The Smoker – What Do You Mean I Can’t Write About You?

Wow, I guess my brother was right when he told me to get off the dating websites and just get out there and meet people.  Meet people?  I never meet anyone.  So, in my usual pain-in-the ass, sisterly way, I whined and complained and put up a fuss saying that more men approached me online, than in person.

But, my real problem was that I never went out.

Ever.

Unless it was to go to work, grocery store, or to the gym.  Clearly, I worked way too much.

But that soon changed last year when I moved back to New Hampshire and started frequenting his new bar.  I actually started meeting people.   A lot of people.  Interesting people.  What a great concept!  Who knew drinking beer could be such a social event?

Who knew beer was so yummy?

The only time I now go on the dating websites is when I feel the urge to find a horrible profile picture to entertain my Facebook fans – which isn’t that hard to do.  Just look at these two examples:

 

Note the high heels in the laundry basket…

 <======Messy house = messy life.

This picture is a trip.  Why was it so important for him to get a full-length mirror photo? WHY?  I think, if I remember correctly, he was only 5’7″ – maybe that’s the reason why he’s STANDING on his bathroom sink to get a picture of his entire body?

The pictures stir up a lot of remarks – and sometimes the remarks are funnier than the pictures.  I love my Facebook fans.  🙂

Being off of the dating websites has freed up a lot of my time and especially freed me from the tight grip of false hope that it had on me.  Ya, it was fun for a while until I realized that it’s impossible to make a true connection via a two dimensional experience.  I mean, when I did make a connection, that person ended up being bat-shit crazy, a liar, married…or all of the above.   And to be honest, my batting average got so much better when I started going to the Shaskeen and started socializing with three-dimensional people.  Now, not only have I met people, but I’ve also met a few who I might be interested in dating.  One of them is a new guy I call The Smoker.

The Smoker and I met at The Bar a few weeks ago.  I had come in that day to water the flowers, and just as I was walking in, I heard someone say, “Hey, that was a great post this morning.”  I stopped to thank whoever said that to me, and realized it was one of my fans sitting with someone I didn’t recognize.  He introduces me and says, “This is Carrie, the blogger I was telling you about.  Carrie, this is my brother.”  We shook hands and then they asked me to join them.

Two hours later I’m still sitting with them and drinking beer.

Three hours later, Nathan arrives, and by that time, I was a little toasted from having two pints and no lunch.  I needed to sober up.  All it took was for one of us to suggest lobster rolls and we were in his car in two seconds and driving to our favorite local place that serves them.

For those of you who are non-New Englander’s, this is a lobster roll:

(And for all of you New Englander’s, there are people in this world who actually do NOT know what a lobster roll is – I kid you not.)

It took us about an hour to devour the lobster rolls, a Greek salad and have a little brother/sister chat to get updated on each others lives.   Our chat usually consist of the following:  Love lives and family.  (Well, that would be my non-existent love life; his existing love life.)

By the time Nathan and I came back to The Bar, it had been about a little over and hour and The Smoker was still sitting out on the patio.   He apparently had waited for me to come back.   I was about to grab my stuff and leave, but he asked me to sit down with him again. We chatted for a few minutes and then he ask if I would be interested in coffee with him sometime.  I liked our conversations, but he smoked, so that was a deal breaker for me.

Look, I’ve dated a smoker before – The Musician.  (Don’t worry, you didn’t miss that story – I never wrote about him.) He didn’t have minty, fresh breath but, honestly, it wasn’t a deal breaker either.  Clearly, it wasn’t a deal breaker, because we dated for three years and I consider him one of the few men I truly loved.  We weren’t meant to be together for a life time, but we were meant to have  three really fun years together.

Good enough for me.

Getting back to The Smoker…I run into him all the time when I go out to The Bar.  I do enjoy his company, plus he gives incredible hugs.   Yup, you guessed it; he’s grown on me.  A lot.   And when I say “incredible hugs,” I’m not talking about a quick two-tap back-slap. Oh, no. I’m saying that when he hugs me good-bye, he doesn’t just put his arms around me for a quick squeeze…

Oh, no – this man embraces me.  His hugs feel more like he’s enveloping me with his whole being.  I’m not used to being held like that, so it takes me a second to relax.  And when I do, he pulls me in even more and then puts his face in my hair and breathes me in.

