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The spreadsheet - part VII

#dating #NewYork #NYC #onlinedating  #BDSM #bondage #kinky #sex #romance

Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Hermione
Imports and exports
No bullshit
Black
yes
Tall

More cocktails at my local neighbourhood speakeasy. Hermione had this kind of ‘resting bitchface’ expression that made her look annoyed whenever she was in a neutral emotional state (or at least that is what she told me). This stone eyed expression made it hard for me to tell when she was actively disapproving of what I was saying or just mildly interested. She stared at me with a particularly disconcerting ‘open-mouthed-bitchface’ when (for some reason) I started to ramble about my desire to have my brain cryogenically frozen and reconstituted as a computer… Needless to say she wasn’t on board with the idea.

Despite her confusing facial expressions we seemed to get on and have plenty to talk about including our kinky dating experiences. While on date number one she reacted positively to the suggestion of a date number two. Later however she texted that I seemed like a nice guy but wasn’t interested in getting freaky with me.

*

Did that list get exhausting? Imagine how it felt living it…

At this point it might be starting to look to you, cher compatriote, like I was overdoing the whole dating thing a bit…  This may be true, but I had to do something with my time! I suppose I had started to make a few New York friends, but I certainly didn’t have a ‘posse’ of compadres. The friends I had made were either fellow NY stragglers or people who were ensconced within their own friend networks, which I felt somehow invasive trying to infiltrate. There was no central perk for me to go and laze in with a group of amigos; there was no ‘Monica’s apartment’ in which to gossip with shared acquaintances, there was no fountain to jump in pointlessly with a bunch of umbrella wielding besties[1]. It was just me... in my empty studio... with my two pot plants and a pet firefly I’d named Boris[2].

So it could be said that I dated for company more than anything. As an only child I don’t really mind spending extended periods of alone time, but the nascent companionship I felt on some first dates bleakend my otherwise empty social calendar. To quiet the discomfort I felt when second dates failed to materialise the most effective distraction was to seek another first date. And so the cycle continued.

After its early blossoming my sex life also seemed to be wilting in the summer heat (only 2 out of the 17 dates in this chapter were ‘home runs’, in case you weren’t counting ). Perhaps my new ambition to try and find a real match was part of the problem as I was keen to push for second dates and keep in contact with girls I’d met, but on the actual dates I adopted a relaxed approach and I didn’t push girls that I liked to come home with me for sexy times, as I wished to appear like ‘respectable boyfriend material’ who wasn’t just out to get laid. I suppose at that time I hadn’t completely debunked my theory that genuine emotional connection might be best cultivated by careful courtship, with romantic desires would be enhanced by a slow build-up of sexual anticipation over multiple dates[3].

However, one by one all the interesting first dates I hoped to court and seduce slowly dropped away into a black hole of unanswered text messages. My ‘building anticipation’ theory of romance did not square with the data I was collecting from ‘I want it all and I want it now’ world of New York dating[4]. If I didn’t sleep with a girl on the first date it seemed like my chances of seeing her again were dramatically reduced. This was especially true with the kink themed profiles, as I had several dates that seemed to go really well but I didn’t sleep with them, and then date two never happened. It was as if once the thrill of meeting a kinky Englishman for the first time had subsided then some critical frisson was irretrievably lost. Perhaps when these girls were given time to reflect their nerves got the better of them, or they decided the mysterious phenomenon called ‘chemistry’ was missing[5].

The silver lining to all these low blows to my ego was that at least I was getting plenty of experience. Continuous and excessive post-date analysis I was teaching me things, although what exactly I was learning would be kind of hard to condense into a lesson plan. Most importantly the constant dating was conditioning my subconscious (and other socially relevant backwaters of my brain) to make the right moves and not the wrong ones[6]. I suppose dating is a bit like learning to play a sport; you can read books about it all you want, you can plan your actions to the minutest detail, but if you don’t get out there and practice you’ll just get knocked for six every time.

*

Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Timothy
Scientist
English
Brown
Serious weirdo
Complains far too much about dating.





