Dear Mr. Nice Guy,
Got a question for Mr. Nice Guy? Email it to firstname.lastname@example.org
Dear Mr. Nice Guy,
Got a question for Mr. Nice Guy? Email it to email@example.com
Things are moving right along with me and D. So smoothly, in fact, that it feels weird.
NOTE: This is where all of you out there that have had successful relationships chime in.
Because I’ve never had this. I’ve never dated someone who misses me after just a few hours of being apart. I’ve never spent so much time with someone where I recognize their smell, or their breathing when they sleep. I’ve never fallen into a routine with someone.
I’ve heard about it, from other couples, but never experienced it.
In the last few weeks, there’s been one night we didn’t stay together, and even then, D was whining. While Marcy tells me that would get on her nerves, I enjoy it. I’ve never had anything quite like this, and I don’t feel like I have to put on an act around D, so why not spend the few free hours we have together?
The nights he has off from work, which are also the nights he has his daughter, we spend at his house. The nights he has to work late, he spends at mine—its 3 nights at one place, 4 at the other, so it’s as equal as it can be.
After he met Marcy and Craig, he asked me when I wanted to meet his parents. I was shocked. I’ve never had someone want me to meet their parents. He assured me, they were going to love me.
Before I meet his daughter, he has an agreement with his ex wife that she will meet me, too. He really wants me to meet his daughter, so don’t be surprised if you see a post on here of me freaking out before I meet his ex wife, then his daughter, and eventually, his family.
We’ve talked about meeting my family, which is awkward. Because my family has issues. So there’s that. I told him I see my family once a year (if I’m lucky..heh), so he was more than welcome to come with me in November when I do so.
“We’ll be engaged by then,” he said.
Because yes, he’s told me he is convinced I am his wife.
D came home (see I’m even doing it without realizing it) from work Saturday night and told me the guys at work voted him, “The guy with the best girlfriend.” I laughed, “I believe it, but why?”
He had showed him a picture of the breakfast I cooked us that morning: (my version of “Green Eggs & Ham”)—toasted English muffins, topped with prosciutto, a fried egg, spoonful of pesto, and freshly cracked pepper. I served it with a tamer version of Irish coffee: hazelnut coffee with a shot of Bailey’s, topped with homemade vanilla whipped cream and a sprinkle of ground cinnamon. I served it on a tray, in bed, with a vase of flowers.
Because I really am that awesome.
I had mad respect for that. I went the entire year thinking this guy didn’t like me, or that he just wanted to hook up, when really, he was trying to work things out on his end.
Now, he lives in a house with two roommates and got a promotion, so he’s not waiting tables anymore.
After a few days of light flirting, we were talking nearly all day everyday. Late the next Friday night, he was telling me how much he wished I would have come in to see him at work. On his drive home, he asked me if I would come over, right then.
Against all things my brain was telling me, I got in my car and drove to his house at 4 am.
He was better looking than I recalled, standing in his doorway, still in his work attire. I was in sweats and still wearing my mouth guard.
“There you are,” he said as I walked into his living room, grabbing my waist when I walked by. We talked briefly before going into his bedroom, where I flopped onto the bed, exhausted.
“I need to know something,” he said. “Why did you text me on Valentine’s Day? And please be honest with me.”
I told him the whole story and he kissed me. And it was a better kiss than I remember.
The following Sunday night, he came to my apartment to hang out. Sitting on my couch, he told me he needed to make sure I wasn’t leading him on, because he was starting to really like me. I was a little worried that it was moving fast, but I went with it. That same day, the Sunday of the Oscars, marked one year since we met. He invited me over to his house for the next day, what would be a year since our first date.
I happily said yes, but only if he’d watch The Bachelor with me. He said he would DVR it.
On the way to his house I stopped by a local grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine to bring over. Mid-search, the power went out, sending cursed cries into the dark. I wandered through the aisles, as if there was a way I could feel a bottle that would taste good. Minutes later, when the lights came back on, I was standing in front of a tower of white boxes, with wine inside. I reached down to see what kind it was.