Yes, the man breathes me in.  Like he’s savoring me.  Every time.  And, it makes me melt. And that, my friends, says a lot about the man.    So, after weeks of sitting with him for hours over pints of beer, I started to see in him in a new light and as a sweet guy who is incredibly thoughtful and humble.

So, when he asked me to be his date to his best friend’s wedding, I said yes.

*DING!*

What about the Painter, you ask?  Well, it’s not like he’s been giving me  a lot of his time.  He’s got a lot on his plate going through a divorce and that’s okay.  This doesn’t make him a bad person by any means, it just makes him human.  However, I am single and if I’m not getting what I need from someone…then I need to keep my options open.

Don’t waste the pretty, right?

So, now I’m interested in two completely different people.  Great.  I can’t even remember when the last time this has happened to me.  Only my close friends will truly understand what an uncomfortable position this puts me in.  The last thing I want to do is to hurt anyone’s feelings.   And, more importantly, nobody is comfortable with me writing about them.

This is a problem.

A big problem.

What’s the point in dating someone if I can’t write about it?  It’s like asking me not to breathe.

Or drink coffee…or give up chocolate!

*GASPS*


So, what is a girl to do?

You go ask someone you can trust to be diplomatic…

And funny…

CARRIE:  Soooo.  The Painter read some of the stories about him.  Dammit.

JOHN:  Go figya!  😉

CARRIE:  He’s uncomfortable with me writing about him.

JOHN:  So, was he less than thrilled about your writing…that answers that.

CARRIE:  And now there’s a new guy who really likes me, and I’m starting to like him too, but he doesn’t want me to write about him either.  He asked me to be his date to his best friend’s wedding on Saturday and the reception is at The Bar.  You know there’s a story in there…

JOHN:  You gonna let these men deprive you of writing material?

CARRIE:  *LOWERS HEAD IN SHAME*

JOHN:  BAD Carrie…  *GENTLY SLAPS BACK OF YOUR HAND* Are there three guys or do you just have two on the hook right now?

CARRIE:  Just two.  I had no idea when I was explaining to them that I was a writer that I would be actually interested in them.  WHEH!  😦

JOHN:  I think you do pretty well at keeping people’s identities a secret.

CARRIE:  Thank, you.  So do I.  I mean, Nathan doesn’t even know who The Painter is.  *GIGGLES*  The new guy is really sweet…but there’s a problem:   He smokes.  😦

JOHN:  BLEH!!!!!   I won’t even consider dating a smoker…I don’t care if she can whistle Dixie out of her ass, while hula dancing and making brownies!

CARRIE:  So, here’s my dilemma, if I write about The Smoker, then Painter will know.  Not sure how that would fly.

JOHN:  Fuck him.  If he can’t handle sharing, then he needs to grow up.

CARRIE:  I’m taking one day at a time.  Not sure where either guy is going..just going to enjoy whatever comes my way.  No expectations.  But I’m stressed about the writing thing.

JOHN:  How’d they find out about your blog?

CARRIE:  The Smoker’s brother is a fan.  The Painter, I told him last year when I met him.

JOHN:  How much does it bother you that he smokes?

CARRIE:  We’ll see what his kisses taste like…I have dated a smoker before.  Did I tell you that?

JOHN:  NEWSFLASH!  He’ll taste like a cigarette!

CARRIE:  Well, there are people who smoke and who never get their teeth cleaned or wash their hands.  Now that’s gross.

JOHN:  Right. But the smell and taste comes from the lungs…

CARRIE:  I’m having a beer.  Thanks.  I almost threw up.

JOHN:  Because of my comment?

CARRIE:  Um. Ya.  We’ll see how he kisses.  He is very sensual when he hugs me and when he holds my hand.  I like that a lot.  He literally breathes me in when he hugs me and buries his face in my neck.

JOHN:  I can see why you’d like that.

CARRIE:  Oh ya.  I love intimacy.  Plus, he’s a little nervous around me, which is endearing.  I’m really looking forward to Saturday.

What Does it Take for a Woman (me) to Get Laid Around Here?

PAINTER:   How was your weekend?

CARRIE:   The weekend was fun.  Spent time with friends.  Got the new flowers all planted at the Shaskeen.  Everyone loves them.  It makes me happy.  Got a little sunburned… How was yours?

PAINTER:  Pretty much the same…minus the flowers.  🙂  What are you up to?

CARRIE:  Are you asking because you have free time?

PAINTER:  Yes.  Can I pin you up against the wall again?

