Sometimes breaking out of your comfort zone is not only uncomfortable but also itchy. In the online dating context, itchy is never a good thing.
My long-time readers (those who have been around for 8 months) will recall my adventurous tale of being a non-swimmer lost at sea with Psycho J.(Click here for part 1) Shockingly, I continued to see Psycho J for about two months after the jetski incident. Being newly single, I was desperate for excitement and attention. There was chemistry. He was tall. That blinded me to a lot of things. I discovered quickly that he liked things his way, and if I didn’t like the same things, there was no room for discussion.
Despite his meticulous/OCD cleaning habits, he was not as particular about grooming. He showered in 28 seconds, so that’s barely time to open a shampoo bottle. He was not only unconcerned with his own manscaping, he liked his women to be retro as well. He was a 1970s porn aficionado, and preferred his women to be “au naturel”. The first time I saw him naked I was concerned there were Viet Cong hiding in his pubes that didn’t know the war was over. It looked like his penis was wearing Bob Ross the painter’s afro and I had to search for the happy little squirrel. I was disturbed. And au naturelly, he expected me to stop shaving down there as well.
Initally, I was overjoyed at the thought of not having to torture myself with waxing and shaving every day. This lasted about a week, until I remembered that I was of French-Canadian ancestry, and therefore, a first cousin of Sasquatch. I am a hairy beast. That’s a lot of stubble to scratch. And as it turned into Grizzly Adams’ beard after three weeks, I was even getting disgusted by it.
Even though I went to law school in Vermont and still own my Birkenstocks (which are super comfy), I clearly never embraced the free spirit lifestyle. I’ve never smoked pot, or listened to Phish, or owned a maxi dress (which would surely make me look more pregnant than I do on most days). I shave my pits and legs every day or else I would look like my Italian ex-husband. “Letting go” is not in my vocabulary. I only “let go” in bed after I’ve had two days to undergo an elaborate grooming, pore-shrinking and cellulite-reducing routine.
Fortunately, I never had to get to the full-on Foxy Cleopatra bush, because Psycho J revealed his latent anger issues. If I were Sherlock Holmes, I might deduce that this trait was related to his spanking fetish. Sure the first time it was a little exhilarating. The second time I started to notice a pattern, because I’m pretty smart. Like Jeopardy-but-not-quite-MENSA smart. Even though I complained about it, he disregarded my protests and insisted on slapping my ass during sex to the point of welts. I’m not a fan of spanking. (Read my live blog of 50 Shades of Grey here.) Once is fine. But then I just want to hit back and possibly threaten to shove a hairbrush up your ass.
It was impossible to disagree with him, as then I was needy and controlling. So I pieced all these items together and realized this would not be healthy to continue. Breaking out of your comfort zone should not result in hearing Vietnamese voices coming from your crotch.