Cheaters new math
When there’s no shortage of single guys in this town, why on earth would I choose to go out with a married man? I was experiencing writer’s drought and I needed material.
Sam found my profile online and contacted me. He told me I had a nice big smile and seemed intelligent. I did my usual and sent him to my blog. If he passed that filter, that meant he could handle my warped intelligence and sense of humor.
Two days later, Sam wrote back. I was exactly what he was looking for and he loved my writing, but expressed concern.
“I’m a little worried you might be too chatty. Does everyone make your blog?” he emailed. I told him only when they screw up.
I proceeded to review his profile. It said “separated.” I’m old enough to know this usually means “I’m not sure if I like my wife anymore.” It also said he had kids living with him. Excellent. This meant he had PTA meetings, soccer games, and limited availability. Nothing gets in the way of writing more than a good, available man.
We began phase two which is instant messaging. “So, how long have you been separated,” I asked.
“Oh, I was, but I’m back with my wife,” he replied.
“That means you are married, not separated. You might want to update your profile,” I suggested.
We bantered back and forth and then the USUAL question popped up. “What are you looking for?” when asked by a man is usually code for “I want sex and I hope that’s all you are looking for.”
“I’m looking for a socially and sexually exclusive relationship eventually leading to marriage,” I told him.
“I want a monogamous lover,” he said.
What kind of cheater dictates that his lover has to be monogamous to him? That’s some kind of fucked up new math. I only want to cheat with you but you can’t cheat on me? He gets two women and I get one unavailable man?
Phase three was immediately activated. I had to meet this motherfucker. His ass was getting blogged.
6/04 Did you ever have the desire to meet a man because you knew there was no future, but you had to see if he was as screwed up as you believed he was? Stupidity negates discretion on my blog.
He asked me to pick a hole-in-the-wall location on the Westside. He sent me a small, maybe 1-inch square photo of himself that was four-years old. “I don’t have anything more recent, you know, because I have to be discrete and I don’t want my photo floating around out there,” he said. I really couldn’t make out what he looked like from the black and white headshot except he had little to no hair. No big deal.
We met at Brennan’s on Lincoln primarily because I knew they had Guinness on tap. I got there early and ordered my Black and Tan and sat in a booth. Sam had spent the day in the Bay area visiting clients. His flight was late, so I got to enjoy my beer and prepare for his arrival.
When he walked in, it all made sense. He was Indian. Of course he wanted his lover to be monogamous with him. He was wearing a frumpy polo shirt and baggy khakis. He just didn’t give me the impression he was a 40 year-old, two masters degree holding management consultant that just visited clients. The visual wasn’t holding up to the online image he projected.
After seven minutes of chatting he asked, “So, what do you think?”
I cocked my head and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Do you think we match and we can get together,” he clarified.
I explained that I needed to get to know him better and I didn’t hop in the sack with just anyone. OK, those of you that know me know I do have a spontaneous streak in me. But in this case, I had to stall in order to finish my blog research.
The bald-headed Indian tried to get a third beer for me. I guess he thought that might loosen me up for a parking lot blow job goodbye. I stood firm to my calorie count and we agreed, after 50 minutes, that we should leave. He, after all, had a wife to get home to.
We walked to the parking lot and had that awkward what-do-you-do moment. Shake hands? Euro kiss? Hug? Smile and run?
“It was nice meeting you,” I said as I hugged him.
I could tell from his walk that he knew it was going no further. Then he sealed the deal. He got into a teal Geo Metro that looked like a Domino’s delivery training vehicle. No wonder he stayed with his wife; he needed someone to call when he broke down.
I drove away with a Black and Tan grin. I got what I needed. I had more blog material. Some men, no matter what their marital status is, will always exaggerate the facts. When I got home, I performed my usual Friday night ritual. I recharged my vibrator’s batteries. I had a slight pang of guilt that I had led this guy on in the name of blog entry research. At the same time, it was affirmation to me. I will not compromise my standards and I will try not to serial date, nor will I remain in a relationship that is pointless.
It’s always better to be single than unhappily married. Thank you, Sam, for reminding me of that. And thank you for my first date with a Geo Metrosexual.