So this bunny adventure is about a gentleman I met from match.com.
He is 5’10, dark hair, olive complexion, average build, melodic accent (South African, yes that smooth like butter, I got a little wet in my girlie parts when he spoke), and masculine hands (let’s be real, a handy man matters).
We went out for two months, an estimate of about twenty four dates. In this entire span, I kept my knees closed. We did not do the deed. I was being a good girl.
We were at dinner, met a few of his friends, a few bottle of wines were drunk. Next thing I know he’s taking me back to his new place.
It was condemned, he got it for a great price. He completely rebuilt and refurbished it with his designs. It was like walking into a home from a magazine shoot. Tall ceilings, beautiful wood floors, high end tech everywhere, cozy furnishings, etc. Y’all get the point, it was like walking into HGTV dream home.
I’m a little tipsy. He’s giving me a tour. He’s being a complete gentleman. I walked into his guest suite. Yes, that’s right a guest suite. Not to be mistaken for a guest room. The bathroom in the suite, I could have lived in there. The beautiful white claw footed tub had my name all over it!
I’m staying the night of course. We chit chat for a little while. Then we head to his room upstairs. He gives me at shirt. We have an early morning since we are meeting a few friends.
He strips down to his boxers. It’s so quiet, I think I could hear the crickets outside. We are both under the covers and are having a mini make out session. It’s very PG rated. He then ceases the kissing.
He informs me that he’s tired…
Inner monologue moment: Tired?! What the FUCK do you mean your tired?! You had enough energy to give me a tour of your HUGE house. Then to chit chat for who knows how long! I’m wearing nothing but a t-shirt. MAN THE FUCK UP! Fine if you won’t get the job done, I will.
I attempt to be playful. I take matters into my own hands, literally. I take his manly man member into my hands. I’m thinking I can warm him up to getting it on, as Marvin Gaye said “so poignantly.” Downstairs activity is starting to warm up but he’s not quite getting to the getting it on moment…
I decided to get on top. He was giving me an elated but perplexed face. We both fell asleep after.
It’s now early in the morning.
He’s in the kitchen. I grab a mug of the elixir of life. He’s a little skittish . Something is off, he’s avoiding eye contact. His body language just isn’t right. I get tired of waiting for him to tell me what’s wrong. I ask, point blank, “what’s going on?”
He has a serious expression on his face. But really nervous. I tell him just tell me.
He blurts out, “You peed on me last night.”
I look at him thinking he’s joking. Then I realize oh, he’s serious. He thinks I actually peed on him.
He asks what did I remember from last night. I gave him a play by play of the evening. Including the lets get it on session. He said again, you mean when you peed on me. I told him, no I DID NOT pee on you! I just get really wet. There’s a difference.
Oh my god, what type of women has he been sleeping with?
He acts weird most of the day. We meet up with his friends. I go home and feed Teddy. Then get dressed and meet him downtown at a local bar. It’s underneath the street of a busy tourist area, with dance floor, bars and pool tables. I invited one of my girlfriends to hang out. He had some his friends there too.
I came out of the bathroom. My girlfriend stopped me before I get to the table. She tells me that he has just told his friends about our night. All of it, including the part about how he thought that I peed on him. She was appalled and just couldn’t believe it.
We go back to the table. One of his friends made a back handed comment. They start to laugh. He thinks it hysterical. He doesn’t realize the can of worms he’s just opened. I have to hold my girlfriend back from punching him in the face. She would have reached across the table and pummeled him if I had let her. He goes to the bathroom, but orders a jack and Coke before he goes.
I turn back to my girlfriend to tell her to calm down. She’s busy looking thru her bags. I ask her what is she looking for? She says she’ll know it when she sees it. A few seconds later she pulls out a mini bottle of Tabasco sauce. She grinning and smiling looking like she just found the winning lotto ticket in her bag.
She informs me that she’s going to tweak his drink. His friends are looking but don’t really seem to care. She tells me this can be used for good or bad. She puts quite a few dashes in his drink. Then puts the bottle in her bra.
He returns. His friends say nothing. I felt like the bar was silent when he picked up his drink and took a sip. He pauses and says they must be trying out a new mix. I ask him if he wants to order a replacement. He says no, that he likes it. He finishes the drink. He orders another one. The bartender is slow to refill his drink because she saw us tweak his.
We nodded to the bartender, she understood.
He suddenly stops what he’s doing. He sits straight up. I ask him if everything is ok? He gets very quiet. Then said something he ate at dinner isn’t agreeing with him. He stops talking, gets up, and rushes to the bathroom.
Problem: there’s a line…
The bartender than comes over and says if we want her to keep editing his drinks than she should just keep the bottle. Or she says, she has her own BIG bottle of hot sauce behind the bar that will work faster. The things you can learn from your local bartender…
He comes back to a fresh drink. He tells me that he feels better now. I don’t feel bad at all when he takes a sip of his freshly spiked drink. He doesn’t even get thru the entire drink. He gives me the oh shit look. Yes, the pun is intended.
He then had to run, because he had the runs.
Moral of the story: Tip your bartenders, you never know when you might need a friend.