Single Mans Diary

Relief VS Satisfaction

Been fucking this new chick lately. Know her from way back. She found me on Facebook. She’s 5’8 and has long brown hair. She’s thick, but when naked she looked much different than I imagined.

In theory, her body is perfect. Her skin is smooth & tan, her tit’s are large B’s, her thighs don’t touch, her pussy is waxed and her stomach is flat and tight. Actually, her whole body is tight and toned. The thing that’s interesting about her is that she looks like an XXL version of what she should look like. Almost as if someone took petite version of her, put an air pump in her ass and pressed three or four times.

When I fuck her, she cums every time. Like clockwork, within seven minutes. Not the baby-clit-cum, she has the the deep, earth shattering orgasms. It’s the same every time. I get on top and start to fuck her, she begins to shiver and move with me. Then she whispers in my ear, “I’m gonna cum”, and lets out a series of Uhhh’s, and Errrr’s. I always imagine that she makes the same sound during her big morning stretch,

The fact that she can cum so easily makes she sex so much more enjoyable for me because I know she’s getting something out of it. I think that’s the most frustrating part about having sex, is that most women don’t cum. And in a strange way, it makes me feel selfish when I fuck them. Like, what do they get out of it? It can’t be for connection purposes. I’m not all that close with most of them.

When I fuck a girl who doesn’t cum, I drive home later that night relieved. When I fuck a girl who cums, I drive home relieved and satisfied.

A Very Short Engagement

I had a light guys-night-out last night at burger & beer joint. I didn’t know a couple of the guy’s, one of which had recently gotten engaged. We all clinked mugs and I bought him a congratulatory round of tasty Belgium beer. At one point he began to tell us how awesome his fiancé was, how she’s like no one he’d ever met and the old ‘When ya know, ya know’. I was pretty stoked for the dude and even a little Jealous, but then I found out that he’d only met his fiancé 5 months prior. That’s when I scrunched my face and thought—Ouch.

Years and years ago, when I was younger I got engaged after only 6 months. I went out and bought a ten thousand dollar ring and romantically proposed to her, and at the time there was no doubt in my mind that it was the right thing to do. I’d never met anyone like her, we jogged together every day after work, had the same taste, same sense of humor, same morals & goals. She respected me a lot and I her. We had sex 2-3 times a day and she would give me the most incredible, unprovoked, slow, cum-swallowing blowjobs. I mean it was perfect, and I really couldn’t see myself with anyone else ever again.

But soon after our engagement she changed. The sex went from 2-3 times a day, to 2-3 times a week, to 2-3 times a month, to non-existent. Those incredible, unprovoked, slow, cum-swallowing blowjobs had now turned into quick, rushed, jerked-me-off-when-I came-blowjobs. She stopped jogging with me all together, and we slowly started to become roommates. I still cared about her, a lot, but after 4-months of being engaged our relationship consisted of what reality show was on that night, what was for dinner and what bills needed to be paid. I hit a wall and couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally decided to confront her by I telling her exactly how I felt about everything, the lack of sex, the running, and the complete lack of effort on her part. I wanted to know why things had changed so drastically and what had changed for her.

She began crying, and told me that everything she used to do with me was only to make me happy. It was all fake. The running, the constant sex and the cum-swallowing BJ’s. The reality was that she hated running, she didn’t have a huge sex drive and couldn’t stand the taste of cum. Her exact words were, “I knew you liked all of those things… so, I was just doing them for you”. When I heard those words I felt entirely deceived. I didn’t know who she was anymore and felt like I fell in love with a total farce. Things didn’t change and we ended up breaking off the engagement after being together for 11 months.

One of the biggest regrets I have about my engagement was not waiting it out before I popped the question. I got caught up and didn’t go with my gut. When first falling in love, it is easy to feel like there is no one else in the world but this relationship, but when the love dust settles and we get back to our ‘normal’ selves, the dynamic of a relationship tends to change. People transition over time, and being in a successful relationship is all about sticking with each other through those tough transitions. It’s way too easy to break up with someone when things aren’t going well. It’s a quick, simple cop-out and it causes one to face themselves, which most of us can’t do. I constantly hear about people who get engaged after three-to-six months, and ‘that it’s the most amaaaaazing relationship they’ve ever had’, or that they’ve ‘never met anyone like this before’, only to be completely miserable six months to a year later. In a relationship you have to let shit simmer, it’s the only way to truly know if you’re right for each other. And hey, if you’re going to be together ‘forever’ anyway, what’s the fucking rush?

I think a lot of it is also control. A lot of men think that just because a ring is on a woman’s finger it will magically solve problems or keep a their women from doing something they don’t want them to do. Like, “If I give her this ring she’ll stop drinking/flirting/love me more”, and so on and so on. But it won’t, and will only end in an exercise on how to waste money. Sometimes I wonder if marriage is even doable anymore, and like we’re holding onto these ideals our grandparents had that simply aren’t relevant anymore. But then again, maybe I’ve just never really been in love.

