The Gong Show

I really want to take the high road.

I really don’t want to crack on a dude regarding his physical appearance… Or his physical (lack of) prowess.

I really don’t.

But I can’t not. Yes, I said can’t not. I have to… Mainly because I’m in disbelief that I politely navigated my way through one of the strangest weekends of my life (and I’m aware that this blog post will negate any and all positive karma points I earned for doing just that), but also because it’s a really fucking entertaining read.

I met this character — let’s call him Gong Show — about a year ago on OkCupid. He lives about two hours away from me, but came up in my News Feed with a journal he had written. It was a really great, albeit lengthy article about growing up very religious, doing everything “right”, and still finding yourself divorced in your early twenties. I felt a particular connection to the essay because the author was grappling with the idea of reverting back to a virgin-state or continuing to have sex, even though it conflicted with his religious views. I left a comment on his journal entry and went about my business.

We struck up a friendship and would email back and forth occasionally. We talked about a lot of things, but mostly dating. Everything was always very platonic.

Late last summer, I had to get out of town. I had a long weekend, the boy child was at his dad’s house and I posted an all-points-bulletin on my Facebook page, “Anybody within three hours of me willing to let me come sleep on their couch? I need a change of scenery!” Of course, you know… Everyone was clamoring to get me to come to their house, but I settled on my friend Brownie’s house, about 2.5 hours away.

I realized that Brownie’s house was only a half an hour from Gong Show, so I emailed him and suggested we get lunch one day while I was in town. He delightfully obliged.

I had a wonderfully simple weekend, twisting and turning down highways with no names, just numbers… Small towns with blinking caution lights and yards that were as wide as meadows. I met Gong Show for lunch and a stroll around his downtown area and had a nice time.

A nice time. I wasn’t particularly attracted to him and also wasn’t particularly hard-up for male attention (remember Ginger?  You see where we’re sitting on the timeline now, right?). Also, Gong Show lived two hours away. I’m a tough cookie, but not at all cut out for long distance. I need regular cuddles and such.

So that’s where we left off. We continued our friendship and nothing really ever sprouted.

Until…

We were talking on IM about a month ago and I was probably a little drunk, home on a kid-free night, and I said something about how it was his turn to come visit ME. He agreed, wholeheartedly, and quickly… Almost like he was waiting on an invitation all this time.

But, whatever. Sure! Come. We’ll find all sorts of fun things to do around my city, which I love, and maaaaybe this girl might get a little play-play, for real-real.

(Don’t judge me, it’s been four months since I last had sex. FOUR MONTHS, people.)

So, he comes. Yay! You’re here. Blah blah blah. We go grab dinner and then hit a bar for some beers. Fun. We discuss theology and philosophy. It’s fun.

On the way home, I realize, “I did not think this thing out all the way. Hm.”

So begins the awkward advances of Gong Show. We’ll start with what he packed for pajamas. They were grandpa peejs. Matching top and bottom, burgundy with white piping. OH GOD. Then comes the spooning and the neck kissing and now I’m like, “FUCK. What did I just get myself into?”

Trying not to be a total bitch, I let my mind open up a bit to the idea of cuddling and canoodling with Gong Show. Could it be that bad? Really?

In a word, yes.

YES.

The rest of the weekend is something of a blur, but with a slow-motion flash every now and then of bumbling, awkward sex and TIRED moves.

I know we’ve all got preferences on sex, for sure. I would not be thrilled if someone I was trying to hook up with traipsed into my bedroom with a crop and saddle. But seriously, I didn’t realize that things I liked were so far-fetched (read: they’re totally not).

He was very unfortunately mismatched in the twig and berries department… Heavy on the berries and light on the twig. This, paired with the fact that he couldn’t fuck on a rhythm to save his life, was a terrible combination.

Picture this if you will: thrust-gong-pause-pause-pause-thrust-gong-pause-oh shit it came out-thrust-pause-gong, lather, rinse, repeat. I felt like his balls were looping up over my ass and slapping me in the small of my back.

And he couldn’t keep it in me. Was he willing to switch up positions to see if that would help? Newp. Same ol’ stiff-backed position where his entire body would lean back and then lean in — there was no hip action whatsoever.