The exact wine we drank exactly one year prior. Despite its steep price, I decided to go for it. When I arrived at D’s, I told him I had a surprise. I pulled out the wine, and he couldn’t believe it. “Whaaaaat!? Are you kidding me?” he asked. So there we were, sipping on our wine, watching The Bachelor.
And it felt perfect.
He asked me if I was ready to eat, motioning to the dining room.
“I think our table is ready,” he said.
We sat down, and our waitress (who had the look and name of a mermaid) greeted us. She had no menus.
“I heard from the chef you guys are doing ‘the experience,’ tonight?”
My date, D, nodded and ordered a bottle of wine, “The Prisoner,” he said. The waitress raised her eyebrows and left, returning with the manager, who uncorked our bottle and decantered it for us. I didn’t know what “The Experience” was and I’d never ordered a bottle of wine so nice it demanded additional attention.
“I hope you like the menu they have planned for us,” he said. “Are you a picky eater?”
I said no, and we got to talking. He was a year older than me, still trying to finish school, while working as a server. He was divorced with a 5-year-old daughter named Emma. He said he got married too young, and the split was amicable. His phone was full of pictures of Emma, who he took on “Daddy-daughter dates” on Tuesday nights.
Course by course, our food arrived. We had soup, an appetizer, braised pork, muscles and pasta, and dessert. And two additional bottles of wine. The tables around us cleared, the bar was empty. We made friendly with our waitress and the manager, after the chef came out to our table to ask us if we enjoyed the meal.
With the permission of the staff, we stayed while they cleaned, dancing right in the dining room (where I actually fell, like a drunk ass). When we were both too tired and drunk to continue, we walked outside, and shared our first kiss.
It was nice. It was definitely one of the best dates I’d ever been on.
In the days after, I heard from D, but usually late at night. He was kind, said he missed me, but only asked me to hang out in groups, not for a second date. Eventually, I stopped hearing from him.
Over the course of the year, we would text occasionally, if something reminded us of each other. On Valentine’s Day this year, I was talking with a friend at work who said something that made me think of him. I decided to go for it, send him a text and let him know.
“Was just thinking about you, Happy Valentine’s Day, D!”
D: Crazy thing, I thought about you the other day. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, Lucky!
ME: Aw, I hope it was a good thought?
D: Always a good thought when it comes to you.
We chatted some over the next few days, mostly just friendly chat. The following week, it started to get a little flirty, texting almost all day everyday, until he asked if he could call me one night. Of course!
We had a nice chat, clicked just like I remembered, and I asked him why he didn’t ask me on a second date if he supposedly had just as great a time as I did?
“I had an amazing time with you, but I wasn’t in a position to date. I hit a slump in my life, had to move back home for a little but, and was embarrassed. I was intimidated by you and didn’t think I had anything to offer you.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
I have no idea if I have told you all about my friend Brandon.
Brandon and I went to high school together, and by that I mean, we were in the same building. We were not friends. We didn’t talk. In fact, he was pretty much a hippie-dead-head kid and I was school-spirit-maker-dance-team-captain-newspaper-writer.
About 3 years ago, Brandon sent me a message out of the blue on Facebook just seeing what was up, how was I? After exchanging several messages, we swapped phone numbers and have been texting ever since.
Some weeks or months, we talk alot, sometimes on the phone. And sometimes, we’ll go months without talking, without a grudge, but when we talk again, all is well. Like most guy-girl friendships, I think there has been a small attraction there. We flirt sometimes, and we do get a little jealous when the other person has landed a date.
A few months ago, Brandon sent me a text saying he was going to be in my area December 4, we should have lunch. Brandon, a sound technician, travels with bands on tour, setting up their…set.
I immediately said yes, of course! And then I was just a little nervous. I hadn’t seen this person in 10 years, we’d only talked on the phone a handful of times. Would we get along? Will he be cute? Will we kiss?
I sent him a text asking, is this lunch or “lunch”?
He didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about, so I assumed I was a giant slut and went along with my week.
In the week leading up to his visit, he said he was excited to see me, but we really hadn’t nailed down plans and I was starting to freak. The drive to get to him was an hour and a half, so if we were going to be drinking, I’d have to figure out a plan for the night, etc. Sigh.
