The stables….the Prospects…those ever in flux fellas I’m chatting up or have perhaps begun dating, ever hopeful that someone will have the stamina to hang in there and make it to PolyBoyfriend. I envision them patiently ensconced in their stalls, quietly massive, awaiting my decision, time and interest, and perhaps stamping an impatient hoof, anticipating our evenings together, and the day I finally throw a saddle over a strong back, cinch it tight and take my chosen new mount for the ride of his life.
Or perhaps I’ve read Anne Roquelaure’s Beauty Trilogy far, far too many times.
The state of the stables lately are best described as feast or famine. This week: 2 first meets — one today, which left me soaking wet *wicked grin* — and word that Beardy S has most of this week off and would apparently like to finally find some time to get together. For the last two weeks: nada. Which is not to say no offers. I could have been out, had I been willing. If I wasn’t as picky as I am, I could be out every night.
But this isn’t about just getting out, and especially not with just anyone. I have goals here: absolutely fabulous men. Intelligent, sexy, gorgeous men I think about, get excited about, want to be with and deeply desire in my life. I didn’t settle for anything but the best with Joe. And we’re not poly because we “need” anyone else. Why then, would I say yes to just anyone? If I’m not feeling it, there’s no point to this. We chose polyamory as an enhancement to our life. A bonus feature. Therefore, anyone I allow into my life must be a bonus himself. Otherwise, I’ll happily sit here with The Man, utterly content on our most boring evening, rather than waste time with someone who isn’t going to give me that “bonus” feeling.
- With regards to Beardy S, 32: still in touch, mentioned getting together this week. Two dates so far. He’s really cute, sweet as hell, a kickass conversationalist, and took a full revelation of exactly what I do for a living very well. Melty brown eyes, and we haven’t made out once yet. I’m up for more of the S.
- Previously I mentioned C, 39, the Italian bodybuilder/accountant. A 1st meet was scheduled for June 2. I binned his ass the very day of for daring to text me that morning about his foot fetish and then going on…and on….AND ON about it. We hadn’t even met yet, let alone established any intimacy of any kind beyond flirting — least of all that level of sexual intimacy — and he decides THEN is a good time to throw it out? Goodbye.
- Today’s (the 12th) 1st meet: a spur of the moment coffee with French, green-eyed (murky but GLOWY) M, 37. We’ve been emailing 6 weeks, mainly because he spent all of May in Spain and I wouldn’t meet before then. No way was I going to let anyone about to disappear for a month into my head. Congratulate me on such intelligence, Dear Readers, because gosh, this one’s going to be trouble if he doesn’t turn out to be full of shit. But I may not care. Mama’s been on a dry spell and um…game on, baby.
The meet itself was brief, and today was a 3rd rescheduling. Today he suddenly texted that he was in my area again, how about a quick coffee? Fuck it. I’d just left my desk and was considering going out anyway. I was in.
I left the house in the pouring rain and arrived soaking wet (told you, heheh). We swapped small talk and eye contact for an hour, then had to go. We admitted some shyness, but we’d enjoyed ourselves and would each like to stay in touch. Then off we went, me feeling like the usual jittery dork I always do on first meets that don’t involve booze, fully prepared to be Friendzoned. I’d been frizzy-haired due to the humidity, dressed ok but not showing any goddamn cleavage at ALL because I haven’t done laundry yet this week, my flats were wet, and was totally meh, about how it went, despite his asking to stay in touch as we left. Plus he’s gorgeous.
Within the hour, he texted to say I was even cuter than in my pictures. DANG. And texted more, and more. And on and on and so-forth (which means none of your beeswax) for the next two hours, basically culminating in a mutual admission that we’d like to kiss each others faces off and should really get together again soon. Like this week. In a pool, if it’s hot out. And then maybe Saturday too, when he gets his condo back.
Um….ok. Yeah. That’d be good (be cool). Stay in touch, doll (don’t get excited). Sure, check in if we get some nice weather and feel like a swim buddy (thank gawd I got a new bikini). So, yeah, if he’s not a complete player (and too bad for him, if that’s the goal. I’m due for The Curse any second now!), very sweet. Very sexy. And setting off every alarm bell I have. The question now will be “stamina.” And no, I don’t mean “sexual.” I mean, is he going to walk the walk or just talk the talk?
I’m leery about opening to someone new, as you see. But also kind of ready for it. And haven’t felt a click like this since B, who also began like a house on fire, then got “busy” and “working a lot” and blah de fucking blah, goodbye.
Wish me luck.
Points of interest: M got it right out there he’s done work most days by 4pm, has a rooftop pool at his downtown condo, has a brother near me also with a pool (that he tried to lure me to yesterday, but I wouldn’t play, as we hadn’t met yet), and specified getting his condo back (he rented it while in Spain) Saturday with no unpacking to do, with the exception of a suitcase.
- Thursday the 14th: 1st meet scheduled with Italian A, 32. Cute, sweet, we’ve chatted on the phone. Studying to be a cop and also has two part time jobs. But lives with his mother (not uncommon for Euro-descent fellas around here) while doing his course.
Also still floating around are others I chat with and am still getting to know. See what I mean by feast or famine? If they put the time in (once or twice a week, boys), I could see myself quite happy to concentrate just on S and M (Oh, hellz yeah, please). Time is the currency of relationships. And it’s also the only way into my pants. No matter how dry a spell I’ve come off, or how ready for some fun I am, I still keep myself guarded and will…not…settle. Or let anyone in too soon.
Hmm, but those eyes. Both pairs. Murky, glowy green and melty brown. And Joe’s wickedly intense, black, Scorpio eyes to come home to at the end of every evening? Indeed, a feast for my own eyes.