The Best Lover

charlie_beachBy far, the best lover I ever had was an Australian living in the US named Charlie.

He was the first bald headed guy I ever went out with.

And he was also the first married but separated man I attempted to date.

Charlie was extraordinary in bed, not because he had wicked skills or some special talents, but because he was so ALL CONSUMING IN BED HE LEFT YOU TOTALLY SPENT.

Now, I tend to be a take charge kind of girl.

But Charlie would have none of that.

When he kissed me, it was like he was POURING himself into me.

He’d grab me by the back of my neck and wrap his hand around my cheek and all of a sudden there was nothing.

But.

His.

Kiss.

I remember that sense of losing touch with reality when I was with him.

Of course as the clothes came off, things got even better.

Being held in his arms was like being enveloped in the woods – you were surrounded by masculinity, hardness, muskiness and strength.

Technically, you could find your way out, but why would you want to?

He was all hands and mouth and they were constantly seeking out your sensitive spots. I always felt like he was everywhere all at once.

And Charlie had a “thing.”

He liked being pressed into the mattress.

I remember this well.

He’d be on bottom, I’d be on top with my hands splayed out on his chest, pushing my weight down on him into the bed.

It was a style uniquely suited to him.

In doggie style, he’d wrap his body over mine and grab my wrists, squeezing me into his body, like we were going to merge into one.

There was so much skin to skin contact I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

All I know was that it felt good.

I’ll never forget the kind of lover Charlie was.

Maybe that’s why he holds a special place in my heart even though it was just a short lived fling.

And beyond being a spectacular lover, he was also just an all around great guy. The kind you’d go camping with, go fishing with, or take on a just-for-fun road trip.

That kind of man is worth his weight in gold.

Sigh!

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Charlie, the Aussie

charlie_beachI have a “THING” for Australians.

It all began 7 years ago when I met Charlie.

Charlie was a big, strapping Aussie man with a bald head and a muscular chest.

We met online and for our first date we went sailing on the SF Bay.

I was woefully unprepared for the cold weather. He, on the other hand, brought extra warm clothes which he outfitted me with so that I wouldn’t be cold on the water. He brought wine and we sipped our wine while we watched the sun set over the bay.

Our second date was in Santa Cruz. We went to the beach, set up a bonfire, curled up under a blanket and made out while sipping from an (illegal) bottle of wine. Can I tell you how busted we got? Fortunately, Charlie was able to talk his way out of a $250 ticket by pronouncing that he wasn’t a local.   And who could argue with that accent of his?

Charlie sailed a boat from Australia to Singapore. You could drop him off in the Outback with a Power Bar and a liter of water and he would find his way back to civilization. He would run wilderness marathons for fun.

For our third date he wisked me away to Southern California to take a tour of Heart Castle and explore the area. I’ll never forget making out with him in the Great Hall.

And of course who could forget the Halloween party we went to dressed up as the prom king and queen?

Charlie was, in essence, the MOST EXCITING MAN I’D EVER MET.

Ever since Charlie, I have had a special affection for Australians.

Although I’ve never met another man like Charlie, I still get a thrill when I hear the accent. When I listen to their special slang terms.

In America we say “awesome,” in England they say “brilliant” and in Australia they say “glorious.”

Not surprisingly, all the awesome/brilliant/glorious attributes that I associate with Charlie I now associate with all Australians. The adventuresome nature, the fun personality, the pleasing spontaneity.

Of course, I am now dating an Israeli and learning a whole different culture, but the Australians will always be near and dear to my heart.

All you need is to succeed once

IMG_7892Dating.

No one said it would be easy.

And technically, you get it wrong all the time and only get it right a fraction of the time.

Those aren’t stellar odds if you ask me.

I once dated this guy named Paul and for the life of me I couldn’t remember his name. It was like I had a mental block against his name. He finally gave up on me and (I am sure) filed me away under “disastrous dates.”

There was another guy who I went out with who was Lebanese. He had hummus the night before and he FARTED the whole time we were on our date. Nasty, stinky, garbanzo bean and garlic farts. Ugh. I filed him under “NEVER AGAIN!”

But the absolute worst date I went on was with a lawyer who brought his 6 year old daughter and two standard size black poodles with him. Somehow I wound up walking those dogs and letting his daughter watch the Adult Swim station on TV while he ran out for dog food.

And the best dates, we’ll they are like magic in my mind.

Charlie, the Aussie I adored, took me to see Hearst Castle and we strolled along the beach, just like the cliché, hand in hand, chatting about his life in Australia and my life in the US. It was a little bit of heaven and that boy deserved every blessedly wonderful thing that happened to him.

Jason and I hit it off instantly. It was unimaginable chemistry and an instant connection. To this day, I remember how he said my name with gravity and weight, as if it really mattered to him. That boy could say ‘Michelle’ and get a response from me in a millisecond.

Finally, there’s Drew. Drew was a 6’10” volleyball player who literally made me shiver when I saw him, such was the nature of our attraction. Our romance was brief but intense and when he held my hand in a jazz concert at Stanford, I got moist. Yeah, that kind of attraction.

The thing that all the good dates and all the bad dates have in common is that I usually knew, within minutes of meeting the guy, whether it was going to be great or awful. No exceptions. I’ve never expected a bad date and had a good date. Likewise I’ve always known when I was about to have a really good date.

As much as I love going out and having fun, regardless of who I am with, I’d like to meet that one person who connects with me on a deeper level.

So I guess I’ll just keep putting up with the bad dates, getting one step closer to having that good date.

I have a lousy success rate.

But all you need is to succeed once and you’re golden.

Totally, utterly, completely golden.