I took a friend’s advice and just asked him what he wanted to do?
“Drink, eat, be fat,” he said. No help.
“When do you want me to come down?” I asked.
“Whenever you’d like,” he said. NO HELP.
I finally laid it out. “I have a meeting Tuesday night until 8:30, so I can meet you around 10, or I can come Wednesday morning, but I’ll have to bolt around 7 wednesday evening.
“That seems silly to come down Wednesday and then leave. Come Tuesday.” He told me his hotel address, and that was that.
I assumed this was an invitation to stay the night, but since it wasn’t laid out nice and neat, I was still confused. Either way, I packed a small bag and made the trip Tuesday night.
After getting lost and probably getting a toll bridge fine, I made it to his hotel and was ready for a stiff drink.
He looked so cute. And tall.
He said he knew some girls from work that found a cool bar with a band. So we grabbed a cab and headed that way. The girls were nice, the music was great, and the alcohol was flowing.
“We haven’t seen each other in 10 years!” I said as we cheered to shots of whiskey.
The girls left, as did most of the other bar patrons, and we sat at the bar trying to finish our beers. It was almost 2:30 am.
Mid conversation, he leaned in a kissed me. And it was a good one.
We took our beers to go, and hopped into a cab, where we proceeded to make out.
We got back to the hotel room and I recall lots of rolling around, and perhaps an attempt at sex, but the real stuff came in the morning.
This scenario is something I’d toyed with for months, even years, perhaps. If we ever met up, would there be a spark? After many conversations with Gizzy, I really wanted to just go with it. I didn’t want to plague myself with my usual fears of sex, or paranoia about how many people I’ve slept with, or whatever. This was someone that I’ve been talking to for years, and who knows when we’ll see each other again.
But while I was thinking, and pretty much assuming we would have sex, he SAYS he didn’t. Over lunch the next day, he said he was really shocked, yet very proud to wake up next to me with no clothes on.
“I did not think the visit would be like THAT!” he said.
“You didnt?” I asked. I didn’t know if he was just trying to be kind.
Either way, I had a great time. I told him it couldn’t be another 10 years before we see each other again.
During the kiss I wasn’t thinking just how bad it really was—I was way too swept up in all of it. He pushed me up against my kitchen counter, and I realized just how good of a body this guy had. Despite clearly wanting more, I pushed him away and told him to quit, that I needed to go meet my friends.
Although we parted ways for the night, I was walking on cloud 9… while at the same time feeling guilty as hell.
We didn’t see each other for the next few days, but we talked several times, and when we finally did see each other, we had sex.
Fucking amazing sex.
Because of course it was, right? That sweet apple in the garden thing…
When he left my apartment, I figured he would never talk to me again. He’d go home, realize the massive mistake he’d made, and that would be the end of that.
Mixed emotions were swirling around me. How could I fall for a guy that’s married? Once a cheater, always a cheater, right? But the kiss, and his body, and the SEX. God damn. Would it end with his wife beating my door down? Calling me and asking me 20 questions? A private detective?
I was wrong about him not talking to me—he certainly did, just an hour or so later. The talk about his wife was an open subject for us. The real focus, however, was his daughter. He didn’t want to get a divorce and have his 9-year-old daughter hate him. The thought of another man raising his daughter killed him.
The next day, I saw him at the gym and he pulled me aside.
DAVID: Hey listen to this… this morning me and my wife were getting ready to go to work and she tells me she had this dream that I cheated on her…that I was really nonchalant about it because she’s such a bitch…
ME: Holy shit…psychic!
We sort of chuckled it off, but my dream state began to crumble. What was I doing?
The questions of him leaving his family were never questions for me, because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I don’t know if that was reality talking, or just me building bricks of mud around myself. I suppose that was the one thing that kept me from falling completely.
But I can’t say I didn’t have fantasies of us being together, for real, without the secrets.
The following night, we ate dinner together, watched TV, and had another round of amazing sex after he carried me into my bedroom. When he went home, he told me his wife was doing her usual—sitting on the back porch drinking with her friends.
WIFE & CO: What are you doing here? Thought you were with your friends?
