Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (7 page)

That’s what happened with Terry. We met about four months ago at a poetry reading. When the event was over, we exchanged numbers. We dated for a couple of months before she was comfortable enough to come by my place. We talked for a while and had a few drinks. It wasn’t long before things got heated. I damn near ripped my clothes off before she could change her mind. I reached for the condom inside my nightstand drawer and rolled it on. That’s when she grabbed my hand and said, “I can’t have sex with you unless we have a commitment.”

What in the hell did she expect me to say at this point? I mean really, there I was lying in bed with a firm breast in one hand and a dick as hard as a Chinese calculus in the other. I was liable to say anything, which I did. I told her I would be monogamous. And up until three weeks ago, I kept that promise. But everything began to change as she became more insecure and possessive. She quickly developed the habit of trying to keep track of my whereabouts, or as my nephew would say, she was clocking me. I couldn’t even take a piss without my cell phone going off. “Where have you been? Where are you going? What time will you be back?” Her insecurity was enough to drive a man to drinking, or as in my case, cheating.

As the weeks passed things only got worse. Terry began showing up at my job without calling, “I just wanted to surprise you and take you out to lunch,” she said. Yeah right! Then there were the late night phone calls to make sure I was home alone. Finally, she made the ultimate mistake of coming by my place unannounced. At the time, I wasn’t up to anything, but that was beside the point. She was out of line and had to be put in check.

“You must be out of your damned mind!” I told her. “I pay the bills here! The next time you pull this stunt, your ass is gone, do you understand?”

“Baby, I’m sorry, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would surprise you.”

“First of all, I don’t like surprises. And secondly, you live on the other side of town. How in the hell did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”

“Well, I was ah.”

“Ah, ah, is right. Just don’t do it again!”

That incident upset me, and it robbed me of the peace I had created in my little cave. There’s nothing more valuable to a single man than knowing he controls his space. I should have dropped her ass right then and there but the pussy was too good. “Why is it that the craziest women always seem to have the best coochie?” I was thinking as she drove off. “Damn, damn, damn!”

Three months into the relationship Terry was still trippin’, the late night calls slowed down but she was still doing drive bys ever now and then. So, I developed a strategy to have my cake and eat it too. One of my most effective moves was to volunteer for the rotating shift at work. This made it impossible for Terry to keep up with my hours and days off. When she called on Sunday afternoon, I told her I was on my way out the door. When she called on Saturday night at 11:30 p.m., I told her I was just getting in. After a couple of weeks of this alternating schedule, I felt comfortable enough to make a test run of the single life. My first date was with Linda. She was a fitness freak I met at the health club a few months back. We had been flirting for months and the time was finally right. I invited her over for dinner on a Saturday night to watch the movie,
Mahogany
, starring Diana Ross and Billie Dee Williams.

First, I set things up by telling Terry I had to work that evening. Another precaution I took was to park my car three blocks away in another apartment complex. This may sound extreme, but Terry had a habit of circling my neighborhood like a vulture. The next order of business was to dim the lights and close the curtains. Even though I live on the 15th floor, I wasn’t taking any chances. Terry was the type who would carry a pair of binoculars inside her glove compartment. I played it off by lighting candles so I appeared to be creating a romantic atmosphere.

At 8:00 p.m. sharp, just as I finished putting all my safeguards in place, the doorbell rang. I apprehensively walked to the door and looked out the peephole, it was Linda. “Whew!” I said under my breath. I invited her in, took her coat, and escorted her into the living room to have a seat. Her outfit was what I call, sexy classy. She had on a long sheer dress, high heels, and nice accessories. I pay a lot of attention to details. After she was situated, I offered her a glass of wine. It was a relief to finally meet a woman from the gym who wasn’t one of those health nuts afraid of having a cocktail every once and a while.

Not long after we finished our first drink we began to click. We both had a passion for classic rock, hard exercise, and wild sex. “What a coincidence,” I laughed, “those are my favorite hobbies too.” I decided to impress her with my CD collection. I played some old songs by Sting, Journey, and the Wall album by Pink Floyd. While she got into the music, I refreshed our drinks and casually unbuttoned my shirt so she could get a good look at my chest.

By 10:00 p.m. we had finished eating and were relaxing on the living room floor. She asked for something to get comfortable in, so I gave her one of my T-shirts. You know I gave her shortest one I could find, right? Up to that point, things were going smoothly with no interruption, until the phone rang. The answering machine picked up, but there was no message. I know having an answering machine is old school but it allows me to monitor who’s calling my house.

I didn’t think much of it, and went back to what I was doing. About thirty minutes later, while we were in the living room listening to The Dream album by Fleetwood Mac, there was a gentle knock at the door. “Oh shit,” I thought. I was thankful that we were quietly talking with the stereo playing low. I excused myself and walked towards the front. When I got to the hallway, I quietly tiptoed up to the door and looked out the peephole. Can you believe I found Terry with her ear pressed up against the door? That blew my mind. She must have waited for someone to open the outer door, or either pushed a bunch of buttons until someone buzzed her in. You know how easy that is. Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t able to make out any sound, but she knocked again anyway. I took a deep breath and walked back into the living room trying not to look distressed.

“So who was at the door?” Linda asked.

“It’s just one of my obnoxious neighbors,” I lied. “He always drops by to borrow things and talk my ear off.”

“How long is he going to keep knocking?”

“He’ll get the message in a minute or two,” I prayed.

“Don’t mind him.”

