Location, location, location (for SEX!)

Readers, I’m going to throw this out there: Where’s the most exciting place you’ve ever had sex?

Me? Well, I’d have to say in a bed. That was much more exciting than on the couch.

What happens when he unhooks my bra

Sorry for the delay between posts! I’ve been out of town for my job as a medical sales rep. Now I know what you’re thinking - that I’m one of those glamorous pharmaceutical sales girls, always getting the chance to flirt with cute young doctors! Well, you’re close. Have you ever had to give a 24-hour urine sample? Chances are, you put your specimen in one of my jugs!

Anyway, I thought I’d broach an uncomfortable sexual subject today by relating my own experiences. That’s what this blog is for, after all. The last time I was with a guy, he had trouble … you know … getting excited. It was kind of awkward for him. He mumbled something about how this never happens, and we both just fell asleep. He must have been really embarrassed, because he was gone when I woke up.

Guys. Why do they have to act so macho? When doesn’t this sort of thing happen? Gosh, I can’t even count the number of times I’ve watched that thing shrink down to a nub once the clothes come off.

My question is this: How do you properly congratulate a guy when it, uh, works? Do you reward him orally - by saying what a great job he did? Or do you send a card? Etiquette tips, anyone? I really haven’t been in that position enough to know the right answer.

Skimpin’ on primpin’

Was just reading Wingfella’s post over at Unbuttoned about how women take so long to get ready. Boy, isn’t that the truth! I’ve always heard that that’s something that really irritates men.

So when this guy asked me out on a week-day dinner date the other week, I made a promise to myself: I will not make him wait. I rushed home after work and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt (I did fast smell-check, and they passed for the most part). I ran a brush through my hair real quick - but by that point in the day, there’s really not so much I can do. It gets real flat and sorta sticks to my head. I’m kind of a nature girl, so I don’t worry too much about make up and all that. I had just noticed that my brows were looking a little untidy when I glanced at the clock. Time to go if I’m going to be prompt!

I got to the restaurant and guess what: We pulled into the parking lot at the same time! I didn’t make him wait!

He walked up to me, and eyed my outfit.

“Uh, hey. This place may be a little too dressy for jeans,” he said, glancing around downtown. “You wanna head down to that bar over there?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” I said.

We were there for about 15 minutes when his cell phone rang. It was his cousin. His car had broken down along I-40 and he needed someone to pick him up.  I think he’s been real busy lately at work, because I haven’t heard from him since.

There’s this one thing that’s been bothering me, though: Should I have gotten there earlier?

I just assumed 50 e-mails a day meant he was interested

A few years ago, I went to a high school reunion (I won’t say which one, lest Brian Clarey start up with the doing-math-in-his-head thing). Everyone kept saying how much better I look without glasses! It was really flattering.

So bumped into this guy (literally, knocking the drink out of his hand) who was one of the cool kids back in the day. Anyway, he was single, and I was single, so needless to say I was pretty thrilled that spent about 30 minutes catching up. He lives in St. Louis, a good bit away from our little North Carolina hometown. He has the most fascinating job: selling the packages that raw chicken comes in! Plus he’s so tall and handsome. If you overlook that thing on his ear, he’s a real catch.

Anyway, the reunion ended. He went back to St. Louis and I came back to Greensboro. Well imagine my surprise the next week when I got an e-mail from him! I e-mailed back, of course. We kept it going, too. Soon it was four or five e-mails a week, then four or five a day, until we were e-mailing constantly throughout the day (and on weekends, too!). Sometimes we would exchange 50 e-mails a day! Next thing I knew, two years had passed. Time sure flies.

Last month, I started wondering if maybe he had, you know, feelings for me.  So I summoned my courage, and sent him an e-mail telling him that I was starting to think of him in a, well, in a sexual way. I gave him three choices: 1) We could talk about my feelings; 2) We could ignore them; 3) Or we could just not talk to each other any more.

Well, wrote back and said he’d picked No. 3. And I haven’t heard from him since.

What was my mistake here, girls? Was it arrogance for assuming he might like me “that way?” Or was it talking about feelings? I understand guys generally don’t like that. Any thoughts?

Oh! Maybe he didn’t want to brush up against my cold, wet T-shirt

I was on a camping trip last year with three friends - another girl and two guys. We’re very close, but not in any romantic or sexual way, even though we were all single. Our plan was to hang out in the woods, drink, cook over the fire and just have a general chill-fest. Boys in one tent and the girls in the other.

And that’s the way things went … the first night. But on the second night, it started pouring. And my tent, the girly tent, had neither a rain flap on top nor a blue tarp underneath. All our stuff - blankets, pillows, sleeping bags - was soaked on this chilly spring night. So the boys invited us into their tent, which was not quite big enough for four.

I ended up jammed next to my single guy friend - we’ll call him Greg - who was wrapped in a sleeping bag cocoon. I had a pillow, but no cover. Plus before we moved to their tent, I had been sleeping in this thin white T-shirt. Well, it had gotten wet and had started sticking to me. And it was really starting to get cold. Trust me: It was miserable.

“Greg? I whispered, so as not to wake the others. “Could I please have some of your sleeping bag?”

“Uh, no, I really don’t want to share,” he said. “My sleeping bag isn’t all that big.”

“But Greg, I’m freezing. And look at my shirt,” I said, sitting up so he could see my chilled, pitiful circumstances. “I’m going to get sick if I don’t warm up somehow.”

“Jesus. Alright,” he said, in a snippy tone, unzipping the bag and giving me a corner. “Just try to stay on your side.”