DAVID: I was, but you guys made it sound like I needed to be here.
WIFE & CO: Nope. You should’ve stayed.
DAVID: I guess I should’ve.
WIFE: Hey Tina, how often do you guys have sex? David always complains it’s not enough.
TINA: Well, how often is it?
DAVID: Every 8 weeks.
WIFE: No! It’s more than that!
DAVID: Really? Pull it up on your Period Tracker and tell me when the last time was.
WIFE: Oh… um, 6 weeks ago.
DAVID: Yea, you know what? I don’t even want to have sex with you anymore. I don’t need it.
WIFE: Oh yea? We’ll see about that.
**(To Be Continued…)**
I planned on having a relaxing weekend, full of sleep and checking off my giant to-do list for this week. Oh, but that didn’t really end up happening.
After work Friday, I headed over to the normal Mexican restaurant where I meet the group for tacos and margaritas. About an hour in, we were all buzzing, and talks of heading to the bar afterward was the topic on hand.
For the last week, I’ve been texting with one of the guys in our group, I’ll call him J. He’s funny, nice, however going through a divorce. I honestly don’t know many of the details, but… yeah.
I will say I’ve enjoyed talking to him, and a part of me has always felt some sort of attraction toward him. However, I was, nor am I, on any type of mission to get involved there.
So after three margaritas, or maybe four, we headed to the bar, kept drinking and danced like fools. I wish I could remember more—like what songs we danced to. But, I just remember jumping around, dancing, singing, laughing, and even waltzing with J.
It was a fun night.
During our waltz, J informed me that he’s had a good time texting with me, he thinks I’m beautiful, but he knows he’s “damaged goods” right now. He doesn’t want to hurt me.
I was drunk and I think appeared upset over this, but I was thankful he told me the truth.
At the end of the night, I was barely able to stand, and of course unable to drive. J insisted that he drive us to our friend’s, where we then kissed in her living room.
Against my better judgment, I hopped into her guest bed with him, and proceeded to full on make out with him, and remove my clothing for additional naughty behavior.
Don’t worry. We didn’t have sex.
In the morning, we briefly talked, and he drove me to my car.
He apologized for his actions and words contradicting each other, and I appreciated that, but I also understood where he was coming from. I absolutely do not want it to be weird between us.
I feel different about this. I think I am in a new place than I was before. Normally, a night like this would have sent me on an emotional roller coaster; hoping that I could change his mind and get him to like me, despite his need for space.
But I don’t feel that way at all.
We were drunk, we messed around, and we still enjoy each other’s company. So what? I just hope that our friendship remains the same…and okay, if we have a drunken make out a time or two, I’m cool with that.
When we LAST left ShyGuy, he was battling a bout of Deja vu over showing his ballsac to a friend’s girlfriend…
* * *
Because what grown man doesn’t like showing his genitals.
I don’t believe I actually did this but AMDB decided we should get off the bus- though I think he just mistakenly thought it was our stop. Either way, we got off and walked a couple blocks.
Have you noticed at this point how much attention I’ve paid to ChaCha?
SO the night ends and we all pass out.
When we awake, I wanted to go to the beach, so we got breakfast then went to the beach, listened to tunes, played in the ocean, and went back to the condo by noon to start drinking. Any good day drinking must include corn hole, so that’s what we were obviously playing. After a good couple hours of outdoor festivities, AMDB and I are sufficiently pleased with ourselves and decide to make a bet on the next game of corn hole that we play. The bet is that the losing team has to take one shot of every different alcohol that’s in the house. Nobody knew at that point how much it was. That was part of the fun. We shook on it and the game was on.
I have never played a better game in my life. I was consistently putting bags in the hole and on the board. I was- with respect to old school NBA Jam- en fuego.
Unfortunately- someone forgot to shut the refrigerator, maybe that’s the reason my partner was acting so cold? He sucked.
And we lost in quadruple overtime.
Into the house we march to accept our punishment and take it like men. The only problem: The cupboards and freezers seemed to be like magicians hats that just kept producing more liquor. Two flavored vodka’s, two tequilas, two rums, a gin, one-fifty-one, and some clown pulled out absinthe.
