I have a new renter! Andrena has a great blog … the photo of poor Whitney Houston drew me in the other day. ; ) She’s going through the pre-ordination process at her seminary, so send some good thoughts her way!

Better yet, send good thoughts AND traffic her way — click on her thumbnail NOW!

Well, not really. But, damn.

Scott sent me an, ahem, erotic e-mail this evening.

Holy shit.

I was speechless — and believe me, that doesn’t happen very often.

I’m not sure what was better, the content or the fact that it didn’t have any grammatical errors. ; )

I may have met my match in this one.

Damn.

I am just as pleased as punch with myself.

Last night I cooked a delish dinner for Scott, recipe courtesy of Rachael Ray … Rosemary chicken breasts, brown butter and balsamic ravioli, and warm spinach salad with pancetta and sweet viniagrette. It f-ing rocked. Granted it was more of a 40-minute meal than 30, but that was mainly because I somehow bought gigantic chicken breasts; only two would fit in my pan and I ended up having to cube those as they cooked. It was insanely easy, though, yet was very high on the “wow” factor. Scott went back for seconds before I was even done with my first serving, then finally told me he was waiting for me to get more before he went back for the rest. At one point he said, “I hate to swear at the dinner table, but fuck, this is good!”

The rest of the evening was delightful as well … he brought me red roses again — six this time, moving up from the previous two bouquets of four — and two bottles of wine. I had two bottles already in the fridge, so I stashed his for next time. He kissed the hell out of me as soon as he got to my place, and I had to shoo him out of the kitchen while I was trying to get dinner cooked. (Good Lord, how domestic does that sound?!) We got into an interesting conversation about the exes — my husband, his fiancee — as well as religion. He seemed surprised/intrigued/surprised when I told him I got married in Vegas. That’s always a crowd-pleaser lol.

He stayed over until 12:30 or so; I was really tired and didn’t want to get my butt up to let him out (you can’t lock my front door on your way out without a key) but he didn’t want to stay. Fair enough, as I didn’t want to stay at his place last week, the reasoning being that, when I did stay, I wanted it to be for a “special” reason, wink wink.

One thing I don’t really like is that he seems to be the dominant force between the two of us. I can have a pretty big personality, too, and I don’t like to feel like someone else is in charge. But he hasn’t been dismissive, just opinionated, and we seem to be on the same wavelength, anyway, about things that we’ve talked about already. I have to admit, it is kind of fun making him do all of the “work,” like I’m actually letting him court me.

So in my last post, I mentioned Pastor Carl, this guy I went out with a few times about a year ago.

While I was still and waiting for the divorce to be final, my dad goaded me into signing up for eharmony.com. I signed up for a month then got a cheap renewal offer — $12/month for 12 months — so I committed for the year. The first guy I went out with, Dave, was pretty cool and we went out 4 or 5 times before it fizzled out. (He was 6′8″ and while we never slept together, I have to admit I was curious lol.)

If you’re not familiar with how eharmony works, you fill out a long-ass questionnaire — which was surprisingly accurate at describing my personality — and you are matched with people with whom are you supposedly very compatible. Carl was one of my matches. I usually waited for the man to contact me, and he did, in this case. He was about five years younger than I and a pastor in a small town, so I was a little concerned about how much we’d have in common. But his e-mails were great and our phone conversations were fun, so we decided to have dinner.

He drove to my place — he lived about 45 minutes away — to pick me up. He was cute, in a conservative kind of way. We had a nice dinner, good conversation, an overall pleasant evening. I don’t think he kissed me. A few days later he called to ask me out again and I agreed. Something changed in his schedule and we decided that we’d just have pizza and hang out at my place. Over the course of the evening we drank some wine — I probably had the better half of the bottle — and watched a movie.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie — I think it was something with Pierce Brosnan — he kissed me. I was surprised at how good of a kisser he was, and returned the kiss. One thing led to another, aided by the wine, and we ended up partially unclothed. Usually in the middle of a hot-and-heavy make-out session, I can feel a guy. At the level, if I don’t feel an erection, I wonder what’s going on. I usually don’t grope around too much, unless I’m interested in taking things further, but I do like to get an idea of what he’s bringing to the table, so to speak.

So we’re kissing, groping, etc., and I slide my hand down, and … could only feel a tiny bit of hardness. Huh? I thought, well, maybe it’s his underwear. lol. So we started removing clothing and when his pants came off, nope, there it was … the Methodist pastor was going commando. Thank God my face was towards his dick because I’m sure my jaw dropped … fully erect it was about the size of a SALT SHAKER!

I thought, noooo, that CAN’T be it! I tried every trick in my arsenal, but nope, it stayed the same size. He’s moaning like crazy and I’m thinking, what the hell is THIS? But I was too freaked out to think clearly, and didn’t want to be a total bitch and kick his ass out because his wee-wee is well, wee. So we ended up in the bedroom. He asked me if I was on the pill and I said that I was. After a few minutes of foreplay, the good pastor starts acting like he’s gonna stick it in. I stopped him and said, “Condom!”

He said, “I don’t do well with condoms. They don’t really fit.”

You don’t say?

But I insisted and I’ll be damned if the condom didn’t fit. It just hung there on his tiny little erect penis. So obviously intercourse was out. Then he says that he wants to pleasure me. All right, think I. Nope, not even good at that. I was too weirded out to even try to fake it.

So we’re lying in my bed, and he says, “I know that I’m small. That’s why my fiance left me.” WTF? I was like, “Oh no, you’re fine!” Then he goes on into this big story about how he couldn’t satisfy her unless they used toys, etc. I was wondering (a) why he was so eager to get into bed with me, knowing he had this issue and (b) how the hell I’m going to get him out of my apartment.

Then he made my decision clear.

He hugged me and said, “I love you.”

What. The. Fuck.

I excused myself to use the restroom. The way my apartment is set up, my closet connects my bedroom and bathroom, so I was able to get some clothes, and came back to bed wearing a sweater and panties. I said I was cold. Then I started yawning and said, “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. I hate to kick you out, but you have a long drive.”

He left, thankfully, then a few days later e-mailed me, asking me out again. Oh Lord. I hate to say I ignored the e-mail. Then when he e-mailed me again, I replied that he was a good man, but I just didn’t think I was right for him.

Now everyone knows about Pastor Carl and his salt-shaker dick. ; )