Get down there and lick me like a man

All women are different when it comes to what it takes to get them off, but the fact of the matter is that 75% of women are unable to orgasm through penetration alone.  Sadly, I am definitely part of that 75%.  But on the bright side, I am not part of the 10% of women who have never climaxed at all.  How horrifying would that be?

I’ve always enjoyed oral sex, but often found that it took too long to accomplish, and the guy would start to seem tired, and sometimes you just have to give up.  I found that I actually sort of preferred using a hand (sometimes his, but more often my own) that can apply more direct pressure.  But most of the time, I just wouldn’t come at all (although I’d still enjoy having sex).  However, all of that changed with Demetrios I.  The very first time we were intimate together, he went down on me, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.  I came.  Hard.  And so quickly and easily.  It was like Demetrios was a virtuoso of my finely tuned viola.  Absolutely electric and completely unlike the usual uphill–and, often, fruitless–struggle for the Big O I had come to expect from sex with a man.  Demetrios would make me come twice, thrice or more with his tongue every single time we were together, and it was nirvana.  I felt like a virgin, experiencing sex for the first time.  I hadn’t realized it could be this good, that my body was even capable of that level of arousal.

Of course, the fact that he was a god in bed made the breakup with Demetrios even more devastating.  In my fourteen years of having sex, I had never found a guy who was even remotely as good in bed as this one.  How would I ever find a replacement?  After two months of celibacy, I felt ready to try again, and the person I chose as my target, naturally, was Demetrios II.  I guess I was hoping that Greek heritage somehow bestowed men with supernatural sex skills.  Sadly, that turned out not to be the case.  Demetrios II barely tried to get me off at all, and didn’t even kiss me down there.  After his third orgasm (and my zeroeth), he wanted to know how the sex was, on a scale of 1-10.  Mentally, I gave it a 2 but kept silent.  “Did you orgasm all three times that we did it?” he asked.

Oh god, was he serious?  “No, I didn’t come at all,” I told him gently.  “I’m sort of tricky.  I need direct clitoral stimulation.”

“Oh.”  He seemed surprised.  “You mean I should use my hand more?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I said.  “And I also like oral sex,” I hinted.

“Oh, I haven’t done that to you because, well, I’m an oncologist, and I know that the majority of throat cancers are caused by HPV caught through oral sex.”

What?  He was refusing to go down on me?  “But I’ve been vaccinated against HPV, and I’ve been tested and have never had an STD,” I told him.  He did not indicate whether that made a difference or not, and we were done having sex for the night anyway, so I went home wondering whether I should even give him another chance to bring me to orgasm.

I’ve never before encountered a man who refused to go down on me, and frankly, I’m a little pissed.  I’m implementing a new rule, right now, that I will never again sleep with a man before he licks me to orgasm.  If he’s unwilling or unable to complete this task, then I might as well kick him out of bed sooner rather than later.

Is there anything that a man can do to make sure he’s successfully pleasing a woman down south?  Well, one of the guys I’m dating (but haven’t slept with), Ethan the drummer recently told me about a very interesting book he had read.  I think he was sort of embarrassed to tell me, but actually I thought it was sexy as hell and has set my imagination on fire ever since he mentioned it.  The title of the book?  She Comes First: The Thinking Man’s Guide to Pleasuring a Woman.  “Bringing a woman to orgasm has never been a problem since I read that book,” he told me confidently.  Despite my initial impression that I wasn’t all that attracted to this guy, I’m now seriously rethinking that assumption and just may give him a chance to try out his oral skills.  If the secret to mind-blowing sex is truly contained within a book, then I am going to begin buying copies by the boxful and distributing them to men everywhere.  By my rough estimate, 90% of them have no idea what they’re doing and desperately need this information.

But in the meantime, what do I do with Demetrios II?  I rather liked him and was hoping we could at least work on the sex.  I suppose I have to respect his wariness of disease, so maybe I should bring some dental dams the next time I see him?  I’ve never even used a dental dam before.  Does it feel anywhere near the same?  I’m guessing it does not, but it’s worth a try.  Next time I’ll simply whip out a dental dam (or sheet of Saran Wrap) and announce that unless he licks me to orgasm, I’m leaving and never coming back.

January 18, 2012. Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Good men come in twos, apparently

by Daphne Reese

Throughout my dating career, I have noticed a peculiar trend that, in recent months, has reached the point of absurdity.  Whenever I am dating a guy—let’s say, a doctor named Demetrios—I will inevitably meet and end up dating another guy with the same name or occupation.  Keep in mind, I am not deliberately seeking this out.  It just happens.  Sometimes I think there really might be a god, and if so, she has a wicked sense of humor.