Oh, boy.  He knew just how to push my buttons, but I felt like I needed to slow things down a bit.  Luckily, I had someone working on my house, so hanging out there was not an option.

CARRIE:  I have a contractor working at my house all day.  Do you want to go for a walk in the woods? You can tell me about your weekend.

PAINTER:  Sounds like a plan.

An hour later we were walking on the trail.  I had my hair up in a clip, no make-up and wore an old, ratty, blue sweatshirt.   I probably looked like a hot mess, but I really didn’t care. He had seen me at my best and now he would see me at almost my worst.

“Wow, this is really a nice walk.”

“I’m glad you like it.  I try to walk it every day with Campbell.  It clears my head.  Just don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Ya, I can see why.  It’s really pretty.”

It was a beautiful day outside.  The sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  Thank God for the canopy of trees that kept us in the shade because, without it, I might have been really hot in my sweatshirt.  It’s one thing to look like a hot mess, but it’s another to smell like one.

We did a lot of talking during our walk.   If there is one thing that I have learned in life, it’s that if you want someone to open up, you have to be comfortable with silence.  Generally, people are not comfortable with silence, so the rule is if there is too much silence, they will talk.  To use this method, you must have a lot of self-control and know how to be a good listener.  It’s totally reverse psychology, but it works like a charm.

After we did some joking around, he eventually began talking about his split from his wife and how it came about.  I felt bad for him, as it sounded like he really did give it his all.  I think his wife got too comfortable in the relationship and ignored her husband’s warnings that he was unhappy.  It’s a shame, but I hear similar stories all the time.

When we got back my house, he had stuff to do and the contractor was still working, so we said a quick good-bye and that was that.

I didn’t even get a hug or a kiss good-bye.

Maybe it was a good thing, because had he come into my personal bubble, I might have wrapped my arms and legs around him and refused to let go.  I might have even made him bring me upstairs to my bedroom, so I could have my way with him.

Seriously, I know that I try to be a good-girl and exercise my self-control, but dammit, I am a woman of a certain age and the attraction factor between us is off the chart.

Frustrated, I sent a text to my friend, John.

CARRIE:  Seriously!  What does it take for a woman (me) to get laid around here?

JOHN: Lucky for you, I have a special this week on the “Boyfriend Experience.”  It’s only $74.99.  It includes a four-course meal and oral sex.

CARRIE:  I want sex.  S-E-X.  It’s been so damn long, I think my hymen grew back…

CARRIE:  Wait…I want sex AND a sleep-over. How much does that run these days?

JOHN:  Cuddling in the morning or more sex?

CARRIE:  Both.  Can we refrain from calling it “cuddling.”  I hate that word.  “Snuggle” is more appropriate and acceptable to me.

JOHN:  You say “to-MAE-to,” I say “to-MAH-to”…  It’s $49.99.  The morning snuggling and sex is on the house.

CARRIE:  Deal.  Just remember that I don’t like a lot of tongue when kissing.  Or, is kissing not included in the “Boyfriend Experience” package?

JOHN:  Duly noted on the tongue.  How about eye contact during sex?

CARRIE:  Nah, too intimate.

JOHN:  Of course.  When would you like to book it?  Did things fall through with The Painter?

CARRIE:  He went away this weekend.

JOHN:  But he’s the one you’re complaining about not getting laid with, right?

CARRIE:  Oh, ya.  I want him.  It’s mutual.    He better make some time for me.

JOHN:  He will if he knows what’s good for him.

CARRIE:  Damn right.  The problem is we are both really busy and have conflicting schedules.  This sucks.

JOHN:  Kind of tough to have a sleep over that way…

CARRIE:  Seriously, I’m about to go against my own beliefs and grab the first hot, 20-something year-old if he doesn’t make some damn time for me.

Pin Me Up Against the Wall and Kiss Me, Please

Uh-oh…  I’m feeling a little bit like a crack addict right now.  The crack being sex, and my pusher is “The Painter.”

The last time I saw him, he was sent away with blue balls. (See “The Dog is a Problem.)  Honestly, the way we left it, I really didn’t know if I would see him again.

(We all know how my track-record has been.)

I do, however, have some good news:  I did hear from him.  A few times.

*DING!*

But here’s the bad news:  He was hitting me up late in the night, via text, which we all know is a big red flag.

*THE CROWD BOO’S*

I know, I know.

