I just moved to Los Angeles for the first time, and the dating scene is way different than my hometown of Sacramento. There's this distinct balmy "sex weather" in the air happening right now, and I'm finding myself dating a whole hell of a lot more than I did in college. So this past Friday I had a unique situation I've never had before.
Two dates in one night.
I felt like a mad player. For the purposes of this story, I will call these men No. 1 and No. 2. For clarity's sake.
My date with No. 1 was scheduled early in the day on Friday at 6 p.m. -- just for a quick drink. It was my second time seeing him.
I met him earlier in the week after he picked me up at the gym, and we had this comically intense sexual experience immediately.
Honestly, the attraction was so intense and after a few gin and tonics back at my place, I had confessed to No. 1 that I had been searching for a friend with a benefits for a while since moving to LA. Not as a permanent situation, but pretty much so I wouldn't be obsessing over finding that one perfect boyfriend.
"I mean, we could be fuck buddies, ha ha," I said.
"Oh yeah?" he replied.
He immediately took this as a cue to swoop in for a kiss and from there it was game over. I was dying to just swallow him whole sexually to relieve the stress from moving to an entirely different part of the state and all of the changes therein. Ah, sex. Nothing takes you out of your head like it.
"You're a great kisser," he said, and I took that as my cue to straddle him. So that very first night we hung out, No. 1 and I did not actually have sex but we did pretty much everything but. We got incredibly dirty, too. It was a blast.Then all of the sudden I realized I forgot to warn him about something.
I bruise incredibly easily.
And before he could say "I want to devour you," which he did a few times -- and I liked, each and every time -- I could feel his little love-bites get more and more intense. For most women, who don't bruise easily, there would be perhaps a cute little skin indent of where some fun consensual rough sex play had been had.
But not for me.
Instead, my skin looked like I had been caned by an unruly mob protesting the porcelain delicacy of my inner thigh.
"Oh shit," I said, suddenly coming to reality. "I forgot to tell you. I bruise really --"
We both looked down. "OH SHIT," he said. "Wow."
My inner thigh was completely black and blue almost immediately. And then we went back to furiously making out.
"I want to see you tomorrow," he said.
"Done," I said, before remembering the date I had with No. 2 already scheduled for tomorrow.
No matter, what better way to make this relationship super casual?
"I have to be honest with you, though," I told him. "I have another date tomorrow so we can only get together for a little bit."
"All good," he said. "It will be just enough time to devour you a little more."
"Also," I said. "You have to buy me arnica cream."
"Whatever you want," he said.
So No. 1 and I met up the next day for gin and tonics -- and the gifting of arnica -- and as might be expected, we quickly moved back to my place again. I reached over to grab a pair of shoes on the floor, and No. 1 grabbed my ass and positioned me on his lap. Then he lifted me up and carried me to my bed.
"Shit, what time is it?" I asked.
"Your No. 2 is almost here, isn't he?" he asked. I nodded.
"Such a dirty little whore," he said, following instructions I had given him earlier to call me a dirty little whore. "But I own your pussy," he said, following instructions I had given him earlier to say that he owned my pussy.
"Wait," he said, looking down at my rapidly expanding bruises. "I'm so sorry. How are you going to explain -- THAT?" he asked.
I looked down at my legs and couldn't help but laugh at how brilliant the color was.
I giggled, as this entire objectification fantasy was kind of by the numbers scripted exactly what I wanted. (I used to have a dirty sex partner in Sacramento but since moving to LA, I was craving some rough loving so it was good to get this guy fully up to speed. Good boy, No. 1.)
"Oh come on, this is my proper date," I said. "I don't even know if I'll kiss him, you know? I am very good at playing hard to get."
"Sure," he said as the phone rang. Shit, No. 2 was early.
"You have to get out of here," I said, suddenly forgetting the whole Slutty McSlutterson routine I was engaging in. "He's here!"
"Tell him I said hello," No. 1 laughed.
"Yes, yes," I said, shuttling him out the door. "You own my pussy, I know, I know, goodbye."
He chuckled at me and kissed me good night. "Call me later," he said.
And then -- here was No. 2!
The guy who had picked me up when I was shopping for sunscreen at Ralph's and my bikini semi-poked out through my dress, which I've learned is de rigueur in LA. "I like your shopping outfit," No. 2 said. "Want to go out sometime?"
"Sure," I said, handing him my card which reads: "Actress/Model/Waitress." I know. I'm the worst.
Now here No. 2 was in my lobby, ready and waiting for my needing-to-take-a-shower bad self. I told him to meet me around the corner at a bar.
And when I arrived a little bit later, I was fresh as can be. I wore jeans to cover my legs instead of the short skirt I was planning on wearing because, well, you never know. Right?
We enjoyed our drinks, had a lovely steak dinner and then despite all my best intentions and before you could say, "I'm about to get naked again," No. 2 and I were back at my place on my bed.
He was aggressive, but in the way that I like, and with my permission. But every time he tried to pull down my jeans, which at first I was all for, and enjoying the flow of our chemistry, I cried out, "No, wait, wait. Sorry, I just -- I can't. Hey -- here you go. Look, it's my tits!"
I pulled down my bra and smiled. "Very nice," he said. "But I really want to eat you out. You've never had someone eat pussy like I can do it."
What was so hilarious to me is that the majority of men I've encountered don't enjoy this at all -- and what do you know, the one time I have something to hide: This guy is all about eating pussy.
This guy's determination was like he was trying to break into Fort Knox or something.
"That's...terrific," I said. "I'm sorry. I just -- I want to take it slow. Hey, did you see my boobs? Pretty great, right?"
He rubbed on top of me over my jeans, and I was so fucking turned on all I wanted was this guy to eat my goddamned pussy.
We kissed goodnight soon after, and I got a text from No. 1.
"How'd it go, champ?"
"OMG," I said. "You fucker."
"Ha ha," he said. "Sorry about that."
"Good lord," I said. "You actually helped make me more chaste because you marked your fucking territory on my pussy. I can't stop laughing."
"Really sorry about that," he texted. "Honestly. Want any more voodoo cream?"
"Maybe," I texted back. "Hey on the bright side, you totally helped me play harder to get."
"Happy to oblige," No. 1 texted back. "So...when are you free next?"
I laughed, rubbed arnica into my thighs -- and turned off my phone.
So tell me what you think: Is this why some women have a rule against scheduling more than one date a night? Have you ever done this? Should I have told No. 2 about No. 1?