the hell away from me you crazy ass bastard’ is the safety word I scream as I bolt up in bed from a dead sleep only to have my dog stare at me with that “Dude, take it easy,” look on her face.

So here are some pre-sex dating strategies to avoid the above sexual paranoid dream. You will need to search his bedroom or apartment/home for clues. It may take several tries to do a complete and through search, but don’t be dismayed. Your safety and well being are your number one priorities.

Future partner needs to be distracted during search:
1. Have partner take shower just before sex. It’s been a stressful day for him, and he needs to relax.
2. The trash is smelly and making you sick. Have him take it out.
3. Clog his toilet with tampons.
4. Set his balcony or desk on fire.
5. Dial 911, mumble into the phone and hang up only leaving your date’s address audible.
Where one can find valuable information:
1. Search his wallet for membership cards to paradise clubs, receipts from adult book stores, a slip of paper that says “Call 867-5309 when naughty”, or a condom which has metal spikes on it.
2. In the bedroom, search for porn magazines (the kind they don’t sell at the gas station), various sex toys, strange outfits including women’s undergarments and shoes, or camera equipment hidden on a shelf or inside an air vent.
3. In the living room, search the video library for porn and not just a sexual spoof on “Driving Miss Daisy”.
4. In the spare bedroom/basement/garage, determine if this room could be used as a sex dungeon where you might be kidnapped and kept for years on end with no contact with the outside world. Humm. Sidebar: let us ponder this for moment shall we? One would one have to wear the same outfit as Princess Leia when she was Jabba the Hutt’s sex slave. One wouldn’t have to bath a 90 lb dog who is afraid of water, figure out how to do calculations in Excel while your boss is screaming about budget cuts, or make dinner from a can of tuna and left over bean dip. One could just eat, sleep and have sex all while being chained to the wall. On a purely survivalist level, it does have some merit. HEY, Princess Leia! Stay on target. Quite right, we must press on; it would be in the best interest of the reader.
Question number 2 is a huge self image issue. Here are some of the things that might run through the mind of anyone in Dategirl’s situation. First and foremost are the boobs. They seem to be the first to go. It really doesn’t matter how old you are, once you breast feed, your breasts seem to sag 6 more inches. So if you have had 3 or 4 kids, those puppies are talking smack with your belly button. Somewhere along the line, your breasts get mad and start ignoring each other. On a normal day, this doesn’t seem important, but when you actually have to get naked in front of someone new when the lights are on, you really don’t want your boobs pointing in different directions especially if one tries to get away by jumping over your shoulder. Not the sexy Victoria’s Secret pose you want to impress the new guy.
What about those wayward hairs that start growing in strange places: the upper lip, the crazy one which comes screeching out of your cheek every once in while, the area between your belly button and bikini line (when you still where able to wear one) is filled with wild hairs like women racing to a shoe sale at Macy’s.

And who could forget those scars and moles that seemed to have collected on your body over the years. Liposcopic surgery is great for a speedy recovery; however after two or three of them, your body starts to look like a connect-the-dots puzzle. I have dreams of such things. A Sharpie is being used to connect all the scars and moles on my torso. After several moments, an image comes into focus. My partner screams “It’s a rabbit,” and dashes into his closet. He is digging through stuff in search of something tremendously important. He runs back to bed with a furry dog mask on his head. I wake up startled only to find my 90 lb. dog staring me in the face. Who states “Dude, I know it is 3AM. But, you left the toilet seat up again, and now, I really have to pee. By the way, your brown jersey tank dress would be perfect for a good disembowelment. Its wash and wear.”

First Kiss

So, I have survived several phone calls, text messages, a few emails, and a couple of dates. But somewhere along the line that first kiss experience crops up and smacks you in the forehead. Usually, the “Walking faster than the date and jumping into the car before he gets there to only crack the driver’s side window” plan was working nicely for me. But at some point, the Saturn moons aligned with Mercury rising, and I got caught up in a conversation and ended up leaning up against my car talking with Mr. Date.

