What’s good for the goose…

This afternoon, I posted the following Tweet: Thinking about double standards between men and women. Would I have to blog about relationships and sex anonymously if I was a guy? (To clarify, I'm assuming that the guy in this scenario is straight since the issue of sexual orientation would add another huge obstacle to the equation.)

Since I attended the DC Twestival last week, I've been thinking a lot about this. I don't know if I can be a selectively-anonymous sex blogger, but I'm going to try. The majority of my friends on Facebook have known about my blog since its inception. If I meet people who I think would enjoy my posts, I openly share my blog link with them. Most of my ex-boyfriends also know about this site.

However, I have kept my name and face off of my blog so that I have some control over who finds out about my relationship history. My hesitancy to reveal my identity to every reader stems from the fact that I don't want to be judged about my sexual proclivities in the workplace.

There are a lot of lawyers out there who dislike the profession in general or their jobs in particular. I just don't happen to be one of them. I've wanted to be an attorney since I was 14-years-old and love the law! But, I fear that as a female attorney in a conservative city like DC that I'm not allowed to openly love sex, too!

With respect to my career and the blog, I feel like a male attorney could joke about his dating escapades after work with his colleagues over cigars at Morton's without serious repercussions. I'm not intimating that there wouldn't be any professional ramifications if a man's sex blog became public, but I doubt that a guy would receive much more than a scolding:

Might not want to talk about your personal life around the office, Mike. Some of the ladies might not understand. [Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.]

When I finish my master's program in a few months and return to practicing law, I don't think that I'll be afforded the same freedoms as my male counterparts. My blog and my sexuality will have to be kept a secret from my co-workers. I'm not suggesting that an office is the appropriate place to engage in sexual banter. But, there is still a double standard when it comes to sex and the sexes, and that angers me on so many levels.

In all but one office where I've worked, senior male employees have made inappropriate comments about my body. I've learned to stand up for myself, but I know that I couldn't make similar comments about how a male partner's suit hugs his curves just so. I also couldn't be taken as seriously if my colleagues knew that I was City Girl. (I could write several more paragraphs about Puritanical values, what men can get away with in the workplace versus women, and how I expect more out of our society in 2009, but I'll spare you.)

So, what's your opinion to my original question? Do you agree or disagree that a man can blog more easily about sex and relationships than a woman?

I'm going to continue to do my best to be "selectively out" as a sex blogger. Only time will tell if that one foot in and one foot out approach will work.

Can a threesome help you reconnect?

In response to my posts on reconnecting with your partner, one of my friends suggested the option of "trying a threesome." I think a threesome might not make sense if the ultimate goal is to get closer with your significant other, but I appreciate that there are different strokes for different folks (pun intended). A few thoughts, for what they're worth:

1. For a straight couple, a threesome tends to be a fantasy for the guy and not the girl. If your girl is bisexual or truly comfortable with exploring her sexuality, then bringing another woman into the bedroom might be a fun activity to raise the sexual bar in your relationship. But, I would do a lot of communication before to ensure that there aren't a slew of problems afterward.

Is your girl really as into this as you are? Make sure that she is not just doing this to please you, and let her know that you will not leave her or cheat on her if she doesn't feel comfortable with having a threesome.

If she is genuinely open to this, what are her ground rules? Be specific. What can you do to the other woman? What can the other woman do to her? If any participant wants to stop, what is the "out" word or phrase? ("I don't feel comfortable with this" should get the point across, but it's okay to use a code word if that makes you feel better.) Will the other two people respect the third person's wishes and walk out of the bedroom?

Is it better to pull in a female friend of hers or someone that neither of you know? That's very couple specific. If you have a threesome with someone you are close to, there are pros and cons. On the one hand, everyone might feel more inclined to relax around each other because of the shared history. On the other, you all might feel more awkward or nervous since you know this girl — either at the time or after the fact.

If you ask someone you don't know that well to join you in a threesome, how or where will you meet such a willing participant? Can you trust that she will respect the ground rules? Will you ask her about her health history beforehand or not? Will all of you feel relaxed enough around each other?

Where will this go down? Is a hotel more discreet than your home? Is it better not to have this happen in the bedroom you share with your partner? Or, do you prefer to have home field advantage?

2. Conduct a cost/benefit analysis in advance! I recommend talking with your partner beforehand about the goals of this evening. Are there other, better ways to reconnect with each other? Could you go to a strip club together and then go back to your bedroom? Bring a porno movie or toy into the mix? Take a class together with a sex educator? Go to a resort for couples? Are there other fantasies that you both have that could be fulfilled?