This Weekend’s 1st Date With "The Dancer"

About a week and a half ago I met a very attractive half-Black Half-Filipina girl at a dinner party. I didn’t spend more than an hour-and-a-half with her but it was a pretty solid time. She was very positive and seemed to have a really optimistic outlook on life, which felt really good to be around considering I tend have somewhat of a jaded tinge to my view of the world. She told me that she’d consider me as ‘A make-out buddy’ (whatever that means), so I was looking forward to spending some more time with her.

Luckily there wasn’t any bullshit when it came to making plans. We had one 10-minute conversation in which we chatted and picked a night, then the day of we confirmed specifics and time in no more than 5 texts. Why can’t it always be that easy? I had plans earlier that evening and knew I’d be hungry, so I offered to take her to dinner at an Asian place I like and I picked her up at 8:30. She lives in a nice little Spanish influenced house in West Hollywood. When I first met her she claimed to be a struggling dancer, and whether she was either renting, or paying the mortgage on this place I knew that either way it wasn’t cheap. So my first mission on the date became; Operation How The Hell Can You Live There?

She asked me to call her when I got outside, I did, and she ran out and got into my car. Her fragrance punched me in the face and sent goose bumps throughout my body and I even felt little jingles and tingles in my cock. God I love that. Once again, she looked fucking amazing. Dark blue jeans, purple heels, a tight button up, long, wavy black hair and tons of jewelry. She’s petite, dark, has an amazing smile and she’s constantly glowing. When she got into the car she gave me a huge squeeze and said, “It’s SO good to see you”! Like we hadn’t seen each other in years. It set the date off right and I immediately felt totally comfortable. Like, right then and there I just knew that we were going to have a good time no matter what. And it felt awesome.

At the restaurant she ordered light, I was fucking starving but was a little bit afraid to show her know what an amazing fatso pig I am just yet, so I kept it simple and ordered the ramen. If I had been with a friend I would’ve ordered the pork fried rice, and an appetizer and then slammed my face into it like I was bobbing for hundred dollar bills. Dinner with her was great and she was constantly smiling, laughing and talking. She told me that she’d been a dancer for the last 7 years and had danced with a lot of big name artists and bands on tours, in video’s and on award shows. But, she said that as the record industry took a dive she began living gig-to-gig and had been having a hard time the last year-and-a-half or so. Despite the struggle she was extremely exited about life and was certain that things would turn around. I was impressed. She was incredibly inspiring, and by the end of the meal I felt amazing, and like I wanted to go climb Mount Everest! And by the end of dessert she’d filled my head with so much deep astrology crap about my sign, mercury, wind, water, the stars and universal energy that I almost felt like her and I were meant to fucking be together.

I didn’t want the date to end, she was exotic, interesting, she’d made me feel like a million bucks and I wanted more! So I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere else for a drink and she happily accepted. We lightly held each other while waiting for valet and it felt fucking good. I put my nose in her hair and could smell her shampoo or conditioner and again, jingles and tingles. We got into my car and I asked her where she wanted to go and she suggested Bar Marmont. I ordinarily wouldn’t ever go there, I’m much more of a mellow dive-bar kinda guy but I’d never been, I was on a first date and figured I should at least go once in my life. As we were pulling into the Bar Marmont valet I noticed that the sign said ‘Twelve Dollars” (which is RETARDED) and I suddenly realized that I’d used the last of my cash on the valet at the restaurant so I asked, “You don’t have any cash, do you? I ran out and just have a card”. I felt a little strange asking her for the money, but I did pay for dinner and was planning on buying at least the first round of drinks. The conversation that followed sent the date on a fucked up turn:

Her: Yes I have cash, but I’m not paying more than twelve.

Me: We gotta tip the guy a couple bucks, though. So is 14 cool?

Her: Twelve is as far as I’ll go, that’s way too expensive for valet.

Me: Umm, well, do you want to park on the street? We may have to walk for a long time, we’re on Sunset. Wanna just go somewhere else? …

The conversation came to a stalemate and my energy went from fuck yes! To you’re kind of a douche. Like, we’re at the fucking bar Marmont (that she suggested), when in Rome, ya know? I totally understand being strapped for cash and not wanting to pay for a highly overpriced valet, but I felt like she was just being cheap, stubborn and possibly spoiled, and after 30 seconds of pure silence while pulled over on the side of Sunset, and the valet guys staring at me like I was a grade-A dickhead, I sped off and headed to a bar I knew didn’t have valet. I kept thinking—What the fuck was that about?

