The Dirty Surfer

Strawberry blonde hair, puke green eyes, a cute button irish nose and of average build.  He was California born and bred, recently divorced, father of four.  We met at a karaoke bar that I frequent on occassion. I normally don’t go to this bar because the crowd is of a wierder bunch, but on this particular night, Shisty, Soprano and I just wanted to sing and try to change the scenery.

My first warning sign should have been the fact that he was drunk, but so was I. It was because I was pretty inhebriated myself that I thought to give him a chance.  It wasn’t as though I got drunk all the time. Getting drunk happened maybe 3-4 times a year for me. Please note there is a distinct difference between being intoxicated and feeling nice. I was intoxicated, as was he. 

Soprano, Shisty, and I were discussing it last night on our car ride home from another evening of karaoke. We were trying to figure out what about him had enticed me in the first place and we all blurted out at the same time: "The rose."  That night in June, DirtySurfer had purchased a rose for me.  It should be noted that I’m not the kind of girl who gets flowers all the time. Perhaps I could have said that five years ago when I was dating Smiles and he did all the loving boyfriendly things a girl dreams of, but I was too stupid at the time to recognize his efforts.  Needless to say, since him, I’ve probably received flowers less than a handful of times in the course of the last five years.  So, the rose is what prompted me to exchange my number with DirtySurfer.

We didn’t go out on a date right away, no. Instead, we hung out a few more times at the bar (what a retarded move on my part).  The rationale behind it was that I was in a comfortable setting. There is my cousin, Shisty, hosting karaoke and he and I at the bar sharing conversation and getting to know one another. I felt safe with Shisty in close proximity.  So we did that a couple of times and he seemed nice enough. He was entertaining, funny, conversational – and in my opinion – quite handsome! Of course his four children loomed in the back of my mind. The fact that he was only here for work on contract until August 2011 poked at me now and then, but I wasn’t looking for anything serious anyway. 

On one particular night (after we’d hung out twice and talked until the early hours of the morning) he captured my complete interest when he endured sitting on my curb, being bitten by mosquitos just because I would not yet let him into my apartment. Not once did he complain. This was night three of hanging out. Then the fourth time we hung out, we sat at a bus stop for five hours straight until we realized it was seven in the morning, he treated me to breakfast, admitted he didn’t want to leave me and asked if he could join me at church.  I was skeptical and uncomfortable with the idea and asked for a raincheck on that, but agreed to meet him after church for a movie. I suppose it was our first actual date.  On that date, I paid. I paid for the movie and our meal. I mention this because this will become a recurring pattern (I have a problem).

At this point, we are both admitting that we are sort of dating one another. In all of our conversations I learn he is laid back. He is a hard worker, but unfazed by much of anything.  He seems to take the backseat when it comes to life – just cruisin along – which could be attributed to his California upbringing.  I soon learn that one of his four children is not biologically his. He took on the eldest son of his ex (mother of his 2 youngest children) because the boys father had passed away. He has never considered him anything less than his son. That was admirable to me and enough to lure me to him. That sort of selfless compassion can attract me to anyone. We agree we need to go on an official date.

The official date isn’t full of romance and thoughtfulness.  He really doesn’t fall into that sort of category. He is plain, simple, straightforward. We go to an Italian place in the village. We kill two bottles of wine. He drinks much more than I do. I’m feeling buzzed. I begin to notice that the Irish stereotype might live in him. He certainly enjoys his wine and his beer. We stumble out of the restaurant (I allowed him to pay, which is hard for me to do, but I must learn to allow myself to be treated). We end up at another bar. I had to use the restroom and so when I walk out of the bathroom, he has a beer in his hand. I should have known.  I do blame myself for what ensues next because it was my decision to get sexual. I begin to make advances. At this point we’ve made out several times already and I enjoy his kisses and his conversation. That is a LETHAL combination for me. Here we are in the back of this bar, fairly intoxicated and I’m touching places with an intent to get a rise out of him. I get a rise.

