Health Warning: Serial Dating Sends You Blind

I wonder sometimes what the point of serial dating is. As a stand-alone activity, like, say, attending spin class or taking archery lessons, I'm not sure why it's so popular because, frankly, it's painful. And you never really get anywhere. It's just one fresh body after another.

Serial dating - which I define as successive bouts of fewer than ten dates - gets old really quickly. Meeting and beginning the discovery process sounds and feels like a legal proceeding after a while. All the same stuff has to be asked ie;

+ where do you come from?

+ what do you do for a living?

+ dog person or cat person?

+ spit or swallow (when wine tasting)?

...ad infinitum like some kind of early-round beauty pageant from hell. That's not a bad metaphor as I think of it, because that's what we're doing here, hoping to uncover the one we find most attractive in swimwear, dinner wear, lounge wear and underwear.

Or are we? Are we really looking for someone we want to spend our time adoring and making happy? Or has the thrill of a new possibility every three weeks taken over?

Clearly, some people like the game of dating. They're the serial life re-decorators who enjoy squeezing facts out of the newbie and finding a few that resonate. (For a two week emotional blitz.) This is using people as ornament, an enterprise that probably works short-term, but will leave you with the equivalent of an emotional hangover untreatable in the long term. Sex might be involved, but it's the Cliffs notes of sex, not the awesome component of a great marriage.

I think this is a problem. Dating should be about finding someone for the long-term. Despite my flippancy, I believe that dating as a form of sport isn't good for either men or women. The emotional cost of the meeting/discovery/sex/break-up cycle can be controlled in the short term, but gradually wears you out. And the resulting danger is that when the right person does pop into your life, you might be too jaded to notice, too blind too see.

New is fun, but depth is better.



Bottoms Up, Serious Daters.

Guys Just Wanna Have Fun. Sorta.

I want to clear up a piece of folklore about blokes and their sexual appetites.

The shorthand way of looking at guys is that we're ready to down trou and have at it with any woman at any time. We're always thinking about sex, spend our waking hours daydreaming of naked women, and, in the absence of a willing partner, avoid masturbating 24/7 only because we need to hold down jobs and occasionally drink beer.

That's a caricature, but I suspect one with more veracity than is good for us.

In the abstract sense all of the above can be true, but it depends on what else occupies our brain. We guys are simple in the way we think. If there's a beautiful woman in front of us, we'll think about her. If there's a complicated piece of software to fix, or a business to run, that's where our attention goes. At those times - when occupied with the non-sex world - we're not sex obsessed. However, the trigger to swap *thinking* spreadsheets for *thinking* sport between the sheets activates with a small amount of pressure.

We're cocked, but not loaded, most of the time.

By way of precision, we need to understand here that we're talking about standard-issue males; men without hormonal, pneumatic, mental or physical blights that will prevent them attaining and/or maintaining an erection. These poor fellows exist, and we wish them nothing but a swift (and rigid) recovery.

However, even normal functioning men will pass on sex. It might be sex with their wives or even the nympho beauty who just happens to have dropped into our lap. Other stuff will get into our heads, for instance:

~ if we smell psychological problems with that girl who shows a sudden unwarranted interest

~ if the (not wife or g/f's) ardor doesn't add up for whatever reason

~ if there are unresolved points of tension with a wife or girlfriend

~ if we have some other overwhelming life problem going on

~ if we feel the woman has some other motive

~ if we feel the wife or girlfriend isn't entirely on our side

Important here is that these caveats only work when sober. After a few brews the defence mechanisms honed to look for these points of wariness disappear. Many a relationship begun when drunk is painfully dissolved in the company of a good hangover. A long, throbbing hangover.


Finally, a happy thought. How a woman presents to a man is important. If your wife or girlfriend puts their arm around you, and tells you how wonderful you are, and how they are lucky to have you as part of their life, almost all guys will be tremendously reassured. Remember, above all else men seek validation and approval from their woman. From that stems love and great sex.

Ladies: How easy is that?



Bottoms Up, Thinkers.

Sex After Marriage

One big - BIG! - advantage of marriage is the prospect of regular uninhibited sex with someone you know and adore. It's gotta be high on the list of reasons to get and stay hitched, right?

Well, I guess that's true of some couples, but I have a nagging suspicion that the tide of everyday trivia creeps up on lots of married folks. That initial joyous, lusty bonking gradually gets pushed out of the car and the laundry, back to the bedroom and eventually into the clothes hamper. How depressing. It must take a concerted effort to a) recognize the diminished state of such a sex life, and b) turn it around.