I didn’t know how to address it. I wanted to call her out, but the first part of the evening had gone so well and I didn’t want to harp on it so I let it go let it go. On the way to bar 2 our conversation was light and odd. At the bar I tried to start over, so I decided to embark on: Operation How The Hell Can You Live There?

I boldly asked, “I loved your house, do you own it”? She said, “No, my roommate owns the house”. We began chatting about our mutual friends, and after a huge circle of conversation that is far too long to write about, the truth ended up being that she lived with her ex-boyfriend.

Eeeek!

It turns out that she broke up with her boyfriend of 3 years around 4 months ago, and he’s letting her continue to stay with him at his house until she gets back on her feet and moves out. I thanked her for her honesty. It can’t be very easy saying that to someone. But man, that’s a burning red flag if I’ve ever seen one. That’s a drama-bomb that’s just waiting to blow up in my lap and I just don’t think I can go there. She’s a hot chick with a pretty amazing personality, but has spoiled tendencies and lives with her ex. Sheesh. I dunno.

She kept saying, “We have an understanding. He knows I date and I know he dates, so, don’t worry about anything”. I drove her home after 1 drink kind of bummed and disappointed. I usually would’ve parked and walked her to her front door but I was too worried about getting stabbed so I just pulled up in front of her house, and even then, I was still expecting a fucking brick to come through my windshield at any moment.

She knew I was kind of erked by it all, but we gave each other a big old squeeze, kisses on the cheeks and said goodnight. She sent me a text last night telling me she had a good time and would like to hang again. I haven’t responded, which isn’t like me. I just don’t know what to do, but my gut says ‘No Way Dude’.

It’s like, I could tell myself—Dis-attach yourself emotionally and just go for the sex.—Which I could probably do and be sure to keep it away from her place. But what happens a month or 2 down the line? What if I start to like her? Do we end up in a strange place where we like each other a lot and she’s sleeping over my place 5 days a week with make-up in my bathroom and a few items of clothes in my closet because she has nowhere else to stay? I’m scared to go there, and feel like that’s not a very organic development to a relationship…(Sigh). Till the next one.

Single Mans Diary Turns One

One year ago today I went out with a chick I’d been fucking regularly. During our date she revealed to me that she had an anonymous blog in which she chronicled her sex life, then went on to tell me that her blog was very popular (50 whole tumblr followers) and that she’d written about me numerous times, as well as talked to some of her male followers about me. Throughout the night I asked her multiple times to show me what she’d written about me, but despite my begging and pleading, she refused.

I came home from the date early on the 15^th, probably around 2am, pissed and annoyed at her. I angrily plopped down on my couch and thought—Well if she’s going to write about me, then I’m going to write about her! I thought of a quick name, signed up for a tumblr account, created an email address and quickly wrote about her and a few other women I’d been dating. Then I slammed my laptop shut and went to bed. I went to work the next day and totally forgot about it until I came home later that day, and when I checked my tumblr account and not only did I have over 50 followers of my own, but a slew of emails…and singlemansdiary was born.

It’s been a pretty amazing fucking experience. I’ve met a lot of incredible people and learned a lot about myself, even writing a book, which is something I never thought I’d ever do in life. Over the course of the year I’ve watched a ton of singlelady/woman/girl/dude/guy spin-off’s pop up out of the woodworks, which has made me feel quite good actually. There have been a lot of people who’ve read and commented on almost every post since day one, (which is awesome) and even though I sometimes get a pretty bad tongue lashing, I love all of the comments no matter how harsh or how opinionated. It’s been so interesting to get inside the minds of others with quick, off-the-cuff posts and see what my honesty provokes in people, how they perceive it and how it makes them react. I really, really appreciate everyone who reads this blog and I truly value everyone’s opinion. You have all become my anonymous, virtual, faceless friends who hold a very special place in my heart and drive me to keep dating, blogging, looking for love and sharing my honest, unfiltered thoughts.

However, there has been a tad bit of an ugly side to it all. It’s pretty shocking how blatantly mean some people are, and how a simple blog can bring out the worst in someone. I can’t tell you how many comments and emails I’ve received from people who called me a “Nigger loving Jew”, or, “A Jew that should burn in hell”, or people that constantly call me a bitch or a fag. But hey, when in Rome, right?

When it comes down to it, I just say it like it is. I totally admit that at times I can be a bit shallow, cocky, insecure, bitchy, ridiculous and promiscuous, but it’s just how I am and that’s all this blog is. It’s my honest outlook and insight on dating and love while on the road to happiness. Trust me when I tell you that I’m ready to settle down and would’ve long ago if it felt right. I thought it might of happened earlier last year with the German girl, but alas she took off. So until then I’m just going to do my best. And along the way I might meet a girl I want to fuck, a girl I think is fat, fucking dumb, really annoying, much too smart or beautiful, too crazy, has a stinky pussy or who makes me feel fat and worthless. It’s all the reality of dating, the good, the bad & the follies.

