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. ; )

∗ Posted by Monique on 04.01.2006
∗ Let's get it on, Misc. Dates, Monique's favorites, Raunchy
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I’m thinking about buying a domain name and moving my blog to it. Have you done this? Has it worked out? Blogger has had some outtages and it’s starting to annoy me.

Last night was the 2nd annual February birthday night out among my group of friends — there are three birthdays this month plus we had my one-year “divorceiversary” to “celebrate. Eleven of us went to PF Chang’s for dinner — YUM! — and we scored two free orders of lettuce wraps because we had to wait like five minutes for our reservation. It was during dinner that I became the de facto designated driver because I had one drink compared to, among others, my beloved friend Chris’s THREE. After dinner we drove to a club, which was absolutely tragic. We were there for a few hours, but even at midnight on a Saturday night, it was empty. So I hauled our asses to another bar, which was much more crowded but still tragic. Then Chris saw his ex, so we left.

We finally ended up at this seedy male strip club. In theory, it sounds like fun. Hey, let’s go see some naked boys. Oh my God. In all fairness, this was my second visit to the club, the last being the 1st annual Feb. birthday outing. It was seedier this time and there were way more straight women. The dancers looked so young — barely 18 or 21 or however old they have to be — except for one, who actually looked like a man. He danced once, though, then disappeared. Sigh.

Anyway, there was a bachelorette party at the bar. It was the saddest bachelorette party I have ever seen. As I have mentioned before, I am not a skinny little thing. The other two women in my group also are not skinny little things. But neither of us have much of a problem getting dates because we dress nice, we look nice, we act … well, we don’t act nice lol. Anyway, all three of us work with what we have.

But back to the story. The dancers are one a little stage, maybe 2 feet off of the floor, and it’s shaped like a rectangle and accessible on all ends. There was one woman in the bachelorette party who, if I had to guess, was between 400-500 lbs.This woman walked over with a dollar in her hand but instead of tipping the dancer, she decided to FLOP DOWN, ON HER BACK, ON TOP OF THE STAGE, waving the dollar bill in her outstretched hand.

I was horrified.

Her friends hooted. They were the only ones. The dancer, bless his heart, first mock-buried his face in her crotch then proceeded to hump her. Chris commented he was working hard for his money.

It would have been skanky for any woman to do that. But a larger woman — well, fact of life is, we’re judged more harshly. I am less than half that woman’s size and there have been times when I have felt like I’ve been treated like less than a person because my clothing size is in the double digits. (On the bright side, I’ve actually had to develop my personality AND I have big boobs lol.)

But it got worse.

A few minutes later, the aforementioned dancer who looked like a man took the stage. Sigh. We determined he was straight, as he very uncomfortable whenever a guy wanted to stick his tip in the dancer’s “bad touch” area. So a second woman from the bridal party decided to haul her ass onto the stage. This time, she put the dollar bill IN HER MOUTH. Once again, the dancer put on a show for her.

Like I said, I was sober, but I wanted nothing to do with the whole experience. The dancers come around and will do lap dances — no charge, like at the hetero male clubs! — and touching is encouraged. Strongly encouraged. In fact, one of the dancers told us he couldn’t “whip it out but you can touch.” I declined lol.

A lot of women don’t want to touch the label “feminist.” But I’ve never shied away from it. If being a feminist means that I’m uncomfortable with anyone being objectified, then what’s wrong with that? I have never been to a strip club with female dancers, but I can’t imagine I’d find that enjoyable either. Last night, all I could focus on was the youth of the dancers, their bored expressions and the sadness of the older men — like 50, 60 years old — who thought they had a shot with these boys. And maybe they did — as long as their money held out.

∗ Posted by Monique on 02.26.2006
∗ Friends, Raunchy
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