My concern with a threesome is that once you go there, you can't unring that bell. If it doesn't work for any reason at all, what will happen to your relationship? Is it worth losing your partner?

So, the moral of this post: proceed with caution! I'm not saying that a threesome isn't a way to reconnect with your partner, but I would make sure that the benefits clearly outweigh the risks and that everyone is on the same page!

Reconnecting with your partner

Two months ago, my friend and I were at Founding Farmers when she asked me for some sex advice. Her dilemma:

I come home from a long day at work and don't have the energy to pretend that I'm a porn star. I'm tired. I have to take care of dinner, clean the house, feed and play with our baby girl, and then get her ready for bed. I want to spice our relationship up, but most times, I'm just having sex so my husband is satisfied. Even then, I spend a lot of the act thinking about how much I have to do around the house afterward. And, just once I would love to come home and have him put our child to bed and have a bath ready for me!

***

I've heard this from quite a few of my friends in their 30s and 40s. Everyone's schedules are so hectic that it leaves little time and energy for sexy time. Some of that is to be expected. Marriage changes the relationship dynamic. Working in more senior positions or trying to keep a job in a bad economy compounds the stresses. Having children places huge time constraints on a relationship. What's a couple to do?*

I gave my friend a few suggestions and thought I would share those with you all. From my perspective as an outsider and friend, the goal here is to make both parties happy, while respecting the fact that time is at a premium. My friend wants romance and intimacy. Her husband wants to get laid. I think that both of them can get what they want!

I recommended that they find one hour a week to reconnect. Just one! Even if a week is especially hectic, family is visiting, or one person is sick, one hour is doable (pun intended).

For the first week, I mentioned that my friend should let her husband set the itinerary. A few days before the "Rendezvous," he should send her an e-mail, text or note with what he would like to happen. (Keep in mind, though, that there should be some ground rules about what would be an acceptable way to spend the hour. If you've never introduced anal, porn or another girl into the mix, now is not the time to do so. Work within realistic and comfortable realms.)

The purpose of the e-mail/text/note is to get communication going about sex and romance…to get both parties excited about their upcoming time together…to make the guy think more about what the woman wants and vice-versa. The ultimate goal is to bring the couple closer!

For the second week, the woman sets the agenda with the same rules. I told my friend that if what she wants is to have a bubble bath and a bottle of wine, then that could be her hour right there! There's a time and place for sex that's down and dirty, but there's also a place for romance.

I suggested alternating that mode for several weeks. If it helps to book a babysitter in advance, do so. Also, try not to pick the last possible hour in the week to reconnect. That way if there's an emergency, you will be able to reschedule. Remember that it's just one hour and that you deserve (if not, need) the quality time as a couple!

If that's worked for a month, then try planning how to spend an hour together. That involves communication, which is one of the keys to any healthy relationship. Maybe make a plan to try something new as a couple? You don't need to go buck wild, but get out of your comfort zone or your routine a bit. A new position, a new place, a toy, a sex book or a porno flick…anything will do.

Or, write a few of your ideas for how to spend the hour down and ask your partner to do the same. Put those pieces of paper in a box/bowl and then pick one piece of paper out and focus on that activity for your hour.

If one hour works with your hectic schedules, then add a second hour. You don't need to reinvent the wheel of your default relationship mode or try to spend five hours a week in bed together (unless you want to, that is). But, it's worth it for you both to find ways to reconnect on a romantic and sexual level.

Think of this like an exercise program or diet plan for your relationship. If you lose 10 pounds in a week, such rapid weight loss is tough to maintain. Likewise, most of the couples that I know don't have the time or energy to spend hours upon hours in the bedroom. Pick a realistic way to spice things up a bit! And, remember that small changes will have long-term benefits!

*I realize that this post caters to breeders or power couples, but I wanted to answer my friend's question first.

Next Post: Tips for any couple to spice things up (regardless of time, age, stage, marital status or whether there's a kid in the next room). I'll also throw in a few ideas for those women who don't particularly enjoy sex and some reminders for my female readers to embrace their bodies — whatever size and shape they are.

xoxo

There’s something about Philly Matt

April 2005

Our second evening in Philadelphia found us at dining at Tangerine and grabbing drinks at Lucy's. I wanted to go to Club 27 to see Philly Matt again, but I deferred to the Birthday Girl, Nizzle, as to her wishes for the evening. (I could always pop into the club to give Matt my number on our way to the next bar, right?)

As the clock hit 1:00am, we finally headed over to Club 27. The security manager at the door recognized us, and within a few minutes, Philly Matt was at the door. He hugged us all hello and escorted us upstairs. There was the usual dancing and drinking, and by the time the club closed, my friends were three Drunky Brewsters!