I know a lot of folks have pegged me a certain way. There was a comment the other day about me wearing Ed-Hardy and going to Katsuya, which was fucking hilarious because I couldn’t be further from that guy (read this post). But I did go there once and saw Robert Downey Jr., so… that was pretty cool. One thing about this blog is that the facts are sometimes distorted, but the thoughts are real. This blog is the diary of a single man, and it’s what men really think. It’s the shit they’re afraid to say or talk about. Not all men, of-course, but most. I can’t tell you how many men have written me privately to thank me for bringing up certain topics they can’t talk to anyone about, and how many women have told me that I confirmed their suspicions about the men they currently date. I’m not saying I’m right, but I’m definitely not wrong. I’m just me. Thanks for reading, and here’s to another crazy year.

Oh, and feel free to email me any topics you’d like to discuss.

Let's Get Physical

Like many other single men, looks, style and physical appearance have always been a huge issue for me. Being attractive is extremely important and has completely controlled my life at times. A lot of single men struggle to stand out physically nowadays, especially in a city like LA where women can pick & choose good looking, successful men as they please. As a man who stands 6’ 2, weighs in at 185 and works out 5 days a week, who’s worked his way up to a 6 figure income, a luxury car, a larger-than-needed home and a robust wardrobe, I’ve always considered myself just slightly above average, whatever that means. I’ve always strived to be better, live a fuller life and be in better shape, drive a nicer car, make even more money and live in an even larger home. It’s never been enough, and it’s all revolved around looking good and how people, women in particular, perceive me.

Image is everything. Life boils down to how a woman perceives me within the first few seconds of me walking through the door, and then edging out the competition with a cooler haircut, better body, nicer outfit and a newer, hotter car. And when courting a woman, us single men need to be that much more witty, successful, smart and romantic. We need to fuck better, be more cultured and thoroughly impress a woman more than the next guy will. We need to be walking billboards for power, stature, masculinity and strength, all with a dash of sensitivity, which really means we know the difference between Georgia O’Keefe and George Webster. We need to be unbreakable, impervious, stoic and impenetrable, with a great sense of humor and a great set of abs. Sure, a 30K a year salary and decent personality will go a long way, too. But I feel that in this day & age a man needs much, much more. I have a lot of female friends who vent to me about the difficulties of being a woman and how meticulous the constant upkeep can be. I don’t doubt it one bit! I mean, putting on make up looks like torture! But men have an entirely different pressure, and in 2010 we need to look just as good as women do as well as make a ton of money.

When I was a kid I went through a fat stage and was verbally bashed every day, and those comments stuck to me, which caused me to always dislike my body. But hey, I’m a Jewish man. Being a little chubby, a little neurotic, a little pasty and a little hairy is what Jewish men do best, and like a good Jew I’ve been sticking to tradition my whole life. But I always strived to be in great shape and have a better than average body.

At 16 I started playing sports and working out, which toned me up and packed on a little muscle. It made me more confident about myself, but I still hated the way my stomach and love handles looked. In my 20’s my body began to develop and my ass became hairy, and anytime a woman ran her hands across my love handles, stomach or ass I became mortified, sometimes even pushing her hands away. In my mind I just knew that she thought my body was disgusting and that she’d much rather be with a guy who was smoother, tighter and much more ripped.

When past girlfriends have suggested coastal beach towns for getaways or vacations I always declined, and instead chose a city, somewhere colder or a place where I wouldn’t have to expose myself too much. I’ve even turned women off by my insecurity, with constant self-deprecating remarks such as, “God I’m so fat,” or “How can you like my fat ass?” or even, “I’m fucking disgusting.” After a month or more of constantly hearing those types of remarks some women threatened to stop dating me if I didn’t stop. I haven’t been to the beach or poolside with my friends, ever. Literally. I avoid pool parties or beach gatherings like the plague because I am deathly afraid they will silently judge me, or talk about how surprisingly fat I am with my shirt off. Living that way has practically been torture. I’m much better now than I was, but sometimes it still gets me.

Make Out Buddies

*I will start this post off with a disclaimer and let you know that I’m way hungover. My stomach hurts and I can’t see straight, so this post may be a rambling, bumbling nightmare.

OK! SO!

