The Curse of The White Socks

Who doesn't love a shitty date story?

Recently, I have made an executive decision to bluntly tell the truth when I am on Lava. After trying different approaches including being as tactful and understanding as possible, I haven’t encountered the fun I hoped for. So, I am willing to risk it and go for the brutal truth. Therefore, I have started answering the incessant Lava chatter of “what are you looking for on Lava?” with “I am looking for a boy that likes to smoke pot and likes to fuck for hours”…. you would think that in this city, I would be swimming in cock…but no. It hasn’t really turned out that way. However, it has produced some loser date stories – which are always good for a laugh.

I call this one….The Curse of The White Socks….

I was on Lava chatting one saturday afternoon. Enter FIFAboy69er…hmm, sounds promising – a sarcastic British bastard perhaps? My new line of “pot and cock” seemed to be working.. FIFAboy69er gets “really fucking horny” when smoking herb. Not exactly a poet, but with the added bonus of a hard cock... sounded like flirting to my girlie ears.

We continued to chat and it became apparent that he was not a flowing, British chatterbox with loads of literary quips…he watched Premiership football (soccer) and liked to smoke pot. Thus, FIFAboy69er reached my "you must be at least this interesting" date minimum and I agreed to hook up with him. However, I wasn't willing to travel very far to do it- not much beyond the end of my drive way at any rate.. or just within stumbling distance of my local bar.

As part of my dating ritual, I was early and sat in the sunshine and had a glass of Lava-courage. It was fun to bask in the calm while you are all giggly and excited about meeting someone new. In a flash of plaid and a whiff of Polo cologne in strolls my Lava date…a Brampton suburban, bad hair cut of a man...awesome.

It was quite a first impression. Whoever gave the boy permission to wear white tube socks with white running shoes on a date should be shot in a public square – with full CNN and Fox News coverage. (O’Reilly would love a public execution.)

As I sat across from my Lava date, I tried to decide what to ignore first- try and be the bigger person and see his appalling taste as zany suburban style as opposed to manic, psycho-cop chic…There was so much to choose from when embarking on what part of his appearance to dismiss outright: the sock and shoe combination or the ugly plaid shirt or the plastic green sun visor. It was the sun visor that I was really shocked by. Old ladies wear those sorts of things on golf courses…and even then, this sort of coloured plastic visor was something I hadn’t seen on a straight boy since maybe tight, red satin pants on men were cool. Mike Reno of Loverboy, I am pointing my finger at you…working for the weekend? sure you are honey...

However, I was an optimist (horny) and was willing to sit through a few cocktails. Perhaps, just perhaps this time the dating gods would smile on me and introduce me to someone unexpected - a true diamond in the rough. However, the gods were vengeful, selfish and prefered to bitch-slap me. My date was (in true Canadian style) super-hoser boring, self-loathing (good for him really) and worked in a factory unloading “things that stink” (his description) from a truck.

Thank you Lava.

After two pints, I sat negotiating with my inner voice… “How many beers and how much pot is it going to take to want to fuck this guy?” Generally, when I am bored with a date I start to rate just how far I am willing to push my drunken sluttiness. Whether the morality-bar needs to be lowered just that much closer to the ground. Sure I am slutty...but I can I be tube sock slutty? Could I fuck a tube-sock wearing man with only two pints under my belt? Or do I have release the inner whore-beast that appears when I have had a few too many and can't control the needs of my vagina. What was my moral brick wall? Certainly not the voice of organised religon but the resoundingly secular voice of fashion. I should call up Chanel's headoffice and say "you are the reason I am not a total whore".

And what of my helpless date? Sure, I didn't specify "must be a snappy dresser”. Sure, he was what I thought I was looking for - big fan of pot and loves to fuck. Who exactly was I to add on the specifics after the deal was done? This was a perfect example of when the sex gods delivered but I was the cheeky bitch and declined their invitation.

After some forced conversation, I made my excuses to him by blatantly lying about having to pick my sister up at the airport. I left Mr. White-socks to make his way back to suburbia with an unsucked cock. I just couldn't live myself if I had chosen to screw him. It would have been one of those embarrassing sexual encounters that would have haunted me for years. Nevermind the white sock situation - I just wasn't ready to commit to a "sex-mare".

With no cock story to speak of, I sat on the sofa and tried to digest where exactly I went wrong. I think this is a lesson in clarity. From this point going forward my answer to Lava queries will be thus:

I am looking for a poncey, well dressed, pot smoker that likes to fuck for hours and hours – tube socks or plastic sun visors need not apply....oh, and the same goes for small-cocked-cologne-spritzers!

