Towards the evening I got everything ready. I changed the sheets on the bed, tidied up, cleaned the top floor (I mean, you never know, I could be taking someone home). Showered, shaved, styled, broke out my best pair of old selvedged jeans, I had put every mark of distress and wear on these beauties, all the little tears had stories behind them, they were personal, they had been like a second skin when I was younger, they fit like a glove again now that I’ve lost a few pounds. Gray herringbone oxford shirt buttoned down over my tank undershirt (Sierra says undershirts are lost on her generation, she always requested a wife-beater over a v-neck) with rolled up sleeves left untucked dressed things up a bit, but not too much. A classic pair of old-school canvas sneakers lent some rebel attitude. As I looked in the mirror, it was me from half a decade ago, going out to the bars, hanging out with my friends, except now I felt confident, I felt handsome.
The only problem with tight jeans (I don’t like the super tight hipster ones, just the grade in the middle where they fit perfectly but still close) you just have no place to put your balls much less your cock, the balls you just have to just stuff down in the front as far back as they’ll go, and the cock always has to go down one leg or the other and it always leaves the slightest impression on the surface, I’m 90% sure nobody noticed (when we were dating, my wife used to try to play a game of guessing where it was, she was usually wrong at first, but got scarily good at it, course she couldn’t touch below the surface as a good Christian girl), but I could always see where it was. It used to embarrass me, but it was that way with all of my decent jeans (unless I wanted to wear some jeans that had inches of loose material around my ass), so what could I do? Didn’t really bother me anymore. Still, these jeans were a bit tighter than I remembered, and as I sat on the couch listening to some tunes and browsing CL, I unbuttoned them to relieve some pressure on my genitals.
I texted Sierra around half past nine to confirm that I should be ready to pick her up at ten as planned. No answer. Again at 10 pm and no answer. Finally, I call at 10:30 and get no answer. I wasn’t too surprised, she had to be at least a half an hour to an hour late for anything planned it seemed. But, around a quarter till it was getting too late I figured, I’d gotten all dressed, I should at least try to do something. I made my final preparations, grabbed my keys and wallet, texted Sierra that I was heading downtown and to let me know if she wanted to meet up. But, I stopped myself. To be honest, I didn’t really want to go downtown by myself, sit at a bar with a bunch of twenty year old students and have a beer by myself. Sure, I could go approach women I suppose, but without the extra motivating factor of Sierra being present, I was having trouble working myself up to it. I finally made the decision to go, just when I got a notification on my phone. Not Sierra, it was a match on Tinder. Fuckin’ Tinder, I remember this girl from when I was swiping a couple days ago. Mid-twenties, shows she is only 6 miles from me, we’ll call her ‘Maye’. My profile says that I won’t send the first message, they should read my profile first so they know I’m an adulterer so they know what they are getting into. Maye messages me right away,
Oooooookay nipple guy
I laugh, I knew what pic she was talking about. I had posted one of me posing in my undershirt, I thought it came out good, but it did show a bit of nip through the thin white material. I looked at her pics and profile. Wow, she’s a cutie, slightly bigger up top than Sierra, but slightly smaller in the bottom, better sense of style though, cute face, hair, and skin, tattoo, nose ring (I love nose rings, Sierra has one too that I think I failed to mention). Very tasteful, well done pics that ooze with a carefree, silly personality, especially one of her riding a tiny horse statue while sipping a beer.
Me: Dang, I see my reputation precedes me, Ok tiny horse girl.
Me: Love that pic btw, you just look too cute in it for words
Maye: Love that hard nip btw
Me: Thanks, have to show off your best features
Me: Since my wife's out of town, I'm going out, but everyone seems to know me at my usual spots, do you have a favorite bar you could recommend?
Sadly, that was all I heard from her the whole evening. I looked over her profile and got to dreaming. This girl was dating material had I been single. She mentioned my favorite beer, some of my favorite books, and demonstrated a carefree attitude with a good sense of humor. She mentioned doing a few things that would annoy me, but in a good way, they would keep things interesting and add spice. I think all guys have some things about women that they acted annoyed at, but secretly make them swoon, for example, when a girl makes a high pitched squeal upon seeing a cute animal (as Maye readily admits), that always makes my heart melt, but I just have to act annoyed. I know that girls on Tinder are likely to have dozens to hundreds of matches at any one time, that is a lot of guys to be messaging (no wonder they have a “Search” field in the Matches section, a search field I’ll never have need for). Odds of me standing out are not good, no matter how charming I could be (I hope I’m not too boorish). The number of matches men get are typically low, the number I’m going to get are even lower since I don’t have face pics, but instead I have a profile that reads that I’m married. It was simple demographics, I was only going to get certain limited responses. This girl seemed like a dream and a half, but once again, she was out of my reach. Having gleaned what I could from her profile, I gathered she was just having a little silly fun with me while focusing on more viable matches. No idea if I’ll hear from her again. No question, if we stayed matched I’d message her another time, just hoping to be at the right place at the right time to catch her eye.
Things were beginning to light up and I found myself multitasking. I got a reply on a CL ad, and another match on Tinder messaged me after Maye. I was squandering my evening, all dressed up but at home, but I figured this would probably be more productive than going to a bar where I’d have to buy drinks and lie through my teeth to get laid, and it would have to be a one-night stand. I unbuttoned my shirt, took off my shoes, and leaned over my keyboard, switching between it and my phone. The CL response was from another mid-twenties gal, ‘Jenna’, sent me a face pic with plenty of bra and generous cleavage showing, moving to the area to go to school. The Tinder match was from a girl I won’t even name at this point, she was my first match, and since she was the only non-apparent spambot I figured I’d bite the bullet and message first, but that was a few days ago. I won’t name her, because it became apparent she hadn’t read my profile, and when she did, she didn’t know what the word ‘adultery’ meant. Having explained that, she said “Oh, sorry baby” and that was all I heard. She hasn’t unmatched me, but looks like a shut down. 90% sure she has fake tits too, but I wouldn’t be picky.
