I went out on two dates on Saturday. Neither of them were exactly date-dates, but rather hang-outs. I met both of these women online.
The first woman, 34, I met for scrabble in the park. I’m going to call her “Ugly Betty,” not because she was ugly, but because she looked like Ugly Betty. We hung out in the park for perhaps two hour. She told me about how much she hated her boring government job but how much she loved having the benefits and pension and everything. She wants to leave after she has her mortgage paid off, but she likes the pension too. “They call them golden handcuffs for a reason,” she said. Civil servants make me sick. I’ve probably mentioned that before. Perhaps I’m just jealous. Anyway, I kicked her ass at scrabble a couple of times and then took off. Actually, she did have one interesting story – apparently another date showed up with a gift for her – a loot bag that said “congratulations on the baby.” Whether this was re-gifting, or symbolic of a brand-new relationship, I cannot say, and anyway, I’ve since lost interest.
The second woman, 22, I’m going to call “Wolverine,” not because she’s ugly, nor because she bears any resemblance to Wolverine, but because of the following story. I had actually already named her Cue-T in my last post, but I hadn’t met her yet, so this is a much better name. We met at a pool hall that evening, along with an old friend of mine. Let’s call him The Mendicant, because, he is a bit like a mendicant. Sometimes. Anyway, I met the two of them at a pool hall, along with two other friends of hers, and I got to know her better. We played a few rounds of pool, all of which I won, despite not having played pool in five years, and despite how wickedly-good everyone else purported her to be. I might get the feeling she was letting me win, but then again, I think my ego prefers to think of it as prowess. Likelier still: it was just dumb luck, but I digress.
Almost as soon as I arrived, I noticed some rather nasty scratches on The Mendicant’s arm. When I asked him what happened, he responded that he nodded toward Wolverine, who was engages in another game, hinting that “she did.” I told him it looked like he had come in second in a fight with Wolverine, and he said that wasn’t far from the truth. So I followed him outside as he went for a smoke, and got some more details. He told that he and Wolverine are into the same “scene.” He asked if I knew much about it, and I told him, not in detail, that yes, I was, and once dated a professional domme. He told me then: “I’m playing with fire, my friend, and I think I like it.”
We went out to a favorite pub of his, we three, (the other two friends dispersed), we shared a few pitchers and got ourselves nicely buzzed. As the night progressed, I had a thumb war with each of them, at the same time, I guess as an excuse to touch her hand. She dug her nails into my hand, and as I said something about how sharp her nails were, The Mendicant doffed his shirt, revealing an entire torso of scabbed-over scratch marks. He looked like he’d been tortured, and everyone at the bar noticed. I’m pretty sure those marks will be permanent, though they’ll fade over time. I looked at my hand again, and picked off the bits of skin she’d loosened, and then I grabbed her hand to inspect her nails. She actually sharpens them. I had never seen anything like it, save one kung-fu partner I once had, who was perhaps a little nuts. But that’s a different story.
The two of them got up to go to the bathroom, so I got up to speak to another friend of mine that I recognized, who shares my love of chess and Final Fantasy Tactics, among other things. With him was a plump guy with an unkempt beard wearing an Evil Dead T-shirt. You know the type, I’m sure. Great big B-movie nerd. So I struck up a conversation with him about crappy movies, as I have a soft spot for them myself. I asked him if he has seen a movie called Die You Zombie Bastards!, which had come by the recommendation of Wolverine perhaps a week or two prior. Well, he’d seen it, and he proceeded to ask me about the woman I was with.
I’m going to call him Nasty Nick, because I found him rather nasty, and his name was Nick. You’ll have to forgive me if my creative juices are running a little low. Nasty Nick did what I like to call a psychopath move. Perhaps several. At first said he vaguely recognized the girl I was with, and ask me her name. When I told him, he added the last name and asked if it was her. When I confirmed, he laughed and told me they had dated. I found it odd that he would give the pretense of not recognizing her, and I can’t remember if I called him on it or not. Anyway, he decided to tell me that “since things don’t seem to be going so well for [me] tonight,” that he’d tell me it was just as well. This is the second person that night telling me she was a dangerous girl. When my friends came back, they both got me away from him. When I tried to talk about him, Wolverine asked me not to. I gathered she wasn’t proud of having dated Nasty Nick, and I can’t say I blame her.
After that we three went back to The Mendicant’s place. They both dry humped me along the way, and also when I got there. I wasn’t exactly sure if I was being molested or mocked. I suppose I didn’t care.
My grandmother Depressia just called me to remind me to eat breakfast. Or I’ll get swine flu. Even though it’s night time – I can put a box of cereal out to remind myself in the morning to eat. Because otherwise I’d forget, right? *shakes his head*
Throughout the night I felt like Wolverine was speaking to my dark side, and I was probably also speaking to hers. What really weirds me out is that The Mendicant seems to be goading her on to do this, when I would expect he would want her for himself. Perhaps that’s because *I* want her for myself. He had told me days before that he liked her, and I’m painfully aware that he’s already far more familiar to her and intimate with her than I’d be willing to get this soon. Then again, I did sleep with that pole dancer the very same night I met her. God, I hope my mom isn’t reading all this. Also, he kept trying to make out with her that night, and she kept pushing him away. I got the impression it was just about scening, and not necessarily dating.
What I really want is not to be jealous. Anyway, as for what will happen next, I’ll have to see. I know that The Mendicant wants her too, and at this point, I’m inclined to say that his antics have earned her. The Mendicant slept over at her place last night, and was still sleeping behind her as I spoke to her on msn this morning. I decided to outright ask her: “So, are you two an item, or do you just need a scratching post?” She replied smartly that she supposed she needed a scratching post, and that The Mendicant, in turn, needed to be one. Poor boy.
Anyway, that’s enough for now. Well, one last thing. I met *another* woman at a party a few days back – a culinary student, who is studying with a few other Chinatown friends of mine. She doesn’t speak to my dark side, but she does speak to my humorous side. When I went on my usual tangents of making silly conversations even more silly, she played a long. She just seemed to get me. And she seemed very maternal – it’s difficult to explain without sounding cheesy, so I won’t bother. Let me just say that I’ve just asked her out, and I’m hoping she doesn’t have a boyfriend and/or freak out on me like Nurse Betty, or Makeup Girl, or Lilith, or whoever else thought a simple “no” wasn’t good enough.
Later, voyeurs! (You know I love you.)