Banging The Giant Mechanical Man*

Personally, I'm always a fan of using life's experiences to improve certain facets of myself. For instance, I have a maddening habit of not listening to my instincts. Instead, I prefer to slowly, painstakingly analyze a situation or person before coming to a conclusion. It's a method I've used to protect myself from the risks associated with rash decisions. However, this past month of dating a socially awkward giant of a man has recently opened my eyes to the merits of gut reactions.

Our first date was the traditional dinner and a movie.
Turn on: He didn't flinch at dropping $75 for the night. And never even attempted a joke at haggling over who would leave the tip.
Turn off: He barely was able to attempt any joke. His nervous energy was palpable throughout the entire evening.

True to form, I decide to give the guy a second go. We've all been there with first date jitters, right?

The second date was far more exciting. A trip to a modern art museum complete with snarky commentary on the more pretentious exhibits. (Few things get me hotter than trashing other people's hard work.) A little making out, a few sparks, and another free dinner. And as the evening started to wind down, I made the decision to test drive this new friend. (Jumping into the sack is probably the only rash decision I can seem to make with any kind of regularity.)

Now, the first time you sleep with anyone, this shit will be awkward. There's no way to avoid it. But usually, a willingness to keep things light and fun will get you past the rough patches and on your way to a happy ending. Usually. In the past decade of getting down, I've had some bad sex. But this was something else.

My first clue that shit was not going to pan out should have been the fact that he kept his socks on. (Guys. Come on. I know it's cold out, but rubbing up against some cotton tube socks is the definition of un-sexy.) Long story short, I found myself in a traditional missionary position. With no other contact other than an occasional kiss on my forehead.

What.

Yes. My forehead. Thankfully this lasted only about five minutes.

Now, a normal woman would have turned tail and passive-aggressively ignored his messages until he got the hint. What did I do? Fuck him again. I reasoned with myself that the second date vastly improved from the first, therefore the same thing will happen with sex. This time my attempts at changing things up were greeted with the sight of a flaccid penis. After which he had the audacity to ask to stay the night. Unfortunately for him I had to evict him that night due to my hard and fast rule that I think every single lady should employ: You don't get me off, you don't stay the night. There's no way I'd entertain the thought of not taking up the whole bed myself or possibly being kept up by excessive snoring if I'm not filled with post sex oxytocin.

Honestly, it's more of a favor to my potential suitors. Because if I'm not in a blissful orgasm haze, I just might smother you with a pillow.

Lesson Learned: There is a giant line I need to draw when it comes to bad first time sex.

*The Giant Mechanical Man is actually an excellent dramedy well worth checking out. Way more chemistry on screen than in my bed.