Once again, to recap, there have been two years of bar hopping in Seattle with no dating success.
One could argue that the Seattle social scene isn't horrible, that it was complete chance to have met the man from the previous post in New York in a bar. And I would agree, if it hadn't been for the fact that I met another man in a bar on my second night in New York. One man=chance. Two men=R____ needs to consider relocating.
The man on night #2 noticed the hamtza hanging on my neck and went in for the kill. "Oh, you're Jewish!" Yes, yes I am. We didn't have much in common besides our tribal affiliation, but he was outgoing and cute in a dorky yeshiva sort of way. Not really my type, but I saw potential for a good story so I stuck with the conversation. Why not?
This was a Type A, Long Island, formerly modern orthodox Jewish man who, within the first 30 minutes of talking to me, expressed his love of kink and Fifty Shades of Grey. Still not my type but he sounded fun, so I exchanged numbers and we made plans to see each other the next night.
I thought we'd meet up for drinks, but he clearly had another vision for the evening. He called me on the phone, "I want you to get in a cab and pick me up on the corner of 19th and Park. I live on the Upper West Side. We'll go there."
We started making out in the cab, and when we paused I saw the street numbers go higher and higher. The heart of the city seemed far away, and I became nervous. I playfully asked to see his ID, and I texted his name and address to my friend "in case I disappear tonight." Then I told him, as we held hands in the cab, my limits: "I don't want to have to seek medical care because of rough sex. Don't kill me. And NO ANAL."
The cab driver pretended to ignore the conversation.
At his apartment, with his roommate watching tv in the next room, the sex was as I had expected: Fast, rough, and not that interesting. My partner was a 5'6'' MBA graduate with a name so Jewish it made Shmuley Shmulowitz sound like Santa Claus. Physically it was fine, but the emotional and psychological component so key to intimacy was completely missing.
During pillow talk, we discussed financial planning and stock options. He recommended I get an accountant. I said that was probably a good idea. He advised that I switch from Vanguard to Merrill Lynch and that I ditch my credit union for a national bank. At that point, I realized it was time to leave the Upper West Side. I missed Brooklyn.
If this man had offered me money for a cab back, I would have taken it. The evening felt like a transaction, one that was going to leave me a $40 taxi ride poorer and had no real fulfillment. I couldn't stop thinking about the first man I met. Casual sex is so easy to find- especially as a woman- but the real human connections are few and far between.
One could argue that the Seattle social scene isn't horrible, that it was complete chance to have met the man from the previous post in New York in a bar. And I would agree, if it hadn't been for the fact that I met another man in a bar on my second night in New York. One man=chance. Two men=R____ needs to consider relocating.
The man on night #2 noticed the hamtza hanging on my neck and went in for the kill. "Oh, you're Jewish!" Yes, yes I am. We didn't have much in common besides our tribal affiliation, but he was outgoing and cute in a dorky yeshiva sort of way. Not really my type, but I saw potential for a good story so I stuck with the conversation. Why not?
This was a Type A, Long Island, formerly modern orthodox Jewish man who, within the first 30 minutes of talking to me, expressed his love of kink and Fifty Shades of Grey. Still not my type but he sounded fun, so I exchanged numbers and we made plans to see each other the next night.
I thought we'd meet up for drinks, but he clearly had another vision for the evening. He called me on the phone, "I want you to get in a cab and pick me up on the corner of 19th and Park. I live on the Upper West Side. We'll go there."
We started making out in the cab, and when we paused I saw the street numbers go higher and higher. The heart of the city seemed far away, and I became nervous. I playfully asked to see his ID, and I texted his name and address to my friend "in case I disappear tonight." Then I told him, as we held hands in the cab, my limits: "I don't want to have to seek medical care because of rough sex. Don't kill me. And NO ANAL."
The cab driver pretended to ignore the conversation.
At his apartment, with his roommate watching tv in the next room, the sex was as I had expected: Fast, rough, and not that interesting. My partner was a 5'6'' MBA graduate with a name so Jewish it made Shmuley Shmulowitz sound like Santa Claus. Physically it was fine, but the emotional and psychological component so key to intimacy was completely missing.
During pillow talk, we discussed financial planning and stock options. He recommended I get an accountant. I said that was probably a good idea. He advised that I switch from Vanguard to Merrill Lynch and that I ditch my credit union for a national bank. At that point, I realized it was time to leave the Upper West Side. I missed Brooklyn.
If this man had offered me money for a cab back, I would have taken it. The evening felt like a transaction, one that was going to leave me a $40 taxi ride poorer and had no real fulfillment. I couldn't stop thinking about the first man I met. Casual sex is so easy to find- especially as a woman- but the real human connections are few and far between.
No comments:
Post a Comment