The Frat Boy in the Pink Robe

People are always telling me I need to date older men, but I have found it is no different than dating someone around my own age or younger. About three years ago, I met an older man through some friends (I will refer to him as Frat Boy). I thought I’d give it a chance, but he turned out to be very immature for a man in his 50s, and we really didn’t have very much in common.

I hadn’t seen Frat Boy in quite some time and ran into him earlier this year. We kind of picked up where we left off – only as friends. We met for beers a few times, and it didn’t take long for me to remember why I suddenly fled from him three years ago. Nothing changed, and I’m pretty sure he lied about his age before, because he was five years older than I recall three years prior. Hmmm…

The last incident with Frat Boy happened a few months ago. I’d been working three jobs, six days a week, and was completely exhausted. One of the jobs is very physical, so when I get off of work, I want to relax and do nothing. (If I’m really lucky, I may con someone into rubbing my feet and legs.) One evening after a grueling day at work, I met FB for a beer or two, and he’d been drinking at a game all evening. Promising to give me a foot massage, I allowed him to come to my house. Once he arrived, I regretted it.

It was that night that I remembered how much FB’s voice annoyed me… like a high pitched nasally whine. He started off with his whine saying, “You better take a shower if you want me to rub your stinky, smelly, sweaty feet.” Mmmkay.

I barely got a foot rub. And then everything he said pierced my nerves to the bone. I finally told him to stop whining, that I didn’t want to hear it. He replied back with his whiny voice, “What! Whining? Are you calling me a sissy?”

I was like huh??? First of all, sissy isn’t even a word I use. After all, this isn’t the 1950s. At that point I was just rolling my eyes and kicking myself for allowing him over.

Next thing I know, Frat Boy decided to use my bathroom but never came out. I noticed the light off, and it connects to my bedroom, so I peeked inside. There was Frat Boy lying in my bed butt ass naked, sleeping (or pretending to). By then, I was super annoyed and decided he could sleep there and I’ll take the couch. I didn’t care. I was in pain from working all day and night and just wanted to relax and sleep.

A few minutes later, Frat Boy starts whiny yelling from my bedroom, “Susanna! Are you coming to bed? Come in here and ride this dick!”

I wanted to vomit.

He kept saying stupid shit, and I was mostly ignoring him and telling him I’m tired and not moving. Then he came through my bathroom wearing my pink velour Victoria’s Secret bathrobe threatening to leave my house in it, because he wasn’t feeling welcomed.

I swear I cannot make this shit up!

At first I was confused thinking that maybe he is a sissy, maybe he likes women’s clothing… and really, wtf?

Like a 3-year-old, Frat Boy kept threatening to leave, and I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Okay.”

He said he was going to walk out the door in just my pink bathrobe. I answered, “Don’t forget your clothes, and don’t let my neighbors see you,” because I truly didn’t give a shit.

And he did. He drove home wearing nothing but my pink bathrobe. I told him he can have it, since he seemed to like it so much. Now he calls me almost daily begging me to call him back or to see him. I have no interest, but the asshole owes me a new bathrobe.

A Date with a Racecar Driver

A while back I met a guy out, we exchanged numbers, and went on a couple of lunch boating dates. He was about 10 years older, had grown kids, used to drive racecars, and seemed to have his shit together.

The first time Racecar tried to kiss me, it was unexpected, which is probably why it made it awkward. I think it was the timing, because I was still getting to know him and wasn’t at that point of wanting to kiss him. At the time I thought he was moving too fast, and I still had my reservations about him.

Several dates later, I decided I liked Racecar enough to continue seeing him, and eventually I let him kiss me, and over time had sex. It was okay, and thankfully he didn’t act like he was on the race track. His racecar was a nice size, but due to his lifestyle and age, he couldn’t keep it running. Very frustrating when you’re in the moment, but it is what it is. Another thing I noticed is he definitely could not keep his motor running when I was on top. That’s a huge deal, probably some mommy issues.

Even worse, while Racecar was trying to keep his racecar in me, he was talking dirty, saying things over and over: “Look at that tight little pussy! Give me that tight little pussy! I love that tight little pussy!” A little awkward, but I figured it was the first time, so give it another chance.

Second time, same story.

Third time, same story.

Racecar kept repeating the “TLP” phrase, and I felt like I was in the movie Groundhog’s Day. I actually busted out laughing, because I felt it was so ridiculous and definitely did nothing for me; in fact, it distracted me from the moment. I asked him why he said that every single time, over and over. He claimed it helped him to concentrate reaching orgasm. Mmmkay.

Then I began to find out some things. I thought his social drinking was normal, because after one or two drinks he seemed pretty tipsy… until he revealed that he takes pain meds daily. That explained that. It also probably explained why his racecar didn’t run so well. He actually reminded me a little bit of a friend that had a drinking problem that passed away a couple of years ago, so I really started to open my eyes at that point.

