Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks. Or how to Kiss.

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Last night I had to make the obligatory “I hope things won’t be awkward, and that you don’t hate me” call. You see, things went sour with Crooked Star. I really wanted it to work. He had an interesting job, was cute (but not too cute, which I’ve had a problem with in the past), had good style, had great taste in music, was really smart, and took me on fun dates. Sounds perfect, non? It does. And I was excited about it. But then we kissed.

I pride myself in knowing that I am a good kisser. I honestly don’t understand how anyone can NOT be. There have been many boys who have the exact same kissing style as me, most of those were the too cute boys above. Is that why they are good kissers? Because (not unlike me) they have a decent amount of experience kissing? I don’t understand how a boy can be 28 years old and still just not know how to do it right.

I felt AWFUL. My biggest fear had been realized, yet again. Perfect guy, got along great, but the severe lack of sexual chemistry just killed it. I fully realize that a lot of people can look past it, I’ve even heard that it can get better, so I tried. I tried to look past it, in hopes it would get better.

We continued to see each other, but my eyes (among other things) were wandering. He was back on my mind, and we started talking again. I held off fully committing to this guy because I had a bad feeling the moment I would be exclusive with him, I would stray.

Then one night, I met up with him after a few glasses of wine, and I felt like a breakthrough happened. We kissed and it didn’t give me the bad kind of chills, but rather the good kind. Could it be true? Did we finally click?

It’s amazing what wine can do. Because it was not fixed. I met up with him on New Years Eve and it was back to square one. We just did things so differently, and I just could not get over how… not smooth he was. Everything was just too forced and rushed and it just felt like high school again where you are figuring things out. I couldn’t let him touch me anymore, I needed to make excuses for us to stop kissing. This is very uncharacteristic of me. I love love to kiss boys (I am still typing up my May 2009 entry, where much of this is revealed), so the fact that I felt sick when we kissed, I knew this just wasn’t going to happen.

I felt awful, I felt guilty. I tried to overcompensate. Tried to look past it. I called him to apologize for my bizarre behaviour, he seemed ok with it. I asked him to go to a show with me and my friends. Asked him if he wanted to go for dinner. I do this constantly when I feel bad. I try to force myself to like them, and make them think I really like them. Meanwhile, I had started going on dates with other boys, and was talking to him on a daily basis.

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This overcompensation freaked him out. He thought it to be the opposite and that I was crazy for him, in an obsessively stalker girlfriend type way. If only he knew the truth. He told me I was coming on too strong, and that I was texting him too much (I had counted 3 text messages, 2 were mass texts saying “balconies at supermarket” and “download yeasayer and buy tickets for may”). Poor guy. I realize his ego was bruised, but making excuses because I wouldn’t sleep with you? I can’t say I blame him, I would be frustrated too, but he was implying that I was obsessed with him, and so I had to make a few clarifications.

I would never share with him that he was a bad kisser, and that I felt zero sexual attraction to him. Despite his rude accusations, I wouldn’t stoop to his level. I just shared a few details, like the fact that he was telling me this on a Saturday night, at 8:30, when I’m on my way out the door for a dinner date with another guy. Or that I had gone on 3 other dates the past week and week prior. And that I definitely was not sure if I wanted to commit to him either, and that his comments had offended me. Get off your high horse, I’m not obsessed with you.

So, that was that. An ending that I am so familiar with. Many perfect on paper guys out there, with a severe lack of intel on what the woman body wants, needs, and craves. Hell, not even the woman body, the woman’s mind too.