the first phone conversation, or the fine art of penis thrusting

In which I continue to reveal what I learned from a dating website scam

The First Phone Conversation

The first thing that was obvious was his very thick accent. He had already told me, via the dating site, that he was originally from Poland (and yes, this sparked some suspicion). The accent was so thick, in fact, that I had a horrible time understanding him. Which made me want to giggle, 1stphone3both because I was so bloody nervous and also because that was a classic situation, right? You know how when you are talking to someone that, for whatever reason, you can’t understand, and you’ve asked “what?” and “say again, please” and “excuse me?” so may times that it becomes embarrassing and you just end up saying nothing, smiling and nodding knowingly? Only there was no way that would work, because it was a GD phone conversation. Gawd! What to do?! And besides the accent, he was mumbling. I kept wanting to tell him to speak up, but resisted the urge. Instead, I muddled through as best I could and tried to be polite.

“How was your day?”—finally! Something I could understand!

“Well, I was pretty nervous all day, knowing you were gonna call, so I had a good, but nervous, day, I guess.” I laughed at the memory of my day, making fun of myself. He laughed gently too, which scored him some points in my book—both the laughter and the gentle part.

I had been alone in the small office where I work downtown, which happens sometimes and which I like, being the introvert that I am. I get my work done much more easily when no one is around. I like being alone much of the time. (Okay, don’t even get me started on that conversation. The one about why, if I love being alone so much, I’m on a dating website.)

I love being alone because I can be myself, which, especially at my no-longer-a-Spring-chicken age, is often just down right goofy. I have a lot of fun. I laugh at myself out loud—at my own wacky, creative thoughts, w??????????hen I mistype on the keyboard and type some crazy, significant, subconscious, synchronistic thing. When the solution to some long-standing problem suddenly pops into being inside my universe and it was so GD obvious, but I couldn’t see it until now. When I’m typing a word at the same time a song I’ve never heard is saying that same word, etc.

I also cry a lot when I’m alone—with joy, with sorrow, with whatever is happening around and inside me at that moment. Being alone gives me the freedom to live right in the present moment and be able to react to it and experience it out loud.

One minute I’d be laughing at myself, the next minute I’d sit and make myself breathe deliberately and calm myself for a few seconds. Then I’d think of his promise to call later and jump up, yelling obscenities, and laugh, “Oh my gawd, what am I doing?! He is actually gonna call me today! And what the hell are we gonna talk about, anyway?!” At which point I would make a flustered mental note to get back online to the dating site before the call and check out his profile again to see what common interests we had so that I could make notes and use them during the call.

“Oh my gawd, what are you doing, Gracie!?” was the theme of that day, and I laughed at myself each time, knowing this was exactly what I wanted and had asked the Universe for. “So just buck up, my dear Gracie, and do it,” I told myself repeatedly, loving and hating, at the very same time, that nervous, anticipatory stomach flutter.

I kept the phone close to me when I got home, not wanting to miss his call. I changed clothes, ate something and began checking emails, as usual. A friend who was aware of my Divine Feminine (DF) journey had sent me a link to a blog post by a woman who was explaining—in 1stphone4hilarious and all too-familiar detail—why she couldn’t fuck spiritual guys—or rather, she explained, why they couldn’t fuck her. I recognized almost every man I had ever been with in that post. I clicked around her blog and was totally groovin’ on it so that when the phone rang, I was reading an awesome—and extremely well detailed—post directed at men about penis thrusting techniques during sex. 1stphone5

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!” as I fumbled the phone a few times and dropped it on the bed where I was sitting with my laptop. I finally got it answered and to my ear. I glanced at the laptop screen and, oh shit!, slammed it shut and tried to focus on the call.

“Crap, how bloody desperate do I look?” I thought, sitting here alone getting horny reading a blog about thrusting techniques. (Although in my defense and to be fair to her, it was a great post, was right on, and everyone really does need to know these things. I had been thinking how I totally agreed with everything she was saying and wishing I could send this link to everyone everywhere without it seeming too weird. Plus it had some super hot photos to go with it.)

When I first got on the dating website and men were requesting I talk to them, I nervously admitted to my friend Jo that I didn’t know if I could do this or not. And I meant do it differently than I used to. She had been privy to my DF journey, to my realization that I wasn’t happy with my life and then to the decision to change that. The last two years had been filled with learning,  1stphone2practicing, relearning, research, practice, tears, laughter, practice, be around men, practice, be a vessel of praise for the masculine, practice, allow, change my energy from defensive and combative and masculine (practice) to allowing and feminine—still powerful, but now open too, and practice.

Did I mention the practice thing?

She watched me struggle, cheered me on when I got stuck or angry or depressed. So at some point, one day when she was at my house, I clicked on the dating site and showed her the three bachelors. That one, she pointed at Bachelor number two, confirming my own feelings about the three main choices.

