I left my apartment Saturday night hoping to have sex.
In our post-"Sex and the City" and current "Girls" era, this might seem like a "duh" thing to say. But for me, it's quite the opposite. Sex is, sadly, a ridiculous fantasy in my life. Seriously -- I rarely meet a guy I want to go out with twice, let alone go to bed with. My body chooses, not my brain. I "gotta wanna kiss him" -- which means, he's gotta turn me on in some way, shape or form.
So, when I do feel something, needless to say, I get excited.
"Jesus" had been pursuing me relentlessly for months. I met him at an industry Halloween costume party. In retrospect, I think we both went as our alter egos: I went as Carrie Bradshaw, he was Jesus Christ. And he fit the part beautifully with his long hair and beard. Plus, as I would discover, he's a minimalist vegan who owns one pair of shoes. But he seemed like a super nice guy: charming, smart, sweet, funny -- only problem was, I wasn't feeling it.
"He looks like a homeless teenager," my friend Eve said, possibly explaining my lack of desire.
Honestly, the whole slacker/hipster, just rolled out of bed, not trying look is completely lost on me. I like my men to look like men, not perpetual 10th graders. But I really enjoyed his company, and we had so much in common. I kept hoping my feelings would change. But after a couple months of avoiding his advances, I had to be honest with him and end it.
"I should want to rip your clothes off, and I don't," I told him sadly.
We kept in touch and a few weeks ago he reached out, wanting to see me again. I was hesitant -- I didn't want to go down that dead end road again. But he was so persistent... it was very endearing. Maybe I'd feel differently this time?
So last Friday, we met for dinner and he showed up with his hair a bit shorter (and combed), he'd shaved the beard, ditched the slacker hoodie and was wearing A BLAZER. He looked like a grown up, and something miraculous happened: I was totally turned on!
Not just because he looked great, but his persistence and knowing he'd done all that for me was incredibly flattering. He even offered to get a real haircut if that would help. Well, yeah! I had considered suggesting that, but honestly didn't want him to try and be someone he wasn't.
"No problem, he said. "Why didn't you ask sooner?"
All this and a couple glasses of sangria led to a few fabulous hours of foreplay back at my place. And it was awesome. To feel something -- to crave and enjoy a man's touch for the first time in a very long time was exhilarating. And I wanted more.
I spent much of the following Saturday prepping for our next date: I got a pedicure. I waxed things and shaved other things. I bought a new dress, dug out my fishnets and put on black lace lingerie. I was embarrassingly excited to see him, and for the first time, I noticed electricity shoot through my body when he'd texted me that afternoon. Honestly, I was worried he was going to look so great I'd lose all control. It had been so long since I'd felt this way -- I was really starting to think I could like this guy.
All he needed to do was show up, look good and make me feel wanted. I probably would have taken him right there, in the 5 Napkin Burger bathroom stall. (They're big -- I'm pretty sure you could do that.)
But instead of pushing a few of the right buttons, he pushed ALL of the wrong ones. And two hours later, I was totally turned off and in a cab going home alone: insulted, furious and ridiculously frustrated in every sense of the word.
"You gave yourself to him, ON A PLATTER," said my friend Laura. "He f*cked it up royally."
He was seriously 10 minutes away from his goal. Which not only sucked for Jesus, AND for me (have I said how much I wanted to sleep with him?) -- but it also made me wonder: How many other men get THIS close and make the same mistakes without realizing it?
If only there was a sex fairy to sit on men's shoulders, and whisper tips in their ears like, "Kiss her neck," "Tell her she's beautiful," or "Don't take your pants off quite yet..."
In lieu of that (or until Apple creates the app) here's my attempt to help. Don't let this happen to you. Let Jesus be your savior, and learn from his missteps. Simply ask yourself "What Would Jesus Do?" and do the complete opposite.
How NOT to get laid:
1. Look like you don't give a damn. While (sadly) this might work on the creative floor of most advertising agencies, it does not have the same effect on most women I know over the age of 24. We don't wake up looking like this. Whatever we are wearing or look like, we made some effort. Please show us the same respect.
A younger guy I once dated picked me up for drinks wearing a sport coat and unnecessary tie. "You look great," I said an hour later as I kissed him -- loosening the tie that was obviously an attempt to impress me. Mission accomplished.