To give you an idea of what I’m talking about, let’s review:

Two Brits

A couple summers ago, I was dating two British guys at the same time.  (How I love that English accent!) They were both living in Boston, and I have no idea if they knew each other.  The main problem was that my roommates could not tell them apart and would inevitably call them by the wrong name when one of them came by to pick me up for a date.

Two Nathans

Last spring, I was dating two Nathans at the same time.  As you can imagine, this led to massive confusion amongst my friends.  To keep them straight, I began calling one Nate and the other Nathan.

Two Greek doctors

Now, this is where things get really crazy.  There aren’t that many Greeks in Boston, but it seems that once you meet one, you have infiltrated their secret society and you suddenly start meeting them everywhere.  As things were fizzling out with Demetrios the Greek doctor last month, out of the blue I met another Greek doctor named Demetrios.  You can’t make this stuff up.  There’s actually a pretty funny email I wrote to my friends while I was mourning the Demetrios breakup, something like “I know I’ll find another guy, but what are the chances he’ll be a tall, dark, and handsome Greek doctor?”  As it turns out, the chances were pretty good.  I like to think of it as a message from the universe that there truly are millions of great guys out there, and if you find one guy you like, you can rest assured there are more out there just like him.  Demetrios I is now out of the picture, but Demetrios II and I had our fourth date last week, and things seem to be going well.  I haven’t yet told Demetrios II about his predecessor, but he keeps asking me awkward questions like “So, I’m the first Greek you’ve dated?”  Umm… not exactly.

Two Drummers

Two other guys I’m currently dating also share a profession.  By day, they are tech guys working for major companies.  And by night, they are drummers in bands (one is a wedding band, the other is a punk band).  I’ve always had a major fondness for musicians (usually guitar players), but I’ve never dated a drummer before.  Naturally, once I started dating one, along comes the second one.

I’m eager to see what fate has in store for me next.  A duo of Swedish underwear models, perhaps?

January 12, 2012. Uncategorized. 1 comment.

Texts from Douchebags: Los Angeles edition

by Daphne Reese

After all my talk about using Vonage to make boys call instead of text, have I given up texting entirely? Hardly. And since I’m still texting boys, I’m still getting a lot of texts from douchebags. And so today begins a new recurring series at Stilettos: Texts from Douchebags! Today we have quite the text conversation for you, courtesy of Matt-Steve.

Matt-Steve is a native Bostonian-turned-LA-transplant whom I met while he was home over the holidays. I’m pretty sure he originally introduced himself as Matt, but then it turned out his name was Steve, hence the double moniker. People in LA are known for being superficial, but Matt-Steve really takes it to the next level. He claimed to be in the “music industry,” which I’m sure helps him bang lots of bimbos in LA desperate to get their bands discovered. But he is clearly out of practice when it comes to courting respectable Boston women.

I met him at a bar, yes, but then he proceeded to ask me out twice—both times for late-night drinks where he was already hammered and obviously angling for a booty call. Tired of his antics, I bailed out early on the second night, gathered up my girlfriends and said we were going home. In truth, we just walked down the block to the next bar.

Dec. 24, 1:17am
Matt-Steve: Not sure how the wheels fell off but I continually love hanging out with you.

Meanwhile, at Bar #2, I had already met a new guy and was shamelessly making out with him. Right about then Matt-Steve, looking for a change of scenery, comes walking into the bar and discovers me mid-makeout session with Guy #2.

Dec. 24, 1:58am
Matt-Steve: Lose my number

Daphne: Will do. Just bc I’m feeling generous, an explanation: you remind me of my ex-boyfriend. Also, you would have done better inviting me out to dinner instead of out for drinks twice in a row. That is all.

Matt-Steve: I’m sorry you are just being you and I saw it and this is me telling you I’m disappointed. Very. Also, I live in LA where girls in Boston that are “hot” are very average. So, physically, that wasn’t the draw.

Wow, so I’m not “LA hot?” Ouch. I wasn’t even going to respond, but then my friends convinced me we should have some fun with Matt-Steve. So, we decided to see how outrageously shallow we could get before Matt-Steve realized we were joking (apparently, it took him a while!). All “Daphne” texts from this point on are 100% bullshit just to mess with him.

