An Accursed Handshake Date
Other than a mugging, the Handshake Date is perhaps the worst in all of Datingdom. It ends not in conversation, post-orgasmic bliss, or the promise of a second date: it ends in a handshake.Â
Itâs Saturday night. Youâve waited for this date all week long. Itâs a second date, so things must be going well. Youâve prepped for the date by putting on special clothes, making sure your pits are ripe, and taking up on water because youâre both into watersports. You know the kissing will be even better this time, the action even hotter. Until suddenly itâs not.
The kiss is a stiff obligatory kiss, reluctant and emotionless. It has all the give of a slab of marble. You try again, but his lips are a Great Wall and ainât no tongue getting past it.
So you try a bit of sex but he gets up off the bed. It is the dreaded âMood.â The Mood is not there. Youâre pretty sure itâs in the gin and tonic becasue thatâs what his mouth tastes like. Though a few text messages that came in while you looked for a parking space indicate heâs been anxiously awaiting your arrival, heâs somehow not arrived at his own Mood somehow. The Mood is just not there. Which means, however politely one wants to put it, however many distractions the week might have provided, that the date is over before itâs really begun.
On go the clothes, die goes the conversation that was so lively and interesting last time. Something has changed and itâs not you, and itâs nothing you can control, and nothing youâll ever find out about. But as you slip your shirt back on and make sure your shorts have their keys and cell phone in the pockets, he approaches with hand outstretched. It is the moment of the Accursed Handshake date termination. I love you so much that Iâm going to shake your hand to tell you just how much goodnight so sorry itdidnâtworkoutitallrunstogetherinanawkwardrush.
You sure are glad you got 4 hours of parking thats barely past the first hour.
You go to a bar where thereâs a back patio. A hanky panky patio. And though youâll never see anyoneâs face well enough to recognize them in the light, you do get some good kissing out of one guy. And complimented on your blowjob skills by another. And finally you blow your load on your knees, giving in to your own pleasure, your own needs, not caring whether the guy in your mouth is âcloseâ or not. Itâs your turn and the cobwebs of the week, the disappointments of the night are blown away in one mindshattering minute. For a moment there is nothing but blinding bliss.
On the way home, the tide of mystery and dsappointment come back in. Why are men so fickle? What governs a Mood exactly? Or is it code for drunk/stoned/fucked-up/high/obliterated. I give all I can when Iâm on a date, or having sex, or even on my knees on hanky panky patio. But rarely does that all come back. Guy after guy will not meet my lips. Heâll let me fuck him, but he wonât kiss. Heâll moan and groan and twist and turn as I fingerfuck him and jack him off, driving his lips into my...neck? Yeah, my lip-less neck. Not exactly where I want my kisses.
Intimacy is nowhere else more present than the kiss. And thatâs why itâs so rare. If I had to give up every other act of sex to keep the kiss, Iâd definitely keep the kiss. But then, thatâs what Iâm trying to do this year, to find a kiss that I can not just have once, but keep. And that may be well nigh impossible.Â
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