Remember that military bomb tech I was dating, for lack of any better word to describe it...? Well, things don't seem to be working out very well. I know, I know...it's astonishing. Please, lie down if you must. Take as much time as you need to recover from the shock.
I am just as surprised as anybody that my relationship with a guy who's spent most of his adult years being shot at, shooting other people, and or expecting to die any moment in a fiery ball of shrapnel and his related PTSD isn't progressing normally.
Even though we talk everyday, we don't see one another. I've read the first chapter of the book, "He's Just Not That Into You," and they don't explain what it means when a guy calls, texts and instant messages you all day, every day, but can't bring himself to get together in person.
(I only ever read the first chapter, because nearly all of my dating issues were covered in the first three pages. He hasn't called. He's not going to call. He's not interested. I also didn't bother reading any further because I had to contact my legal team in order to sue the authors for copyright infringement, given I deserve reimbursement for the book ripping off my life story. Bastards.)
Several of my conversations with the bomb tech have veered into the what are you wearing and this is what I'd like to do to you category, and I'm regretting this for several reasons -- one reason being I now owe an apology to the entire city of Vancouver, host of the Olympic Games, for jeopardizing thousands of people's safety.
I admit, that when the bomb tech was supposed to be investigating a possible breach in security at one of the men's hockey games he was actually on the phone with me, and I was telling him that I was naked and touching myself. I was actually on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a Winnie the Pooh tank top, eating HobNob cookies and watching an episode of What Not to Wear.
The point is, men are gullible, women can multitask, and I'm very sorry for putting so many people in danger during a Team Canada victory.
I'm also sorry for these conversations, because now he's baffled as to why we're not having sex. I'm baffled as to why he thinks we would be when the thought of sitting across a table from me for a coffee, a drink, some lunch, a dinner, a game of Old Maid - anything that may lead to a face to face conversation and getting to know each other better seems to scare him more than disarming a roadside IED in Afghanistan.
This stalemate led to a recent conversation in which I laid it out for him in terms of mathematical equations. Him + Me + Spending Some Non-Sexual Time Together Like Normal Goddamned People = Sex. On the other hand: Him + Me + Him Continuing To Be an Ass-Hat Acting Like the Thought of Hanging Out With Me Causes Him Physical Pain = No Sex.
It's extremely embarrassing to think that even when a guy is guaranteed to get some(eventually), he doesn't think I'm worth the effort. The bomb tech said this wasn't the case at all, and he's not afraid he'll die of plague if we're in the same room together (another accusation I may or not of made in a rather heated MSN exchange), but it's his current schedule making his life hell.
While it's true he's working some pretty crazy shift work hours, I wasn't moved. He said he wanted us to work on this, and I agreed, even though I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm supposed to be working on exactly.
I gave him a few days, and was prepared to tell him to go away for good when tragedy struck. Really -- it did. His best friend passed away suddenly and terribly. With good reason, the bomb tech is devastated, and I can't be the person who tells him not to call anymore just because my panties are in a knot, and I'm still wearing them when really I'd rather not be. The reason he's calling has changed right now, and I feel like I'd be a terrible person for not listening.
However, I am a terrible person, and so I need to over-share with my four readers one more reason why I'm not sure the bomb tech and I are well-suited. We've been on 3.5 dates so far, and it's the .5 that concerns me.
During one of our sexier conversations one afternoon, he suggested he pick me up from work and we spend a little bit of time together before he had to report for duty. I made it clear in my very tasteful and eloquent way how this time would be spent (Don't be late and I'm not fucking you.)
He accepted these terms with equal grace (No shit.) I was imagining a really fun make-out session somewhere, but that's not exactly what happened.
We found a very secluded place to park, I lean in to kiss him, and he asks me if I'd do something for him that he would find incredibly hot. I quickly performed a mental run-down of all the body parts I had not shaved in a considerable amount of time and how this may affect my answer, which was maybe. Then he asked me if I would watch him. That's all -- just watch him.
(For those wondering what it was he wanted me to watch him doing...God bless your sweet little naive hearts. Also, we must not have met yet -- but we should probably go for a drink some time. I have a few things to tell you.)
I said I would, because this was awesome. I would get to do nothing at all, and he would still think I was hot, sexy and willing. Bring it on. Also, what a perfect opportunity to find out exactly how excited I should be about this fairly new relationship. A preview of good times to come, if you will.
It only occurred to me about 15 seconds into this exercise that not having to do anything at all is actually much more difficult, because I'd have to find something to do. Just watching is very...awkward.
What kind of expression should I attempt to arrange my face in, because at any given moment, no matter what I'm doing, I look bored. It's my natural expression and it takes effort to look any other way.
It became really important that I try for something different, because admittedly...I was underwhelmed. I really didn't want my face to read, "Is that it?"
Do I say anything? Do I compliment his technique? Do I cheer? Go team! Do I pretend that the sight of him touching himself is making me want to touch myself when really I'm trying not to look past him out the window, trying to decide whether I think it might rain later on?
I thought about how I might look at my favourite dessert, and tried to over-exaggerate that expression. I fluttered my lashes and bit my lip, trying to imagine a half-naked firefighter preparing this dessert and bringing it to me in bed. Now I was hungry. Dammit, and the bomb tech wasn't done yet.
Obviously I wasn't encouraging enough, mostly because I was bored and very close to checking whether there was a car manual in his glove compartment I could read until he was finished. I leaned over to kiss him again, which alleviated the boredom quite a bit, until he reminded me that I wasn't watching, and he wanted me to.
For fuckssake.
Apparently he did need a cheering section. A hearty Go Team really wasn't appropriate, because I was still doing nothing but sitting there. I settled on telling him how hot he was, how much I liked it, and how I really hoped he could last this bloody long when he was doing other things. That last part just kind of slipped out.
Finally, he surprised me by being prepared with a towel he pulled somewhere from behind his seat, which should probably be incinerated for health purposes very soon. And that was our .5 date.
Naturally, any couple's first sexual experience together is probably not the best it's ever going to get. We have no other option but to improve dramatically, but at the same time...I'm still happier warming the bench for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment