Jeremy’s inability to do ten one-handed push-ups completely turned me off. He barely did five push-ups, and I managed to double his effort and do a walking handstand. Ugh! When am I ever going to meet a real man? Weak men have no place in my heart. I need someone who’s going to outdo me in everything.
He has to be taller, stronger, make more money and definitely be better in bed than me. Why is that too much to ask for? My dating experience taught me that Mom adopted the right approach by raising me to be an independent and strong woman. Had I depended on a man, I would’ve been highly disappointed.
I’m satisfied for reaching financial independence. If only I didn’t need men for an emotional and physical connection, I wouldn’t need them at all. I admit that I miss having a dick inside of me. The last time was eight months ago.
Rocco was a manly man—rough around the edges physically and definitely mentally. His rugged looks conveyed that he didn’t care what people thought about him, and he confirmed that sentiment with the way he spoke. On our first date, he told me several times to shut my mouth. At first, I thought he was joking, but he meant it.
Usually, I don’t put out on the first date, but he was different. I had to know if he’d roughen me up in bed. A smirk appears on my face just thinking about our night together. Oh, God, how I wish the aggressive sex had carried on.
He threw me onto the bed, choked me, spat on my face and told me that I was the dirtiest whore he’d ever seen. My face flushed red as he exerted severe pressure on my throat. Oddly, it made the sex kinkier.
After pounding me hard from behind for well over half an hour, Rocco slipped his big dick into my back door. I wasn’t expecting that. He hadn’t asked for my permission or if I had lube.
The corners of my eyes creased as I squeezed them shut tightly, and I clenched the sheet as he ripped my ass wide open. Sharp, high-pitched screams shot out of my mouth. Sweat covered my forehead, and a few beads slid down the side of my face as Rocco persisted with pounding me hard.
He held my wrists behind my back as we rattled, eventually releasing them and stopping to permit me to catch my breath.
He hooked his arm over my abdomen and pulled me on top of him as he lay on the bed. I opened my legs further apart as I lay on Rocco’s chest and he rubbed my clit while drilling me.
Before cumming, Rocco demanded that I lie on the bed. He kneeled in front of my head and spanked his dick on my forehead, nose and eyelids before shoving his dick into my mouth. I swallowed his load.
I desperately want to relive that night with him or any other man who is like Rocco. Pity that he chose to stay with his wife over building a life with me. He said that his children were his priority and it was important that they grow up with both parents in the household.
He was right. Mom wouldn’t have needed part-time work along with her full-time job if Dad had supported us. Seeing tears course down her cheeks because she couldn’t afford Christmas gifts broke my heart. That was one of the main motivations for me to start work at the age of 15.
The poor treatment from my misogynist bosses encouraged me to start my own business. But I needed capital. The bank wouldn’t grant me a loan because I had no credit history, so I started stripping at the age of 18.
Three years later, I had saved enough money to open a dance studio. I hosted Salsa evenings and instructed Zumba and Pilates to boost the revenue.
My business also boosted my dating life. I met a few men at the Salsa evenings who took me out. Almost all of them were nice guys or taken, and they wanted me for only one night. I’m amazed at how I always meet the wrong type.
During the date, I felt compelled to prove to them that I was their equal. I’d challenge them to arm wrestling or a drinking competition to outdrink them. On a few occasions, I got heavily sloshed and taken advantage of sexually.
Now that I’m pushing 30, I’m worried about my eggs not being able to crack. I’d love to have children, but the kind of men I want prioritise other women over me. Some of them don’t even have jobs, but they’re amazing in bed and know how to handle me.
I bow my head, close my eyes and rub my forehead as I think about the current state of the dating market. It’s a cesspool. The men I want are emotionally unavailable and the ones who want me aren’t men enough for me. What’s a girl to do?
I considered taking the sperm donor route and raising the child by myself. But I want to give my child what I didn’t have—a present father.
After completing my profile, I handed it to my matchmaker. She looked at it and asked, “Lindsey, I need to be completely honest and upfront with you to give you the best chance possible of finding love.”
