Takes one to know one...right?

I've come to the conclusion that I must be some sort of sexual deviant. A freak, if you will.
How else would you explain the fact that I've met and, somehow, unknowingly encouraged two men, in less than a year, to whip out their Johnson's in my car, begging me to watch them jack off? Read about the first, here.

After all, like attracts like. Right?

Let's back up a bit...

I'm chillin' at my favorite spot with my BFF. In walks Los and his big mouth. I didn't recognize him. He comes over to say 'hello' and I respond "Who are you?". He reminded me and asked why I hadn't returned his calls that evening.

I guess if I had, I'd have been there with him because he was not alone: he was on some sort of double date. No big deal, considering I haven't actually gone out with him at all. After the initial hello, he made it a point to circle back - alone - to where my girl and I were sitting to head nod me.* Then, as he was leaving, he stopped by once again and told me he hopes to 'connect with me soon'.

Alrighty.

As I am driving home, I get a text asking if I'm in for the night. Yep...it was Los and his big mouth. I ignored it and went home and climbed into the bed. I got a few more messages but this one caught my attention: "You wanna go to the casino?"

Hells yes!

I love the casino and go so infrequently. I haven't been since I was visiting family last summer. Knowing better but lured by the rush that is gambling, I toss on jeans, a track jacket and sandals and meet him. We make the 20 minute drive to the casino. I wanted to take my car because I know where the weapons are...just in case.

Despite my losing $40 on the nickel slots, I had a good time in the casino. The dude definitely cracks me up. Methinks he was high though...he was a little scattered and hard to follow.

After he lost the last of his cash on the craps table, we head out. I'm driving him back to his car and we are talking about the sunrise and the mild weather.

Next thing ya know, he busts out:

"I am horny. I wanna masturbate. And I want you to watch."

First, I laugh. Hard. Then, taking a more sensitive approach, I respond "No. I don't know you like that."

I'll spare you the minute details, but we spent the next fifteen minutes negotiating. He was literally begging. He asked "What if I sat in the backseat and you didn't look at me? I just need you here." Then "Ok. Just show me a boob."

I was literally LMBAO when he whips out his Johnson and starts beating off. I cannot make this shit up!

Of course, I watched. His member was sizable and I was amazed that he was brazen enough to do this. It took him about five minutes and, being a gentleman, he made sure to jizz on his chest so as to not make a mess in my ride. I, being a lady, gave him a napkin so he could clean up.

At this point, we were at his car. He said good-bye and tried to kiss me on the cheek. I backed away and offered a hand shake. He told me he was impressed by the fact that I held my ground. I thank him for that.

I drive home and, before I could get the key in the door, I get a text that reads "I am turned on by you."

Mmmmkay.

Los and his big mouth are now filed under "Weirdo" in my phone. At least I got a story out of the deal.

To be honest, I'm more worried about the signals I am unwittingly sending out that pulls in these freaks. How can I channel this energy so that it benefits me?

*I wish men could be cool. If I were in a place with a date and I saw a dude that I was trying to mack, I would have played it off better, as would most women have.

So far, the cats are kicking man's ass!

Flashback Friday: I once was an asshole

For all the lessons I've learned in life, some of the most important ones seem to have been taught to me in the muddled, oft confusing classroom that is a relationship. Flashback Friday is my way of looking back at the knowledge that was dropped and the, sometimes unknowing, teachers who brought it.

New Years Eve, 1999. Like most, I was beyond excited for 2000 to make its appearance. The new millennium! What would it bring? If I had known that, on that night, I was going to do one of the things I am most embarrassed about in my life, I would not have looked forward to it so.

At the time I was dating a 34 year old, a man 12 years my senior. We lived together and he wanted to get married. In fact, just three months prior to NYE, he got down on one knee and proposed with a 1.5 ct. ring he designed himself.*

I was on the fence. Honestly, I thought the guy was hot. And fun, when we weren't arguing which, ironically, became the norm after the proposal. But marriage? I was too young. Had too many dreams. And I just didn't think love lived in his one bedroom Uptown condo.

Fast forward to the night's festivities: I looked good. No need to describe what I had on, just trust that it was fierce. I am in the duplex condo of some uppity couple we didn't know, drinking glass after glass of white wine, munching on strawberries. It didn't take long for me to get drunk.

My man, pissy at me b/c he thought my dress was too short, had spent most of the evening glaring at me from a corner while I chatted up the male cousin of a woman I worked with. My guy came around just in time for a midnight kiss, unsuspecting of the complete and utter asshole-ish, trife hoe-ish behavior that I was about to exhibit.

Brace yourselves.

In case you didn't know, NYE in Chicago is crazy. It ain't safe to drive and catching a cab is next to impossible. We ended up car pooling with my co-worker, her hubby and her cousin (who wasn't even that hot). I ended up in the back seat...sitting next to the cousin...while my guy, the tallest in the pack, sat in the passenger seat.

I was so drunk that I passed out...with my hand in the crotch of my co-workers cousin. And my hand wasn't resting idly; I was giving him a hand job, through his slacks. I have no idea what he was thinking: I don't remember him moving my hand. He simply covered it with his tuxedo jacket, hoping no one would notice.

But they did notice. Everyone was just too polite and well-bred to say anything.

When we get home, my boyfriend/fiance lights into me. And rightfully so. I was beyond disrespectful. We ended up arguing so loudly the neighbors came down to ask if every thing was OK. The argument ended when I had to rush to pay homage to the porcelain gods. I spent the night, literally, passed out in the tub. Fully dressed.

Reflection is a mutha.

As I mentally revisit the night's events, I am okay with saying that I wasn't that drunk. The fact that I remember so many details is proof of that. Subconsciously, I guess I wanted to act a fool so I could get dumped. I was too immature to tell this man I wasn't ready for all that he wanted and, instead, I used alcohol as an escape mechanism.

Little did I know.

Not only did he NOT dump me, he announced to me that he forgave me and that he wanted to move forward with the wedding plans. It took me another six months to finally step outside of that relationship.

When I finally was ready to bail, I woke up that morning and went apartment hunting. I came home that evening, told him I'd found a place to move and was leaving in a week. He was shocked, angry and hurt. I was relieved. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

He spent the next six months pursuing me, trying to convince me we should get back together.

I learned quite a bit during this two-year relationship, but this particular drama taught me that honesty is the only thing that can set you free, that you should never allow someone to get too deep if you aren't feeling the same way and that nothing good comes from drinking heavily when you are unhappy.

In case you were wondering...

My ex: he's married now, with two children. I am good friends with his younger sister.
The woman I worked with, her husband and cousin: I never heard from them after that night.
Me: a work in progress.


*I gave the ring back.