I wasn’t willing to find out.
Bennett and I have stopped all contact for going on 6 weeks or so- more of that in some other post – so I have taken a more serious approach to making sure I get myself out there.
My dating stories are sure not to be as exciting as they were in 2014, I am pretty sure I have outgrown most of the post-divorce antics I participated in. It takes so much more to turn me on now. My sex life went from being the Sahara Desert to a Tropical Oasis in less than a years time. I learned what I liked and what I didn’t and more importantly, I learned what I really wanted.
Part of that learning was understanding my own desires and how they are triggered. While I was, for a short time, triggered by any possibility to be turned on and have sex, I now realize that doesn’t really do it for me (mostly). I am much more interested by the romance and attraction that leads to spectacular sex. I am not capable (most times) of booty calls and not interested in one-nighters. I learned that there is no value in the sex-for-sex-sake for me. I don’t particularly like how I feel mid-way through or the morning after.
I don’t think it eliminates the potential for a date leading to sex. I know I am just that much more aware of the value.
I want him (whoever that is) to desire me. I want to feel his heat and desire, both verbally and physically. And, usually, I want to really know there is more behind the physical- that he really like me for me. The electric chemistry needs to be there.
So, I have made much better dating choices. It sure is slow going, but the dates are better in general. I still make mistakes. I keep trying to step out of my comfort zone – whichever one of them it may be – just to see if there really is opportunity to “try different types.” It hasn’t worked for me yet.
My comfort zone list is long. Blue collar doesn’t work. Short doesn’t work. Lack of worldly travel doesn’t work. Not married, no kids doesn’t work. Young children doesn’t work. Jobs with too much down time usually don’t work. Excessively fit men don’t like me (I’m too big) and men of color/race other than Caucasian do (but they are not my type). Unfortunately for me, somewhere between Dan-Bobby-Bennett I really narrowed down my type so tightly that I haven’t found a good reason to step out of those boundaries. Their type was perfect – except for that one thing – they were married. I consciously stay away from married and currently separated men because my souls is shards of glass from the torture I self-inflicted over the past 4 years.
But, I do persevere with men, regardless of my comfort zone, that can start with a connection in conversation. Bennett wasn’t near “my type” and I still fell for him as hard as humanly possible. Not sure I will ever actually get over him.
I met Doug a few weeks back on Plenty of Fish. We hit it off quickly in our chat. We had a lot of similar interests and were not too far off in our history: married a long time, children old enough to manage themselves, and ambitious. He sounded like he is a good place in his life. He didn’t sound bitter about his divorce. He loved his boys. Everything was check, check, check. He didn’t live close enough to me to be convenient, but we could meet in the city. Many men are fussed about the distance, but he was willing to manage it for the right connection. We spoke a few times and decided to meet a few days later.
The connection over the few days grew and I was really looking forward to meeting him. I arrived at the bar first after a terrible day at work. I quickly downed a Prosecco and settled in. He was running behind.
When he appeared, I was slightly taken aback at his size. He was much bigger than his photos portrayed and he wasn’t the 5’11” he professed to be. He was ok looking, and had a face and body I felt I could get used to, so that wasn’t what put me off.
It was the first glimpse at his hands.
His hands were the absolute smallest hands I have EVER seen on a man. Smaller than a woman’s hands and I would honestly call them petite. Tiny hands. I was so distracted by his hands I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.
At one point, I also looked down at his feet to realize he was wearing really bad running sneakers with suit pants (his jacket and tie on first look appeared quite neat and nice). I could barely see his feet through the width of the cuff.
That did it, I was done. Nothing else mattered.
There was plenty during the conversation that I realized we were not a match in any case, but I wonder how much of that was made clear by his small hands? Not alarm bells or red flags, just points of disparity – and would I have caught as many of them if he didn’t have such tiny hands?
I literally drifted at one point – looking right at him – trying to determine if I was willing to put the theory to the test?
Did I have the balls to see if the old wives tale is true?
I am sticking to my own theory – a mans hands and feet are a sure sign of his package. I have heard of big hands and small cock, but never experienced it myself. My experience has held true that the clock size follows the size of the hands.
Whats your experience?