Initially, that sounded refreshing. I yearned for honesty. But she was brutal.
She added, “Your requirements for a man are going to make it very difficult for us to match you with anyone.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You need to be more realistic. Your standards are way too high, and in certain cases, you contradict yourself. Here, let me show you what I mean.”
She picked up my application off the table and said, “You mentioned wanting a real man who is in touch with his feelings.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Lindsey, most masculine men are not in touch with their feelings. That’s the reason they’re masculine.” She stared at me briefly, then lowered her gaze to the application and added, “You want him to be traditional, and he must treat you as his equal.”
“Yes, that’s the new world we’re living in today.”
“Traditional men pay the bill and protect the household. Are you saying that you want to pay half of all the bills and stand by his side and defend your house when an intruder breaks in?”
“No, that’s his role.”
“Then, you can’t expect him to treat you like his equal.”
“Of course I can. I’m just as capable of doing all the things that he can do.”
“But will you do them when push comes to shove?”
I thought about it for a few seconds. “I might.”
“When it suits you?”
“Exactly.”
She sneered. “If we apply equality according to your suitability, then he should pay expenses only when it suits him and protect you when he feels like it.”
We stared at each other. Her comments irked me. I felt that she was on her male client’s side more than she was on mine. Maybe they paid her more, so she chose to defend them.
To break the tension, I asked, “What do you suggest?”
“I’ve worked with thousands of clients, and I tell most of them to be more realistic about their potential matches. Look at what you have to offer and think about the kind of man who would be interested in you. As an example, if you’re in your thirties, it may be difficult to find a man in that range because those men want women in their 20s. Sure, some men may be interested in you, but if that’s a hard rule for you, it immediately narrows your pool. You get what I’m saying?”
I get that you’re being a complete bitch, I thought. I forced a smile and said, “Okay. Sure.”
I went home and thought about my dating life for the last decade. I felt that the universe conspired against me to ensure my loneliness. Regardless of what I did, I was destined for solitude. Or maybe, the problem wasn’t me. It was men. I mean, when was the last time I met a really amazing guy who wasn’t married or gay?
I thought about it for several minutes and concluded that years had passed.
Giving up on finding love popped into my mind. It was the most convenient option. I would no longer be anxious about presenting myself in the best light on first dates. I wouldn’t need to subject myself to boring conversations and mamma’s boys who expected me to cook and clean for them. Watching my figure wouldn’t dictate my lifestyle, and heartbreak would be a thing of the past.
Letting go of love seemed like the perfect solution.
Recollecting the friends I had lost because they found husbands and had children made me question my next move. They moved on and seemed happy with their families while I remained without a family and them. Seeing the joyful interactions with their families made me desire my own. Sure, heartbreak is possible and dating is exhausting, but if I meet the one, the effort will be worth it.
Hmmm, what did that wicked witch at the agency say? I should be more realistic or something like that?
Well, let’s look at what I’ve got to offer. I’m beautiful, smart, a business owner, funny, charming, loyal, charismatic, can stand my own ground and I’m a challenge. Which man wouldn’t want that?
I had no idea what she was on about, telling me that I needed to analyse my options. All men would be lucky to be with me.
I look up, exhale a deep breath and drop my shoulders. Where is my Mr Right?
After watching a dating consultant on YouTube, I started getting ready. He mentioned that my hair and makeup should look divine. Next, I slipped into a cocktail dress that reached above my knees and exposed enough of my chest to pique interest and leave some to the imagination.
The destination? An upmarket cocktail bar.
The consultant from the video said that’s the playground of high-value men, as he referred to them.
At the bar, I sat at a forty-five-degree angle to appear open to meeting men. I brought a book and placed it on the bar and left my phone at home. He said that people read books when they’re alone, and if I played on my phone, the man I wanted would think that I’m communicating with the person I’m about to meet.
I ordered a salad and wine. Occasionally, I looked behind me, scanned the venue and smiled, just like he said. I needed to convey openness to meeting men.
The high seat next to me was open. A woman stood beside me and asked if it was available. I replied, “No, I’m sorry. I’m waiting for somebody.”
I wasn’t lying. I had no idea who he was, but I hoped that I was sending out the right signals to attract him.
The consultant said I should ensure that my face is relaxed at all times, placing emphasis on not having a locked jaw.
After being at the bar for almost an hour, my belief in meeting someone special had dwindled. I was aware of my face tensing up, so I forced a smile and scanned the tables behind me.
I felt silly, desperate, lonely and foolish. Why did I listen to some stranger on the internet tell me what to do? Okay, maybe he didn’t make me do this, but he put the stupid idea in my head.
I tightened my lips, rolled my eyes and shook my head, thinking about how a man had disappointed me again. The worst part is that I had never met him.
I needed a timeout, so I headed to the bathroom. Leaning on the basin and into the mirror, I admired my facial features. Reminding myself that I was beautiful and any man would be fortunate to be with me calmed me down.
Okay, Lins, don’t let a minor setback throw you off track. Keep your eyes on the prize, I thought. I exhaled a deep breath, flipped my hair back and smiled.
A man joined the woman sitting to my left. I looked behind me and saw a man pull a chair for his woman. My head turned back to my plate, and I closed my eyes briefly. Why is nobody coming up to me?
After reminding myself to remain patient, I ordered another glass of wine. Drinking always helped to drown my misery. Unfortunately, it didn’t work this time.
Downing the third glass made me feel slightly woozy. I knew if I risked another glass, I might stumble on the way to the taxi.
Waiting for Mr Right without drinking felt amiss. Strangely, I felt that getting drunk would be retribution to the Universe for not sending him. I know, it was silly. The Universe didn’t care about me. If it had, I would be happily married with children.
I jabbed the remaining lettuce leaves with my fork. The entire outing felt like a failure. If any man had approached me, I would’ve felt better. It was time to throw in the towel.
In the taxi, I stared out of the window, wondering if I’d ever meet my other half. Maybe he felt complete and had no desire for a relationship. I imagined him climbing the corporate ladder, engaging in cut-throat negotiations and working tirelessly late into the night. He probably had no time to think about me.
I was certain that his ambition would divert towards me if he had the pleasure of crossing my path. But where is he?
At home, I logged onto YouTube and watched a follow-up video of the consultant I had foolishly entertained before. He encouraged me not to dwell on an unsuccessful night and to keep putting myself out there. He said that my chances of meeting him increased drastically if I remained persistent.
The mere thought of replaying tonight’s outing and exposing myself again to the mental torment made me want to log off and not bother finding love. But before the ending, he said, “What other choice you got?”
I could’ve ignored his question and deluded myself into believing that I could live alone, but the aching desire to feel love and see my jolly children run up to me at the front door would have gnawed at me.
As much as I hated admitting it, the on-screen stranger was right. Finding the love of my life was my only option, even if it felt humiliating and repetitive.
The following night was Sunday. Initially, I wanted to abandon my mission of going out because I thought that Mr Right would be at home, but I changed my mind.
I opted for jeans, a tank top and high heels. That combination was the middle ground for smart and casual wear. I wanted to appear presentable but not be overdressed for a stroll through the park.
The sun had dipped behind the skyscrapers and illuminated the background in gold while the streets in front of the buildings had preempted the dark.
After grabbing an ice cream cup, I went to the park. The bench on the far side was vacant. I walked past a young couple who rubbed their noses before smooching. Cute.
I sat on the bench and relaxed my face, recalling what the consultant said about appearing friendly. Looking around the park while smiling made me feel slightly silly, but I felt that I honoured my responsibility of looking open to meeting people.
Looking at my cup and nearing the spoon to my mouth, I noticed a man in my peripheral vision. Craning my head up, I smiled and locked eyes with him. His black turtle-neck jersey suited his brown hair, separated into a middle part hairstyle. His smooth, pale skin suggested a lifestyle free of cigarettes and alcohol.
“Hi,” I said, uncertain of what prompted me to greet first. Surely, that was his job?
