Currently Chasing: the good men

*This post was going to be about a woman who owns 500 pairs of panties and wears about five pairs a day. Sleeping panties, morning panties, after shower panties, work panties, lounge panties...and so on. But that pailed in comparison to this new phenom!

Ok, so the first time I heard about this I thought it was a fluke. Indeed there might be one guy out there who is a total and complete absolute freakazoid with a crazy obsession, but surely there isn’t a large quantity of them mingling with modern society and decent humans. Or is there?

A few years ago a friend of mine told me she was on a singles dating site. She said that she had been in communication with a very handsome man who had written to her and taken an interest because she was in the military.

His exact words were, “I like a woman who can take control.”

Now, I’m the first to admit that just being a woman in the military doesn’t automatically guarantee that you can take control of anything. In fact, some people are in the military simply because they can’t take control and they need someone else to dictate their entire days schedule to them minute by minute, which other people (also in said military) are happy to do.

But I assume there are those girls who join the military, hard core and ready…TO TAKE CONTROL. And he was hoping she was one of them.

She chatted with him back and forth for a few days and slowly he let her in on his intentions.

“I want you to treat me badly,” he said. “I want you to make me clean your house while you go on a date with someone else.”

This was a far cry from simply being a woman in control.  She wanted to end the conversation right there…but how can you?

“So you are just going to clean my house while I’m out with someone else?” she asked.

“Yep, he said. Like a good boy. And while you are out with another man I want you to have sex with him. And I want you to let him come inside of you.”

“Why?” she asked. (not that she was planning on doing this…or not for his benefit at least…but she had to ask…I mean, didn’t she?)

“Because if I mess up on the house work I want you to force me to (go downtown!)”

*He used different words…but I can’t even bring myself to say them without throwing up a bit in my mouth.*

It was about that time that she stopped responding to any and all email. As you do.

And that was the last I had heard about this type of freak. Until now!

Another friend of mine contacts me recently with the following email:

“I am on a dating website and this guy winks at me and I think he is cute so I shoot him an email and he responds back that he didn’t mean to wink at me because he is looking for a woman who wants a submissive man. So I need to know more, so I ask him if he means submissive as in dominatrix/submissive and he says no – just a woman to take charge. (do you see a pattern here?) So I said, well I can take charge. He said good because my woman would be my world. Whatever she wants would be her desire.  So a few more emails pass back and forth and then he tells me that he would clean for you too. (oh holy shit, here we go. Crazytown.) I would do the dishes, clean your toilets…whatever. So I said, ok cool. (I have to admit I would have said ok cool too. Does he cook? I mean, there are worse things than a guy who likes to cook and clean and wants to make you his world. Like the guy who wants to eat another man’s come out of your Vag…but that is another story. Or no, wait, that is actually this story. Whatever…onward!) So he asked me what I would do if he missed a spot while he was cleaning. Like would I punish him? So I laughed inside but had to know more so I said – well maybe. And he said that was making him hard and excited – so then he asked…what if I had a hard on while cleaning your toilets…and I said, no problem. (Who cares right? I mean, you can have the craziest situation in the world going on in your shorts…as long as you remember to scrub under the rim you are alright with me.) So then he asked what I would do if he came on the floor while he was cleaning, and I told him that I would make him clean it up. Then it just got weirder from there (um, seriously I can’t even imagine) and I had to stop talking to him. Like he wanted to clean in his undies, he wanted to call me ma’am. He wanted to be my property and if my friends were around he wanted me to let him know his place…so put him down in front of my friends. (Oh my god! I do this sometimes…but I usually don’t have permission and I’m definitely not encouraged to do it!)

Her only response to all of this … “dude.”

My sentiments exactly.  I mean, what else can you say? The guy sounds completely awesome right? This is almost as bad as the guy who used to do his 'O' business on my friends chest and then lick it off. Where have all the dudes who don't want to eat seaman good men gone?

 

Currently Chasing: An App for that

I'm not as young as I used to be. Shocker. So when I had an opportunity recently to go out in DC (even though I hate DC) I took it. And I don't hate DC in the way that people hate Rebecca Black. I hate DC in the way that people hate friends that text you and then you try to call them instead of text them (because you are driving in some kind of fucked up city with one-way streets and impromptu parades that take place while you are waiting to make a right turn - DC I'm talking to you) and then they don't pick up the phone.

But my brother (is he still called that even though my dad and his mom haven't been married for about 13 years now) called and said he'd be in DC and that I should swing by and have dinner. As if it is possible to just swing by DC. Sure, I'll swing by, if by swing you mean sit in traffic for an hour as my left arms gets skin cancer through the window.

On the bright side a friend of mine (datemedc) also lives in DC (well, virginia..but the part of virginia that I hate just as much as DC) and we decided to make it a girls night. I had to wake up Saturday morning for work at the Pentagon anyway, so I figured, I'd just stay the night, which would save me the headache of waking up super early and making my way out to the city in the a.m. Good Plan.

So I arrive ... find a place to park (not a total nightmare) then go have dinner with my brother (who is about 45 or so) and his fiancé (who is about 13 or so.) We sit down at a table and he and I order from our big person menu while she plays tic-tac-toe on her kiddie menu and orders the chicken nuggets with ranch. (I'm kidding… Barbecue sauce.)

After dinner I go out to get my car and of course...I can't find it. (This happens too often.) I realize fairly quickly that it's on a different level and finally find it and drive to my friend’s house.

We head toward the metro, make our way to the train and get on. Off we go. Then after awhile the train stops for what seems like a really long time. Then it moves again. One stop. Then a voice comes on and tells us the train is out of commission. Of course it is. We hop off and wait for the very next train going in that direction. We hop on that train and then guess what...all of a sudden we are going in the wrong direction. I don't even know how it happened, but I know why it happened. It's DC!

We decide to catch a cab and end up meeting up with another friend. (I would link to her blog but the last one she wrote had to do with me and a penis, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be that honest with anyone.)

Dateme was getting hit on everywhere we went. Like something I've never seen before. Men just walking up to her on the street, telling her she was pretty and asking her for her number. Wow. Behold.

We end up in some bar with a phallic banana on the window. We go in. There is a bad 80's cover band but we don't care. I proceed to drink a lot of things mixed with Red Bull. By the time they kick us out it is 3:30 am. By the time we get home it's 4. I have to get up in 2.5 hours for work.

So Saturday I wake for work, tired, mild headache...but feeling like the night was worth the uncomfort the day might bring. I spend the day at the Pentagon and then finally it's time to head home. I go out to the parking lot and guess what? MY CAR HAD BEEN STOLEN. I mean really? As if the Pentagon hasn't endured enough? There are security guards all over that place. I mean besides being illegal, it is just downright rude to steal a car out of the Pentagon parking lot!

So I get a guard and he's talking to me about the car, asking when I parked it there...looking at cars that look similar to mine and asking if that car is indeed mine, and I'm assuring him that I'm crazy, but I'm not that fucking crazy and that no, that is definitely not my car. And I'm growing increasingly anxious because my purse, badges, credit cards and ID's are in there...not to mention my Zumba CD's...and lord knows I don't want to have to burn more of those!

Finally he gets a call on his magic ear piece and he says, let's go up here to lot 21. And I say, I didn't park there, I parked right here. And he said, well let's just swing by lot 21...and I want to punch his face cause he used the words SWING BY...and when we get up to lot 21, what do we see. My car. I guess I did park it there. Isn't there an App for that? Or medication?