On our last date, Racecar took me for a ride in his prized pristine fast car. We were in a residential area where the speed is about 30 mph… and he decided that it was okay with me as his passenger to double the speed. I pretty much freaked out, because there was a ditch on my side, and all it would take is one person to pull out on one of those side streets for my life to either be gone or be completely changed forever. Then he proceeded to pull out onto the main highway fish tailing and squealing tires, leaving marks in the road. He thought he was being cool. I thought he was being a selfish, thoughtless asshole.

At that point I realized that this “relationship” was going nowhere and he was more about pleasing himself than pleasing me, and I decided none of that was going to work for me. I haven’t seen him since, but I suspect that I will eventually run into him in my small little town that I’m beginning to dread.

On Being Sick and Single

If you’ve been following my blog, you may remember that I became very sick at the beginning of the year. During the brief time I was seeing Mr. Mixed Messages, I came down with whatever sinus/head cold crap he had, which turned into the flu and eventually pneumonia. Being that I’m a natural caregiver, I offered to help Mr. Mixed Messages, asking if he needed anything, maybe some homemade chicken soup… but he declined, apparently had someone else to take care of him. But when the tables were turned, he offered me nothing, not even a text asking how was I feeling.

After being sick for nearly three months, I quickly came to realize who my real friends were. Nearby friends that never once asked how I was doing or if I needed anything, I realized were no friends at all. And the fuckboys that always wanted to “hang out” instead of help out had no place in my life.

Not only is being sick and single lonely and difficult, it’s a financial disaster when I have to miss work. Already struggling, having no income is a double edged sword that causes more stress and a vicious cycle that has taken its toll on both my physical and mental health. (More about this cycle in another post.)

The past few months I’ve barely dated at all. Either I’m working too much or I just have no interest in dating anyone I meet. Not enough in common, age differences, and emotionally unavailable are just a few reasons among other things as to why. But still, I meet people that want to “hang out”. Most of the time, I just decline.

Fast forward to today. I’ve been sick again with an awful upper respiratory illness for almost two weeks. And again, fuckboys are nowhere to be found. It’s a reminder of why I’m not dating anyone and why I won’t settle. Not that I care to be married again, but “in sickness and in health” is very important when it comes to relationships. If someone can’t be a friend at the very least, they could never meet my standards of being a partner. Which leads me to ask…

Does true partnership coexist with friendship anymore?

A Date with a Redneck

Last year I met a guy on Bumble that seemed to be nice. I will refer to him as Redneck. The first time we met he was dressed nicely and on his best behavior. Then he asked me to be his New Year’s Eve date to watch a band and meet his friends.

Like normal people do on New Year’s Eve, I got dressed up. When I arrived to meet Redneck, he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt with a flannel over it and sneakers. His friends and their wives/girlfriends were also dressed up. He ordered unhealthy food and dessert after telling me about some health issues he was having, so at that point I pretty much determined nothing is going to go further than friendship with Redneck. Oh, yeah, and his profile listed him as 4 years younger than he actually was.

Shortly after I met Redneck, I got really sick for a couple of months that eventually turned into pneumonia. He texted me a few times about going to dinner, but I either wasn’t feeling well or I had to work. A few days later, he’d been at some redneck truck show and then proceeded to invite himself to my house when he was done. I repeated I wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed early. Around 8pm the same day, he called me – sounded drunk and telling me he was eating at Wing House about 40 minutes from me. I didn’t care to talk to him, especially knowing he’d been drinking all day. Again, he said he was coming over when he was done eating. I said it’s already after 8, I’m going to bed soon. And then I saw the other side of Redneck.

Apparently, my health and well-being didn’t matter to Redneck. He started yelling, “No, I’m coming!” At first it was funny until I realized he was both serious and drunk. I said, “NO, I’m going to bed early because I want to get up and do yoga in the morning.” He said “fuck yoga! We can do that all night!” I said, “NO, I’ve been sick, I’m tired, and I don’t want anyone here. By the time you’d get here it will be like 10… that’s too late.”

He seriously started to argue with me that I’m always too busy or making excuses, fuck my excuses… I repeated that I’d been sick and I needed to get well (at this point I hadn’t yet found out I had pneumonia). At that point, he was just sounding like a dick, kept saying, “fuck yoga”, so I thought “fuck you”, hung up on him and never heard back.

About 5 months later, I went back on Bumble, and there he was with the same old, same old. I purposely swiped right to see what he would do. We matched. I told him he really fucked up, to which he replied that I did. Hmm… Nope. He did. I don’t miss him a bit.