Jazz Hands.

by Disco

Tuesday I went out with a man named Tony, a jazz musician around 25 years old. We had spoken quite a bit online before he asked me out, and set up a date for the Thursday previous but circumstances caused us to postpone. In the days between, we got closer, and told each other some secrets. Then, we met.

Tony was - in looks, in stature, in pretentiousness, in every way - an echo of an ex boyfriend.

An exboyfriend who also happened to be named Tony.

And who happened to have been from a very sordid period of my life. I do not look upon memories with Original Tony with happiness, or with even romantic inclinations. Just... shame and sadness.

I tried to give New Tony a chance. But I wasn't having it. But for some reason, despite all that... I fucked him. Maybe it was because Original Tony had had a traumatic experience and never let me go all the way, and I wanted to finally complete that goal - get Original Tony to get carried away enough to sleep with me. New Tony even had a very similar penis - uncircumcised, about five inches, flat, almost. Tony wasn't good at findng my clit, the way this guy was (that guy shall from now on be referred to as Hugh,) either. Tony begged me to let him not use a condom - and I refused to agree to such a thing, I made him wear one. I should have shut down the whole shebang then because that was a major turn-off. Several times throughout he made little hints about how it would be better if he wasn't wearing a condom. Please. Like I care about your popping one off more than I care about my general health and life. There was also this funny lack of passion going on. I love sex when you both get into it so much you don't even notice anything, or you don't care - that something fell over, that your head is hitting the wall, blah blah. It wasn't like that. It was, like, clinical... Finally, I told him to just stop and he could jack off and come anywhere on my body he wanted, below the face because I just was not interested anymore. So he did. Then invited himself to stay over.

Thankfully, whoever lives above me was making such a ruckus, he finally left. The next day I told him I wasn't interested.

The whole affair reminded me of that scene in When Harry Met Sally... where Harry is telling Sally about his first date post-Helen, and how awful it went and his panic attack and she comforts him by saying it might be a long time before they find somebody they like, and even longer before they find somebody they can go to bed with - and he says "Oh, I went to bed with her."

I don't know when it happened that I turned into a man, but I'm not really enjoying it. I keep wanting to go on dates because I don't want to be the pathetic celibate girl that just waits for her love to come back - her love who might not come back, and might doubly not come back if she turns into that pathetic celibate girl who can't live without him. I don't want to not be able to live without Jack. But, I also don't want to live without him. So I keep going on these dates, but these dates just remind me that I don't want to be dating. I sleep with people to get the experience I used to be afraid I would miss if Jack and I worked out, but I realise the experience isn't as good as being with him was.