Remaining silent for a few seconds, eventually, he asked, “May I join you?” gesturing at the bench.
I compressed my lips and nodded. He slowly sat beside me, his gaze brushing past my face as he admired the surroundings.
I watched him as he looked around. His handsome looks grabbed my attention, but his poise kept it. He took his time, not feeling the urge to rush anything.
He tilted his head slightly to the left, meeting my eyes. I ensured that I was smiling. He stuck his hand out and said, “James.”
“Lindsey. It’s nice to meet you, James.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” That made me chuckle slightly. “What brings you by here tonight, Lindsey?”
Looking into his brown eyes, I felt compelled to profess the truth. The consultant said I should be vulnerable and brutally honest.
“I was hoping to run into someone my type.”
“And what is that?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, chivalrous, smart and a great conversationalist.”
“I’ve got only one of those characteristics.”
I bowed my head and chuckled into my chest. “Which one is that?” I asked, smiling.
“I’ve got the height, not the rest.”
His expressionless face didn’t give away whether he was joking or being serious. That made him seem mysterious, and I had to know more about him.
“What brings you by?” I asked.
“I wanted to get some fresh air and clear my mind before the new work week.”
“What work do you do if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I manage a hedge fund,” he said, looking straight ahead.
“Sounds interesting.”
He slowly turned to me and said, “Not really.”
James made me chuckle again. I was certain that he wasn’t trying to be funny, but his slow movements and monotone voice were amusing to me.
“What would you rather be doing?”
“I’d love to be a professional musician. I play the guitar.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, wow. That’s cool. I didn’t expect that.”
Looking at me for a few seconds, James eventually said somberly, “Most people don’t.”
I tightened my lips, trying really hard to compress my smile. I didn’t want to be rude, but I badly wanted to burst into laughter.
One would have to be an expert interrogator to figure out James. He was as authentic as one can be or a master of disguising his character. I preferred to believe it was the former.
A few minutes later, he suggested that we stroll around the park. I spoke mostly, and James filled in the gaps. His attentiveness made me believe that he was genuinely interested in getting to know me.
He offered to walk me home, but I accepted his companionship until a few blocks from my place. A girl can never be too careful. Too many creeps out there.
James asked for my phone number. Slightly hesitant to give a stranger my contact details, I told him my number after realising that I need to take more risks.
On Monday morning, a text came through on my phone. Hope you have a great day. James. I replied with a smiling emoji.
On several occasions throughout the day, I reread the message. Meeting James filled me with hope that I would be with Mr Right, even if it wasn’t him.
The following day, James didn’t contact me. Wednesday dragged in the same outcome. On Thursday, I felt slightly irritated with him because I thought that he was mature and went after what he wanted. Apparently, I had been disappointed again.
On Friday afternoon, just before home time, my phone beeped. Hey, Lindsey. I was hoping we could grab ice cream after work. James.
The nerve of him not to contact me for the rest of the week and then expect that I jump at the first opportunity he presents.
After battling my ego, I surrendered. We met at the same bench.
“I’m sorry that I was quiet after the initial message. Work was unbelievably hectic this week,” he said.
I smiled. “No problem at all. I didn’t notice because I was busy.”
Darn. I shouldn’t have lied. That’s not a good way to start a relationship. Listen to me. Did I just say the R word?
“How do you feel about travelling?” asked James.
“I love it. I’ve been to thirty countries.”
“Impressive.”
I was surprised to see some facial expressions from James. His eyebrows raised for a quick second.
“Don’t you feel like packing up and leaving all of this behind to go somewhere and start a brand new life without restrictions and with someone special?” he added.
We looked at each other for a few seconds, and I said, “Yeah, that sounds appealing.”
“To me, too. If only I had someone to go with,” he said, gazing into my eyes.
I smiled and then broke eye contact. His stare and serious tone intimidated me slightly. The thought of embarking on that journey made me anxious.
In my peripheral, I saw that James was still looking at me. That prompted me to believe that he waited for me to answer.
I looked at him and smiled, hoping that he would relieve me of the duty to answer him on the spot.