Part of the beauty of being committed to someone - sexually, and every other way - is the trust. I often wonder just how much married folks trust their partner with every innermost thought, especially their sexy fantasies and every other kind of erotic mind curiosity. No doubt there's editing of the stuff you think might turn him or her off, but that hopefully gives way to full and ardent disclosure. Again, I'm pretty certain that doesn't happen.

Wouldn't it be great if the marriage vows included an agreement to thoroughly explore each others' sexuality? It would be stated right up front, in the same breathe as honoring, cherishing and til death us do part, and so become part of the public announcement of the union. If someone does this at their wedding, I'd love to know the reaction.

I'm serious. I think a permanent part of marriage should be the conscious working towards the edges of you and your spouse's sex landscape, like Captain Cook sailing around the world to discover Australia. He didn't know exactly what was there, but had an inkling...and it wasn't like anything he'd seen before. Just as couples have date night and finance night and family night, they should (IMO) have a sex exploration night.

Think of it as drawing a deep map of your psyche you can use forever more for your pleasure.

We're all different, and there's no way to be taught any of this; we just have to go experience it. My point is that by bringing thoughts, likes, dislikes, desires and fears out into the light, you'll gain valuable understanding of yourself and the person in this world closest to you.

That's gotta be worth a shot.



 

Bottoms Up, Carnal Explorers.

What's Your Number?

Anna Faris pic credit.

Dating movies never cut it with me. Except that THIS one looks more like it.

The premise comes straight from the single thirty-something woman's field of screams - that having more than twenty past lovers makes you statistically unmarriage-able. Or more accurately, unable to find the love of one's life.

Sounds like bollox to me.

Then again, it might be the best date-night movie in a long time.





And the big Hollywood promo looks pretty funny too.





Bottoms Up, Lookers and Doubters.

Bad Girls - To Emulate or Not?

Photo credit and Interview with Dr Carole.

Tuesday night I took this book on a tour of some local bars. A book might appear an odd choice of drinking companion, but this one is different - it's entitled "Bad Girls" and sports this alluring cover photo.

People were interested.

I also asked folks if they knew any of the bad girls listed in the index, and if they were experienced with them. Everyone had at least one story to tell.

So it's about how less adventurous, milquetoast girls can learn the man-eating ways of sexually confident, experienced women, right?

The full title is:

Bad Girls: Why Men Love Them & How Good Girls Can Learn Their Secrets. Emphasis mine.


Nope. Nothing of the sort. It is in fact a mirror image of that idea, describing in detail the sub-species of Bad Girls (The Gold-Digger, The Sex Siren,the Ball Buster, The Husband-Stealer etc) and how men can identify a weakness for - and avoid falling for - any of them.

Now that's useful information.

Important Point: The research behind the concepts presented is thorough and well written. Even more valuable is the way in which the author, Dr Carole Lieberman, carefully explained the vulnerabilities of certain men to the "attractions" of specific "bad girls". I found myself described in there, and the type of Bad Girl who fits my weakness.

Guess which. * LOL*

So, I have no hesitation recommending this book to anyone interested in understanding some of the possibilities as to why men choose certain women, AND why women end up clearly fitting some of the Bad Girl stereotypes.

That said, here are some random thoughts:

~ I wonder if this book stands out because Dr Lieberman is a psychiatrist, NOT a psychologist.

~ Whomever came up with the sub-title had not read one word of the book. It just doesn't fit.

~ I remain a little confused as for whom the book was written; men or women or both?

~ Pet Peeve: Editing and Layout. If the book is meant as a How-To, I think it needed a whole lot of creative input. As it is, page after page of standard text alternating with italicized real-life research excludes the kind of reader who might want to dip in-and-out. Fortunately, the writing style is clear, but it could work so much better. SO much better. It succeeds almost despite itself.

~ As an example of the poor production values, chapter commencement pages listed in the index do not match the actual pages in the book. Lazy and sloppy.


But these are all quibbles about publishing, not the material.

Worth your time.


Bad Girls. Why Men Love Them & How Good Girls Can Learn Their Secrets, By Dr Carole Lieberman.

ISBN 978-2-923865-12-6

Published by Cogito Media Group.




Bottoms Up, Good Girls.

wombat@kissnblog.com

Friday Fluffer - Worst Lovers

Photo credit

We're all supremely fond of generalizations and unfair national slights. Which is why I've resurrected the results of a poll from a couple of years ago.

Fifteen thousand women were (allegedly) asked about the sexual skills of men organized by country. I guess the premise is that culture creates good or bad bonkers.