[1] This will definitely become a more surreal paragraph if read by future generations.
[2] Well, Boris’s light in my life existed only briefly, but it shone oh so brightly! (And also greenly)
[3] Sometimes it’s funny to look back at how wrong you were.
[4] My keenness to maintain post-date contact may have also played to my disadvantage, perhaps making me come off as needy and lonely (which maybe I was, but I probably shouldn’t have projected that!) On the other hand I also wasn’t sure if some girls just wanted me to chase them more, and if not chasing them made them think I wasn’t interested enough to be worth their time… Not getting replies left me no way of knowing whether they thought I was too interested in them or not interested enough…
[5] Personally I think there is an over-reliance on gut instinct or ‘chemistry’ in early dating decision making, I think a lot of people expect it to be there instantly and probably miss out on a lot of great opportunities to fall in love just because the first time they met a stranger a bunch of brain chemicals didn’t fire in quite the right order.
[6] It also seemed apparent that I needed to be more confident and aggressive in my dating tactics. This might sound unpalatably close to the dating ‘philosophy’ expounded by certain noxious individuals who refer to themselves as ‘pickup artists’. Some of these ‘pick-up-‘‘‘‘artists’’’’’ teach that guys should be as manipulative, rapey, and consent violatey as legally possible in order to get girls into bed. This was a level of fucktardery I had no intention of exploring, and when I say ‘I needed to be more aggressive’ I’m talking about a subtle increase in aggression that could take the form of small differences in body language or how I said things. For example replacing the nonchalant “You can come back to mine if you like?” query, with more the more expectant question: “Would you like to come back to mine?” could easily tip the balance from a “not-sure” to a “maybe”.













book draft pic...

#book #dating #NewYork #NYC #onlinedating  #BDSM #bondage #kinky #sex #romance 

The book draft 1 is written! ~96,000 words... Now I just need to make it good! (Oh and figure out all that agent/publisher business...)



The spreadsheet - part VI





Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Ophelia
?
Boring
Brown
?
Had nothing to say

One beer - Zero conversation.

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Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Ashley
Social Media
chatty, weird, super interesting
Brown
interested
English!!!

A girl with an interesting looking sex oriented profile checked me out. I started writing her a message, but just before I pressed ‘send’ a message popped up from her. This simultaneous messaging got us off to a good start and we exchanged banter including how she once had sex in a church, and I told her a cautionary tale about my recent solo misadventures with duct-tape. Banter transferred to texting, but scheduling an actual meetup was challenging as Ashley always seemed to be off doing something fun sounding.

The times we did meet were impulsive last minute affairs where I was in her neighbourhood and she happened to be free. The first time we met was for cocktails at the Wayland; they were good cocktails and Ashley was fun to talk to. I’m not sure how much of it was that I hadn’t met any new English people for too long, but I liked Ashley’s sense of humour, her openness, and her general enthusiasm for life. Her own lack of inhibitions made me feel safe in describing my various dating trials and tribulations. She was similarly forthcoming and I discovered that she had a penchant for sex parties… this was a particularly interesting conversation topic and I learned many things. For example I found out that Oxford students had their own group sex society, though it must have been a well guarded secret to escape the ravenous Oxford gossip mill. Ashley also told me that during her student years she had sometimes frequented orgies hosted in luxurious London mansions and English country houses. ‘Eyes wide shut’ scenarios drifted through my mind; group sex was not something I had ever sought out myself, but I couldn’t deny that she had me intrigued.

When not talking about sex I also learned that Ashley was a fan of weird nature stuff; on her phone she showed me pictures of the various frightful insects and myriapods that she had found inhabiting her crumbling east village apartment.

After a couple of drinks Ashley decided it was time to call it a night. As we were leaving I tentatively proposed; “I mean you’d be welcome to come back to mine if you wanted to?”
“Oh no, not today, I was supposed to have a threesome yesterday, but I’m just all over the place at the moment, sorry.” She replied.
“Sure, no worries! Lets hang out again soon.” I said meekly.