“Why don’t you and I have dinner tonight?” asked James.
I nodded. “Sure. I’d love that.”
I allowed James to escort me to my building. He said that he’d pick me up at eight and that I should wear something classy. The nerve of him to tell me what to wear. A part of me thought he was cheeky, and I like that. A man who puts me in my place will always have my attention more than someone I can walk all over.
The food was lovely and so was the company. James insisted on paying the bill as he believed in traditional roles.
He escorted me home and walked next to the curb so that he would protect me from potential dangers on the road. I thought that was lovely.
In front of my building, he pressed his soft lips against mine, and I held onto his lapel. The kiss was lovely, and I wish it had lasted longer. James pulled away first. I guess he wanted to save the rest for later.
After we dated for a few weeks, I invited him for a drink at my place. I took the opportunity to build a stronger bond. It definitely wasn’t an invitation for sex. But that was on his mind.
He slid his hand up my leg and stared at my eyes. Eye contact with him was always intense. He crashed his lips into mine and then felt my breasts. He scooped me into his arms and then carried me to the bedroom.
Considering his laid-back demeanour, James was surprisingly wild in the bedroom. In doggy, he slapped my ass numerous times and told me that I was a dirty whore who he wanted to bang in the ass. I thought that was so hot.
He stuck his dick in between my tits and told me to lick his tip. He stared at me while I did what he commanded.
James lay on the bed, and I got on top of him, holding onto the top of the headboard. My tits hung above his head as I swayed while he held my ass and stared at my tits. I pressed my hands on his chest, straightened my back and rode him. He held my waist and watched my bouncy tits.
A few minutes later, he told me to lie on my back. He got on top of me and put his arms under my neck and then instructed me to grab his ass. His cheek brushed mine as he bobbed back and forth.
Abruptly, he tensed his body and groaned as he shot his load inside of me.
We took a shower together, our hands and lips unable to part.
A few weeks later, after taking me out to dinner, James asked, “Why have you never offered to cook for me?”
“I…um. No particular reason.”
“No, I think there is a reason. I took you out to dinner to show you that I care about you, but apparently you don’t care enough about me to make me dinner.”
“I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
He raised his chin and peered at me. “Let me ask you something. Let’s say that we needed to make an important decision, but we disagreed. Who would make the final call?”
“We’d compromise and come to a mutual understanding.”
“No, we disagree. There’s no compromise. We simply disagree, and one of us must decide. Who is that going to be? Are you going to yield power to me?”
I looked at the floor, stunned that he would put me on the spot. “We’d work it out.”
“That’s the incorrect answer, Lindsey. I, as the man, would make the decision, and you should obey it, even if you don’t like it. The problem with the women of today is that you want all the benefits that a traditional man provides, but you guys aren’t traditional.”
“I don’t know where this is coming from.”
“This is a very important hurdle that we have to overcome if we are to move forward. You have to submit to me and let me take control. You don’t mind when I pay the bill because you believe that’s a man’s role, but when it comes to making important decisions, you want the authority. It doesn’t work that way, Lindsey. As for not cooking for me, that’s rooted in selfishness and not loving me. A mother cooks for her son because she loves him and wants to provide the most important necessity—nutrition. It’s how she shows her love towards him. A woman who doesn’t cook for her man doesn’t love him. Imagine if I didn’t pay for dinner and didn’t protect you, but I kept extracting value from you. Would you not feel that I was selfish and didn’t really care about you?”
I looked at him for several seconds, uncertain of how to answer.
He added, “I’m asking you a question.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s because you actually don’t feel the need to offer anything. You think you’re the prize and it’s enough to just exist. It’s not the way it works. This equality garbage that you’re spewing doesn’t work in the real world. I don’t have a problem with fulfilling my role as a traditional man, but I’m not going to receive benefits from a traditional woman because you’re not one. And that’s the real problem.”
I watched James walk away from me. I wanted to believe that he’d call me the following day and the unpleasant conversation we had would remain in the past, but I knew that it would hang over us like a dark cloud, serving as a constant reminder of our incompatibility.