7.07.2010

The Beast Gets Fed

Hey people, I'm going to begin this post by saying: if you expect me to go on dates with guys who turn out to be losers/weirdos/assholes and be all rainbows and kittens about it, then you really need to move on. That is not me. I'm blunt, sarcastic, and make absolutely no apologies for who I am and the use of this blog (which would not exist if I wasn't dating) as my outlet.

End rant.

Attention little brothers: graphic information to follow. Stop reading or I don't want to hear about it later!

Remember the womanizing egotist I mentioned in the Stinky McBad Breath post? Well, we finally met up...

Date #1

At an uptown Toronto pub, I stood outside in the rain, waiting for Mr. Ego to arrive. As he walked up and gave me a big smile, I melted a little inside. Dude was hot, and unfortunately, he knew it.

We went inside and sat down at a table. Mr. Ego began to tease me, as I was obviously nervous (no matter how many times I do this, I'm always SO nervous. I keep my hands under the table until they stop shaking, and I have trouble making eye contact for awhile.) He threw his coaster at me and I threw it back. Before I knew it, we had settled into easy, if flirtatious, conversation that lasted for HOURS, and many drinks later, we closed the bar.

It was very late, and Mr. Ego walked me down the street, pushing for me to take a cab home instead of the streetcar. I finally agreed and he asked if he was coming with me (subtle).

I laughed and said, "No, I'm dropping you off at your place and I'm going home. ALONE."

He gave me a sly smile as if he didn't believe me, which came back to bite him in the ass as I directed the cabbie to pull over and let him out at the end of his street. He saw my look of resolve, gave me a hug, hopped out, and I continued home.

The next day, he poked me a couple times on Facebook, and then my phone rang. I'll admit to being surprised to hear from him at all, nevermind so soon. We talked for a good hour, and then he texted me the following day to see if I wanted to go for a run with him. Unfortunately, I was very late getting home from work, and was unable to join him. After that, I didn't hear from him very much, save for the constant pokes on Facebook (I didn't even know those still existed!), which grew tiresome, and he was constantly on POF, which told me he was likely playing the trade-up game. I finally ignored his poke and didn't hear a word from him for two weeks, so I assumed it was done.

My iPhone buzzed to inform me of a text message.

Mr. Ego: Hey stranger! What are you doing Tuesday night? Let's go for drinks!

Okay, I guess not done?

Date #2

Mr. Ego and I met up at the same pub, sat at the same table, and ordered the same drinks. He looked so hot in his button-down shirt and jeans, it was almost annoying. I had chosen to wear a one-shoulder number, and he gave my boobs an appreciative smile as I took my jacket off. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him and he laughed.

We talked and flirted until it was late and we were both yawning, so we called it a night. He walked me outside, gave me a hug, and headed home. I turned back once to watch him walk away, and for the life of me, I could not figure him out.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Fuck this.

Not long after I ignored his last Facebook poke, my phone rang. Mr. Ego.

"Hello?"

"You're going to kill me," he laughed.

"Why?"

"I did something really bad," he said, laughing harder.

"Mr. Ego, what did you do?" I asked, apprehensive.

"Check your POF profile," he snickered.

"Oh God. Hang on," I told him, and sat down at my Mac.

"There's this new feature where you can send a gift," he said, "For all of POF to see."

"YOU GAVE ME PANTIES AND A BANANA?!"

He laughed so hard, he couldn't even speak.

"Well done," I said.

He was still laughing, "You're not mad?"

"Fuck no, that's hilarious! Although, the weirdos are going to be all over this like a fat kid on a Smartie."

More laughing.

A couple weeks later, some friends and I spent a night partying in Niagara Falls. I got severely shitfaced and made the mistake of sexting Mr. Ego. We flirted a lot, and I may or may not have used the term, "Giddy-up", to which he may or may not have replied, "Who's your daddy?" . The next morning, he texted me to make plans to meet up later that night, which I had to postpone due to severe hangover.

Date #3

To make up for postponing on him, I agreed to make dinner for Mr. Ego at my apartment. In order to guarantee myself some action, I put my much improved culinary skills to good use, making Hawaiian meatballs and a mixed baby greens salad with toasted walnuts, cherry tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and an expensive balsamic vinaigrette dressing that I had won in the divorce from my ex-boyfriend. Just before Mr. Ego's arrival, I ran to the LCBO and bought a bottle of my favourite Australian red wine.

My buzzer went off, I pushed the button to let him in, and he stepped inside my apartment just as I bent over to take the meatballs out of the oven. He eyed me up and down with that sly smile of his and said, "Sexy."

I rolled my eyes at him and said, "Easy there, smooth talker."

He chuckled and snuck grape tomatoes from the container as I prepared the salad.

Sadly, I don't have a kitchen table (which had been on my list of things to get before the bed bug madness), so we sat down at my coffee table in the living room to eat. My dinner was really good, and Mr. Ego had seconds.

We drank glass after glass of wine, and then went outside for a smoke, sharing the little concrete stoop and laughing at all the weirdos that live in my neighborhood. We were out of wine, so he started pouring us very tall and very strong glasses of vodka cran. I noticed that Mr. Ego was sitting closer and closer to me, and then his arm was around me. We were pretty drunk and he put on some porn, which made me laugh (I'm sorry, it's hard for me to take porn seriously; it's SO cheesy!), and suddenly he was kissing me and it was like finding an oasis in the desert. With a frantic, almost fevered pitch, there were hands undoing zippers, belts, and pulling clothing off (I guess this is what happens when you don't have sex for almost a year). Before I knew it, we were in my room and I was FINALLY getting laid…I can't even begin to explain how awesome it was after so long. Did I mention that he's pretty built? He lifts weights and runs almost every day of the week, so his arms and legs were incredibly muscular. I'm used to sex with fat pudge-balls, where the beer belly slaps against me in a horrific and un-sexy assault against my hearing.