I went to a dinner party last night and met a very beautiful Asian/Indian/Puerto Rican/Black mix of something or other. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was and I never asked. But when she walked in the front door wearing black skinny jeans, a grey top, sandals, large gold hoops and a long green sweater inside I went, “Fuuuuck.” Actually, I’m looking at her Facebook pictures now and I think she’s Black & Asian, or maybe Black & Indian. Fuck I can’t tell. Uh oh, I just came across a picture of her with Lil Wayne. (Kill me)

Anyway, she was really beautiful and as soon as I saw her she became my mission for the evening. Men like to do that, conquer things, and conquer women in particular. It’s the way we’re wired and it’s all fucked up. If a single guy walks into a room and notices a cute girl he isn’t thinking, “It would be quite wonderful to make that lovely lady’s acquaintance today!” No, not at all, it’s more like, “That chick is fucking MINE! I must claim her and take her to my lair!” So, when I saw her I definitely wanted to claim her. Big time. Actually wouldn’t that make life so much easier? Imagine if a guy could walk up to a woman, grab her and declare, “I claim this woman!”  Then take her back to his liar, build a fire, feed her meat and fuck her brains out. Can you imagine how much money men would save?  I mean I’d probably be able to stop leasing an overpriced car, apartment and never buy clothes again.

Anyway—by some strange “coincidence”, or stroke of “luck” we just happened to sit next to each other at dinner! Strange! She was probably one of the happiest people I’ve met in a very long time and I loved her positive attitude. She’s a struggling dancer who lives job-to-job and audition-to-audition, and even though she was fighting various day-to-day life problems like an old car that needed repairs and late utility bills she was joyful and enthusiastic about life. She spoke about little accomplishments in her life that seemed small to me, but to her were huge and meaningful. Throughout our conversation I kept thinking, “Wow, I could really use her—or someone like her—in my life.”

She had to leave early and I walked her to her car. I walked her to her car, which was an old Lexus with a smashed rear end. I asked her for her number and as I hit save in my blackberry she said something that struck me as odd, she said, “Yah let’s go out, maybe we can be make out buddies”, in a joking tone. I responded, “What’s a make out buddy?” And she said, “You know, someone that you hang out with and make out with once in a while”. I wasn’t sure how to take it and I still don’t. Was she saying it because I wasn’t good enough to be considered as anything but a make out buddy? Was she saying it because she wanted to make out and then take things further on future dates? And btw, what’s a make out buddy anyway?

It’s like this, I love love love to kiss. Especially those first few times…fuck, it’s magical and incredibly sensual, especially when you really like the girl. But as much as I love to kiss, I get bored of it rather quickly. Well…not bored, more like worked the hell up and I want more. Kissing doesn’t really fill any void for me, or most men I’m guessing. I’ve known a lot of girls in the past who’ve gone to out to a bar with the sole purpose being to drunk and make out with a guy and that’s IT. I’ve always been so curious about it. What void does making out fill for women and how do they not want more? Is it just a little flash of intimacy? The feeling of being wild without potentially being dirty, or is it just being smart and not fucking the first thing they see—which men aren’t smart enough not to do—?

I’m exhausted.

Heavy Rotation

At the time I started this blog I was probably having sex with 6 or 7 different women, and to successfully handle all of these women I had to use a very careful rotation. The rotation has always been a juggling act that I’ve rather enjoyed, and became quite good at. It’s sleazy game that a lot of single men play. Most do it all wrong and end up in some dramatic argument after purposely—or carelessly—slipping up, making it obvious to one of the women he’s sleeping with, that he’s also sleeping with one—or more than one—woman.

When single, 95% of the time the people we date vary from “apartment only” dates—aka too ugly, overweight, old, young, retarded or plain fucking stupid to be seen with you in public—, to “Ok to bring to a friends party” dates, but rarely does someone end up relationship material. I met—and still meet— a lot of amazing women who were gorgeous, and whom I clicked with physically and mentally but weren’t quite enough for me to commit to. I didn’t want them to be my girlfriend, but I respected and liked them more than enough to date and share my life with. We’d have dinner or drinks once or sometimes twice a week and usually have sex. Some were worthy of sleepovers, and some weren’t.

The theory behind my rotation is an odd mixture of common sense, insecurity, extreme paranoia, thrill and last but not least, a perverse lifestyle. First off, I never, ever let any of the women I date know that I am having sex with other women, and If questioned I keep my answers as vague as possible by saying something like; “I’m open to dating, but not really looking for anything serious”. I always try to be as honest as possible when I date, but it can be a very fine line. To me, blatantly telling a woman I am dating that I am also fucking someone else is a huge no-no. It only leads to hurt feelings and drama, and if her and I aren’t in a relationship I don’t really see why it matters. But mostly, I think about if the roles were reversed, and how I definitely do not want to know if a woman I am dating is fucking another dude. Hell no! That will piss me off and make me insecure as all hell.

Secondly, as a single man I love the variety, and to me the constant freshness is the best part about not being in a relationship. I enjoy the fact that I can have sex with a different girl every night if I choose, because each woman looks, feels, tastes, laughs, talks and fucks differently. If my Tuesday night fuck doesn’t like her ass licked, most likely my Thursday one will. Each woman enjoys different activities and has her own quirky personality and sense of humor. It’s one of the elements that keep’s my single life fun, exciting and crisp.