I sent Jenna back a couple of pics, introduced myself, gave her my compliments, and asked how her evening was going. She got right back, said she was doing great and thanked me, asked me what I was up to. I probably shouldn’t have confided in her in hindsight, but I was in an honest mood. I told her what I had planned, to meet my ex-affair (I don’t know what else to consider Sierra at the moment) downtown for a few drinks. Apparently that killed the conversation since she didn’t get back to me. Sounds like I’m just fucking everything up tonight. It was now half past eleven. Sierra finally texts me. I think I’m going to start calling these ‘shit texts’, meaningless, pointless texts. She just says “I’m”. Certainly possible she was in the process of texting me then probably got distracted, potentially by an other text. I just sent back, “Thanks for confirming your existence”. Nothing, so I tried calling, no answer, couple rings then straight to voicemail, which would likely indicate she was hitting ignore. I really don’t get it. Sometimes she’s responsive and normal, then sometimes it is just a string of shit texts with hours between them. Is she on drugs? Hanging out? Playing games with me? Just always finding something more interesting than conversation with me? The last couple times, she seems to have lured me into a false sense that she wanted to hang out, then pulled the rug out in this manner. I don’t think she’s doing it intentionally but I guess I’m putting up with it because it payed off last time my wife was out of town. If I didn’t put up with her weird flakiness, I never would have had the most amazing sex of my life thus far. I realize that is heavily reinforcing and has driven me to this idiocy. I ask her if we are still going out, still nothing. At this point, I realize I hadn’t eaten much for dinner, so I fix myself a sandwich and pour myself a scotch. All, I’d done all evening was message girls who would hardly give me the time of day, gotten all dressed up for nothing, and listened to music. So, I put my feet up, eat my sandwich, and drink my scotch while Sierra sends me shit texts every 10-30 minutes. I’m still surprised she stood me up, that hasn’t happened since the beginning of our relationship. I text her back, but the conversation is largely one sided. Here are great examples of shit texts:
Kind of sandwich ?
.. what's your address ?
What's your babies name?
Some of them look Ok, but none of them made any sense in context. I played some video games, played with the pets, listened to music, texted her when she texted me, and waited again for the next stupid text. At intervals, I tried calling twice more, and then told her goodnight. I really didn’t want to get undressed after having spent so much time prepping myself to look fabulous, so I had waited her out till 1 am, all for nothing. Finally, succumbing, I laid down and went right to sleep. There was a mild earthquake at 4 am, the P wave hit and woke me up and I was awake for the S wave rattling my dresser. Earthquakes are pretty rare around here, but they happen from time to time, always mild. The biggest one we’d had in my lifetime did little more than break a few dishes (not at my place, at a friend’s). Sierra had sent me a text at 2 am that I’d missed.
I'm kind of tired of this.
You and me both, sister. I’m not sure what she had to be so tired of. I’ve been nothing but upfront, stable, honest, and reliable with her. Never flaked, never not gotten back to her in a timely fashion. I remember back in the day, some of my friends would intentionally flake on girls or intentionally arrive late or set an interval for getting back to them so they would appear more powerful, more in control in the relationship. I’ve thought about that from time to time, but always decided that it’s stupid. If the girl wants to be with, she’ll be with you, you don’t control that, you only control you. Flaky, dishonest behavior will likely just push her away if anything. It assumes that girls just like to play games, and so you have to play your own right back. Sounds like a good way to end up with girls that play games, and to push away the girls that don’t. That said, you should also not allow yourself to be treated like shit, like how Sierra was clearly treating me tonight.
I thought for a while. Sierra was a bit like this in the beginning of our relationship, but not even this bad. I had the feeling she was attracted to me at the beginning, now I don’t sense that anymore, though I don’t sense loathing either. I figured I’m really not that perceptive, not in the way a woman picks up on little subtle details anyways. After we spent our first night together, from then on out she was at my beck and call. She’d respond to my texts almost right away, and with detail and context. She’d answer my calls, she met me every single time I wanted to meet her. What happened? My best guess is my erectile problems, not being able to have sex in awkward locations. That and with the possible conjunction of the fact that she may have met someone(s) else that she preferred. I’m still cursing my dick for this whole mess, I had the best thing of my life going, and then it went and fucked it all up because it wouldn’t get hard when she and I wanted it to. I was so pissed I could cut the fucker off and watch him bleed to death and say “that’s what you get for fuckin’ this all up”, but I needed him too much. No wonder this relationship has been enduring this slow demise.
I finally just sent her a text, asking her just to be real with me: if you aren’t interested, just tell me to ‘fuck off’, if you are, just say so and we’ll plan something, if you are too busy then let me know when you want to do something. Then went right back to sleep.
This evening has been the firecracker that fizzled and didn’t go off. I wish I had just headed off to the bars without her. At least then I could have talked to some girls, had a few drinks, and laughs, maybe gotten in a bar fight (haven’t been in one of those in a good while, but Saul was usually the cause, his abilities with women tended to breed jealousy). I know many of you were waiting with bated breath, so I am truly sorry to be a cock/clit tease. Looks like this abscence of my wife will be ending with a whimper rather than a bang.