I guess she bought it, because she didn’t ask any more questions. And besides, Terry quit knocking shortly thereafter. As the night went on, her clothes came off. I felt like a free man again, if only for one night. She turned out to be everything I expected, mentally and sexually. I was sure this wouldn’t be the last time we saw one another. “All I have to do is keep the lies flowing smoothly,” I kept thinking to myself. “And I can have it all.” When the time came to say good night, I reluctantly walked her downstairs to the front entrance. I kept worrying that Terry was going to jump out from behind the bushes. After she made it safely to her car, I breathed a sigh of relief. “I made it through my first trial date without being busted,” or so I thought.

The following morning was bright and sunny, perfect weather for car washing. When I walked outside, I was momentarily stunned because my Jeep wasn’t out front where it is usually parked. Then I remembered that I had to hide it from Mrs. Ear to the Door. As I approached the far end of the lot, I could see it right where I left it, parked between the large dumpster and U-haul moving van. “I really tried to bury that rascal,” I laughed to myself. Checking to make sure all the tires were still on, I got inside and started up the engine. That’s when I noticed the note under the windshield wiper. It read as follows:

“You picked one hell of a place to park. Are you hiding from the Repo man or something? By the way, I came up to your job to surprise you with dinner, but I see you decided to
eat out
instead. I hope you can survive off hamburger from now on because as of today you’re all out of Filet Minon.”

Needless to say, I was totally shocked. My first reaction was to jump out of the car and check for damage. I also looked under the hood for a bomb, just in case. After making sure everything was ok, I got back inside, shook my head and declared, “I’m getting too old for this shit!”

This life of the single cheating man is an intriguing one. He is a sexual predator who insists on entertaining at home where he can impress the women with his cheap art work and king size bed. His shelves are stocked with beer, wine, and other liquors to loosen up the sexual inhibitions of his victims. In fact, his little sex trap is so nice and comfortable, ladies don’t seem to ever want to leave. But once playtime is over, he wants his space back. As soon as he climaxes, he begins plotting his strategy for her subtle evacuation. More to the point, he got what he wanted now it’s time for her to get out!

Darryl, a 31-year-old police officer, said he would have a fellow officer call and leave an official sounding message concerning extra duty assignments. Then he plays it back with the speaker button on his cell phone so the women will hear it and get the idea to leave. On a few occasions he has gone so far as to put on his uniform and drive around the block until his guest was out of sight. I know you’re saying to yourself “Is it really that serious?” Darryl says it most definitely is. In his words, “Women don’t have the courtesy to leave when their welcome is worn out. Sometimes they need a little nudge.”

Darryl’s Story

S
ome men are too afraid to say what’s really on their minds when it comes to escaping, but not me. After I have an orgasm and I can’t or don’t want to get it up again, I begin plotting a way to tactfully ask the woman to leave. This may sound cold but I don’t care. It is the truth for most men, whether they want to admit it or not. When I meet a beautiful woman I see her as the most desirable creature on earth. But as soon as I get my orgasm, she is instantaneously transformed into an instant pain in the ass, always trying to cuddle and talk about her feeling. That’s a major turn off for most men. I don’t care how fine the woman is.

Last month, for example, I met this drop dead gorgeous woman at the grocery store. Two weeks later we were in my bed sweating and going at it like wild animals. After the sex was over, she insisted on spooning me from behind and getting all mushy—I hate that. Men need some space after we cum, room to stretch out and breath! Then she started going on about how special she thought I was, and how she was looking forward to seeing me again. Meanwhile, I’m thinking to myself, “I wish I could blink like Bewitched and make this woman disappear.” I know this may sound cruel, but I’m keeping it real. I’ve dealt with so many average women in my life that I’ve developed an assembly line mentality. Basically, I just want to process her from the door to the bedroom. Everything in between her arrival and the time we have sex is simply a waste of time. It’s the same old routine. First I welcome her in, offer something to drink or smoke, then we have sex. But after the thrill is gone, I want her gone! Believe me, there are a lot of women who feel the exact same way! They just don’t want to admit it.

The worst part about this time consuming process is that frequently I am totally disappointed with the end results. Here I am wasting my valuable time trying to maneuver the woman into bed, only to find out she was barely worth the trouble. It’s just like Eddie Murphy said in his stand-up comedy “Raw.” He did an excellent job of describing how women try to trap men by holding out on the sex. Over time, the man starts believing the woman’s pussy is something special. “At first you think it’s a Ritz,” he joked. “But after you’ve eaten it for awhile, you find out that it’s a plain old cracker.” Once I find out that all I’ve got is a plain old cracker, my mind starts reeling with all kinds of schemes as to how I can get rid of her. Sometimes I’ll yawn very noticeably to give her the hint. However, this doesn’t usually work because most women see this as an invitation to offer to lie down with you. “Baby let’s take a nap together.” Inside my mind, there’s a voice screaming, “I don’t want a nap partner, dammit, that was your cue to leave!”

I’ve also tried acting busy around the house hoping she would get the hint. But no! What does the woman do but ask if she can help out. That really pisses me off. I end up trying to dust and vacuum around her while saying, “excuse me” every five seconds. And even if I do allow her to help, she doesn’t know where anything belongs. She puts the forks where the spoons are supposed to be, and the Grits in the Oatmeal section. That just drives me all the more crazy. When all else fails, I resort to extreme tactics to escape this situation, I call it Mr. Freeze, when I turn off the heat and tell her my furnace is out.