There was no driving involved on this evening. While he is a heavy drinker, he is also responsible enough to know better than to get into a vehicle under such cirmcumstances. We end up in his apartment. The idea was that I would simply watch. That is just what I did too. I just watched.

*Interjection:  I don’t think I’ve ever, ever mentioned this on OD, but I was molested as a child. The experience is very faint in my memory.  There are a few objects and images that come to mind when I recall the time, but it has never affected me the way it affected my other cousins who were much older and whom it happened to for a much longer period. Their names and identities I will not disclose. I was between the age of four and five when it began and ended. In essence, my cousin saved my life by coming forward. It had happened to her for many years until she moved to California. Upon one of her yearly visits she saw the signs that it was happening to me. My uncle (by marriage) would take me to the basement to get my little red tricycle. The tricycle is one of the images I can recall. The smell of the dank basement I can remember. Fear. I can conjure up fear sometimes on a really crappy day, but it’s never been a pervasive thought that has hindered me from living. I do often ask myself ‘how has this affected you in relationships?’ The mind is an amazing feild of power.  For a very, very long time, I had absolutely NO recollection of this having occurred. It was almost as though I had blocked it from my memory, which happens often with traumatic experiences. I could not even tell you now how traumatic or not-so traumatic my experience was because so much of it I do not recall. However, one day, sitting in the doctors office and being as nosy as I was, I pulled open my medical files to discover that I had a series of inexplicable bacterial infections when i was 4.  I had bladder infections all the time and a Catheter was inserted into my vaginal canal and anus at the tender age of 4. Suddenly, I remembered that "surgery" as I had described it to my pre-school friends. I remember it being painful. I remembered the bladder infections, crying on the toilet, puddles of my moms sorrowfultears mixing with mine. Then there it was in black ink "molested by uncle" and a description of when and how. In that instant the red tricycle popped into my head and that’s when I realized that all those years I’d blocked out the memory. My cousin had called crying from that aforementioned California visit begging and pleading not to let it happen to me as well, at first making no sense, until we were all sat down and questioned.  It was true. We all individually said she was speaking the truth. She broke down and told them everything; she told them how it had happened to her for so long, how he was doing it to his own daughter (my other cousin), her brother, and how she saw that he had begun with me too and she wanted to save me. She did. I’m forever indebted to her for it. 

Why do I tell you this story? Here is why. I have always had a phobia with penis’s. Not the kind of phobia that would prevent me from enjoying one.  No. Instead, I need to be "prepared."  You would be surprised at how easily most men I date oblige very quickly when I request a photo of their appendage. I can not come face to face with a penis that I have not prepared myself to be in front of. It wasn’t until my cousin (the molesters daughter – who by the way has survived and done extremely well for herself and I could not be more proud of her) brought it to my attention that she thinks it stems from our experience as children.  It should also be noted that it wasn’t until the beginning of this year that she discovered I knew anything about what had happened to us.  We never talked about it or acknowledged it. Once everything came to the surface all those years ago, all of my uncles, my father, my other cousins father threatened to take this mans life and so he fled the country. He went back to his country. So, i interject with this story so that you all understand at this stage with DirtySurfer, I’d already seen his penis and that’s usually my personal sign to know when things are escalating. I won’t ask for the photo unless I think I am going to find myself in a relationship with the individual, and I admit this story to them sometimes before I ask for the photo because I am not ashamed. I am an open book.

I only watched. After I watched him, after we made out for a little, I put on one of his t-shirts and crawled into bed to sleep. My only intention was to sleep. It was late and he was in no condition to drive and I was tired myself. About an hour or two later, I awoke to a half asleep man fondling my nether regions. I was half coherent myself. In addition to being half coherent I have to admit that I was both horny and had not had sex in quite some time. I was confused and shocked and apalled initially, but eventually I gave in to the sensation his fingers were stirring inside of me. Long story short, we had unprotected sex. I could not understand how or why it had occurred the next morning and the worst of it all is that he did not remember fondling me at first. He had absolutely no recollection he had done that (and it would happen several times more in our few months together).  It was akward, but I try not to regret too much and so I kept it moving.

