Dating / Online dating

Lola and Officer Sippy Straw

Online dating has its pros and cons, there is no doubt about it.  I have had the pleasure of meeting several really wonderful men using this avenue, but a couple of weeks ago, my luck changed and I encountered a real doozy.

I was home on a rainy Saturday doing some cleaning, laundry and had just fired up a big batch of yummy potato soup when I decided to check my emails from the dating site I belong to.

I was pleasantly surprised to see an email from a guy whom I had found attractive and interesting a few weeks prior. We traded a few emails back and forth and seemed to be hitting it off fairly well.  So when he spontaneously suggested I come to his house to watch football and drink beer with him, I found myself really wanting to take him up on it.

But my better sense reigned supreme (shock, I know) and I suggested we meet at a sports bar instead. He was fine with that plan, mentioned an easy spot to meet and after primping for a couple of hours (careful not to shave above the knee to ensure things wouldn’t go too far) off I went to see where this adventure would take me.

I had to travel 45 minutes to get to where he was, but I had been itching to get out of the house and was really in the mood to drive, so I had no problem with this.

I arrived at a very packed and loud bar, scanned the crowd from the door and saw him poke his head up from his bar stool perch. I gave a slight wave and a big smile broke out on his face and it almost appeared that he was trying to conceal his boyish nervousness as he looked away.

One of the first things I thought was that he was not as good-looking as I thought he would be, but I quickly pushed that aside knowing that I am not the type to focus on looks anyway.  We sat and chatted over a drink, but the bar was very loud and it was difficult to hear.  About 15 minutes into the conversation, I asked what he did for a living. This was how that conversation went.

Lola: So your profile listed your job as “professional” what type of work do you do?

Sippy Straw: Are you sure you want to know? It will change the whole dynamic of the evening.

Lola: Really? Wow. Sure I really want to know, why wouldn’t I? (light bulb goes off in my head) Wait. Are you an EMBALMER?

Sippy Straw: (chuckling) No, but I do deal with death sometimes.

Lola: Funeral director?

Sippy Straw: No, I’m a cop.

Lola: (trying to hide my vast disappointment) Ah, well that is interesting. I have never dated a cop before. (what I didn’t say is, I’ve never had a desire to date a cop, but I restrained myself.)

We continued to talk a bit more and it was proving to be rather difficult with the crowd. He says to me: “I live close by, would you like to go to my place to talk some more?”  At this point, I obviously had a decision to make. One part of me did want to talk somewhere more private because I couldn’t hear a damn thing he was saying, and the other part of me was wondering if I would be safe. Then I remembered he was a COP, oh yeah…ok, here we go….

Lola: If I accept your invitation to go back to your house, are you going to think that means I’m going to have sex with you?

Sippy Straw: (barely fazed, somewhat amused) No, we can just hang out and have some drinks, talk, play cards, listen to music or watch football.

Well that sounded really nice and relaxing, and I thought whew! We got the sex thing out of the way and now I can really just focus on getting to know him, maybe I will actually like him. I followed him to his house (not really paying attention to where we were going, which proved to be a mistake of rather gargantuan proportions later on).

We arrived at his house and he had warned me about his chihuahua, (and no that’s not code for something, he actually had a chihuahua, lol).  I sat down on the couch while his dog happily nuzzled into my lap, and Officer Sippy Straw went to fetch me a drink. I was looking around admiring his house, thinking wow, this guy has good taste when he suddenly plopped himself down on the couch right beside me and handed me a drink. I was taken aback that he was so close, but I managed to act casual.  Approximately 120 seconds went by until he was all over me, kissing my neck and pulling at my bra. I was like: Whoa!! Wait a minute! Remember like 20 minutes ago when we had a discussion about how things were going to go when I came to your house? What happened to that plan? Again, unfazed, he just said, well I thought we could at least make out.  I said, yes we could, if I was feeling some kind of connection, but I’m not.  This seemed to defuse the situation slightly and he backed off, albeit still sitting right next to me. I would have been much happier if he would have moved across the room at this point, but nooooo.

Approximately 120 seconds later, he unzipped his jeans and whipped out his dick. Yes, that is exactly what happened. There was no warning, that was just what he did.  It was incredibly awkward. I would go so far as to say that it was one of the most awkward moments ever. He sat gazing at his long skinny dick with pride and told me I could make it bigger if I wanted. At this point I took matters further by saying that I needed to leave.

He hastily zipped up his pants and somehow managed to get me to stay long enough to take a look at his exercise equipment. He actually said he wanted to show me his “power cage” in the basement. Yes, I am sure this seems stupid to you, but I am very generous in allowing men chances to redeem themselves. I followed him down the basement where he was explaining what a power cage is. (as if I cared). On and on he droned about this massive piece of equipment when he suddenly asked me if I could do a chin-up. I looked at him with an incredulous look and said dryly, “I seriously doubt it.” He was not deterred and said, “just try one.” Oh for God’s sake, this guy is so damn pushy. Fine. I’ll try to do a f**king chin-up so I can get the hell out of here.

There I was, clad in high heels, skinny jeans and a sparkly top, attempting to do a chin-up. It was a total fail, yet on he coached me, “okay, just try one more. Put one foot here, and one foot here and then let yourself hang down from the bar once you are up.” Again, I looked at him incredulously, and he nodded towards the bar as if to say, once you do this, I’ll let you go. I carefully positioned one pointy-toed shoe on the lower bar and the other on the higher bar and prepared to hoist myself up, when suddenly his arms were encircling me from behind and he pulled me down, spun me around and started kissing my neck.

Oh hell to the no. That is the final straw (and we know I already encountered one straw earlier).

I pulled away, looked him square in the eye and said, “I am leaving now. I’m sorry this date has sucked so badly and been so freakin’ awkward, and I’m sure you probably hate me, but I have to be okay with that, because I am not okay with what is happening now. So I’m leaving.” I gathered up my belongings and walked to the door, (him and his puppy nipping at my heels). I turned one final time at the door (pondering if I should ask for directions) and he shrugged and motioned towards the door and said rather snidely: “There’s freedom, go ahead. There’s the door. There’s freedom.”

It was at that moment that I decided I would rather stop somewhere and ask for directions than to give him the satisfaction of appearing weak. I turned and walked away, shaking my head and thinking: Yes, you are right, Officer Sippy Straw….there is freedom. Freedom from the likes of you and your power cage. And in this instance I have to say, freedom has never felt so damn good.

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