Dating Lesson #17: On Impotence
I’ve been dating a lot lately. Not unlike a trip to the zoo, mass dating can be both fun and educational. It helps hone flirting skills and identify which characteristics are attractive in a potential mate and which characteristics are better left to fester and die in the gene pool.
Today, we will talk about the Unattractive quality of impotence. I’m not talking about erectile dysfunction, I’m talking about guys who don’t know how to seal the deal. Gather 'round, kiddies, while I tell you the tale of a man named Santiago.
Standing at 6’4”, Santiago was definitely the tallest man I’d ever dated. He had dark hair and olive skin. He was half Portuguese and half Irish. Or German. Maybe it was Dutch… the other half of his ethnicity is not of import; all you need know is that Santiago was undoubtedly a feast for the eyes. For Doppleganger week on Facebook, Santiago’s celebrity look-alike was probably Penn Badgeley or James Franco. Fortunately for him (and me), Santiago was very attractive. Unfortunately, he was also impotent.
On our first date, we went to dinner at a Tibetan restaurant. I had never tried the cuisine before, but as someone who’s always up for a new adventure, I was smitten from the start. The food was bland and so was the conversation, but as a Gemini I was able to lay the charm on thick, trying to coax the shy little turtle from his shell. I didn’t mind so long as I got to sit across the table and ogle the tanned Adonis that sat before me. He walked me home, and the date ended with a hug.
Date #2 was a party hosted by yours truly. The liquid-courage in our bellies filled me with promise, and once the party switched from rager mode to closing time, I was delighted to see Santiago waiting patiently on my bed. He had sipped on one too many margaritas and couldn’t drive home that night. I suppose I could perform just one last duty as a good host. Hospitality demanded it, no? I closed the door behind me and crawled beside him. We kissed for a minute before he complained about having dry mouth. I offered him some water and some aspirin, and after half a glass, he conked out. Oh, how I loathe being cock-blocked by Jose Cuervo.
Despite his defective constitution and his lack of gift for gab, there was a third date and a fourth. His face and his abs compelled me so. Whenever I would flirt or offer a compliment, he would blush and avert his eyes. He would laugh and say, “Thank you” and sometimes offer a meek compliment in return. If I were feeling brave enough to touch him (and of course, it was always up to me to be the daring one), he all but shuddered at my touch. I couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a horrible one.
Sure enough, my lust lost its patience and when the relationship’s course was cursed towards inevitable platonic buddydom, I called the whole thing off. I later learned that Santiago was really into me but wasn’t sure if I were into him. After our failed make-out session, he was sure that I had lost interest so he was hoping we could at least remain friends.
Silly Santiago. Nice guys finish last, but impotent nice guys don’t finish at all.
===END TRANSMISSION===
Today, we will talk about the Unattractive quality of impotence. I’m not talking about erectile dysfunction, I’m talking about guys who don’t know how to seal the deal. Gather 'round, kiddies, while I tell you the tale of a man named Santiago.
Standing at 6’4”, Santiago was definitely the tallest man I’d ever dated. He had dark hair and olive skin. He was half Portuguese and half Irish. Or German. Maybe it was Dutch… the other half of his ethnicity is not of import; all you need know is that Santiago was undoubtedly a feast for the eyes. For Doppleganger week on Facebook, Santiago’s celebrity look-alike was probably Penn Badgeley or James Franco. Fortunately for him (and me), Santiago was very attractive. Unfortunately, he was also impotent.
On our first date, we went to dinner at a Tibetan restaurant. I had never tried the cuisine before, but as someone who’s always up for a new adventure, I was smitten from the start. The food was bland and so was the conversation, but as a Gemini I was able to lay the charm on thick, trying to coax the shy little turtle from his shell. I didn’t mind so long as I got to sit across the table and ogle the tanned Adonis that sat before me. He walked me home, and the date ended with a hug.
Date #2 was a party hosted by yours truly. The liquid-courage in our bellies filled me with promise, and once the party switched from rager mode to closing time, I was delighted to see Santiago waiting patiently on my bed. He had sipped on one too many margaritas and couldn’t drive home that night. I suppose I could perform just one last duty as a good host. Hospitality demanded it, no? I closed the door behind me and crawled beside him. We kissed for a minute before he complained about having dry mouth. I offered him some water and some aspirin, and after half a glass, he conked out. Oh, how I loathe being cock-blocked by Jose Cuervo.
Despite his defective constitution and his lack of gift for gab, there was a third date and a fourth. His face and his abs compelled me so. Whenever I would flirt or offer a compliment, he would blush and avert his eyes. He would laugh and say, “Thank you” and sometimes offer a meek compliment in return. If I were feeling brave enough to touch him (and of course, it was always up to me to be the daring one), he all but shuddered at my touch. I couldn't tell if this was a good thing or a horrible one.
Sure enough, my lust lost its patience and when the relationship’s course was cursed towards inevitable platonic buddydom, I called the whole thing off. I later learned that Santiago was really into me but wasn’t sure if I were into him. After our failed make-out session, he was sure that I had lost interest so he was hoping we could at least remain friends.
Silly Santiago. Nice guys finish last, but impotent nice guys don’t finish at all.
===END TRANSMISSION===