Then, a slight hitch: whiskey dick. No, he didn't have a problem getting it up, but the poor guy couldn't finish. After a good hour, he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of me and mumbled that he drank too much and needed a break. I couldn't help but giggle a little. He pulled me in close, and before long, we were both fast asleep.

A few hours later, I awoke to groping. Startled, it took me a minute to remember that Mr. Ego had spent the night, as I hadn't shared a bed with a guy in forever. Mr. Ego climbed on top of me for round two (apparently, Mr. Ego is also Mr. Dominant), which went on for quite some time, until he ran into the same problem, groaned, rolled over, and said, "I would REALLY like to try this sober sometime."

We slept for awhile longer, and then, to my surprise, he didn't bolt, but suggested we watch a movie.

After the movie, he had to get going, hugged me goodbye, and as per usual, I didn't hear from him for a few weeks, save for a few random texts and constant Facebook pokes. By this point, I had no idea what game he was playing. He had told me in previous conversations that if he wasn't into a girl, we would simply cease all communication with her. The texts and pokes led me to believe that he was at least semi- into me. However, he was often on POF, which made me assume he was keeping me around until something better came along. Either way, I doubted he was looking for anything serious, so I kept my options open and started talking to a few other guys.

Out with some people from work a couple Fridays ago, you can imagine my surprise when I received a text from Mr. Ego, asking if I wanted to meet up with him for drinks. As things were winding down with the boring office bunch, I agreed, and headed home to change and freshen up.

Date #4

We met up at the same pub as before, as it was convenient for both of us, and had a nice patio. I had recently decided that I was going to drink beer and like it, dammit, so we ordered a couple of Rickards White, and he laughed at the faces I made after taking my first few sips.

"Redhead, you don't like beer," he laughed, shaking his head at me.

"I'm going to force myself to like it. It's like there's this big club of people who drink beer, and I'm on the outside looking in. I want in!"

"Oh, I bet you want in," he smirked.

"Dirty," I said, and shook my head at him.

We spent the next few hours flirting, drinking and smoking. Five beers later, I was pretty proud of myself, and also pretty drunk. It was after last call, so we paid our bill and stepped out into the chilly night.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We?" I replied, with raised eyebrow.

"Yes, we."

"FINE. You can come back to my place," I said, and we hopped into a cab.

At my apartment, he stripped down and climbed into my bed. I took my contacts out, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and stepped into my bedroom for some…snoring? FUCK! Mr. Ego didn't even stir as I laid down beside him, pulling the blankets over us. I was so tired, I closed my eyes for just a second…and woke up a few hours later with Mr. Ego spooning me. My head was pounding like an angry drum and I was pretty sure I had swamp breath, so I carefully extracted myself from his arms and snuck to the bathroom for some Advil, water, and a good teeth brushing.

As I crawled back into bed beside him, he pulled me in close, felt me up a little, and then began to snore again. So mean! You can't feed The Beast very delicious food and then starve it! Still tired, I drifted off for awhile before waking to the sound of rain pounding on the windows.

"I'm so hungover," he mumbled into a pillow.

"I was, but I took Advil and drank water," I said.

"Oh, and you didn't bring me any?"

"You were SNORING."

He chuckled, "Sorry, Muffin."

"That's okay, Cupcake."

"Make me breakfast, woman!" he yelled, and slapped me on the ass.

"You did NOT just do that."

He laughed and began to grope me, then stopped and started moaning like a child about his hangover again. Frustrated, I rolled over and told him to go make his own damn breakfast. More whining. Ugh. Boys are such stupid babies.

"FINE," I said, and made a move to pull some pants on.

"No, make me breakfast in your underwear," he said with a dirty grin, and yanked my pyjama pants away from me.

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Redhead, you have a nice body, stop being a retard. Now go make me breakfast in your underwear so I can admire you."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" I said, and headed for the kitchen.

I pulled some eggs, peppers, tomatoes, onion, cheese and milk from the fridge, and started making a toasted western-ish thing. Mr. Ego finally dragged his ass out of bed and leaned against the door frame in his boxer-briefs, all smug and triumphant.

Upon realization that I had been dead serious about not having any coffee in my apartment (I don't drink coffee at all, ever), he threw on his clothes and walked to the Tim Hortons around the corner. I had breakfast waiting for him by the time he returned, and we sat down at my coffee table to eat. His Blackberry beeped, and he made plans to go see a movie with one of his buddies. As it was pouring rain outside, I gave him my men's size small rain jacket (what? It was $12 at Old Navy!) to borrow. It was too small for him, and we had a good laugh.

I walked him outside and he gave me a big hug before heading down the street to catch the streetcar.

The next day:

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Seriously?

Later that week, I sent Mr. Ego a text, as it was his birthday:

Redhead: Happy birthday, Muffin!

Mr. Ego: Thanks! Where's my b-day blow job??

Redhead: I'm out of town for the weekend, so too bad for you!

Mr. Ego: Lol. That's ok, it can be a belated one.

Redhead: Ha. Maybe if you're good.

Mr. Ego: Lol. I'm always good!


That was last week. We haven't communicated since then, except for:

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

I'm going to smash my head against the keyboard now.

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