My dear reader, this is where it became problematic, because I clearly remember being a good 4, 5 maybe 6 feet away from Dateman. OK, maybe it was only a foot or he has ginormous rubber stretching arms, but somehow I was pulled towards him. Where was my can of mace? I have a red belt in Tae Kwon-Do. “Break his arm. Kick him in the privates,” said my brain. Nothing…I was being sucked into the Vortex.

The whole kiss thing started off rather enjoyable, nice soft lips, not too spitty, no tonsil checking, no smashing of teeth, no burping, and I didn’t feel like he was eating my face. Perfect! Then at some point my brain kicked into a major panic attack. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there like a zombie, do something,” said brain. So my body responded in kind, and I put my hand up to the back of his head. “Nice move, Hot Lips” says brain. “But you have your car keys in your hand. I think you just stabbed him in the back of the head.” At this point, I completely panicked. “Shut down all systems before she becomes a homicidal manic,” shouts brain. So being ever so obedient, my body did a complete system shut down.

This is where the word awkward is appropriate; apparently Mr. Date didn’t get the shut down notice. So for 4 or 5 seconds which seemed like 10 hours, I stood there like a coma patient during the Gay Pride parade in San Francisco. Well, thank God, the kiss ended, and I was over that major disaster. Yeah, good luck with that thought. If I thought the first kiss was awkward, well, the after the first kiss dialog is enough to make Ghengis Kong wet his pants with nervousness.

I smiled nicely, and he said something which for the life of me I cannot remember because I think I went momentarily deaf. At some point, he said he would call me the next day. “Now is your chance,” said brain. “Say one of those smart, but sexy phrases we practiced earlier just incase this would happen.” Tick, tick, tick…”SAY SOMETHING,” brain screamed at me. Which I felt was very rude considering the complete system shut down command he had just given; now he wants me to speak. So in a small squeaky voice, I mutter the words “Thank you.”

“Get the hell out of there,” brain commands. I concurred and jumped into my car, and got the hell out of Dodge.
“Thank you? What the hell was that?”
“You said to say something, so I did.”
“We had practiced saying something sexy or sensuously funny. You could have said ‘That was nice’ or just did some kind of sexy ummm noise. But no, you respond as if you were returning books back to the library.”
“Well, at least he knows I am polite. I am such a loser,” I thought to myself as I banged my head against the steering wheel.

So like any other female, I grabbed my cell phone and called a girlfriend. After the phone call ended, I was driving down the highway when a thought bolted through my brain. It is the kind of thought which makes the entire world seem like it has stopped while you ponder the adverse effects of the thought…Is this a good time to bring up I was on a 4 lane highway going 65 miles per hour? No. OK, forget I mentioned it. Continue with life altering thought…

“You were sucking on a Cherry flavored Halls before this whole kiss thing started. Where Is Your Halls?” brain demanded. I looked in the rear view mirror and checked my mouth. Nothing!
“Did you swallow it before you got into the car?” asked brain.
“I don’t know,” I responded
“Did you chew it up while you were walking towards the car?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Try to remember.”
“OMG, did I give him my Halls in the middle of the kiss?”
“What! How could you do that?”
“You ordered a system shut down remember. I could have given him my social security number, my first born child, and the location of my secret chocolate stash.”
“Well Dategirl, you are in quite a pickle. If you swapped spitted him your Halls, he’s not going to call you. What are you going to do?”
“I am going to buy 12 cats, the entire catalog of Harlequin romance novels, a 10 year supply of Godiva chocolates, and cry for the rest of my life.”
“You’re allergic to cats.”
“Crap! Can I become a nun if I have a 17 year old child? My life is ruined,” I thought as I drove home in complete silence even brain was quiet.


Epilogue:

Mr. Date did call me the next day, and before the posting of this blog entry, he has stated for the record that I did not swap slit him my Halls.