Thanks everyone.
So my second foray Out There was a return to CraigsList (for some reason, I was still hesitant to enter the Tinder pool). My thinking on what I was looking for was a precarious balance between wanting a substantial, loving relationship, since I felt like I hadn't been in one for years, and just wanting to hook up for sexy times. "I'll let Craig and his List decide for me!" I declared to no one.
My usual CL routine is to start with Strictly Platonic. This might seem counter-intuitive to my goals since it fulfills neither, but I've discovered through research that many women find the Platonic section a more safe place to express themselves and their wants. I have yet to find success with a Platonic ad, but I've come pretty sexily close.
Next I got to 'Women Seeking Men' to see what's in this salad bar of babes. A good percentage of these posts are earnest, though many seem to be either in the 50s and 60s range or in the 25 and younger zone, neither of which I'm interested in. There are occasional solicitations for casual grappling, but they're few and far in between. After getting my fill here, I'll make a quick check into "Misc Romance" but there's usually nothing there at all. As in, no posts whatsoever. I strategically skip over 'Casual Encounters' to check 'Missed Connections' just in the event an old ex or eye-fuck victim placed an ad to catch my eye. Hasn't happened yet, but time is a long line forward!
And then, usually with a weary sigh, I click on 'Casual Encounters.' If you want to see some of the worst of humanity, the most debased of our culture, here is a good place to begin. And I'm just talking about the W4M section! You should see the M4W section or, even more sordid, M4M. No judgement from this guy, who loves and celebrates his gay brothers, but they really get down to business quick there. Ambiguity does not exist in M4M Casual Encounters.
Anyway, Casual Encounters is almost entirely bogus ads. You can spot these quite easily by the mangling of the English language, the 4 pictures in a row that are all identical, the weird spacing where the first paragraph is followed by 8 inches of blank space, the complete disconnect between the age or situation stated in the title and that given in the body of the ad. I mean, these ads must be written by blind typists. They will completely contradict themselves, often within the same sentence. And then there's the ads expressing words and thoughts that have never been publicly uttered by any woman ever. These ads include words and phrases such as pound, gaping, squirter, anonymous anal, glory hole, pegging, unload, and car-date.
However, continue to look and occasionally you'll see one that A) is coherent and expresses an actual human thought, B) lists a part of the DC Metro area that is actually in the DC Metro area, and C) doesn't command you to come over right now, unzip, unload, and then leave. There will also not be a photo. Real women looking for love and/or sex on the Internet do not put their photo on the internet, particularly photos that show their peeled-open insides.
SO! On this fateful day, Craig determined that I meet R, yet another married woman not finding fulfillment at home. R is a lovely, buxom Latina woman who was very shy and demure in our initial internet exchanges. She actually scolded me for suggesting we discuss the logistics of meeting, even though we'd exchanged dozens of emails at this point. So I dropped the subject and was even about to end our discourse when one day, she started sending me pictures. Sexy pictures. Like, an invisible thump from my desk echoes throughout my office as I fail to breathe for 90 seconds. "I must say t'would appear to be on," I remember thinking. And surely it was!
Confident that her interests were as prurient as mine had become, I respectfully but pointedly said I wanted to meet her. She finally agreed. As a mother of five young children, and living in like Germantown or some shit, this was difficult for her but she managed to make it happen. On my end, I was reluctant to use my own house, the memory of the hydrogen peroxide still dribbling out of my ear. So I did what any 45 year old man would do -- I told her to meet me at my parents' house, who were away for the weekend. Of course I did not tell her this was my parent's house because that would be weird. I said it was a friend's house.
So the fateful night arrives. As she comes into the house, she is visibly very nervous. I've had a few drinks to loosen myself up, so I go into 'mellow cool cat' vibe to make her feel at ease, which is successful. I lead her to the living room couch, where she sits right up against the far end. I pour her some wine, and we begin to chat. It's 70% her complaining about her husband, but she's interested in my situation and asks questions. She loosens up. I'm taking a self-deprecating-humor tack with her, and she's eating it up, laughing loudly and often. Then her hand starts landing on my knee as she makes a pertinent point. In my mind, I'm cocking my eyebrow and smirking into a mirror. And then, like a bomb exploding in the house, she just scooches over and lays on a big sloppy smooch. I'm taken aback by the furious haste with which she makes her move, but I'm not in a position to complain.
Within 60 seconds it seems, we're right into action - no foreplay, no murmured smooth-talk, just all up in there. And then this horny little bird begins to sing. And when I say sing, I mean she begins to holler, to screamingly narrate every sensation she is feeling. It is a virtual cacophony of human sexual expression. At first, it's stimulating. "Who's still got it?!?!?" I champion to myself. But it is SO LOUD. And this neighborhood is comprised of attached row houses. Just when I start to realize she sounds like a murder victim, there is an aggressive knocking on the front door. We both freeze, as we're situated about 10 feet from the door. The beating comes again. I'm realizing I have no choice but to at least see who it is. I peek out the side window, and it's their gruff neighbor Dan. He looks disturbed and keeps looking over at the area where I know my parents keep their hide-a-key. If I don't do something right now, Dan is coming in. Having no time for niceties, I answer the door with an afghan covering my shame.
Dan is quite taken aback. Dan knows who I am, which in his mind is the married family man whose parents live in this house. His look of surprise slowly shifts to a sly yeah-buddy smirk. Not knowing what approach to take, for some reason I do the Anthony Weiner Remorseful Mouth and say, with my eyes, "Whattyagonnado." Dan turns and chuckles all the way down my parent's front walk.
R and I return to the couch, and she is immediately Right Back Where She Was. Unfortunately, the condom is not accommodating a deflate-and-then-inflate dynamic, and it's the only one I brought. Sensing defeat, I assume we're done, but she will not be denied and forces the continuation. As soon as the sinful act is finished, and I have removed myself from her, she sees the lonely, unused condom on the floor and FUCKING LOSES HER SHIT. Imagine Sofía Vergara on Modern Family with the rapid fire spanish cursing and you'll get an image.
In the middle of her diatribe, she notices a photo on the wall. It is a photo of me, my ex-wife, and our children, along with my parents. There is a moment, probably lasting 5 seconds, when she is staring at this picture as if watching her family be put to death. She turns to me, she turns back to the photo, I can see a flock of birds flying scatteredly in her brain as she tries, in vain, to put the pieces together. Then she slowly begins to move, each act slow and deliberate, toward her clothes. She dresses with such measured fury that I can only watch in horrific fascination, completely unconcerned about my own vulnerable nudity. Finally she looks at me and speaks.
"You brought me to your own house and came in my pussy. You are a liar and you are evil. I may call the police."
She storms out, and that's the last time I speak to R.
Epilogue: I realize, four days after my parents have returned from their trip, that I neglected to pick up the condom off of the floor. We've never spoken about it.