The two times he did text me late at night, I was already fast asleep, so not only did I not answer them, but I didn’t hear them come in, which was probably a good thing.

I know what you are thinking, and so was I: Texting, late at night, only means one thing:  It’s a booty call.  And we all know I don’t do booty calls.

Right?

If I was to be honest with myself, then I will freely admit that I was lusting after this man, but when I read the obvious signs he was giving me, it put me in a crossroad.  These tell-tale signs were putting all of my insecurities at a full tilt. The Painter’s actions were definitely leaning towards “booty call” and yet I had a hard time talking myself into the idea that I needed to remain on course with my own theory about staying away from men who only wanted one thing.  BUT! I also reminded myself that it had been a long-ass eight months since the last time I had sex.  And the fact of the matter is, I knew I would have great sex with him.

Or, maybe it was just wishful lustful thinking.

Or! Maybe he could be a perfect candidate to work out some of my sexual frustrations, so that I could relax a little bit and be a little more discerning instead of feeling like I’m about to climb the walls all the time.

Do you realize how hard it is to abstain from sex as a mature adult?   I wouldn’t wish this on anybody.  It’s even harder to hold out when I know I could easily go after a young and unassuming twenty-something-year old and just have a one night’er.  It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.  But, again, that’s not me.  Been there, done that.  It was fun, but I would much rather have sex with someone my own age.  The only problem with that is, everyone my age is already married.

It seems like all the good men are already married or taken.  Certainly, there have been a few men who piqued my interest over the last few months, but not one of them qualified as a suitor.   By “qualified,” I mean they needed to be single.

One of those men is a FBI agent.  (Hot, I know.)  My brother laughed at me when I told him who it was and then he added that I must be attracted to men with power.  (Which, by the way, is innate trait for women, so there’s nothing wrong with that even if I am, which is definitely true.)  I actually denied it at first, citing this man’s over-the-top intelligence and charm, but then I realized that it was a combination of two things:  His height and his confidence.  Two things in my book, as we all know, that makes a very lethal combination for Carrie.

I met the FBI agent at The Shaskeen on evening and within minutes of being introduced by his friends who I casually knew, I was completely intrigued.  Not only did he have a magnetic presence, but I felt like his smooth, hypnotic voice was slowly seducing me.

I don’t know if it was his energy, confidence, or his gentlemanly ways that sucked me in so fast and so hard but, suddenly, it felt like he had cast some sort of spell on me.  I tried to shake it off and, certainly, not to be out-done, I channeled my inner 1940’s movie star coy charm and asked him some challenging questions.

He replied to my questions in Russian.

Do you realize what that does to an intelligent woman like myself?  To hear a man switch gears from English to Russian without a blink of an eye?  I seriously almost lost my composure right then and there and, believe me, there’s not too many men that have that effect on me.   He had me right where he wanted me…

…and just when I thought the night was going my way, his friends yelled over to him and announced they were leaving, which meant he was leaving, too.  Disappointed, I looked down, only to catch a glance at his left hand resting on the bar, which had a nice gold band on his finger.

Dammit.

NEXT!

The other person who showed up on my radar was The Painter.  He’s another one whose confidence and presence make my brain tingle.  He’s not extremely tall, but he seems to be just the right height for me – oh, and where did he get the  nickname?  I found out that he’s a closeted artist, which I think is so damn sexy…  Meow.

And to clarify on my nicknaming, he is not the guy who runs College Pro Painting.  Jesus.  I’m a little more creative than that in my nicknaming skills.  There’s a reason for the nicknaming…and it’s not to make it obvious as to who I’m talking about.  I needed to make that clear as there were some local people who though Hot Dog Guy was the guy who had the hot dog stand down on Elm Street.

I don’t discriminate, but c’mon, give me a little credit….

When I met The Painter last year, I was instantly attracted, but within minutes of talking to him, he told me he had been married for six years and had a 5-year old son.  The moment he said he was married, it took the wind out of my sails.  I was disappointed, but I figured I could include him in my ongoing discussion and ask him what he thought about relationships and dating.   Much to my surprise he had a lot to say and I was all ears, which left us sitting at The Shaskeen for a few hours that night.  He talked about his marriage and it came to no surprise to me that it was a very sad and unhappy marriage.   I felt bad for him and gave him a new perspective to think about.