The weekend after was the 4th of July. He joined me in Connecticut to be with my family. We shared a really loving weekend (with regards to how he was treated by my family). In seeing me interact with the children in such a maternal way he began to grow distant and strange over the course of those two days in Ct. It was a fun filled, family filled, loving, exciting weekend. When we returned back to Queens for a week after that, he was unreachable. Suddenly work became very demanding for him (which was part bullshit, part truth). I finally put my foot down, and ended things before they even began. Either he had used me for sex and moved on (although if that were the case, we had already had sex and he didn’t have to come to Ct. to meet my family), or he had some serious issues he needed to work out. It turned out to be the latter of the two.

He missed his family. He didn’t know how to tell me that a wonderful weekend with my family caused him to retreat into a solemn quiet depression. He sort of blamed me unknowingly. Two weeks went by before he contacted me apologizing and asking if there were any way he could fix what he’d done. He realized how great I was and how stupid of a mistake he had made detaching himself as he had. We took another turn at it.

Sexually, he would have been great if he only could control himself and last a little longer. I had a one minute man on my hands (less sometimes).  His package was the best yet! It was beautiful. His package was actually beautiful and that is very important to me for reasons previously mentioned. I was not the only one who thought so. My lesbian boss quite frankly found it beautiful too! It was rendered useless to me though. He could only sustain his erection long enough if he was intoxicated. This would never work. I tried to explain that it didn’t matter to me how long he could last and that I’d prefer him sober.  In the end, I posed the question: "What is more important to you? The beer and smoking, or having a good girl to be by your side?" The answer: I’m still single 🙂  He chose beer.

He knows, and I know, he made a very big mistake. Because now I’m definitely done. We speak as friends. We recently went out to dinner (and I paid).  I do not feel remotely attracted to him anymore. He lost me.

He had his good moments, and one thing I can say is that he gave me the time of day that in two years Jibby did not! He came to see me in the show and even went as far as to buy a camera to take pictures of me (but ended up losing the camera a week later on a drunken night, low and behold! He was also very present physcially, though phonecalls and messages were difficult for him. He was attentive when we were in once anothers presence and willing to do whatever I wanted, except slow down on the smoking and quit the drinking in excess.

It goes without mention that I was equally as good to him if not better. I paid for quite a number of our outtings (like I said, this is an issue I have).  I cooked him breakfast’s and dinner’s and took care of him when he did spend nights with me. Even though we had broken up, I put together a Welcome to New York package for his son who was visiting him and would have to spend his days in the office just waiting around for his father to be done with work. This package had almost $200 worth of goodies. NY cap, t-shirt and memorabilia, markers, pens, toothbrush, gift cards to the movies and restaurant, coloring books, kites, activities, reading materials, candies, snacks etc.  This is what I do. Giving comes easily. Accepting is what I’m working on. Because in the end, it’s not that I don’t want to accept. I want someone to fight me and insist on paying dinner if it’s a date. I just don’t know how not to pull out my wallet. Maybe I don’t know how to be submissive. Maybe that goes back to my childhood too. I can’t be sure.

And that folks is the story of DirtySurfer whom I dated for about a month and a half during the summer of 2010.  By the way, his name derives from how sloppy he is with his appearance and his upkeep. He’s not disgusting and stinky, but he’s SUCH a handome individual and just doesn’t take care of himself. His room was gross, his car even worse, his attire repetitive and careless. I could have worked with that though. I just had no intention of competing with a mans affinity towards alcohol. Up next the story of….. Stop&Shop (S&S).

Much Love Always,
The Surfing Rose