It’s gotta be me.
First, The Male Nurse asked me my bra size on the first date.
Then, The Teacher asked me for nude photos after only one date.
The final straw?
Having The Fireman move his drink out of the way so he could, “see my tits better.”
These are the kinds of men who are asking me out.
And I just have to say. . .
It’s not you, it’s me.
If everyone around you keeps changing but the end result is the same, it’s not the men you are dating, it’s YOU.
Obviously there is something I am doing to give the impression that I have loose morals.
I realize that I did stick my pussy in a guy’s face while in the hot tub.
And occasionally, I sext with “friends.”
When I’m on a date and acting properly and NOT DOING A DAMN THING EXCEPT TRYING TO GET TO KNOW SOMEBODY. . .
Why the slimeball maneuvers?
Whatever it is I’m doing, let me know and I’ll stop.
Because I may not be clear about what it is I’m doing but I’m clear that it’s preventing me from meeting someone nice and decent and kind.
And I’ve got space in my heart for someone like that.
A whole lotta space.