The plan was for my group to grab drinks or pizza with Philly Matt and his friend, Grant, after they were done with work. When the club cleared out, all of us relaxed in one of the front rooms.

"I need to go home," Nizzle moaned, as she slumped down on the couch. Since the Birthday Girl had hit the wall, AP and Grant helped carry her the two blocks to her apartment.

While Barla talked with a club employee, Philly Matt and I sat in the corner, holding hands. He put his other hand on my face and turned my head toward him, planting the sweetest, softest kiss on my lips. (There were 15 other people in the room at the time and I had absolutely no idea what they were doing or saying.) When our mouths parted a few minutes later, I had a huge smile on my face and leaned back to rest my head on Matt's chest.

It was past 3am by the time the boys got paid. Barla and AP were craving pizza, but the closest place that was open at that hour was on the South Side of town. As we walked to Philly Matt's SUV, the girls chanted, "Pizza, pizza."

Five minutes later, there was something else on their minds, as the chants turned to "Pee pee, pee pee." Matt and Grant were true gentlemen, despite the fact that my friends acted like the girl version of Beavis and Butt-head. We arrived at the pizza place to find several guys taking off their jackets (no clue why) and shoving each other.

"Somebody's gonna get shot!" Barla exclaimed, as Matt ushered us quietly inside the pizzeria before anyone heard us.

Once inside, the girls were understandably disappointed that there were no public bathrooms inside. (Seriously! What kind of neighborhood is this?) They both wanted some pepperoni pizza, but a huge sign above the counter said:

Plain Pizza Only!

(Again…what kind of place is this?)

I tried my best to calmly explain to my friends that there was no pepperoni, until one of my girls screamed,

"Who do I have to blow to get some pepperoni around here?"

You could've heard a pin drop in that pizzeria, even though it was packed with patrons. One employee even stopped what he was doing to raise his hand. (Can't blame a guy for trying.) Matt kept us focused, though, moving us forward through the line to order our plain slices.

We downed the pizza in the car on the ride back to the hotel. When we got back to our room, the guys each took one of the chairs and I sat on the bed closest to them. Even though there was another bed, my friends proceeded to jump on me and pet my boobs. I laughed at their antics since it was hysterical, but I also tried to keep getting to know the guys. (Matt was incredibly nice, handsome and a great kisser. I wanted to know more!)

"How old are you guys?" I asked. Matt replied that he was 36, and Grant that he was 35.

"PIG!!! COCK!!!" AP exclaimed.

The guys just stared at her, as I tried to translate,

"What my inebriated Asian friend is trying to say is, 'How interesting Grant that you were born in the Year of the Pig, and you, Matt, were born in the Year of the Rooster! Chinese astrology is fascinating!'"

The guys and I continued talking as AP and Barla started to fall asleep. It turned out that Matt has two children.

"How old are they?" I inquired.

"6 and 10," he replied.

The girls awoke, and one of them screamed, "You have 10 kids???"

I clarified the situation for them and they closed their eyes again. (Note that they were still sleeping on top of my boobs at the time.)

The girls finally passed out for good, as I walked Matt and Grant to the elevator bay. Grant said goodbye to me, and I thanked him for taking such good care of my girls. He told Matt that he would meet him downstairs, which I later learned was code for "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

When Grant got in an elevator, Philly Matt kissed me again. For over two hours, we stood in the elevator bay, making out like we were in high school. Our kisses got more and more passionate, as he grabbed under my sweater and I put my hands between his jeans and briefes. You know those kisses that make a guy hard and a girl wet? This was one of those. On a scale of 1 to 10, his kisses were an 11!

Matt and I only came up for air when we heard the elevator stop or someone rolling their suitcase down the hall. We finally said goodbye at 6:30am(!), exchanging numbers and one last kiss.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face. That smile got bigger as I received a text from Philly Matt several hours later on the ride home:

It was wonderful spending time with you this weekend. I hope to see you soon, and I'll call you during the week.

I still loved Baseball Boy and was thrilled that he was moving back to DC, but there was something about Philly Matt. Hmm…

* I have worked with rape victims and don't intend this to be insensitive to the horrifying pain and sadness that they have endured. I merely mention this to support both how drunk my friends were and how cool Philly Matt is.

Next Posts: From a high to the lowest of lows with Baseball Boy.