I will say this though, the man was very talented orally… and, um… digitally. But how could he not be? I mean, the fucking was awful. AWFUL.

I just felt so bad because prior to him coming to visit, I had always enjoyed our emails, phone calls, instant message conversations. And had the sex been even just marginally good, the weekend could have been salvaged. Alas, it was not.

Other high(low)lights included:

He brought an ice cube to bed and then asked me to keep my eyes closed. Yea, dude, I didn’t hear the clinking in the glass by the side of the bed. And ooh, drip drop on my skin. Yes, it’s ice. Yes it’s cold. Oh shit, IT’S COLD! Dammit. I’m freezing now. And to finish off this fumbling, the-kind-of-thing-you-think-you-do-during-sex-when-you’re-fifteen kind of move? He put it in his mouth and leaned over me to kiss me. He was a great kisser, but kissing someone with chilled, thick saliva nearly pouring out of their mouth? Not hot. Particularly when this person is over top of you and they are literally drooling into your mouth.

Not hot.

He also offered up a “preposition” before we left for the evening on Saturday.

Over, under, around, above, off? Oh, on? Grrrreat.

It was such an unfortunate weekend because I couldn’t just say, “Dude. I’m not feeling this. Can you go home now?” I mean, I suppose I could have… Or I could have faked a headache or something. I don’t know. I really couldn’t think of the right way to communicate to him that none of it was working.

To make matters worse, he was OVER THE MOON for me. Saying things like, “I’ve waited so long to kiss these lips…” Like, dude really? We’ve been pals this whole time and you’ve been secretly pining away for me? Had I known this, I would have never invited you for a fun weekend at mi casa.

Other doozies that were detonated in my face:

“What’s the job market like here?” Uhmm… Planning to move to my city? Oh, in that case, “It’s so terrible. The majority of my friends are unemployed.” What? It’s true. Nevermind that none of them are in his particular field of employment in the first place.

“What colleges are here?” Planning on getting your Master’s here? I rattled off every school I could think of that had nothing to do with his particular field of study.

“Oh, I left my jacket in your car. I’ll just get it when I come on my next visit.”Uhm, no, it’s unlocked. You can grab it on your way to your car and on your way out of here! I know that ploy, man… Don’t try to sneak that past me.

LAWD. I feel terrible. It was terrible. I’m a terrible person for not speaking up, I guess… He’s a terrible person for coming here under the pretense of fun with friends while secretly being in lurrrrve with me for a year. It was just TERRIBLE.

When he got home, he sent me a text, “It’s going to be hard to get to sleep tonight without you next to me.” Seriously, dude? TWO nights. You spent TWO nights at my house and your sleep pattern will be so disturbed that you need to make mention of it? Or wait, this is one of those romantic sentiments that you HEAR IN MOVIES. Ohhhh, okay. Jesus. I was out when he sent that text and I didn’t get it until very late and I just couldn’t bring myself to respond.

Oh, and also? Another thing? He had a sleeping mask… No, not one that he needed for medical purposes, but one of those kinds that you used as a blindfold as a kid… Or the kind that stupid bitches wear to feel like divas. He said it was because of his insomnia… OMFG. Right. He didn’t tell me about this until the SECOND night that he stayed over. Apparently, he had shoved it under his pillow and only put it on after I went to sleep and took it off before I woke up. DUDE. That is so weird!

Then, the next day, I get one from him that said, “The experience of spending so much time with you all at once, and facing the prospect of not being able to see you again for a long time has got me feeling pretty melancholy today. I don’t wanna sound clingy, but I wish we lived closer to one another.”

HURLK BARF OMG-I-THINK-MY-HEAD-JUST-’SPLODED.

I had to nip all of this in the bud quickly before he started sending me pictures of the ring he wanted to propose with or locations for our wedding or something.

Like, SWEET JESUS. Why do men like this fall head over heels for me and the men I like are just sort of meh? I’m certain it’s karma.

I’m going to get right on getting some good karma after I publish this post… I just had to get this all off my chest… Like a confessional of sorts.

Lesson learned: you should probably make sure someone isn’t secretly in love with you before you invite them to visit.

Also, I’m not counting it. I STILL haven’t had sex in four months. So there.

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