WORLD'S WORST LOVERS:

1. Germany (too smelly)

2. England (too lazy)

3. Sweden (too quick)

4. Holland (too dominating)

5. America (too rough)

6. Greece (too lovey-dovey)

7. Wales (too selfish)

8. Scotland (too loud)

9. Turkey (too sweaty)

10. Russia (too hairy)

And just for fun,

WORLD'S BEST LOVERS

1. Spain

2. Brazil

3. Italy

4. France

5. Ireland

6. South Africa

7. Australia

8. New Zealand

9. Denmark

10. Canada




Bottoms Up, Critics.

Can we leave the light on?

Laughable.

Can we leave the light on?

Well, yeah, otherwise how will I be able to see what I'm doing?





Bottoms Up, Ninjas!



Ronin thanks to [link]

Ejaculate: You'll Make Her Happy

Reading Snaf's and KayDee's blogs recently has been a little like being backstage watching the audience reaction to a new Broadway production. The show - a musical, methinks, called Let the Spunk Fly - is a physical show, full of nudity and grunts that has a climax with a twist: there is no climax.

All of us backstage are men, in on the plot twist. And those in the audience are all women, who have no idea what's about to happen.

The real trick of the show is that the women leave thinking that something's happened, when in fact nothing has.

Okay, okay, enough of the smart-arse metaphors.

It looks like lots of chicks are surprised that they're not the only ones providing artificial orgasms. My reaction is everyman's - Huh? You mean I fooled you the way you fooled me?

Frankly, I really don't care that much. Sometimes I won't want to express my reproductive fluids, but it doesn't seem like that big of a deal. There's always next time. And we got to spend naked or semi-naked fun time together, right?

My question of women is: What else don't you know about your men?


Bottoms Up, Fuckers!

Friday Fluffer - Cooter Ice

BlueBabe's writing inspires me in many ways. Her post today [link] is about...well, let's just say that the guy she thought was a Pussy Aficionado turned out not to be.

I think her blog is restricted, but leave her a note here in comments, and she'll likely as not let you in the door of her amazing world.

In recognition of the fact that we can all learn more about some things, here's a link to the Cunnilingus Tutor's Top 50 ways to keep a lady happy.

CT's Top Fifty. [link]

As they say at the finest restaurants and the lowest diners: Enjoy!




Edit: BlueBabe requests you email her for access to her blog. It's totally worth it.

bluelovergirl1@aol.com

Happy pic from here [link]

I Don't Care About Your Band

Also published at Blogger Critics Network.

Julie Klausner has Double-D-sized breasts.

I have yet to meet Julie or her breasts, but when I discovered this awesome fact, the whole thing made sense. Trouble was, her mammarial revelation didn't come until the second half of her book, so I had to start over.

This, then, is why I read "I Don't Care About Your Band"* two and one-thirds times. Breasts give a man perspective, a couple of reference nipples from which to view the rest of the woman. Until that point I was amused but lost. Once Julie's chest found sharp focus, I had to re-read everything up until the breast-size epiphany; then I had to finish it off (the book, pervs); then I had to re-read all the dirty bits.

The picture in my mind is of a sex-obsessed redhaired girl with big tits, blindfold, in lingerie, groping around a room in a desperate quest for a penis. She's a Jewish Princess at a piñata party, smashing her way into the pants of any man who shows even the vaguest interest. As an idea for a role-play sex game, that sounds like fun, but as a metaphor for finding someone, it's a disaster. Which is a great word for Miss Klausner's dating life in New York, although by her own admission, it's a selective history.

My question is: How did she miss with those puppies? I constantly referred back to her picture on the cover, wondering how the hell this vixen failed so well so often. Maybe if she'd walked around Manhattan topless, her love life would have been different.

Which of course is the point of the book. Who wants to read about dating suxxess? It's infinitely more fun for we readers to get smug at dating horror. Even hotties don't get laid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something That Might Interest You

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Because we dating and relationship bloggers are a cool bunch, I want to start something new.

I will be sending this copy of Julie Klausner's book to another blogger for review. That blogger will read it and post his or her thoughts, and then send the book on to another blogger for their review, and so on. Everyone who reviews will link back to all previous reviews, thereby forming a kind of extended multi-review.

Should we call this the Blogger Book Review Network or something more snappy?

I am looking for input; if you're interested in participating, whether a better system exists, whatever you think.

Edit: Snaf will be receiving the book to review. She seemed the best fit, being both single and a New Yorker like Miss Klausner. Next week I have another item to check out.




*I Don't Care About Your Band. What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters, and other Guys I've Dated by Julie Klausner. ISBN 978-1-592-40561-9

Published by Gotham Books, a divvy of Penguin. They sent it to me, free.


Klausner links [site] [tumblr]

Edited for overuse. Words, that is.