City of Brotherly Love

2005

For the last weekend in April, my friends and I headed to Philly to join our girl, Nizzle, for her birthday. The plan was for eight of the guys and girls from our group to spend the weekend up in Philadelphia with the Birthday Girl, but work and health stuff brought the number down to three girls (me, Barla and AP). I obviously don't wish ankle sprains, merger negotiations, and the flu on my friends, but this Girls' Weekend was one of my favorite getaways ever. You know those times when you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. Well, that happened the entire weekend.

We arrived in Philly long after the sun had set. After checking into our hotel in Olde City, we barhopped for a bit until we decided that we wanted to dance. As we walked down an alley toward a club, I saw a fine black man outside and said to my girls, "Talk about the City of Brotherly Love!"

We headed inside Club 27. Even though the music was good, there was barely anyone there. We weren't sure if we should stay, but we figured that we would get a table and have at least one round.

Nizzle had quite a few shots in her by this point and jumped up on the seat to start dancing. It was her birthday weekend, though. Who were we to stop her?

The handsome black man from outside approached our table and said,

"Hi ladies. Welcome to Club 27. Are you having a good time tonight?"

"Yes! Definitely!" Barla replied.

We all talked for a few minutes and learned that his name was Matt. Philly Matt worked at Club 27 on Thursdays and Saturdays when the club was packed and the upstairs was opened up for dancing.

"I'll give you a tour later if you'd like. Tonight's not the best night to come here for dancing, but some more people will show up in an hour or so," Philly Matt explained. "Have you been here before?"

"No. It's our friend's birthday so we came up from DC to celebrate with her," I replied as I pointed to Nizzle.

"Oh, Happy Birthday! Well if it's your birthday, then let me by you all a round of shots! I'll be right back with some buttery nipples," he kindly offered.

I tried to stop him to tell him that I don't drink and order a soda in lieu of a shot, but he was already off to the bar. I followed him in the hopes of saving his money and the club's alcohol supply.

"Hey! I just wanted to let you know that I don't drink, but I hope that you'll do my shot for me since I would hate for a buttery nipple to go to waste," I informed him, as I put my arms around him from behind and rubbed his nipples over his shirt until they became hard.

(Yes, folks, I had met this man less than 10 minutes ago and I was already rubbing his nipples! This is still something that Philly Matt and I joke about to this day. He said that he knew from that moment that he had "a live one on his hands!")

The drinks continued to flow, and our groups merged on the dance floor. Because the place wasn't that packed, we had a lot of the floor all to ourselves. There were a lot of moments when my girlfriends' heads were between my boobs, legs were in the air, and booties were getting slapped. We had a blast!

Before the club closed for the night, Philly Matt gave us the grand tour. As he was talking, I couldn't stop staring at his smile. It could light up a room! He also had an amazing body. I wasn't looking to meet a guy in Philly (especially since Basketball Boy was moving back to DC in June), but I couldn't deny that I was attracted to Matt.

After seeing the upstairs dance floor with a platform overhead, Nizzle decided to add Club 27 to her official Birthday Party itinerary the following night. As we walked out of the club, Philly Matt and I gave each other a big hug and I kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm counting on it," he replied.

The perfect guy…almost

Google revealed that Safeway Guy was married. But, what if the bio that I had found online was out-of-date? He and I had such an amazing connection when we first met that I wondered (or was it hoped?) if he was single — or at least separated.

I wanted to find out so I decided to meet Safeway Guy for coffee yesterday as planned. I tried to remind myself that even if he was off the dating market, he was definitely a great professional contact.

I met him for coffee in the complex where I live and he works (at least until his company moves offices at the end of the week). He had said that it was okay if I brought my dog so I did. Safeway Guy and I had a perfect coffee date, but if he's married, was it a date?

He insisted on paying and getting me a little something to eat in case I was hungry. He was wonderful with my very shy rescue dog. It was so easy to talk to Safeway Guy about my thesis and former clients since he works in a related field. And, he confided in me about a delicate professional matter with which he was dealing. If we could have stayed at the coffee shop all day, we probably would have!

I kept waiting for him to bring up something about his family, but he didn't. I guess I can't blame him, but he was so seemingly perfect that I found myself hoping that the bio I had found online was wrong.

As we walked back to his office, he mentioned that he wished his offices weren't moving because he loves Foggy Bottom. The only bright size to the move is that his commute will be shorter from his home in Potomac.

"So, do you live with your family in Potomac?" I inquired, trying to be smooth.

"Yeah…I need to go to the bank. Do you want to walk up that way with me? I don't think they will allow your dog to come inside," he commented.

Wow! He dodged that question like it was a bullet! We hugged and kissed on the cheek goodbye, as he booked it into the bank. I guess he answered the question…sort of. But, I had hoped for a definitive,

"Yes, I live with my wife and two kids in Potomac. She and I are happily married, and you and I can be professional contacts or platonic friends, but that's it."

