Pocketful of Peens: November 20th 2012

Yippie ki-yay! I done found myself a bona fide country boy. Forgive a girl for wantin’ and wantin’ a little Texas two-step after living here for several years. Their boots and their twang rub off on you a bit and you’re ready to saddle up with them! Okay this boy wasn’t a full-blooded cowboy, but he was pretty country. Unfortunately, he fancied two-stepping with two girls at once.

After a break-up, one typically evaluates where they’re going to drum up their next main squeeze. Being set up with friends? Nope. Always ends in up as a catastrophic shit show with my heart and ego bruised. It’s time I take matters into my own hands and find a brute by happenstance. Happenstance it was when I had a highly desirable “meet-cute” at the gym. All my favorite gays chirped about meeting their boys at the gym. I never thought it worked out for the hetero’s. I guess in my case, it ultimately didn’t.

I had been eyeing this certain boy for weeks at the gym. He was always pumping iron and I was blasting it on the cardio. I hate those silly bitches who get gussied up just to sweat it off at the gym. I’ll put my hand in the air and claim “guilty.” I was one of those doll-faced silly bitches. Anything to catch this backward-baseball-cap-wearing boy’s attention, right? Well I got his attention. No offense, but I certainly commanded it. It was effortless and quite refreshing to my battered ego. As our conversations lengthened, I began to think, “I liked him better when I just looked at him.” But he had a really sweet spirit about him, so I wanted to give it a whirl. Plus, he was downright country boy. I like me some o’ that!

We decide on a day date for our first out-of-gym encounter. I make darn sure I wear a fabulous dress in an effort to dazzle him. Every other time he saw me I had sweaty armpits and a sweaty mound of hair on top of my head. No amount of make-up can aid me in when it comes to the sweat factor.

The day date was just kind of okay. A tad underwhelming but I thought I would enjoy an evening date. As we departed, he mentioned he was going to call me that weekend to get together again. That Friday came and as promised, he texted me, asking to get together. I said yes and waited for the plans to be firmed up. I kept waiting and waiting, all dolled up I might add. Who knows if he was hunting or mudding, but the country fella never got in touch with me that night. I was so annoyed and over it.

He ended up calling the next day. I looked at his name on my phone and wanted to spit on it. Don’t be inviting me out on the town and then standing my ass up. That gets my blood boiling when boys are flakey. Perhaps it wouldn’t have annoyed me that much, but this country boy was in line after many other flakey SOB’s and my tolerance was simply nonexistence. His calls went unanswered but I picked up his third attempt. I answered and was quite a bitch. I didn’t get a blow-out and a manicure to sit my rear at home waiting for him to firm up our date plans. I was mad at myself that I let him have power over me like that. I should have kicked up my heels and painted the town red with my girlfriends. Instead I sulked in my room like a pity-party-loving teen.

He divulged he got so drunk and passed out and that’s why he didn’t make our date. His apologies were relentless and he pleaded to make it up to me. At this point I was thinking like a man. I knew I didn’t want any future with him, but he was still really hot. Maybe we could just have a random make-out session? Now let me be clear. Although I’ve had a slew of dates this past year (most of which were pretty piss-poor excuses of dates) there hasn’t been naughty nocturnal action. In fact, I could stand to slut it up a bit more… at least have a good roll in the hay without a penis. Maybe just an under the shirt boob touch. Perhaps this column should be called “How To Date the Prude Way.” Anyway, I was thinking I’d bite the bullet, get a little tipsy and lure him into my bedroom.

As the night ended, we sat chatting on my couch for a couple hours. I didn’t know how to broach the subject of heading upstairs to the bedroom, so I just blurted it out. I was shocked as hell when he said, “I plan on hanging out with you a lot more so let’s not rush it.” I was basically throwing myself at him and he was declining. As soon as he left, I got a text where he explained he really wanted to come up but “I’m the kind of girl you date, not the kind of girl you hook up with.” My heart sang after reading this and I was so happy he recognized that! Even after my awkward, naïve attempt to “seduce” him, he could see my true innocent colors!

More dates were planned and kept. I was really digging his country flair, even though I was accustomed to a city slicker. There were silly little country things he would say and I would get super turned off for a second. Like when he told me there were antlers and deer heads in his room. I never went over to his house as I didn’t want to make eye contact with a deceased doe above his bed. He prompted me to come over every now and then, stating “it wasn’t going to be an away game every time.” I enjoyed my house much better…the frills and ruffles suit me much better than animal carcasses.

As we continued to date, I could tell it wasn’t going to end pretty. I just never got that feeling where he made my knees weak. He sure as hell wasn’t a core shaker. In fact, I’m not sure he even rattled my core in the slightest. As the shit always hits the fan, it was bound to with this country boy as well. My little Nancy Drew senses came in handy when I kept getting group texts from him. This certain number continually flashed on my screen and for some reason, he felt the need to include both of us in texts.

I soon discovered the digits belonged to his ex-girlfriend. He previously told me he hated her, but his words were much more crass and hateful. I told him not to talk about his ex-girlfriend like that but he insisted on it. Whatever. Didn’t want to open the ex-file. Anyway, when I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore for a plethora of reasons, the group texts with the ex simply topping the cake, he screamed at me. I was taken aback and speechless. He yelled over me and completely transformed into a scary man. I said good riddance and wiped my brow with a sense of relief I didn’t do any sex things with him. Luckily he didn’t even touch the bare tits. Phew! With his temper, he was probably overly dominant, into whips or something.

So to conclude this tale of a good ol’ Texas boy, I guess his dance card was already full and he didn’t need to be hollering at me. I totally don’t mind if he was still talking to his ex. But don’t be sloppy enough to group text the girl you used to bang and the new girl you’re trying to. Be a little more of a sneaky dog and don’t get caught!

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