Dec. 24, 3:51am
Daphne: I’m disappointed that you are disappointed (very) in me, it’s truly worse than you being mad at me for making out with that other guy, but he had nice jeans. Also, I consider myself in a range of 7.5 to 9 (Chicago Ranking) and I think of you as like an 8, so I thought we matched up quite well. BTW is your name Matt or Steve?

Matt-Steve: I don’t do “number” rankings and make out with people because of their jeans. I’m an adult. Physically I found you attractive but it was more chemistry because “looks” only go so far and unfortunately I believe this may be as far as we go for now because I leave Tuesday.

Dec. 24, 11:21am
Matt-Steve: Haha just read through all these texts. How do you come up with a “Chicago” number ranking and is that weighed differently than Boston?

Daphne: Listen, Frank, after being called “average” I felt the need to give you my most recent “Hot or Not” (national) score. (It’s an 8.7, nbd) And speaking of chemistry, slight correction from last text: he had nice “genes” not “jeans” (autocorrect). Do you have a Hot or Not score? Seriously is your name Matt or Steve?

Matt-Steve: (evidently googled “Hot or Not” and discovered the website for the first time): Holy shit, there is a website that you submitted a picture to be judged by a score? This is unreal, learning so much, who needs dinner.

Daphne: So you don’t have a Hot or Not profile?

Matt-Steve: Never heard of it. Send me your profile I have to check it out. You thinking I’m an 8 and the women accosting me after you left is all the validation I need.

(Because I do not actually have a Hot or Not profile, I send him nothing).

Dec. 24, 10:48pm
Matt-Steve: No way you are a real blonde.

(Trying to insult me, I suppose. Is questioning one’s blondeness the ultimate insult in LA?)

Daphne: And no way you are a real ginger.

Matt-Steve: Gingers are red heads. I’m dirty blonde.

(This is hilarious because Matt-Steve is obviously in denial. His hair is red, his face is freckled, and he is a textbook ginger).

Since Matt-Steve clearly is not getting that this is all a joke, I decide to clue him in.

Dec. 24, 11:20pm
Daphne: Obviously I’m hilarious and 100% messing with you. Maybe you would have found that out sooner if you had showed some interest in getting to know me rather than grinding my ass. I think you’d best return to LA where girls might be stupid enough to go for your “take me home” line.

Matt-Steve: It’s obvious we’re both messing around. Hilarious is an overstatement but you are kind of funny and personable. I’m not in the market for anything deeper than a little fun, so you should actually respect the fact that I didn’t pretend to be interested in more. You should have seen my moves after you left.

Daphne: Yeah yeah, and all the girls were hitting on you, coincidentally just as soon as we left. Well, this has been fun. I am going to refer back to the original “lose my #” text and do just that.

Matt-Steve: You’re mean

Daphne: You’re median

Matt-Steve: So I’m average as well 🙂

Matt-Steve just doesn’t want to let this go. He texts again the following day.

Dec. 25, 1:37pm
Matt-Steve: Merry Christmas Scrooge McHighmaintanence

Daphne: Thanks! You too, Nightmare Before Christmas.

Dec. 25, 5:56pm
Matt-Steve: Too bad hot or not doesn’t have a personality ranking. You’d move up a few points. Had I known you could keep up with the humor I would have willingly hung out with you sober.

I’ve stopped responding in the hope that Matt-Steve will go away. But the next day, another text comes in.

Dec. 26, 8:23pm
Matt-Steve: I’m leaving tomorrow, do you want me to lose your number or text you next time around? I forgive you for making out with that mongoloid human after me.

Daphne: Wait, I thought I was supposed to lose your number. I’m confused.

Matt-Steve: Initially I was disappointed because I tend to put women on an unachievable pedestal and while I don’t have confidence that you wouldn’t leave me in a second to go make out with another dude… You are interesting enough to keep in the rotation. I’m sure it was because you felt disrespected with my antics of not getting your number or asking you on a date.

Yes, Matt-Steve, that’s partly it. Also, you’re a complete douchebag.

At this point, you might expect Matt-Steve to stop texting. But clearly I have gotten under his skin somehow. Probably he’s not used to dating intelligent women who will stand up to him and call him out on his BS.

Dec. 30, 11:45pm

Matt-Steve: I tell women that are rude in Boston that I see hotter girls working at Trader Joes out here. It’s part of my charm. You have a better personality than most girls at Trader Joes. That work?

Daphne: Ha. I’m never quite sure if you’re joking, or the most shallow man on earth. I guess that’s just part of your charm.