I continued walking with my dog, arriving back to my apartment 20 minutes later. In that short time, Safeway Guy had already sent me an e-mail! In the e-mail, he wrote that seeing me was the best part of his hectic day and that he looks forward to taking me out for a more relaxed lunch. And, if I'm being honest with myself, I'm looking forward to having lunch with him, too. Throughout the afternoon, we sent each other several more e-mails before his Internet service was disconnected.

A part of me wanted to believe that Safeway Guy wasn't still with his wife since he didn't fully answer my question. He and I aren't friends on Facebook, but he has a profile. The bio that I had found online the day before noted his wife's first name. I scrolled through his friends' list and found his wife's profile. Her profile pic features a photograph of their smiling family. So, I have my answer.

Am I tempting fate just by being friends with him? Is the fact that we have so much in common personally and professionally an asset as we try to build a friendship or just too risky? Is it possible to have a healthy friendship with a married guy?

Next time, I'm going to Trader Joe's. Shopping there is much less complicated.

Google to the Rescue!

Yesterday afternoon, I headed to the nearest Safeway to pick up some goodies for my Housewarming Party on Saturday. My cart was loaded up with cases of soda, water, juice and fixings for sangria. And, when I say, "loaded," I mean that all of my items barely fit in the cart.

As I was trying to steer the heavy cart to the checkout line, a handsome Latino in a beautiful dress shirt and tie exclaimed,

"Wow! You must be really thirsty!"

I laughed and replied, "I'm stocking up for a party."

He got in line behind me, and we chatted about my party. I wasn't thinking of him in a flirtatious way, especially since I had just come from the pool and was wearing yoga shorts and a t-shirt. But, he was really cute!

I said goodbye and walked out of the store. Two minutes later, he saw me in front of the grocery store, switching items from my shopping cart to one of those travel/laundry carts.

"Can I help you with that?" Safeway Guy asked.

"I'm fine. Thanks, though," I responded with a smile.

He came around the gate to where I was with the carts and insisted on helping me transfer things from one cart to the other. Almost 30 minutes later, we were still outside talking. You know when you instantly connect with someone? That was how I felt with Safeway Guy.

We work in similar fields. We speak the same languages. Neither of us drinks alcohol by choice. His family is from a country near the place about which I'm writing my esoteric thesis. We both have dogs and prefer soy milk to whole or skim. Oh, and did I mention how cute he is?

For the past four months, he has worked a block away from my apartment building, but we had never met. Our paths finally crossed yesterday, and much to my dismay, his company is moving offices on Friday to Friendship Heights (several miles uptown). Safeway Guy gave me his card, and suggested that I e-mail him that afternoon before the move interrupts his Internet service.

As we said goodbye, he asked if I needed any more help and wondered if I had people who could help me the rest of the way up to my place.

"Like minions? Yeah, that would be nice. I'll start looking for an assistant for thesis writing and errands," I joked.

"You should get some minions," Safeway Guy insisted. "I'll apply for one of the positions."

We smiled and finally parted. Shortly after I got upstairs, I e-mailed him, and he wrote right back. He commented that,

"I'm so sorry I'm moving now that there is such a wonderful potential friend in the near vicinity. Not often one connects with another so quickly and on so many levels."

I blushed when I read those words and was excited that he felt the same way that I did! Safeway Guy said that I could call him at work today or that we could get together for lunch after the move. I sent him back a second e-mail, and mentioned grabbing coffee today if he had time for a break in the midst of the move. He did, and we made plans for this morning. I could tell that I was looking forward to it by the size of my smile as I read his e-mail confirming the time and place.

I knew a bit about his company, but wanted to know more so I used Google to my advantage. Sure enough, I found a lot about how successful he was and all the great work that his organization did. But, as I scrolled through one of his biographies as a conference presenter, I saw the following:

"Safeway Guy lives with his wife and two kids in Potomac."

I am so not going down this road again.

Did I go out for coffee with him today or cancel our plans?

Nice, but not too nice = just right!

In the fall of 2004, I figured that I should start dipping my toes back in the dating pool to see what was out there. At that time, I was looking for someone with whom I could have a "normal" relationship. I wanted a lot of great sex (obviously), but also some love and companionship.

I went back on eHarmony's website, and a guy named Austin caught my eye. He was two years younger than me, 6'1", black, good looking and well-rounded. We e-mailed for a couple of weeks before scheduling a lunch date at the old Cafe Asia on 19th Street. We exchanged phone numbers in case something came up at the last minute. The day before our lunch, my phone rang.

