Yes, the title means exactly what you think it does. 15 Second Man was the catalyst for this post. Here is the rest of the sad, sad story.
15 Second Man was my 2nd (but sadly, not last) foray into the wilds of Craigslist. There was no picture attached but the ad was so charming I was willing to take a chance. It was a send-up of the old Dr. Seuss One Fish, Two Fish book and consisted of about 20 really funny, thought-provoking questions. Of course, possessed of a strong wit and a love of answering questions about myself (I have answered absolutely every question on OKCupid) I had to respond. He seemed to really dig my answers and we exchanged numbers after some really entertaining emails.
Due to scheduling conflicts, we weren’t able to get that first date on the calendar for almost two weeks. In the meantime, we had frequent communication, texting every day and talking on the phone almost every other day. We sent photos of each other back and forth and to my surprise, he was attractive! Definitely on the larger side but in a very cute, Man vs. Food kind of way. Things got hot and heavy pretty fast. The back-and-forth quickly devolved into full-on sexting and even phone sex, all before we had even met! One day, we clocked in at almost 600 text messages sent back and forth. Needless to say my productivity level at work plummeted. We were both almost drunk on anticipation of meeting each other, finally, in person. Would the chemistry be there?
The night of the date finally arrived, and to this day, I can’t recall every being this nervous about a first date. It felt like so much was riding on it, that I would be beyond embarrassed if this person, whom I’d already been pretty intimate with, would turn out to have no interest in me or vice versa once we actually shared the same space. I was beyond relieved when I first caught a glimpse of him at the door of the restaurant. He was adorable. And he seemed to think exactly the same of me. The butterflies and nerves quickly departed as we settled in at the table for some drinks and dinner, to be followed by a trip to the bowling alley. The date couldn’t have been more perfect. We were clearly digging each other, and having a great time. When, a few hours later, he pulled me in for a kiss in the elevator of his building, I though I had died and gone to wherever it is that all good sluts go to when they die.
Despite the undeniable sexual chemistry, we actually “negotiated” what was allowed and not allowed once we got down to business. We both agreed that we didn’t want to rush into sex, that we wanted to give it time for something to really develop before we took that step. It was perfect! All too perfect! And then…I understood why he took the nuclear option off the table.
Cut to his bedroom. We’re kissing. Passionately. Like in the movies. And I don’t mean the kind you can get from Netflix. Being the surgeon that he was, he was very, very, VERY good with his hands. Being the feminist I am, I decided that he deserved some reciprocity. The equipment was impressive. Far from the smallest but not too far off from the biggest I’ve encountered and of a perfect girth. I was literally chomping at the bit to get to work on this thing.
I’m no surgeon, but I’m pretty good with my hands as well. I didn’t realize I was THAT good. A mere 30 seconds after first contact, Old Faithful erupted unexpectedly and way ahead of schedule. I was stunned – this had actually NEVER happened to me before, although I told him otherwise. My years of high school theater served me exceedingly well that night. I was kind and reassuring and all of those things you need to be in order to preserve the fragile male ego after is has suffered such a…blow. Took my time saying goodbye and departed for the night with a very nice goodbye kiss. Continue reading