However there is an element to the rotation that I definitely don’t enjoy. The constant maintenance of the rotation can become sleazy and the energy and constant brainpower it takes to manage texts, emails and schedule’s can be absolutely exhausting. The fear of running into one of the women your fucking while on a date with another is always present, so when scheduling, being aware of where all of your other fuck buddies like to hang and party is key. The constant upkeep of the daily half-truths you tell women regarding your whereabouts requires an amazing memory. Because when on a date with a girl you haven’t seen in a couple weeks and she says, “How was that birthday party you were busy with last week”, you don’t want to be sitting there saying, “What birthday party?” Busted! Managing personalities can also be incredibly draining, and you never know whom you’re really dating. But despite all of the constant management and FBI type perseverance, sometimes it will still bite you in the ass.

For example, at one point I began fucking a 24 year old. I immediately knew she wasn’t right for me, but she had a, “I’ll try anything”, attitude that was very sexy and highly magnetic. I respected her a great deal and we always had a lot of fun together! We fucked in public a few times; she blew me in a bar and was always down to hang. Dating her was a blast, BUT she was only 24, and it wouldn’t take long for her immaturity to rear its ugly head. After 6 or 7 wild dates we went to an event and ran into some of her friends. During introductions one of her friends said, “So you must be the boyfriend”, to which I responded, “No, I’m not”. Evil looks ensued and after the event she demanded to know where our relationship was headed. I explained to her that I liked her but wasn’t interested in a relationship at that point in time, and if she’d rather not see me anymore that I would understand. She responded, “Oh that’s fine, I don’t want anything serious either”. As the weeks went by she began to ask me for plans multiple times a week and whenever I told her I was busy she’d drill me about my whereabouts and ask whom I was hanging with. It started to get strange and I decided to not see her anymore.

One night I told her I was busy with a work event— which was half-true, only what I didn’t tell her was that I was bringing one of my other fucks with me.  I had decided to officially break it off with her—even though we weren’t together—at some point very soon. A friend of hers happened to be at the same event that evening—but I had no idea—and when my date and I came back to my house later that evening I pulled my Blackberry from my pocket and was stunned to see 10 missed calls from her, and an email that read, “A friend of mine saw you tonight. Who were you with? Call me ASAP”! It was 1:30am and I quickly responded via Blackberry, “Call you tomorrow”, thinking that I’d officially give her the ax in the morning. I brushed my teeth, fucked my date and we both knocked out.

I was startled out of a deep sleep at 6:45am by my doorbell and a fist pounding on my door. Yes, 6:45am! The sun wasn’t up yet and it was dark, I was half asleep and scared completely shittless. Then I heard a female voice coming from my front door, “Hello? Are you there? I need to talk to you! Hello? Hello”? I put on some clothes and raced to the door. She was standing in my fucking doorway in her pajamas with her hair pointing in all sorts of wacky directions. She immediately said, “Who were you with last night”? I slammed my door, grabbed her arm and briskly walked her to her car before saying, “What the FUCK are you doing? How dare you come to my place like this”! She said, “Just tell me this, were you out with another girl last night”? I responded, “Yes, and she’s here! We aren’t in a relationship! It’s over, goodbye”! Then I had to walk back inside and do some extreme damage control with the woman I had in my bed. I was mortified.

That was a good lesson for me as I was a little out of control. I got sloppy, and because I had so many women in rotation I began to lose myself and live into the circle of bullshit I was constantly telling them. I’m exhausted just reliving it.

My 4th Date With “The Po Po”, and The Vagina Carrot

Happy 2010 errbody. I hope you all had a nice Holiday and that this decade is everything that last decade wasn’t. I had a rather relaxing and somewhat boring holiday up in the mountains with my family, hiking, drinking, writing, eating great food and appreciating the wilderness. I really enjoyed being alone in my cabin for the first few days, but then I began to get despondent and lonely, wishing I had someone special there with me. We stayed at this little bed and breakfast and like a douche bag I tried to hit on a couple of chicks that were passing through, but they weren’t having any of my desperate bullshit.

Due to the above I think I set new personal masturbation records, though. I’m talking about extreme levels self-loathing, boredom and perversion. 4 to 6 times a day on some occasions. A lot of time and an Internet connection will do that to a man. But in general I had a good time and I love my family dearly. I’m looking forward to starting 2010 off right and I’m excited about what types of women the new decade will bring. My last date of 2009 pretty summed up the whole year, and that was my 4^th date with, “The Po Po”.

My last date with her turned out to be uneventful, physically. We ended up making out on the couch and she yanked my hand away from her crotch with swat team type hands when I tried, which was fine, but caused me to raise an eyebrow when she invited me over to her house to watch X-Men Origins for our 4^th date. Inviting someone over to watch a movie is basically asking him or her to have sex, so I was wondering what had changed.