"Hi, this is Austin. How are you?" he said.

"Good, thanks. Is there a problem with lunch tomorrow?"

"Umm…no," he replied hesitantly. "I was just calling to talk."

"Well, I'm in the middle of something right now. Is it okay if we just meet tomorrow as planned?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'm sorry to have bothered you," Austin commented.

"No worries. See you tomorrow!"

I didn't mean to be rude, but I'm a big believer in chemistry. Much like a dude, I know within five minutes of meeting a guy whether I'm interested in him or not. The eHarmony website already did some of the basic compatibility matching for us. The chemistry part would either be there…or it wouldn't. I didn't care to have a whole lot of conversation before that.

When I walked into Cafe Asia, Austin was already seated at a table. He was cuter than his photo (bonus!) and had a great smile. We hugged hello, and he said,

"Wow! I'm glad that you hugged me because I didn't know what to expect after you didn't want to speak with me on the phone yesterday. I was hoping that you would be as nice and cool as you seemed on your profile."

I laughed and told him that I'm better in person. Weekday lunch dates can be awkward, but this one wasn't. Austin was a really good guy who liked sports and music and was very protective of his three little sisters. It was easy to talk to him, and nice that he was a total gentleman, paying for lunch, even when I offered to split the bill.

Normally, guys who are too nice annoy me, but Austin was kind without being a wuss or overly complimentary. He didn't seem interested in fast-tracking things with me (no talk of marriage or children on the first date), and he was genuine. Before the date ended, he asked if he could see me the following week, and I said that would be great.

The following week, I had a minor surgical procedure scheduled. Austin suggested bringing dinner and a movie over the night before the procedure so I would have some company and not sit at home by myself worrying. His caring and initiative won huge points!

He came over, and it was very easy to have him in my condo. He wasn't intimidated by my place, and asked a fair amount of questions about my friends and my parents. Simply put, Austin made me smile…and want to get to know him better.

As we watched the movie, he held my hand and ran his fingers through my hair. When the movie ended, he gave me a big hug and a small kiss, and told me that he hoped that everything went well at the hospital.

I had wanted a kinder and gentler guy in my life. I had found him! All my needs were met, and I slept soundly before the procedure.

Did Austin have staying power?

“Mom, I think I have frostbite!”

February 1994

After The Diminutive Russian and I split up, my heart was broken. I was 20 years old and had moved down to DC for a guy who started out as a bad boyfriend and ended up even worse. I spent the next month, going to class at GWU, dancing on the platforms at The Vault, partying a lot, and dating one of The Diminutive Russian’s friends.

Alexei personified Russian Hotness — 6’4″, blond hair, blue eyes and a body that could have been crafted by sculptors. Alexei also had quite a diversified portfolio. Sometimes he modeled, sometimes he worked as a bartender at The Vault, and sometimes he dealt pot.

Alexei was nice and uncomplicated. I don’t mean to imply that he lacked any abstract thoughts. But, after my intense relationship with The Diminutive Russian, it was refreshing to date someone who didn’t seek drama or evoke angst.

Alexei was up in NYC for a modeling gig, when ice storms began to rage through DC. The Mayor closed the whole city for a week so my friend, Bex, and I were holed up in our apartment. I felt incredibly tired and thought that I had gotten frostbite from the bitterly cold weather since I couldn’t feel my feet. “Please send me some good snow boots,” I asked my Mom.

The ice storms started to abate over the weekend, but I still couldn’t feel anything in my feet. In our infinite wisdom, Bex and I tried to wake my feet up. We poured hot water and cold water on them. Bex tenderly rubbed my tootsies with lotion. I even banged them on the coffee table. Nothing! Now and then, when I got up from the couch, I would fall, and call to Bex like that old lady in the Life Alert commercial, “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

On the 14th, I was home, feeling quite out of sorts and waiting for Alexei to call to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day. Bex had gone out to dinner with her boyfriend, and they came home to enjoy “dessert” in her bedroom. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t. So, when the phone rang at midnight, I was wide-awake:

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Alexei exclaimed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I replied with a little less enthusiasm.

“I just got in from New York. Want to come over?” he asked.

“I don’t know…I’m not feeling that well…it’s late,” I commented.

“I want to be with you. I brought you chocolates from New York. I have a bottle of Dom chilling. I came back tonight just so we could be together on Valentine’s Day!” he explained.

I was so exhausted, but I did want to see him. And, I felt like I would be more motivated to go to school and Student Health tomorrow, if I was already at his place. I got my things together, and as I changed into my outfit, I realized that my legs were really cold. From below my knees, they were like icicles. And, I was walking so slowly. Maybe this wasn’t frostbite? Maybe I had an orthopedic problem or something?

