Or, why you shouldn’t take your panties off on a second date.
I should’ve asked if he’d like me to get liposuction too, when, after we’d put our clothes back on and were saying our goodbyes, he looked into my eyes and said, “You tasted really good, but you should trim your pubic hair next time.”
***Five Hours Earlier***
Mr. Landing Strip, the tenth man I’ve gone out with since my divorce, picks me up and tells me I look amazing.
I will be honest, I do look amazing, but it feels good to be noticed and appreciated. I am tanned, my hair is straightened, and I’m wearing a short dress with cute sandals. I am ready for our second date thanks to an awesome babysitter who has already been at my house for two hours.
We’d planned on dinner and drinks in one of my favorite neighborhoods, a cute little gastro pub that I hadn’t been to yet.
We chatted easily on the way down to eat, and over a bottle of wine and entrees of walleye and cleverly prepared potatoes we talked about religion, hobbies, bucket lists, and music. He graciously declined my offer to split the check. We held hands as we made our way to a dimly lit bar for a final drink before heading home.
Side by side at the bar, over beers, he said that he was distracted by my legs. He kissed me by his car before the drive home and gently pushed me up against the side of his SUV. This date was going very well.
Mr. Landing Strip, I should mention, is hot. Confident. Has shared custody of his children. A good job. Lives close by in a nice neighborhood. We have friends in common, which is why I “liked” one of his pictures on Match.com, the closest to hitting on a man online I have ever come. I’m a Rules girl (most of the time!), and I believe in letting a man ask me out first. So when he emailed and eventually asked for my number, I gave it to him.
We texted for a few weeks and had a first date of drinks at a local dive bar, which ended with a very steamy kiss.
As we made out by my minivan after our first date, he pulled away and looked at me.
“Do all of your first dates end like this?”
I laughed, thinking of the chaste ice cream dates I had lined up and the one-armed hug I’d gotten from my previous date, a guy from Tinder.
“No. Do yours?” I replied, looking up at him. Mr. Landing Strip is tall, too.
“No!” He said, and we kissed some more.
So on our way home from our second date, I considered my options. I don’t normally ask a second date inside—in fact, I never have—but I had a babysitter waiting for me who needed to go home. I thought it would be awkward to kiss goodbye with her sitting just inside.
We arrived at my house at 11 pm.
He turned to me: “Should I walk you to your door? What about your sitter?”
Perhaps it was the wine, or the fact that I was paying $10 an hour and wanted to let the sitter go, but I said, “Why don’t you come in, I can pay my sitter, and then we can make out a little more?”
“Awesome,” he answered, and we went inside.
Ten minutes later my clothes were off and we were rolling around on my family room floor, my children sleeping soundly upstairs. I was fully enjoying the moment but also not about to sleep with a man I had only known a week and who, I was pretty sure, would not call me the next day. A text, perhaps, but not a phone call.
And call me old-fashioned, but I want the next man I sleep with to call me the next day. Actually, I want the next man I sleep with to be my boyfriend.
So, when, after going down on me (another point for Mr. Landing Strip! The last man to remove my panties didn’t go there, much to my disappointment), he asked if we should continue, I had to demurely say, “I’m sorry, but I can’t sleep with you tonight. I only have sex in relationships, and besides, I want to be able to scream for you and I can’t do that when my kids are sleeping upstairs.”
“Oh, I’ll make you scream,” he said, and you know what? I believe him.
We messed around a little more and then he said he should leave while he still could. Over dinner we had already planned our third date so I knew where I stood with him. I was having so much fun, feeling sexy and alive and connected, until he told me I should trim my pubic hair.
What? I was stunned.
I wish I’d thought to reply, “Should I get liposuction too? Or maybe a little tummy tuck? My breasts aren’t as perky as they were before I nursed children, maybe I could get a boob job before our next date?”
He saw the surprise in my eyes and said, “Shouldn’t I have said anything? I prefer a landing strip.”
A landing strip? I have only seen those in porn, and I think they’re really ugly. Not to mention impractical. Clearly this is a man who has never spread his legs for a wax job. I have, and I’m not anxious to do it anytime soon, even if Mr. Landing Strip is hot and fun and… Hot.
Four days later he texted to say he had to put off our next date because his best friend was still in town, and I told him if he wants to fit into my busy schedule he should call me. He has not yet called. I’m not sure I care.
Friends, I have never been told what to do with my body. I have never gotten any complaints from my lovers. It’s bathing suit season; I’m as trimmed up as I’m going to get!
What do you think? Should I see this guy again? Is this a reasonable request?
Guys, would you dare tell a woman on a second date—or ever! —to trim?
In my world, he should feel very lucky he even got to remove my dress let alone taste my nectar. My body should be worshipped, not criticized.
One thing I know now: I will not let my panties be so easily removed until I know whether I’m with someone who will appreciate my body the way it is or whether I’m getting naked with a Hugh Hefner disguised in black rimmed glasses.