I arrived at her apartment at 8:30 and she opened the door wearing pink pajamas and drinking a beer, which confused me 10X more than I already was. I could only assume that she wanted to have sex, or at the very least hook up. She definitely wasn’t fucking around, though and had the DVD in, popcorn made, beers on the table and one small table lamp on. All I had to do was sit down and relax. We watched the movie—which was pretty awesome—cuddling and flirting the whole time. I’d rub my hand on her inner thigh, she’d hold my hand and rub my palm with her thumb and we’d give each other light kisses periodically. It’s obvious that she does some serious working out because even though she’s a little thick, her body is rock hard. Her legs, ass and stomach were tight and toned. It was a huge turn on!

After the movie—and 2 hours of warming up—I was horny and went right for it as the credits were rolling and we got into a heavy make out session. I was pretty sure that we were going to fuck, and when she stood up and pulled me into her bedroom I was 100% certain that it was ON. I was surprised! And I kept thinking to myself—I wonder what made her want to do this? After making out for 5 more minutes she pulled of my shirt, unzipped my pants and began rubbing my cock. I took it to the next level by slowly and excitingly sliding my hand under her panties. Yippe! However, just when things were beginning to get good I encountered the largest nest of wet hair I have ever felt in my entire life, literally, and I became thoroughly disgusted.

As soon as my hand touched her vagina I made the same face a baby makes after sucking on a lemon. I blocked it out and began to rub her clit, which produced deep groans and squirming. My whole hand was soaking wet, I was a little repulsed and after 5 minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled my hand up and was overwhelmed by the worst post-finger bang aroma I had ever smelled in my life!—Oh WOW, that’s really, REALLY bad! I thought, and I almost gagged. How does that happen? It was the kind of smell that was going to stay on my hand for days after. And it definitely did. It was so bad in fact that I had to let HER know just how bad she smelled, so I put my hand right up against her cheek as if to say, “You REALLY need to smell this!”

She either didn’t have senses or didn’t mind it because she didn’t react at all. The whole thing was intense, and I rolled onto my back to get a breather. She rolled onto her side and said, “Before we have sex I just need to know where you think this is headed”? I responded, “Huh”? She continued, “I like you but I don’t have sex with just anyone, so if we have sex I just need to know that this is going to be more than just sex”. I didn’t know what to say. I respected her for not wanting to just fuck anyone, but I didn’t appreciate the fact that she stripped me almost naked only to use her body like a vagina carrot.

I said, “I’m not really sure how to respond. When we spoke about this on our first date I mentioned that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I think you’re great, but unfortunately I still feel the same way”. Between the vagina carrot and the vagina stink I became totally turned off, so when she said, “Well maybe we should slow down”, I happily agreed. We made out for a short while longer before chatting for a bit, and then I finally left. That was a few days before I left for my family vacation and we haven’t spoken since. As much as I wanted the fantasy and thrill of having sex with a cop I just don’t think this one’s going to happen. Even if she called me today and said, “Come fuck me ASAP”, I’m not even sure if I’d go there. But shit, it’s a new decade. There are plenty of other cops—and clean vaginas out there waiting for me. And hopefully soon, I’ll find one. Cheers.

Merry X-Mas

Merry X-mas everyone. SMD will be on a relaxing—and potentially very boring—vaycay in the woods with family to sip egg nog and work on my book until Jan 4th.

Be sure to check back then to read about my 4th date with “The Po Po”, and to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of SMD.

Thanks to everyone for reading. I hope you recieve some great gifts, and fuck someone strange on new years. I fucking love you all.

Join the mailing list to have posts sent to you upon my return.

Single Man

White People, An Awesome Vagina, An Ear Slap & A Drunk Chick

I’m obviously a white guy, a pale, mildly hairy, Jewish white guy. I love all people, too. Blacks, Asian’s, Latinos, Europeans, Gays, Mormons, depressed people, scat lovers, alcoholics, Eskimo’s, whoever. Put me in a room with a group of anyone and I’ll have a blast. However, once in a while there is a group of folks that I have trouble being around. It’s like, there is a disconnect when I am with them. And while I try my hardest to apply myself, something always happens that rubs me the wrong way or makes me feel uncomfortable. And that group is, other White people. Not all White people of-course, but there are 2 types of Whites that I’ve always felt a little out of place with.

1.)   Hollywood Whites. You’ll find these Whites at Les Deux or Hyde, riding the coattails of “The Hills” cast members.

2.)   Orange County Whites. The guy’s drive monster trucks and women wear jewelry tops. They also tend to act like no one in the world matters but them.

However, I’ve spent a lot of time with both groups and they all have many great things going for them. Like, tons of money, the women are all extremely attractive, and they definitely know how to have a great time and can get pretty fucking wild. I’ve had many amazing times with both, but once in a while I tend to run into a group where things just seem off and go a little south. That was my last Saturday night.