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Alexei’s house, and knew that I didn’t feel like myself when I turned down a glass of Dom. He had brought me a candy bar and a single red rose, which made me smile.

We moved into the bedroom, and as tired as I was, I wanted to have sex. I also kept thinking to myself that I needed to make sure that he didn’t touch my legs below my knees. They were so cold that I worried he would wonder if he was having sex with a corpse!

I sat in a meditation position, facing him with my butt resting on my feet. My arms were stretched out behind me and I arched my back as much as I could. I shifted positions a few times by swiveling from side to side, but managed to move my legs as one unit. After we were done (or more accurately, after he was done since I was too tired to orgasm), we went to sleep. I remember that he made some comment about how cold my legs were. I just laughed and said, “It’s freezing in here!”

The next day in class, I noticed that my hands were numb and that it was tough for me to write. I had promised my Mom that I would go to Student Health, and one of the guys from school offered to walk me there.

A nurse at Student Health said that it was neither frostbite nor orthopedic. She thought it was neurological and gave me a referral form. As I checked out at the front desk, a Student Employee said,

“You look really tired. One of these doctors is right upstairs. Why don’t you go up and make the appointment before their office closes so then you can go home and go to sleep?”

That made sense to me so I walked upstairs, holding on to whatever wall or table I could. When I got to the receptionist desk, the secretary gave my referral form to one doctor who suggested that she show it to another doctor. Lucky for me, that doctor had a cancellation right that very minute!

I don’t know if you believe in miracles or blessings from above, but I do, and the events of that February afternoon remind me of why. As it turns out, the doctor who received my referral form from Student Health and offered to do a consultation right then and there was one of the experts in this area of neurology. From the one line on my referral form that said “tingling in hands and feet, difficulty walking,” she knew what was wrong and pretended to have a cancellation so that she could see me asap.

Within a few hours, I had a spinal tap and was admitted to the hospital with something called Guillain Barre Syndrome (GBS). I didn’t have frostbite. I was going paralyzed!!! Guillain Barre starts in your feet and hands and works its way inward. The majority of people arrive at the hospital with almost total paralysis, and it can be life-threatening if it reaches your lungs or heart. For you history buffs, a 2003 study believes that FDR had Guillain Barre, not polio.

GWU is a teaching hospital so doctors kept coming into my room to ask me questions.

“When did you last have sex?” the doctors inquired.

“Last night,” I replied.

“But you couldn’t feel your lower extremities?” one doctor asked.

“So? It was Valentine’s Day and I’m dating a really hot Russian model!” I explained.

[The doctors in the room just stared at me with wide eyes and said nothing for over 30 seconds before someone moved on to a different topic.]

Yeah, I really said that. What did I have to hide?

It took a while to get my strength back, but thanks to GWU Hospital and Physical Therapy, I did. And, yes, I know how lucky I am!

Oh, and if you’re wondering, Alexei visited me in the hospital and came to my house quite a few times while I was recouping. A nice, uncomplicated guy was just what I needed at this time in my life!

The Diminutive Russian — another contender for Best Worst Boyfriend

Another contender for my Best Worst Boyfriend would be The Diminutive Russian. The year was 1993. I had recently arrived in DC for my college internship and was heading to Habana Village in Adams Morgan to meet some friends. Little did I know at the time how much impact the bartender at that salsa club would have on my life.

I went to order a drink and spoke to the bartender in Spanish. He got very defensive and said, “I’m not Spanish. I’m Russian.” OK. My mistake. We started talking and he asked me to stay around after my group left. I wondered how I would get home, but he said that his friend would give me a lift. (Oh, to be 20 and not even think that I would be getting in a car with a psycho.)

He was interesting and had a bit of mystery to him. The Diminutive Russian was dark and handsome, but very short for me, and I towered over him by at least five inches in my platform sandals. His friend showed up, and as we were getting ready to leave, a girl walked in to the bar and kissed The Diminutive Russian. Huh? I was confused, but didn’t say anything. He told me that this girl surprised him from out-of-town so he was going to hang out with her that night.

“Is she your girlfriend?” I inquired.

“No. We’re just friends,” he replied.

I gave him my number, and his friends drove me home. He called the following night and we went out. I should’ve recognized the warning signs, but I didn’t. Over the next several months, The Diminutive Russian continued to claim that the girl, Kristen, wasn’t his girlfriend because she was married. I believed him — partly because I wanted to and partly because I was 20 and didn’t know better.

