Trevor

I went on a lovely hike today with one of my bestest girlie friends. We saw wildflowers, streams, waterfalls, picnicking families, a great blue heron, sunshine, and... Trevor.

He was sitting quietly in the bushes, along side a trail. We almost walked right by him. But my friend pointed him out, and I was impressed by his size. Fully extended, at least six inches. I decided I wanted to touch him, and she got out her camera. At first, as I held him in my hand, he seemed timid, shy, scared. He shrunk down to a petite couple inches, but I knew what potential he had. So I held and caressed him, and tried to make him feel more comfortable.

His heft was impressive - more than I'd anticipated when I first saw him. He was strong and muscular, and as the minutes passed, began to come alive in my hand again. He stretched and expanded, and finally, when he knew I would not hurt him, felt at ease enough to extend to his full length.

His name is Trevor. He lives in Camas. He is quiet, shy, and unique. Beautiful in his own way. He was my companion for an hour, and I will never forget him.

Missing Element

Arggg. OK, I just needed to get that out first.

I finally bit the bullet and put myself on eHarmony. I've done it before, a couple years ago, and have also tried Match and Nerve. But each time I've enrolled in one of the internet dating sites, I usually meet someone in my "real life" within days. So I figure if I have to shell out some dough and put myself on the internet to meet a guy off the net, so be it.

Anyway, eHarmony has matched me up with about a dozen people, and I've started the communication process with each. Many have not responded. Several have, and I've eliminated most, on the basis of their answers to my questions. The only one I've emailed with regularly is Matt, the cutest one so far. He works in the same industry as I do, and his profile is encouraging. We've emailed back and forth on their site, which gets annoying, because I check my email more than that site, so I finally just gave him my email address.

What I got in return was an email from him on a yahoo account with a fake name on the return. I teased him about being paranoid and said I had nothing to hide, so was not worried about him knowing my real name. He shot back a lecture on why not to use a real name on free email sites, and at terse "Thanks for that. Take care". Obviously did not get that I was teasing, even though I said I was kidding. I wrote back apologizing for the misunderstanding, but got no return.

So this is why I am not such a fan of email, or instant messenger. It is so easy to misinterpret meaning when you don't know someone, or even when you do but can't see their expression or at least hear their tone.

Maybe (kidding) I need to (sarcasm) insert little notes (joke) in the text of my (hee hee) messages.

Is It In?

Anyone know three two letter words that mean small?

Several years ago, a friend set me up with a guy named Michael. He was a really nice guy, smart, successful, owned a nice home, treated me with respect. I enjoyed his company.

As we dated, there was the inevitable fooling around. And let me tell you, he was GREAT with his hands. He could give me climax after climax, until I was begging him to stop. It was amazing. I thought, with foreplay that good, sex was going to be delicious. So I asked for it.

We stripped in the dark of his room, and as our naked bodies met, I felt something warm pressed against me. Something warm, and small. As I took him in my hand, I felt...mean. Here was this great, nice guy, and all I could think about was "How can I get out of here?". You see folks, his penis was the size of my thumb. I am not kidding. Seriously.

The condom was too big. As he entered me, I could hardly feel it. It kept slipping out. He joked about his size, and that it made things difficult. I offered oral sex instead. That worked for him, and then he went on to tire me out with his hands.

He was perfectly OK with his...limitations. I wanted to be, I really did. I spent a couple more nights with him, hoping I could be satisfied with the state of things. But I was not. The best part about sex for me is penetration, and I could not imagine giving that up, even for a potentially great relationship. And so I broke things off.

Does my inability to sacrifice that which I craved for an otherwise nice, fun guy with great hands make me a bad person? A shallow person? So be it. I hope he found himself a tiny little woman who could care less about penetration and is just thrilled to have endless orgasms, however she gets them. But she ain't me.

Two Drink Limit

In my previous job, I was hired by John, a guy that looked and sounded like he was straight from "The Sopranos". One day he even told me how to dispose of a body in case I ever needed to. On that same day he mentioned that he has more friends inside the federal penitentiary than out. When I got divorced, he said that if I was still single in five years he would divorce his wife and marry me. Gee thanks. Needless to say, I was not disappointed that I only had to work with him a couple times a year.

One day though, I had to travel to Seattle for a meeting with a large group of prospective clients. John was there, along with two other high-ups with the company. He asked me to meet him in the bar to talk about our meeting before dinner. So I did, and after much prodding from him, ordered a drink. At dinner, I ordered water, and he ordered me another of what I'd had at the bar, over my repeated protestations. Now, I've never been any kind of drinker. Practically no tolerance.

By the time dinner was over, I was having a tough time walking in a straight line. He noticed, and steered me towards the bar. And ordered me another. I knew that third drink was a bad idea, but he was my boss and so I did what he said, and drank it. And there my good judgement went right out the door. There was flirting, I admit it. I am a big flirt when I drink, apparently. And then there was a fourth drink.

Stumbling to the elevator. With his arm around me. Elevator doors closed, he pushed me up against the wall, and kissed me! A lot. Walked me to my room, to make sure I made it in OK. There was making out inside the room. For some reason I really didn't care. No sex though, I am happy to report. Thank God.

The next day, there were phone calls. He thought we should plan to meet up in the various locations around the country where he had meetings. I thought that was not such a good idea, him being married and all. I told him I felt bad for his wife, and that I was sorry for behaving inappropriately.

Yes, I apologized for letting him get me drunk and try to take advantage of me.

He kept calling from time to time, and asking me to talk dirty to him or meet him places. I would always decline, on the basis of shyness or other plans. I was afraid to be blunt, because he could fire me so easily.

Fast forward several years, to this winter, when I got laid off. And as I was passing through the Newark airport on my way to training for my new job, guess who I saw? Yup, John. With his beautiful, sweet wife. They asked what I was there for, and for how long. I reported it was for the new job, three weeks. And as they wished me well and then she walked away to find their car service, he turned around and said, literally behind her back, "Call me while you're here, we'll have dinner".

So it was that one night in Seattle four years ago that taught this girl her limits with alcohol. One drink, fine. Two drinks, very relaxed, but still know right from wrong. Three drinks, and suddenly, I just don't care. And ever since then, I stop at two. I know, I'm no fun.