Eventually I caught up with Ashley again, we got fro-yo and chatted in Tompkins square park while the fireflies were coming out. These flashing dots of green above the dark grass almost seem like some ethereal spirits, trying to transmit morse code from beyond the grave. She somehow ended up buying my fro-yo for me as the result of an awkward checkout interaction where I offered to pay, but then she insisted I had bought drinks last time, and so I relented and she paid for both, but then I wasn’t sure if she had just meant to buy her own... “Arg I’m so stupid!” I said out loud to myself randomly the next day, while pointlessly obsessing over this error. Perhaps I had been in New York too long and forgotten how English people are meant to do multiple rounds of insisting to pay for things?... You know how you get those retrospective feelings of stupidity that randomly bubble up and make you want to spontaneously punch yourself in the face? Well for some reason this not-paying-for-fro-yo incident haunted me like that for weeks, even though it probably had zero influence on Ashley’s desire to sex me.

While Ashley was confident and friendly in the way she talked, there was something slightly awkward about her body language that gave off a ‘don’t touch me’ vibe. So I didn’t touch her. The fireflies had more nerve than me though and one flew straight into her face. Having finished the remains of our melted dairy products we fled the suddenly hostile park life. A. said she had some more people to meet that evening, and so I walked to the L stop and we parted ways.

I badgered her by text for a while; based on the last two meetings it seemed to be a matter of rolling the message die and hoping she was free that evening. Eventually though Ashley got bored of telling me she was busy; “I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I’m just not interested...” was her reply to my final, and somewhat seedy, proposition:

After a bit of pressing she revealed the main thing that turned her off about me, (aside from texting her too much), was my teeth as she thought they could use straightening. Instead of being hurtful this dental insult was a weird relief; I was happy that it was just a minor physical defect that put her off me, as with string of dating failures I’d been experiencing in June and July I was beginning to worry there was something noxiously unappealing about my personality!

After been effectively closured, I thanked Ashley for her honesty and deleted her row from the spreadsheet.

The spreadsheet - part V

#dating #NewYork #NYC #onlinedating  #BDSM #bondage #kinky #sex #romance


Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Fay
job seeker
sassy
brunette
yup
-

Fay messaged me first on profile 3 with a sassy and rambly message about Englishisms and kink. I sassed her right back, pointing out that she looked like she was drunk in all her pictures and I couldn’t tell if she was hot or not. She appreciated my snarkiness and threats of punishment, and before long I was waiting to meet her in the Belfry. Infuriatingly she was more than forty minutes late, and the Belfry was rammed and noisey. I switched back and forth between hovering inside the air conditioned doorway and loitering outside on muggy 14th street. After 20 minutes the bouncer must have thought I was a weirdo, after 40 minutes I must have seemed certifiable. Eventually though Fay arrived and I led her to a quieter bar around the corner. Aside from her lack of punctuality she had a good sense of humour and before long we were making out on the plastic seats of the M15 bus, heading back to my place.

I spanked and flogged Fay until her ass and back were thoroughly reddened; her punishment for keeping me waiting. After sex round 1 I let her have a go on me with the flogger while I was strapped down. She giggled a lot and eventually released me saying, “I prefer when you do it to me”...

There was a definite spring in her step as I watched her leaving my place; her denim short-shorts swaying from side to side and riding up into her ass as it diminished down the hallway.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Vicky
?
?
Brown?
?
?

She smiled a lot and she wasn’t ugly, but her three dimensional body and face weren’t quite what I was expecting. I wasn’t feeling it so I aborted the date after one drink with the cunning line: “I expect you’ll want to get an early night for your run tomorrow…?”

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Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Pamela
international development
‘Type A’ or whatever
blonde
yes
Seemed like a smart and together young woman

Pamela was a little older than me; 29 and staring down the barrel of 30. She had a theory that only douchebags like David Foster-Wallace, but with careful use of both profile 1 and 3 I managed to persuade her to meet me for cocktails. She was charming and smart; I remember an in depth discussion on the current political turmoil in Egypt, and discovering a mutual fascination with the travels of Alexander the Great.

Talk of her tough mudder experience led us neatly into her BDSM interests. I talked about how I was trying to learn some more complex rope techniques; the sort of convoluted and intertwined designs that wrap and immobilize the whole body. I could see a twinkle in her eye and a shudder in her hips as she talked about the designs she’d seen, and her hands traced imaginary ropes over her body. However I failed to tempt her back to my place as she said she had to get up early for a run the next day. I kissed her briefly outside the bar, at first she went with it but then hastily turned to leave, saying “Text me!” over her shoulder.

I texted her on three separate occasions, the first two messages got no response… and the third didn’t either.