I went to a holiday party at an apartment in Beverly Hills with one of my oldest female friends. I’ve known her since Jr. High and love her to death. A few friends of hers from Orange County who she hadn’t seen in years were throwing the party. We walked into the apartment and were greeted by an extremely loud, Ed-Hardy thermal, fedora, and huge Chrome Heart chain wearing guy. “OOOOOH MYYY GAAAAAWD!” He said as he practically tackled my friend, totally oblivious that he spilled half his drink in the process. After we were introduced and he smacked my hand as hard as he possibly could and gave me a huge hug. I thought—Jesus dude, calm the fuck down!

The apartment was beautiful and decorated just like one of one of Gordon Ramsay’s “London” restaurants. There were 4 guys, each wearing more Ed-Hardy than the next, and 10 chicks who were all very, very hot. As toolish as stupid as these guy’s were, they sure knew how to get beautiful women. I was jealous. As I was introducing myself to everyone in the apartment one of the women said, “I already know who you are, silly”, and gave me a big hug. It was a girl named Jenny I hadn’t seen in probably 7 years, and whom I have somewhat of a shady history with.

It was back in 2003 or 2004 and I had been dating a girl for 2+ years. We were living together and decided to throw a party in our backyard. At that point our relationship was falling apart. We hadn’t had sex in a couple months and I didn’t really give a shit. We were on the verge of breaking up and the only reason we hadn’t was because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of packing up my shit and sleeping on a friends couch while I tried to find a new place. 3 or 4 hours into the party, Jenny—who was friends with my ex—and I went in the house to use the bathroom. We were both drunk, and I ended up going into the bathroom with her. I picked her up, dumped her on the bathroom counter and ate her out. All that was fine, except that another friend of my ex girlfriend saw us through the bathroom window, then ran and told my ex AND Jenny’s boyfriend.

I cleaned my mouth off and we both walked into the backyard like nothing happened, only to step into a shitstorm of yelling, crying, hitting and total fucking chaos. It was fucking bad. I got my wish and we broke up. But it came with a shitty reputation and a few scratches, too. It’s been almost 7 years and I’m a totally different person, but unfortunately Jenny didn’t change. She was haaaaamered, and was funny and polite…at first.

Later that night 5 of us ended up in a circle playing a light-hearted game of Truth-Or-Dare. It was my turn, I chose “dare”, and one of the girls said, “Amy got her vagina waxed today. I dare you to touch it!” Amy was no doubt the hottest girl at the party. 19 years old, long brown hair, 5’10 with jet-black stiletto’s on, black glittery spandex, a wife beater tank top and a shit load of jewelry. The suggestion of me touching Amy’s waxed vagina sparked a series of very obnoxious comments from every Ed-Hardy asshole in the room. “YEAAAHHH BRO!!! FUCKING TOUCH HER BEAVER DUDE!”

I thought—no way in hell this chick is going to whip out her pussy in front of the whole room. But before I could even finish my thought she grabbed her spandex with both thumbs and pulled them down, revealing her goods. The whole room went wild, and I reached in and began my OB-GYN exam. Her vagina was perfect; zero hair and tight as could possibly be. Her vagina was just a small slit in between her legs, no clit, no lips and no puffiness. It was a picture perfect vagina, sent from the god’s of vaginaville.

She let me rub her pubic area for 2 or 3 seconds before giggling and pulling her pants up, which set off another series of retarded comments from the Ed-Hardy squad. “DON’T STOP DUDE, FINGER HER BRO FUCKING FINGER FUCK HER!! FIN-GER! FIN-GER” I fucking hated them with all of my guts. An hour later, there were 10 of us on the balcony. My old friend Jenny was stumbling at this point and she came outside to say goodbye as she was going to crash in one of the bedrooms. Just before she left she pointed at me and said, “This guy right here. This guy’s a fffuggin FUCKhead! He cheat’s on his girlfriends”, and she walked away. I was pretty embarrassed, but luckily no one cared.

After a few hours I hit a wall. I couldn’t take the screaming and the rude comments anymore so my friend and I decided to leave. We both walked up to the Ed-Hardy squad leader to say goodbye. He was drunk, and gave my friend a long, dramatic hug and kiss. Then he looked at me and said, “DUDE! This chick is like my sister bro! You better treat her right!” And the next thing I know, BOOM! He smacked me in the ear! I thought—you MOTHERFUCKER!

He quickly apologized and hugged me again. I pushed him off, which caused him to trip on himself and fall on the floor. He apologized again and we walked out. I was shocked. I hadn’t been in a situation like that since I was in high school, and I will never try to fight anyone. But that’s the shit I’m talking about, and why I sometimes don’t click with certain groups of White people. I’m much too mellow and bitchy for all that. It was quite a night!