Juggling Multiple Guys Is Rough
One wrong move could mess this up.
I’m writing this on my bedroom floor, almost midnight, shoveling Triscuits with brie cheese down my throat like a starving third-world child. I get really hungry after sex. I get especially hungry after a date where I’ve barely eaten and then had sex.
At the moment, I’ve got a serious first-world problem: I’m juggling two guys and it’s becoming a lot of work.
Tonight was another date with Marc. I was moderately annoyed this week because Sean had to cancel our plans. Not a big deal, he’s a c-suite executive and has to travel a lot for work. We tried to make it work but the timeline didn’t make it happen.
Sean plays his cards close to his chest and his lack of communication between dates infuriates me. I don’t need nonstop texts, but a simple good morning or good night text would even suffice.
Getting ready to see Marc, I was in kind of a pissy mood over Sean. I felt like staying in and eating food in front of the TV. Despite twice redoing my foundation with two different primers, my skin looked like garbage. The weather was cold and I don’t have many cold-weather dresses. I didn’t feel like I was on my A-game.
Like our last date, I was mistaken on how much fun I would have.
Marc picked a Spanish restaurant between both of our places. I’ve surprisingly never had Spanish food so I was stoked he found a good spot. Despite the place being packed (good thing I’ve had both my Covid shots), he found a spot in the outside bar that left us relatively secluded compared to those around us.
We laughed. We drank. We ate. We laughed some more. A lot. At one point he told me I should be a stand-up comedian. Nah bro, I just know how to dazzle you with humor while displaying cleavage.
I learned much more about him, especially when we talked about each other’s red flags. Marc was briefly a child actor in commercials; with his coiffe of blond hair and blue eyes, it’s a no-brainer that he would be a cute kid on television. He told me about the downfall of his marriage.
Throughout the date, he’d take charge and lean over to spontaneously, but passionately, kiss me. I was in bliss.
After four hours, we decided to bail out. I’ve learned the cues men give when they’re getting antsy for action. Their pheromones go berserk, they get more touchy-feeling, and they rush to pay the check.
Wandering in the parking structure, I told him to walk past my car and go to his since mine was full of random packages and kid stuff in the front seat.
Geezus fuck. He mentioned he had a truck, but this wasn’t a truck. This was like a boat. Marc’s shiny, massive truck was sparkling clean in comparison to mine. We climb in, make out, and he suggests the back seat.
I agreed and climbed in the back.
Homeboy looked good all evening. He smelled fantastic. My body craved him. I could avoid looking at the uncircumcised dick, which I’m still not ready to face that side of the single dating world. We had a brief STD/testing chat (this is becoming a little too routine for me) and began making out like bandits. He got me on my back, which is easy since this vehicle is big enough for an orgy.
Marc ripped my thong off and went to town with his tongue. For what he lacks with his fingers, he makes up with his oral skills. It dawned on me: I haven’t had anyone go down on me in 2021. I forgot that was even a thing until I felt him between my legs. I made a mental note to make Sean up the ante on his bedroom skills, not that he needs them.
I didn’t want my face anywhere near his dick because I’m turned on, but not that turned on that I wanted to have him in my mouth again with that dick. Baby steps. I tell him that I need him asap.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
I’m learning that whatever sport a guy played in his youth, that’s his skill set in the bedroom.
With Jon, he was a highschool wrestler and I was his useless opponent. He flipped me around, contorted me, and made me a very sexually satisfied rag doll.
Sean was a college football player. He holds and tosses me like a football. He can carry me around and maneuver my body with one single arm. He throws me on the bed like a Super Bowl champ.
Marcus was, and still is, a soccer player. His upper body is okay…he’s relatively lean. But dayam, dude’s lower body strength is unreal. It was like a battering ram trying to breach the castle doors. My body was in utter bliss. I told him I couldn’t bounce around due to my implant surgery but that next time, I’d be on top.
Between his tongue and his hip strength, I was pleasantly surprised. The next day, I had a massive bruise on my back and my head is sore from repeatedly smacking against the door with each thrust. Worth it.
In the two-person sports bracket of my dating league, Marcus has now raised to the top rank.
Juggling multiple guys is challenging. Mostly, I forget what I’ve told the other person. I’ll begin saying something and the other person will say, “oh, the blah blah blah? Yeah, you mentioned that when we met.”
I can’t even keep track of what I’ve worn. That goes straight down to the underwear. Who did I wear a red thong with? Who saw the lace? I can’t have dudes thinking that I’m stuck with the same items on rotation. I realize that when a guy is at the point of seeing my undergarments, he couldn’t care less, but I still have standards when I’m showing off my Target underwear.
Because I’m OCD, I think I’ll create a spreadsheet to note what I wore with who and on what date.
I don’t do well dating multiple guys. I want to point to a guy and say, “do you like me? I like you. Let’s stop dating other people and eat Thai together every Sunday night.” I genuinely like putting all my eggs in one basket.
But I know that’s not the wise choice.
Marc and Sean couldn’t be any more opposite.
Sean is from the Midwest, Marc is a born-and-raised Southern California guy.
Marc drives a ginormous truck the size of a house, Sean drives a fancy schmancy BMW.
Sean is 6'3 and crazy tall, Marc is around 5'9 (I think I can still get away with wearing my highest heels though).
Marc is the lighter, fun one of the two. He had me in hysterics telling me how he walked in on his son getting a blow job. Sean is more reserved and loosens up after wine or sex. He’s apt to babble about his son’s basketball game.
Sean is sexier. Marc is hotter.
If I were to go to Vegas, I’d take Marc. If I’m kicking back and chilling, I’d pick Sean.
Sean is an alpha-male, which drives me wild. He takes charge. He makes things happen. He opens the doors, he picks the wine, and I don’t have to be the one to make all the decisions which I appreciate, coming from my marriage. Marc is more go-with-the-flow; I could barrel over him with my personality and end up in the same situation as my quasi-ex-husband, where I became more of a leader than a mate.
Marc is more chatty by text. He also works from home thanks to Covid, so he can easily reply to random messages. He sends me memes, which is a stealth way to my heart.
Sean is borderline professional in his messages to me, and they’re infrequent. I genuinely thought he was ghosting me because I hadn’t heard from him since last week. I’ve never been ghosted or forgotten, but I sucked it up and vowed to not be a clingy chick who would whine for attention. If he wanted me, he could message me. Which he did, and now we have plans for this weekend.
I can take side streets to drive to Sean’s house. Marc lives in Northern Orange county by the beach, which is extremely out of my lazy person comfort zone when it comes to dealing with California traffic.
Coincidentally, the one thing they have in common is that their sons are the same ages. Both of their oldest sons got their driver’s licenses within a week of each other. They’re at identical phases in their co-parenting journey.
You guys, this is stressful. As in, which dessert should I order off the menu? I love chocolate cake, you can’t go wrong, but damn if crème brûlée doesn’t amazing as well.
Total first-world problem.
For now, I’ll keep juggling both of them as positive elements in my life. Lord knows I need as much positivity as possible, given the state of my pending divorce.