Welp, see ya tomorrow.
Through some rather impressive negotiating tactics, we managed to successfully argue that the two different kinds of Vodka, tequila, and rum were really the same so we didn’t need to take two shots of each. But still. After drinking beer most of the day, we each decided to split the 6 shots, and fired back three, bam, bam, bam.
This is where someone else should take over telling the story.
Here’s what I remember: Somersaults. Lots of somersaults.
What I don’t remember but have been told since:
I played a game of beer pong in which I dominated- like hit 9 of 10 cups, the one I missed being the last cup.
I also walked up to one of the AMDB’s buddies whom I hadn’t met until then and who’s girlfriend is super butch and asked him all about his sex life with a linebacker.
Upon hearing Katy Perry’s Fireworks started an impromptu underwear dance party- which others obviously joined- just like the music video.
Retreated to the restroom to barf, then returned to the party and bought $80 worth of Papa Johns pizza on my credit card.
Then, and only then, did I acknowledge ChaCha in that I started humping her and saying ‘why don’t you like my foreplay’. Did I mention this was in front of everyone?
I came out of blackout with my head on the floor of the bathroom where the toilet was spotless- I like to clean when I’m drunk apparently. And an almost completely eaten pizza next to me in the box. As I left the bathroom, there was ChaCha sitting on the bed holding my cell phone.
“I went through it” she said.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked.
“Because I was convinced there was someone else”
“Did you find anyone else?”
“HA! Well now I don’t feel so bad for blacking out and not paying attention to you.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the last meaningful conversation I had with ChaCha.
Aren’t you lovelies just LURVING ShyGuy’s story time? I know I am! Today’s story is so ridiculous (not like Phaedra’s RiDICKulous) that it’s a 2-parter, and you really don’t want to miss it!
* * *
IN my first post, I referenced ending my relationship with my on-again-off-again jealous ex girlfriend, ChaCha. I call her that because of her love of tequila, taquitos, and annoyingly asking questions like the day laborers at the Home Depot. “You need help carry? You need install? You need good work?”
ChaCha has a friend who’s boyfriend I have a mancrush on. He’s the alpha male of drinking buddies. AMDB’s birthday is in late July and he had planned a beach weekend on the eastern shore of Maryland. I know, I hesitated too. But ChaCha and I agreed to go months prior, and despite what ChaCha would tell you, I was really excited to go with them. So excited, in fact, that I was actually delayed breaking up with her because I really wanted to go to this weekend extravaganza. But my conscious got the best of me and I couldn’t make it to that weekend before breaking up with her. I broke up with her around her birthday- an unfortunate coincidence- but one that needed to happen.
Side story- I bought my condo two years ago when we had just started dating seriously. As a housewarming present ChaCha got me a skimpy housewarming present. I know she got me this because we got in a fight not long after I moved in, so she took- whatever housewarming lingerie she’d bought- back to the lingerie shop and got a refund- which she then spent on a vibrator. So before breaking up with her, I had actually bought her a really nice gift, but instead of stooping to her level and returning it for something only I’d want to use, I simply returned it and got her something smaller- a Starbucks gift card for an enabling amount of espresso and ice coffees.
Anyway, the way ChaCha and I broke up wasn’t particularly hostile (at that point). In fact for the few weeks after the actual break up, we were fairly civil as we both stupidly and naively thought we- of all couples of all time- could make it work as friends immediately post break-up. Stupid. So we agreed to use AMDB’s birthday as a ‘last hurrah’. Which I basically assumed meant I’d have all the ‘benefits’ of having a girlfriend on a vacation, without necessarily any of the responsibilities.
So I did, what many confrontation avoiding-fun loving guys would do in this situation. I drank a lot and acted inappropriately. Friday night we started drinking at 5pm. AMDB taught me this game similar to beer pong, except there’s only one cup per person. Then I taught AMDB a game called Shut Up and Drink Your Beer. Which was basically just an excuse for us to yell at each other in a bromantic way and get each other hammered. There was a lot of hugs.
