Journalistic Dating©

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I call my dating life before and after my husband and before my current boyfriend “journalistic dating©”.  I call it journalistic dating©
because it seemed like I was on a mission to date incompatible people to:

A. avoid real intimacy and a relationship

B. because it would make a good story.

I do NOT recommend this as a lifestyle.  It is dangerous, self-destructive, and stupid.

I started dating again in the early spring of 2010, although I will be honest with you; I had given the matter quite a bit of thought
beforehand. My marriage was crumbling, we both knew it, and I just had yet to inform my then husband that we needed to separate/divorce.  Once I dropped the bomb, we both started dating immediately.  It was almost like we both knew it was coming.

During the separation and the time leading up to and after the divorce I went out with wildly inappropriate men.  I think because I just was not into saying “no” to dates and seeing what was out there. I also wanted to test my attractiveness to the opposite sex after years of indifference and even impotence from my husband.  If you have read this blog, you can hardly blame me.  OF COURSE I SAID “NO” TO SEX.  I said “no” right and left.  Funny, when I talk to straight guys about guys I knew or even dated they ASSUME I slept with them.  Come to find out they make this assumption  because they only talk about or girls they banged.  To many men, if they did not have sex with them, what was the point of continuing the relationship?  Funny, if they did not sleep with the girls, they somehow slip their minds.

I suppose because of my misguided belief that men and women can just be friends that I kept on dating either gay/bi or not entirely
divorced men.  I think I feared sex or was completely oblivious to men coming onto me that I remember platonic relationships that could have just been failed seductions either that or they were gay and I wanted them and they did not want me back.

Journalistic Dating
Version 1.0

I never really dated before. No, my husband was NOT my first boyfriend/first love/first sex although I would say he was my “true love,” whatever that means.  But I digress.  I did go on a few dates in college.  I think we have established how nerdy I was in high school so it was no surprise I did not date then. Before I met my ex-husband at the tender age of twenty-one I did have one other “real boyfriend.”  He was a former “Army brat” computer science major who was incredibly uptight for a nineteen-year-old boy.  He had a really heavy beard for a young man.  He is probably bald by now, not that it matters.  Oh well, he liked me, though I was pretty and he was a good kisser.  Pity that is all he did well.  He was a good guy, really, as dull as a stale pancake, but I would have trouble listing off his faults.  He was polite and as nice and respectful to me as a horny nineteen-year-old boy can be with a nineteen-year-old girl.


This is how I remember kissing him.


This is probably what it was really like

I think I talked myself into loving him although I struggle to think of what we possibly had in common. I think I talked to my brother’s roommate who was hopelessly in love with the unattainable girlfriend of his best friend, a guy I could never get but indulged me in conversation because he was lonely and did not have a girlfriend, and a shy quiet gay friend who was fucking another guy-friend of mine on the side. I would say it took three or four guys to make one decent boyfriend.  But, what can you expect from college men?  I needed one to talk to (the guy in love with his best friend’s girl), one to go to parties, sporting events and other typical college crap (my short statured crush), and someone to go to plays and other cultural events (my gay friend) and one to fuck (“THE” boyfriend).   Actually, I cannot remember if this boyfriend and I ever talked or we were just experimenting with sex and love.  It just was not going to work out.


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The sex was decent.  It was the “best” I ever had because it was the only sex I had ever had.  I remember quite vividly that we had “broken up” for a time but it was in the middle of winter, I was lonely and horny as hell.  After hours of debating with myself whether I “needed” him and what kind of self respect I would lose if I invited him over, I called him and he did cross the frozen tundra of the lawn between the boys and the girls dorm to come over and we did have sex.  The sex part lasted about two and a half minutes. I remember glancing at the clock.

It lasted between 11:28 and 11:32.  He was still on top of me and I raised my hands in an “oy vey” gesture as if to say to myself, “What was the fucking point?”  He was out of me and out the door walking back to his own dorm before midnight curfew when you have to go to a different door and sign in.

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