So here I was, sitting on my bed in sock feet, fumbling the phone, trying to decipher the thick (and quickly becoming, sexy) accent of a possible gentlemen suitor, having just closed the laptop on a blog about sexual thrusting techniques. So when he asked quite innocently, and really, the perfectly good getting-to-know-you, conversation-generating question of, “What were you doing when I called?” I had to roll my eyes.

ilovelucyThat was a perfect example of my life. It generates endless opportunities for me to laugh at myself. Most days I feel like I am living in an episode of I Love Lucy.

“Fuck me, how am I gonna get out of this?!” was my instant, panicked thought. It should be known right here that I am a sucky liar. It is not that I lack imagination; I have plenty of imagination—I’m an artist. I just can’t pull it off. I feel guilty, and it is always obvious.

And, I am no prude when it comes to love and sex. In fact, in my exploration of the DF/DM polarities, I had made a point to study everything I could that was related to sex and relationships.

As a Hypnotherapist and months ago, I had even begun facilitating workshops based on the information I had uncovered. I knew it would propel my own DF journey swiftly forward to be surrounded by women doing the same thing. But Bachelor number two didn’t know any of this 1stphone1about me, and I reasoned that the first conversation with someone is probably not the best time to dump all this info on him. And being an introvert doesn’t necessarily mean I’m shy. I am not shy. I can talk to just about anyone about just about anything—including sexual thrusting techniques.

But the fact that this was the first time I’d ever talked to him and that I’d met him on a dating website to begin with and because it was just too much of a cliche’ that a no-longer-a-Spring-chicken woman who already had those two things happening in her life right now, at this very moment, was on what anyone (admit it, you’re thinking it too) would call a “soft porn” (and totally awesome!) blog site at the time of his first call, was just too much—even for me.

I tried to lie. I really dchurch of the dogid try. I have dozens of books on my bedside table—To Kill a Mocking Bird; The Secret Life of Bees; The Green Pharmacy; Eat, Pray, Love; Bach Flower Remedies; The Portable Walt Whitman; Church of the Dog; Hold on to Your N.U.T.s; the list could go on—all in varying categories of having been read, reread, skimmed, dog-eared, underlined, underlined with notes, etc. I could have been reading when the phone rang.

I could have said I had been reading poetry—ee cummings, perhaps; he’s there too. I even have several movies on that same nightstand. I could have been watching Eat, Pray, Love for the thousandth time, You’ve Got Mail, Practical Magic. I tried to come up with something pithy and funny that would be distracting and amusing (at which I am usually very good)—something to change the subject.

Instead, what came out of my mouth, in my usual just-spill-your-guts fashion was, “Okay, I’m busted,” as calmly as possible and in a I’m-busted tone of voice, “I was looking at a blog post about…” my mind in its nervous state was still valiantly trying to save the situation, “…sex,”—and failing. Okay, so I’d managed to save a bit of face there, though, because I hadn’t mentioned the whole “thrusting techniques” thing. Good job, brain! Even for that little bit of a reprieve, I was relieved and happy. But still…

To my extreme relief, and after a too-long-for-my-comfort pause, I heard laughter hit my ear—loud and plenty of it. At some point in there, I joined him, because that’s what I’d wanted to do in the first place anyway. And that’s what I’d have done if I’d been alone with the situation. In that laughter, I felt a bond forming between us, uniting us—because he understood why that was so funny—and so ridiculously human and real.

His laughter finally slowed to a chuckle, “I like that you are so honest with me,” that sexy accent thing again. To which I could only answer with another eye roll, “Yes, I am honest.”

He had no idea about my type of honesty—the type that when someone asks, “What are you thinking about?” I just start in and really tell them. I liken it to mentally/emotionally/verbally throwing up on people. And to be clear, I am always kind in my verbal throwing up. I’m not the type to say things that might be hurtful. In fact, when I know I’ve got to have that type of 1stphone6conversation, I revert to Rule #3: Don’t throw up on them. Don’t say anything until you’ve thought about it very carefully, Gracie, to find a way to say it kindly, calmly and in an adult, assertive but not aggressive, way. I am so careful about that.

So I added, “But I’m always kind in my honesty.” And then silently cringed because as that was spilling out of my big mouth, I remembered one of his emails where he’d said he was looking for a woman who was gentle and kind. So now it was sounding like I was trying to tick off all the items on his “perfect woman” list. And gawd damn it! I’d forgotten to get back online before this call to see what our mutual interests were and make that list, anyway!

Message from me to him via the dating site after our call

May 30th
Hi Michael,
Thanks for the phone call. It was enjoyable talking to you. Here is my email address.

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