The Do-Over(15)

? Like poached eggs soft, medium, hard (Seriously? Is this guy going to cook for me?)

? Prefer sitcoms over drama (Already picturing a couch potato moving in)

? Religion is not at all, slightly, somewhat, extremely important to me

? I like a man who acquiesces, stands up to me, dominates me

? I enjoy trying new 5 star restaurants over casual dining (If he thinks chains are gourmet, we’ve got problems)

? My style is to cater to a man, share responsibilities, sit back and be pampered

I made Scarlett leave the room for the intimate questions which were surprisingly specific.

? Will you perform oral sex on a man?

○ If yes,

? Do you swallow

? Spit

? Complete the act prior to your partner’s orgasm

? Depends (Okay, I’ll go with this nice noncommittal answer)

? Please check your three (3) favorite sexual positions:

○ Missionary

○ Doggie (did they really type that?)

○ From behind on all fours

○ From behind bent over

? Will you allow your partner to insert a finger in your anus while in this position? (Hell yes!)

○ On top

? Facing partner

? Breasts fondled

? Facing away

○ Anal

? On Back

? On All Fours

Would all of the above and then some be a bad answer, I wondered.

“A finger up your ass. My little Tara is a kinkpot. Who knew?” Laynie teased as she poured herself another glass of red wine.

“Keep that up, bestie, and I’m going to send you to Scarlett’s room and you won’t get to see the rest of my answers. And we haven’t even gotten to the sex toys section yet.” I, too, poured myself another glass of red wine. We still had four more pages of sex questions to get through.

Nodding as she regarded me through slitted eyes, Laynie laughed. “Now the truth will finally come out about the nipple clamps.”

Nearly spitting my wine on the keyboard, I threatened, “Keep it up and I’ll pull that third doll out of the drawer and dye her hair red.”

Sitting back in her chair and crossing her long yoga pants clad legs, Laynie let me finish the questionnaire in silence.

So, after hours of answering their probing questions, pun so intended, I wondered two things as I sat across from this man, who clearly was not a love connection, just as my past four dates had not been. The first thing that vexed me was: Do they even use the data they collect and How do these guys perfect their online persona (and phone, too) so well and turn into duds when you meet them in the flesh? Were they all taking some how-not-to-come-across-like-a-loser-before-they-meet-you course?

“I have an early morning tomorrow, Todd,” I told my date.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

As he took our garbage from the table to the trash, I shook my head as I admired his tall, well-built frame. What a waste. His build was naturally athletic and I’m sure he turned a lot of women’s heads. It had just been such a struggle all night to keep the conversation moving. I was exhausted. Talking to another person should never be that much work.

“Nice car,” he commented, running his hand reverently down the hood as if he were stroking the leg of a woman in fine silk stockings. It was kind of creepy.

“Thanks. I like it.” Actually, I loved my Audi S5, but I was afraid if I told him that, he’d divulge some strange car kink and I’d never be able to look at my car the same way again.

“Powerful engine,” he continued to stroke the car.

“Oh yeah, it’s a beast.” I hit my clicker to unlock the door. Todd’s hand was on the handle to open it and I thought, even though he is not my type, what nice manners he has. That thought was fleeting as I quickly found myself pinned up against the car with Todd alarmingly close.

“Have you had sex in it yet?” His smile was a leer.

Alarms were starting to sound in my head as the man’s hand slipped around my hip and up the back of my skirt, pulling me into him and his sizable erection. The car really had turned him on!

“I’d like to be the one to help you steal your car’s virginity.” His eyes and smile told me this guy was dead serious, like together we were going to be partners in committing some forbidden vehicular sex crime.

“If you don’t take your hand off my butt and back off, I’m going to hit the panic button on my key fob.”

Not moving, the man actually looked offended that I was rejecting his proposition.

“Now!” There was no doubt in my tone that I was not joking.

Removing his hand, Todd backed away enough for me to open the door, slip in and lock it. Without even bothering to buckle my seatbelt, my foot firmly bore down on the accelerator, harnessing the full capacity of 333 horsepower to get the hell out of there and leave that jerk in the dust.

Where the hell did he get off? Ugh. He was getting off on my car.

“I’ll take care of you, baby.” I patted my steering wheel before cutting across three lanes to make a last-minute right turn. What the hell was it with the men I was dating? Was I giving off some pheromone or something? My last date propositioned our barely legal waitress to have a three-way with us after trying to look down her shirt the whole night.

One more block, and the landmark I desperately needed to see was lighting up the night sky. Appearing like a beacon guiding me to safety was the sign for the gas station in my grocery store’s parking lot. And yes, it had a 24-hour car wash.