Jun 252015

The vast majority of dates I’ve been on in recent years have been something like “sure things.” Between my blog and my general propensity for repeat encounters, as opposed to first dates, I generally know not just that I’m going to end up with my cock in my date’s mouth, but when, where, how, even what she’ll be wearing. (And because I’m writing about “sure things,” here’s a little glimpse into the etiology of my name, from “The Sure Thing.”)

Once in a great while, I have a first date. But even then, because of the blog, my dates generally are with women who’ve “vetted” me. They may not know what I look like visually, but they, generally, know that I make them wet, that I turn them on, that we have chemistry, and that, unless I look radically different than I’ve led them to believe, we’re going to bed together.

Shortly, though, I’ll have a date with a woman of whom none of this is true. We’ve had a few brief interactions on OKC, but they’ve not been via my blogger profile. As far as I know, she knows nothing of the existence of N. Likes. She knows a bit about me, but what she knows is circumscribed, limited. We haven’t ratcheted our interest, we haven’t established that she’ll want to do as I ask.

There’s at least a sense in which I strive very hard to avoid this very situation, as it brings with it the possibility of rejection. Rejection not just of my looks, or of chemistry (which, honestly, I can weather fairly easily), but rejection of me.

That? I find much harder.

Say something! (I just did....)