Within a week after we met, he started making comments about my weight.

“You’re so heavy.” I was a size 8-10.

“How much do you eat?”

“You really need to start watching your diet!”

If some guy said that to me now, I would laugh in his face and tell him to lose my number. But, at that age, I reacted much differently. I lost 25 pounds in 8 weeks on The Diminutive Russian Diet Plan. He was like my own unhealthy Jenny Craig!

Despite how he treated me and how much he made me cry, I fell hard for him. We spent a lot of time at Habana and The Vault after-hours, drinking, kissing and dancing. I remember many a night when we would have sex until the sun rose. The Diminutive Russian also had an intellectual side, and we would get into deep conversations about international relations and Oscar Wilde’s works.

Most of his friends were Russian and too intense for me. A lot of them were interested in things (cocaine, threesomes, etc.) that were not of interest to me. At The Diminutive Russian’s birthday party, no one informed me that I was supposed to be part of his present and hook up with a girl right in front of him and his best friend. The fact that the host of the party turned on a lesbian porn movie, and his girl, Olga, started rubbing my legs should have tipped me off. But, I didn’t initially realize that something was amiss because I had been drinking. Once I figured out what was going on, I told The Diminutive Russian that I wanted to leave, and he seemed (thankfully) as offended as I was by his best friend’s plan.

One would hope that type of thing would have been an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. On my last night in DC, we went to Trax with an old friend that was visiting from Russia. When we headed back to The Diminutive Russian’s studio, I assumed that his friend would let us have fun on the floor while he slept in the bed. He did not, and I suddenly felt another set of hands on me. I yelled at the friend to get off of me, and the two of them started screaming in Russian at each other. I’m happy to report that the friend went back to bed without further protest and this didn’t turn into a bad Lifetime movie, but it was still another odd night with The Diminutive Russian.

When I returned to college for my senior year, we stayed in touch and saw each other when we could. In one call, he said how much he missed me and that he was sending a plane ticket for me to come down to DC the day after Christmas for a party that he was hosting. He asked me to stay with him through New Year’s, and I agreed, provided that Kristen (the ambiguous girlfriend) wasn’t going to be at either event. He insisted that she wasn’t.

In my infinite wisdom (note sarcasm), I told my parents that I couldn’t bear to be apart from The Diminutive Russian for another semester and arranged to take my last four classes at GWU. My parents thought that was very unwise (understatement), but supported me nonetheless.

On December 26, 1993, I arrived at the Diminutive Russian’s doorstep with my luggage. The Russian party was a huge success, and I worked coat check as he managed the floor. It felt like we were finally a couple, and I was even beginning to stand up for myself around him.

“You need to eat more. You are too skinny,” he commented after the party.

“Really? I doubt that you’ll ever stop criticizing me no matter how much I weigh. You just want to control me, and that needs to stop!” I replied.

On New Year’s Eve, I arrived at Habana in a tiara and red dress. At midnight, The Diminutive Russian kissed me, and everything seemed perfect. My bliss was short-lived, though, as Kristen showed up at the bar at 2am. She walked up to The Diminutive Russian and they started making out right in front of me! I did my best to hide my tears until I left Habana. I had nowhere to go other than his apartment so I went back there and called my parents, sobbing hysterically.

I wasn’t sure if the evening could get more bizarre, but it did. At 5am, The Diminutive Russian returned to his place – alone – and acted as though nothing had happened. I stayed with him in his apartment, and I was glad that I did because I learned a lot that night.

The Diminutive Russian had lied to me about his relationship with Kristen. Yes, she was married, but much to my surprise, so was The Diminutive Russian! He was in a green-card marriage with an old girlfriend. Kristen was in a marriage with an older man for security. And, Kristen and The Diminutive Russian loved each other, but I was his girlfriend who he really liked. (If you are confused at this point, imagine how I felt at the time!)

I left The Diminutive Russian’s place the next day. He and I talked a few times after that, but we never dated again.

In 1996, we ran into each other at the original Ozio. Out of boredom and nostalgia, The Diminutive Russian and I ended up spending the night together. I just remember being there with him and wondering why I ever was so attracted to him in the first place. Three years later, I was in a much different place, whereas he was doing exactly the same thing with his life.

The following night, I had a date with another guy. When I got home at the end of the evening, I had 23 voicemail messages from The Diminutive Russian! Yes, 23! I broke out into a huge smile, knowing that if only for one night, The Diminutive Russian felt about me the way that I had felt about him in 1993. I wasn’t sure what the Russian’s next move would be, but for once, I didn’t care. You never know when you are over someone until you just are. I finally was and sure slept soundly that night!