I was proud of myself that night.  I didn’t flirt with him and I kept it very platonic.  I was in full therapist mode, which kept me thinking about giving advice and not ripping off his clothes.  He clearly wanted me to keep talking with him, because every time I was about finished with my beer, he was quick to ask me if I wanted another one, but he never waited for my answer.  He just ordered it.

I love a man who takes control.  Meow.

He was buying and I was drinking.

Why not?  I was intrigued that someone, who seemed so tough on the outside, could easily open up about his marriage in full detail.

“You’re so easy to talk to.  I never tell anyone any of this.”

“I’m a good listener.  It’s what I do.  People tell me I give good advice.”

“They’re right.  You do.  So far what you told me is true and you have a good way of looking at things differently than I do.”

We all need someone to talk to. Who was I to not accept another pint of beer and deny my inner therapist an opportunity to possibly help this man…who was easy on the eyes?

Not me!

*DING-DING!!*

So, how did I end up having a hot and heavy make-out session on my couch the other night with a married man?  Well, it wouldn’t have happened had he not told me that he was separated from his wife and was now living on his own.

After that, two hours later we were on my couch.

Meow!

But that night, he left me craving for more.  Much, much more.  Did he even realize the large order he was signing up for?  Would I hear from him again even though I ended up sending him home with blue balls…

I knew I didn’t want to sleep with him too soon.  We connected on a sexual level, but could we still connect without the sex?

I was left wondering about it – assuming the worst.  Assuming I wouldn’t hear from him again – and then the late-night texts started  to come in.

What. The. Hell.

Things like that don’t fly with me so, in my usual Carrie style, I called him out on it.

CARRIE:  What is with the late-night texting routine?

PAINTER:  Ha.  Seems that way.  I’ll make it up to you Wednesday morning.

CARRIE:  Are you being serious or facetious?

PAINTER:  Serious.

*WEDNESDAY MORNING ROLLS AROUND*

PAINTER:  Are you up?

CARRIE: I’ve been up since 7AM, but I have a doctor appointment at 10:30AM.  Joy.  Come over for coffee if you want.

I really didn’t think that he would show up, but 20 minutes later he was sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee with me.  As you can imagine, I was a little beside myself, because, it had been three weeks since the night of the heavy make-out session on my couch.

Sitting there and talking over coffee, we really only had 45 minutes together before I had to dash off to my doctor’s appointment.   But, it was enough time that I felt I could  bring up a very awkward subject.

“This is very difficult for me to bring up, because I do not want to put any pressure on you and me…”

“Whoa, wait, Carrie.  I just got out of a marriage, I’m not looking for another serious relationship right off the bat, you know?”

“No, I get that and that’s not really what I’m trying to say here.  My concern is – yes, you just got out of a long-term relationship and so I am assuming that you probably want to make up for lost time, you know, sexually.  And, if you do, that’s okay with me.  It’s just that I don’t want to be number three on your roster of women.”

“No, no.  I’m not like that – it’s not like that.”

“Okay, what I’m saying is that if you do want to see other people and we are having sex, then just please tell me.  Please be brutally honesty with me, which I know you can be.  You’ve never sugar-coated anything and you’ve always been very honest and upfront. I just want to keep it that way.  I know you are fresh out of a relationship – you have a lot on your plate and so do I – I just want to see where this goes without having any expectations.  I have no expectations.  We obviously have sexual tension between us, so I just needed to mention the fact that if we have sex…”

“I get it.  You don’t have to worry.”

The conversation didn’t go as smooth as I wanted, but at least I got it out.  At least he knew that I didn’t want to be one of many, which is so common.  I have standards and if I was going to give up my penis-free status for him, then the least he could do for me was to not put me on a roster.

The minutes flew by and it was getting close to the time I had to leave for my appointment.   We both stood up and as I went to kiss him he said, “Cancel your appointment,” and then pulled me closer as we continued to kiss.

“I really can’t.  If I don’t go now, I have to wait weeks for another appointment.”

And that’s when it happened.   He pinned me up against the wall and kissed me hard and deep, causing me to question everything I ever said about holding out.   I mean, look, since the day I met him seven months ago, he had been in the back of my mind.  And, now, here he was standing in my kitchen, pinning me up against the wall with his big man hands and, for a minute, I didn’t have a damn care in the world.   All I was thinking about was taking him upstairs to my bedroom and having my way with him; over and over.

But, alas, I went to my doctor’s appointment instead.

Dammit.

Some days I really wish I didn’t have so much self-control.

~Carrie