Around 11pm, six hours of drinking later, we decide to go to this bar/club called Sea-crets. Yes that’s how its spelled. It was the first time I’d ever been to a bar with metal detectors. I was initially sketched out until I was told this place had a dance floor- IN THE OCEAN!! Sober, that sounds like a fun idea that I’d need to check for hepititus first, but drunk I picture MTV Spring break- uncensored. SOLD, here’s my cover. We walk in and ChaCha, AMDB, AMDB’s girlfriend and I find ourselves alone at the bar, and a shot of tequila happened. A few more shots are had- all tequila for me- before the group decides to leave and we get back on the bus to take us back to the place we’re staying. It’s full of idiot drunks just like us. The girls sit and the guys stand facing them. Then it hits me. Déjà vu up the yin-yang.
I’d had a dream a few weeks prior of this very situation. Everything that I noticed was exactly the same as what was happening in real life. But in my dream, I thought it would be hilarious to look at AMDB’s GF, wip out my scrotum from my pants and say with a straight face, ‘AMDB’s GF, I’m NUTS about you,’ while I get her to gander at my exposed testicles…
* * *
Will he do it?? Read part II tomorrow loves!
And a big, fine HELLOOOOOO to you all. As Gizzy expressed yesterday, time’s are-a-changin’ for these two.
Last week, I hung out with some girls from the gym who have apparently been trying to recruit me to their group, and frankly, they are awesome, so I’m honored and excited for all the fun things we’ve got planned (including a BBQ/pool party this weekend).
A few Saturdays ago, I got invited to a BBQ from a guy I know through our local networking group—I was lured into the group because of their free lunches and ended up meeting a few cool people, imagine that!
I knew I’d know a few people at the BBQ, but I thought this would be the PERFECT opportunity to make a move on this guy at the gym I think is super duper hot. Have I mentioned him? I don’t know. I don’t think so.
He’s hot. He’s from Texas. He’s a fellow writer, but also a Ju Jitsu teacher. We talk a lot at the gym, but that’s about it.
My plan was to ask him Friday what he had going on this weekend. Well, he was in the fighting ring, so I couldn’t necessarily chat it up. However, my backup plan was to text him since we had already exchanged numbers months ago.
So I texted him just seeing what was up, and then I headed out to the bars with my new group of friends. A solid three hours later, he hadn’t replied and I was shitting myself.
He did reply, and we chatted briefly about what we were doing that night. It was getting late, and things needed to switch gears fast. So I cut to the chase, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
He said, “not sure, what’s up?”
So I told him about the bbq and that I’d love for him to join me. He then said he was supposed to help a friend move, but he would text me when he was done.
In other words: NO.
I didn’t reply, and went to bed.
Saturday morning, I caught the early class at the gym, and halfway through it, he shows up to teach his class. It was super awkward.
I left without saying much, and went home for a 4-hour nap. When I woke up, he had texted me, asking if he could bring a friend with him to the bbq.
GREAT. THIS IS JUST GREAT, I thought. He hates me so much, he just can’t be alone with me, and now he’s going to show up with a chick. AWESOME.
I got ready and went to the party, equipped with bags of alcohol, ready to get slammed. About 20 minutes later, here he comes with a fellow trainer (a guy) I know. SHEW.
It ended up being so, so great. The “friend” was off mingling, hot guy and I were chatting, eating delish food, drinking lots of brewskies, hanging out by the fire, and getting the attention of others. No seriously, gay guys at the party were coming up to him, lifting up his shirt to see his amazing stomach, and people were asking me if he was my boyfriend, blah blah blah…it was a good time.
Later, we recruited a few party-goers to join us at the bar for more drinks and conversation. It was so awesome!
Eventually, the group left, and hot guy and me closed down the bar, and walked to my car. He then busted out the million dollar question (which Gizzy predicted he would ask): “So why did you ask me to the bbq?”
I told him I liked talking to him at the gym, but wanted to see him outside of the gym. Then he was all…you’re so cool, blah blah, blah…and he leaned in for what I thought was a hug, and ended up being an hour-long makeout session.
And it was hot. He legit took his shirt off and I about died.
So yeah, I don’t really know what’s going to happen next, but I’m looking forward to it!