Not only did Jesus NOT get the haircut he repeatedly told me he was getting, he showed up looking like he didn't own a comb. Or a mirror.
2. Show up really late. Anyone who knows me knows that punctuality is not my greatest strength. (I'm working on it, I swear.) So I'm the last person to condemn others for running late. I'm totally fine with a little flexibility in meeting times. But if you're so late that I have to choose between cooling my heels for a half hour alone at a bar on a Saturday night or cabbing it across town to your neighborhood to make it easier for you, let's just say it's not going to start the evening off with a bang.
3. Forget to buy toilet paper. This should be a no-brainer. Your place should be girl-friendly if you want a GIRL there. My last boyfriend went into complete nesting mode in an attempt to get me out to his house. He even planned an Ohio State football game-watch party to entice my friends to come and bring this diehard Buckeye fan. It totally worked.
But toilet paper? You've been begging me to come over for months now, and you couldn't stop at Duane Reade on your way home anytime this week? That's just lazy.
4. Get high. It might be (medically) legal in 20 states now, but that doesn't mean it's the smartest pre-date choice. Or during a date. When Jesus FINALLY got me back to his apartment, he chose to celebrate the moment by getting stoned. Which could explain a lot of his behavior.
"It's the total 'f*ck it' drug," explains Pamela, an art therapist familiar with the down sides of marijuana. "Like 'I was gonna go to the store/work out/get a haircut... but f*ck it, I'll just get high instead.'"
I tend to agree. Because instead of focusing on making me feel good, he got high. And lazy. Which was a total buzz kill for my body.
5. Underestimate the power (and importance) of seduction. I vividly remember being 14 years old, waiting at the bus stop in Beachwood, Ohio with a boy I kinda liked. It was December, and it was freezing. As he stood behind me, sheltering me from the cold, he slowly kissed the back of my neck. His lips gently moved up my neck to my ear, and as he breathed across it, I felt electricity shoot straight down to my virginal loins. I didn't know exactly what I was feeling, but I wanted more.
As disappointed as I was with some of Jesus' moves that night, I was still rooting for him. Make me feel something. Anything. Please -- I beg of you, I thought.
For a moment, I considered making a suggestion like "why don't you try kissing my neck..." But I knew he knew exactly how to turn me on, he was amazing the week before. He just couldn't be bothered.
6. Rush to penetration. Unless she's ripping your belt off and climbing on top of you, slow down! Especially the first time. Great sex should be a marathon, not a sprint. And just because I say I'm not ready yet, doesn't mean I won't be. Touch me in the right places, in the right way, and watch the tables turn.
Jesus was 10 minutes of foreplay away from the Promised Land. Instead he kissed me, took his pants off and went straight for the kill.
7. Act like a 4-year-old. When I asked Jesus to slow down, he threw an all-out Millennial temper tantrum and accused me of having too many hang-ups.
"This is too hard, I feel like I'm in junior high school with you..." he whined. Oh, I see, if I don't want to sleep with you, there's something wrong with ME. Interesting perspective. This isn't an episode of "Girls." Just because I'm here and you're horny does not mean my body is yours for the night. When I feel something, I'll do something.
"Millennials," said a male 40-something creative director I know. "They want what they want and they aren't willing to wait a second for it."
If you don't get what you want, immediately when you want it, try again in 15 minutes. Or in a couple days. If I'm still there, I'm still open to the idea of it. But it's never gonna happen if you whine about it.
8. Tell me to leave. Yes. He actually told me to leave because I wouldn't f*ck him fast enough.
9. Tell me I'm not special. In what has to be the most offensive thing any guy has ever said to me on a date, Jesus nailed this one. After telling me to leave, he followed me around his apartment and down the hall to the elevator like a puppy while I collected my clothing and coat.
"But I really like you," he kept repeating. "It's just too harrrrd..."
"You have no idea how amazing this could be if you could just wait a little," I tried to help him. My neglected body was STILL hoping he could turn this around.
Instead, as the elevator doors opened, Jesus put the nail in his own crucifix.
"What, do you have a special vagina or something?"
Hand to God, he said it.
Stunned, I stepped into the elevator and managed to respond, "Go f*ck yourself" as the doors closed.
Um, as a matter of fact, yes I do. Because it's mine. And it's leaving.