Matt-Steve: Says the girl who couldn’t remember my name… I’ll keep you on your toes but I keep it real. I’ve thrown compliments your way and “pumped your tires”

Jan 5, 11:46am
Matt-Steve: 80 and sunny again. There’s a reason women out here have the personality of a grapefruit.

Is the dating scene in LA truly this awful? I decided to ask Chopstick’s opinion, since he moved to LA last year from Boston.

Daphne: Are people in LA really as superficial and stupid as the stereotype makes them out to be?

Chopstick: Oh yes. Yes they are are. Disappointingly so. Matt-Steve does strike me as a native. On average, the cute girl in Boston on the subway in a hoodie ends up being a Harvard law student or something who has her shit ridiculously together. On average, the stunner in LA ends up trying to impress you with the last Victoria’s Secret event she went to, so she can disguise her dead-end cocktail waitress career and thinly veiled upbringing issues.

Yikes! As hopeless as the Boston dating scene sometimes seems to be, at least we can all be thankful we’re not in LA.

January 11, 2012. Tags: , , , . Texts from Douchebags. 2 comments.

Vonage: The dating girl’s secret weapon

By Daphne Reese

Texting and dating just don’t mix.  More often than not, the short and ambiguous  nature of texts leads to massive misunderstandings (like the debacle with Demetrios I recently blogged about).

However, men today simply love texting.  Probably because it’s incredibly lazy.  Long gone are the days when a man would methodically plan out what to say, nervously dial your number, and anxiously wait for your answer to “Would you like to go to dinner this weekend?”  Instead, today he will just jot a quick text (“Dinner tmrw?”) and hit send.  If you are anything like my friends, you probably can’t even remember the last time a man called you.  It’s all text, all the time, and it’s incredibly frustrating for us girls.

I recently read a book called Text. Love. Power. The Ultimate Girls Relationship Guide for Texting and Dating in the New Millennium, which offered a militant solution to the texting-and-dating problem.  Don’t text with men at all.  The book suggested you should go so far as to call your carrier and actually disable texting on your phone so no one can text you.  Or, if that’s not feasible (obviously, it’s not!), then you should buy a second cell phone—a complete clunker phone, without text capabilities, that you use solely for dating.  That way, when you’re out with a guy, you can whip out your antiquated Zack Morris phone and he will instantly understand why you can’t text with him.

Luckily, I have a realistic third option to offer you: start giving guys your landline number.  A landline, you say?  Who the hell still has a landline?  Well, we had to install one at our apartment due to lack of cell reception, but it has proved to be a potent secret weapon when it comes to dating.  Actually, it’s not a landline at all, but a Vonage VOIP line that acts like a real phone but only costs $25.99/month for unlimited calls.  I’m telling you, this is a small investment to reclaim your dating life.

Here’s how it works.  A guy recently asked me for my number at a bar, and as an experiment, I gave him the landline number instead of my cellphone.  I didn’t mention it was a landline, just gave him the digits and split.  Then I totally forgot about it.  One evening a few days later, the landline rang.

Daphne: “Hello?”

Guy from bar: “Hi, is this Daphne?  This is Greg from Red Lantern last week.”

Daphne: “Hi, Greg.”

Greg (incredulously): “Umm, is this a landline?”

Daphne: “Why, yes it is.  Why do you ask?”

Greg: “Well, I tried texting you a couple times this week, but it bounced back with an error message saying it was a landline.”

Eureka!  I had found the secret to make a man call you.  My roommate and I immediately began making use of this new discovery.

The shock that men express when they realize you gave them a landline number is priceless.  Or even better, if you have a roommate like I do, you can answer each other’s calls.  Imagine a guy calling Daphne, but Parker picks up instead.

Guy: “Hi, is this Daphne?”

Parker: “Just a minute, let me go get her.  Daphne!  Daphne, you have a telephone call!”

A man probably hasn’t encountered this phone situation since 1995, and it will definitely make an impression on him.  Obviously, he knows you have a cell phone, but you chose not to give it to him.  He has to earn the privilege of being able to contact you 24/7 on your cell.

The irony of the whole thing is, because Vonage is VOIP (and not a real landline), I can do anything I want with the number, including automatically forwarding the calls to my cell phone so I can answer calls even when I’m not at home.  And if a guy leaves me a voice message, Vonage instantly types it up and emails it to my iPhone.  Just like texting.  😉

January 6, 2012. Uncategorized. 4 comments.