How do you tell a sexy, confident, and beautiful "vanilla" woman that the reason you turned down her invitation to dinner is because she is well...vanilla?
From time to time over the past five years, I have had to stop in at the local bar, which is several blocks from my home. I go there because they keep copious amounts of my three favorite single malt scotches in stock for cheaper than I have ever seen anywhere else and because it is within staggering distance of my house. Not that I am EVER a sloppy staggering drunk, but I am happy I can walk on that very rare occasion that I decide to have a third glass. Not that the third would make me stagger, but it would send my blood alcohol levels higher than my state allows, and being arrested for DUI and having my car confiscated, which is the law here, is not something I require to make my life complete.
There is a particular woman that I have run into at the bar for the past three years or so. While she is very attractive and makes it plain that she finds me so, it is not my practice to come on to women in bars, and if I were to do so, it would not be in my local watering hole where I just want to have a drama free drink from time to time. To further seal the ill fate of any potential relationship with this charming woman, she is no doubt, hands down, and unequivocally monogamous and "vanilla."
You know, after a while, you get a feel for these things. You get certain answers to certain questions, and DING DING DING DING...WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP VANILLA VANILLA VANILLA!!!! She practically has "vanilla" branded on her forehead. Now, Ladies and gentlemen, I think that sweet, tender, and gentle lovemaking has its place in the grand scheme of a relationship. But the thought of sex, in the missionary position, twice a month, with the same woman, who thinks oral sex is kinky, for the rest of my life, makes my dick break out in hives. It makes me have flashbacks of my marriage to a lovely, confident, accomplished, intelligent, beautiful, monogamous "vanilla" woman...Does anyone remember where I put that cyanide?
Make no mistake...My ex is a wonderful woman, and she's the best mom I ever saw...But I'd rather be fisted by King Kong, with no lube, than be with another lovely, confident, accomplished, intelligent, beautiful, monogamous "vanilla" woman who is hurt every day because this extremely passionate man can find no sexual passion for her. I was going through the motions...and she knew it. This is a kind of consensual, non-consensual torture to which I cannot subscribe.
Now I know what you are thinking: "He knows she is vanilla, so there's no problem, right? He won't let anything develop between them because he KNOWS they are incompatible, right, WRONG!!! While the blessed onset of that middle-aged drop in testosterone thankfully rid me of the belief that every one of the good earths creatures who happens to be sporting a pair of breasts and a vagina required a merciless fucking, unfortunately, I am a terrible flirt. If an attractive woman flirts with me, I flirt with her. I believe that flirting has its place. I believe one can flirt with someone in a given environment with no intention of going further. I thought there was no harm in it with this particular woman for three years, but one day, it all changed.
Last month, this woman asked me to walk her to her car. During the short walk to the parking lot, she asked me to dinner. Her intent was clear...This was not going to be a friendly dinner during which we explored the possibility of a platonic relationship. She touched me and looked at me in a way that let me know that her intentions and mine were very different. I intended to continue our less-than-intimate barroom flirtation. She intended to lay passionately motionless on her back while I fucked her blue twice a month until I went insane. We would not make it through the first month. I had a nasty feeling that my cheap, drama-free drinks within staggering distance had come to an end, and it was probably my fault. I gently, delicately, and respectfully declined her invitation and did not return to the bar until last week. Not that I was hiding, OK I was hiding. I wanted to let a little time pass.
As soon as I walked in, she asked to speak with me in private, hence the onset of drama. She nailed me! What I mean by that is that she asked questions in such a way as to preclude the customary platitudes that generally accompany "letting someone down easy." "It's not you, it's me" was not going to work unless I told her that the "problem with me" was that ugly tendency to restrain women to an apparatus and then alternately and simultaneously administer pain and pleasure until they are senseless.
Classic beauty, I can take or leave. The main reason I think she is attractive is that she is smart. She said she liked the fact that I was NOT cruising the bar to pick up women. She went on to say that she knew that I found her attractive, and she was right. She knows friends of mine, so she is sure that I am not married. Then she asked me point blank why I would not go out with her.
While I am not interested in having my business spread around my local bar by a rejected woman, I also like this person, and I respect the fact that she was forthright. I am not interested in telling her bullshit. So I asked her straight out, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how kinky are you?" She was naturally somewhat taken aback. "Why do you ask that?" she asked. "Well, what were you thinking was going to happen after dinner?" "Oh, well, ahh I would suppose about a 3, ahh how about you?" she said, winching at the prospect of the answer. I replied as if my level of kink-o-meter had been calibrated with a calculator and a slide rule by Mr. Spock himself.
You see, I knew that our scales were calibrated on different levels. My 3 meant she was safely hogtied with a gag, nipple clamps, and a butt plug up her ass while receiving the ever-so-loving sting of my riding crop. She explained later that she was a 3 because she had been tied to the bedpost with a pair of tube socks once, but she didn't like it.
I had my customary two drinks, she had more, and we parted laughing about our differences. While she pressed me for details, I gave very few in hopes of retaining my drama-free environment. We shall see if the next time I go, someone gives me that Oh MY GOD, I heard YOU ARE A FREAK look. Well, at least it will be the truth.