Next posting : Why Tits is single and desperate in Toronto

Cherub Cock

Let me skip forward and get to the good stuff…

There we are on the sofa having a bit of a chat. He is a very stylish little guy, wearing funky stylish shoes, in a funky stylish, uptown place.

The conversation starts around my past Lava dates and some of the more odd requests I have had. He was most curious about the ass-invaders…the type of boy with a whole drawer full of things he like to stuff up his ass…which I should have picked up on…but we had been smoking pot…

I drone on about some of the crazy homemade dildos I had seen - when I get his confession.

He has only just recently discovered his ass

After which I got to listen to him dancing around how he came about finding his ass fun during sex …which was very amusing since I knew he was a supporter of the Conservative Party …playing with his ass to him was a bit “gay” and he had to negotiate with himself…trying to wrestle with his conscience about his new quest for ass pleasure…

With all of this sex talk…I could see him squirming around…and I suggested that he show me his O’Reilly loving cock…

And lo and behold…the poor boy had the unfortunate distinction of having genitalia that would be more at home between the legs of a cupid in some 18th century Rococo painting. It is tragic and becoming a bit of a cliché me finding that sort of boy in Toronto. Just what is up with all the Toronto little cocked, ass lovers?

When presented with the cock the size of my thumb did I run out the door? Surprizingly, no. He was a cute boy and lets face it...I have been presented with worse ways to spend a saturday afternoon. Knob-gobbling can be very productive when the alternative is just reruns on Showcase. Besides with such a nicely furnished place, the least I could do is suck his cock. Call it my incentive to decorate well.

I can appreciate a metro-sexual stylish boy. After proving my oral skills (and a special thanks to Good For Her on Harbord for the excellent class "How to give good head"), I thought I would be overwhelmed with words of praise…but instead this little cherub actually spritzed himself with cologne after a bit of a blowjob….…just a bit of a dab behind each ear, while I was laying next to him…I could tell by the way his little gold Star of David floated in his (well groomed) chest hair that he was a bit of princess…but seriously, how is it that a straight man…sprinkles himself with scent after a blowjob?…and how is that sort of behaviour not going to make me seriously paranoid especially since I still had my bra on - he must think that I stink to high heaven. Being a very hygienic kind of girl that spends the big bucks on perfume(oh, the irony!)...what the fuck is that nonsense???!!!!

So, I will add that now to my list...

Toronto men have now become ass-invading, small cocked, cologne spritzers...

Who wants a job at the tourist board?

Books

First of all, a thank you to MM for the inspiration.

One book that changed your life: The one book that comes immediately to mind is 1984 by George Orwell. I read the book in secondary school (in 1984) for my English class and never forgot the effect it had on me. I thought it completely personified my utter contempt for not only most of my classmates but for the world I was living in.

Sullen teenager check, black Goth clothing check, freaking my mother out by trying to look like the living dead check, me trying to be free of the suburban, preppy, conformist nonsense by rebelling from the waist down.... check

However, I also think that The Delta of Venus that I bought at a tender age (thinking it had to do with Greek mythology) completely warped me forever and ever…


One book you've read more than once: London Fields by Martin Amis has to be my all time favourite book for a variety of girlie reasons. I think the use of language is brilliant and of course Nicola Six is a great female character. However, History of the World in 10 ½ chapters really is the book I love to read but can’t because it breaks my heart.

One book you would want on a desert island: As I mentioned on MM's blog. It would have to be the complete works of Shakespeare. Even if the language seems inaccessible it flows over you like a waterfall. Shakespeare also understood the human condition and even in the "failed" plays like Titus Andronicus provides the vocabulary for personal weakness.

One book that made you laugh: This one is hard especially since I love to smoke pot and tend to find just the act of reading funny sometimes...I love Lewis Black at the moment though.

One book that made you cry: Tale of Two Cites by Charles Dickens. I couldn't believe self-sacrificing Sydney walking slowly up the stairs and comforting that poor maid...chokes me up every time. Tis a far, far better thing that I do…blubber, blubber, sob

One book you wish you had written: The Christian bible. Honestly, lets have more chicks talking buddy….

One book you wish had never been written: I am going to have to agree with MM here and say The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. At first I was going to say anything by Ann Rice…but then I realised how many of her Dracula-porn novels I have in my closet and I don’t want to seem like a hypocrite. However, that does not leave Dan Brown off the hook…I was pleased to read about places I had visited or artwork I was familiar with ...but seriously, it is a shitty piece of writing.

One book you are currently reading: I am having a fun summer by reading Catastrophe! by David Keys. A fun, scholarly romp through history that describes the hell of the 5th century and the volcano that dumped enough shit in the atmosphere to create global famine. Fun stuff.

One book you have been meaning to read: hmmm…who is up for the Booker Prize this year? And will it get me a date if I read the winner?