There was only one man that I met on Match that I fell in love with. No, this story isn’t about him, but it is about the guy I dated immediately after ending that Relationship. Fred (who was not technically from Texas) was kind, uncomplicated, and a refreshing blast of normal that made me realize that dumping my last boyfriend was a good decision after all. He’s also the reason I smile whenever I go paddle boarding or hear a Vampire Weekend song.
I debated even writing this story and the reason why is simple. I respect him. Genuinely. There have been so few decent men during my online dating adventures, and he is one of them and doesn’t deserve having his dirty laundry aired. But considering how drastically he changed my bad attitude about dating in only one month, he warranted a mention in my dating archives.
I started emailing Fred about two weeks after my relationship with my ex-boyfriend ended and it was strictly done on the rebound. No pretense here – I could not have cared less who it was at that point. Fred just happened to be the lucky winner at the top of my search results that day. He was surprisingly direct and sweet. Unlike so many other guys online that sent me stupid email after stupid email filled with questions that I’d already answered in my profile, Fred cut right to it and sent me his phone number. I hate to admit my excitement level for Fred was low leading up to our first date. His profile was underwhelming at best, and the only thing he had going for him was how handsome he was. Like, impossibly handsome. He was tall, stocky, he had piercing eyes, an inviting smile, and he looked like he had been the star baseball player in his heyday. My favorite type. He was just what I needed to shake my ex-boyfriend out of my head. Simply put, I could tell he knew how to tear it up like a wild bear in bed. The chase, my friends. I know how to cut to it.
Because of this low level of excitement, our first date caught me totally off guard. It was so easy to talk to him, and boy did we talk about everything. Literally, EVERYTHING. As in politics, past relationships, aliens (seriously), our favorite vacations, whether or not we thought ghosts existed (again, seriously), our favorite hobbies, family, friends, and at least a dozen other random topics that normally don’t all surface at once on the first date. About five hours into the evening, when we realized that everything was closed and that meant we had to end the date I had a surprising thought: I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to find someplace else that was still open so that we could keep hanging out.
Our second date (if you can call it that) was an impromptu paddle board lesson that happened a few days later. He invited me to join him to go paddle boarding by texting a photo of a board he was going to buy and a suggestion that we go on some adventures together. That day I learned how to paddle board, and I also learned that I might like this guy. On date number three, we spent the afternoon lounging at the beach followed by dinner and drinks. After my ex, who started problems and fights over the smallest things, it was so nice being around someone who made me feel like I could finally relax. His demeanor, his hilarious imitation of a Texan accent that bordered on offensive to actual Texans, and his mellow attitude put me at ease. If I think about him now, that ease I felt when talking to him was probably what did this whole relationship in before it even started, but I’ll get to why in a minute. I might have been falling in like with this guy, but I’m sure you’re probably about to fall asleep because of the mind numbing perfection. Don’t worry, it was around this time he finally decided to throw me a curveball because why the fuck not.
At the end of the night, I invited him in because if it was possible for women to have blue balls, I had spent the entire evening nursing the worst case of it imaginable. No joke. While we had been swimming at the beach together a few hours earlier I’d had to make an effort to stop myself from trying to have sex with him in the ocean in front of children.
However, no more than two minutes after…you know…getting going, I noticed that something felt… off. I looked at his face and that’s when I spotted it: anxiety. His face was covered in it, and as I quickly realized, so was his penis.
Crap.
Look, let me put this out there for every man who has ever been momentarily lacking in the testicular fortitude department. It happens to everyone. EVERY. FUCKING. ONE. I have not dated a single man that didn’t have it happen at least once, and my ex was straight up permanently impotent. And does it suck when it happens? Sure does. But here’s the trick to moving past the let down: laugh it off, try other things (the other things are better anyways, trust me), and blame it on having too many drinks at dinner like any normal, self-respecting dude and then immediately go to GNC and stock up on every male performance supplement you can find. I’ll tell you what you SHOULDN’T do, though. You should not roll off and sulk home in embarrassment with your deflated manhood between your legs, acting like the naked woman lying in front of you no longer serves any purpose to you for the evening. That made me feel less nonchalant about the whole thing. In fact, it made me feel like downright shit.
The next weekend brought a glimmer of hope when we spent the day kayaking, dinner-ing, and movie-ing. When we got home that night and actually had sex, I breathed a sigh of relief and let my guard back down. Because I’m retarded like that. I let my guard down even further when he mentioned meeting his friends for a ballgame, offering to join me for dinner with my brother, and several other comments that most guys wouldn’t – nay, SHOULDN’T – mention to a girl they were planning on ditching. Dudes, for real, this stuff all translates into “Yay, he must really like me!” in girl brain, so if y’all can’t decide on which of you mean it and which of you don’t, then stop saying it. It’s called a consensus, gentlemen. Please feel free to reach one.
As predicted, the ease I felt was short lived. The next week or so was filled with a few fun dates that ended in barely more than a peck on the cheek, a couple failed attempts at sex, and exactly zero orgasms for either of us. In fact, our last date, which ended with me leaving his apartment frustrated, horny, and wearing roughly $175 worth of lingerie under my dress that he never even got to see left me wondering why I gave two shits about this guy. Which leads to what I believe was the fatal flaw in this whole relationship.
Remember how comfortable I felt talking to Fred? Well, I was. VERY comfortable. I felt comfortable because I liked him and how it seemed like any topic of conversation was open game for us. And for some asinine reason, I felt comfortable enough to ask him if there was any sort of issue going on for why we weren’t able to have sex, and if there was something that was turning him off. Now, the logical person would see this as a relatively normal question to bring up when a guy says he is attracted to you but doesn’t back it up with some affection. But as a guy friend would point out to me later on, dudes might be logical but their manhood is all ego. Asking a guy if he is having problems with his wang is the equivalent of rolling up a newspaper and hitting it. Game. Over.
After going through this same problem with my ex, and seeing identical warning signs left and right, I wasn’t terribly shocked that his response was no bueno. Sure enough, he blamed stress, said that yes he was attracted to me, and no it wasn’t an ongoing issue (I’m still not certain I buy that). And just like that, he sort of faded out until one day the “let’s be friends” text came through.
After such a brief stretch of dating, it’s hard to have any negative feelings towards the guy, even though I saw that one lasting much longer than a month. I mean, seriously, the pedicure I got the day of our first date lasted longer than the whole relationship, so kudos to my nail techs at Wonder Nails, but sad trombone on Fred. Never one to shut my mouth and ignore red flags, it was better to find out sooner rather than later that I couldn’t even talk about sex (or the lack of it) with a potential boyfriend.
I haven’t spoken to him since, and I’m fairly certain that the sight or sound of me would conjure up some very unpleasant memories for his groin. But, emotionally speaking, he was just what I needed at a time when I needed it most. He was like a human eraser for the miserable relationship I’d just escaped and for that, he deserves some serious props, good vibes, and hopefully much better luck with the next one.