I was truly grateful. When we got back to town, I bought him a gift certificate to Fishbones. Was $25 enough? I could have gone as high as $40, but I didn’t want to scare him off. How would you have thanked him for his kindness?

Here I am now, entertain ME!

Hi, Olive here.

Now here’s something I bet every girl out there can relate to: When one of your guy friends has an extra ticket to a concert, and is looking for a date, and can’t find one, but doesn’t think to ask you, so he ends up not going at all. Man, who HASN’T had that experience?

It happened to me a few years ago. My best guy friend - I’ll call him Lawrence - was totally in love with this stunningly beautiful girl he was sort of seeing, Hunter. So he bought tickets for them to go to a Nirvana concert in a nearby city. Well, I don’t know how in the world he managed to land those tickets, because I waited three hours in a cold rain (this was pre-Ticketmaster) to get some and never did.

Anyway, a few days before the concert, Hunter stood up Lawrence for a date, and he knew it was over. Yet he still had these really great tickets to Nirvana. So Lawrence said he called every girl he knew (admittedly at the last minute), trying to find a dat for the concert. But no one wanted to go.

Finally, the afternoon of the concert, he called me in frustration, saying that he was giving up on women. Then I heard a rriiiiiiiiiiip as he tore up his tickets.

Sisters: What did you do when that happened? Did you just keep your mouth shut (like I did)? Or did you beg your guy friend to take you to the concert - with the understanding, of course, that you were clear on the fact that it was NOT a date and that there would be no touching?

If someone almost looks at me, do I exist?

I’ll never forget that day in philosophy class. Freshman year. We were in one of those big stadium-style auditoriums, studying Descartes. I was already seated when he walked in, and plopped his stuff in a seat one row in front of me.

 I’d noticed this boy in the cafeteria a few days earlier. He was tall, curly-headed and prone to wearing ill-fitting pants. He had scribbled “Black Flag” on his red Chuck Taylors. I wanted to make him mine.

Well, about half-way through the lecture (something about whether human free will is compatible with diving omniscience), he turned around and looked at me. Oh, I was so excited. He did it again a few minutes later, too. And again and again. Surely his neck must be stiff from all that looky-loo, I thought by the end of class. I stood up to collect my things and, with my back to Mr. Hottie, smoothed my hair just a bit.

“Hey. What’s going on?” I heard his deep, throaty voice say.

 I spun around (trust me, it was sexy) to catch his eye.  But he was looking a few rows past me - at the tall blonde in the micro mini and paisley halter. Ah. She was the reason for his stiff … neck.

What’s the proper etiquette for those cases of mistaken identity? Is it OK to bust out crying right on the spot? Or do you need to wait until you get home before losing it?

An embarrassing noise during an intimate moment

I’ve got this pair of shoes I love, right? Brown loafer-like, but with a heel. They make me look a little slutty, but what the hay? You only live once.

Unfortunately, they make this gushy sound when I walk, like all the air just comes rushing out with every step. Still, I L-O-V-E them and they look great on me.

The other day, this really cute guy who works in my office (from another department) was walking up the stairs behind me. And I said to myself, “Self, when you get to the top of the steps, you’re going to turn around and smile at him. Why, you’re just as good as those so-called ‘pretty’ girls with their low-slung pants and open-toed shoes. You have every right to flirt with him.”

So I got to the top of the steps and, without slowing my gait, turned back to give him my sexiest grin. But I forgot about the shoe noise, which on this occasion was really REALLY loud just at the moment I parted my lips and cocked my head. He stopped dead in his tracks. And I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No, no!” I said, panic-stricken. “That wasn’t me. It was my shoes that farted. See,” and I started walking some more, so he could hear the ppllbbbt, ppllbbbt, ppllbbbt I made with each step. He picked up his step and headed toward his side of the building. I’m not sure he believed me.

Now it’s your turn: What have you done to silence the farting shoe? Do they make some kind of insert for that?  

When a guy buys you a drink, and, you know …

The other day, some of my friends from high school and I went to Home and Garden expo at the Charlotte Coliseum. We were just about to leave when - lo and behold - we see this guy David, who also graduated with us. OMG! David was so out of my league back then (he played football and was on the student council), but he gave me a hug anyway! He still lives back home - a real successful guy (a mortician, no less!).

Oh, it gets better: He bought us all four of us drinks at a nearby bar! Yep. I couldn’t believe it. So there I was, standing there, with a FREE drink in my hand, talking to this guy. Eventually, he had to go meet his cousin at Applebee’s, but I think we really connected during those five minutes we talked!

So, ladies, has this ever happened to you? Has someone ever bought you a drink? What kind? Did you drink it slowly, to make it last? Or did you slug it down in the hopes he might buy you another? And how long did you wait before text-messaging your friends to let them know what happened?

Hey everybody!

Hi, Greensboro! My name is Olive and welcome to my new blog! There a lot of blogs out there about dating and sex, but girls who write them seem so much more … I don’t know …  successful in the man-attracting department than your average gal out there.

This blog is going to be so much more awesome. Please don’t let this intimidate you, but I have a lot of real-life experience with men (check out my profile).  But I most certainly will describe experiences the average Mildred, Gertrude or Blanche can relate to. Promise.

Plus I’m currently single, so I’ll have stories to share about my wild nights out on the town.  Like last week, when I was at Barnes and Noble. I think that guy might have been staring at my chest!

You never know crazy stories might turn up here. So hold on tight and enjoy the ride!