Finding What I Need in a Lover

I’m way too picky in looking for a lover. I want what I want. Looks, intelligence, sexual chemistry, close location, and compatible scheduling.

The problem is that none of the guys work out.
And I’m tired of looking.

Why is looking for an affair partner so fraught with difficulty? The “perfect” lover doesn’t exist except in my mind.

In real life, he’s got cold feet.

“I didn’t realize how much planning this is going to take,” he texts.

Seriously?

It’s an affair. Yeah, it’s going to take coordination on an almost tactical level.

“I am so swamped at work right now…”

Not a good sign, dude. You don’t really want this. IF you did, you would be jumping through every hoop. Obviously, you don’t want to get laid.

I’m getting desperate, on the other hand.

When I find a man who might be checking off multiple boxes, I’m inordinately excited.

Then, “Wait, do you only have time on weekdays?”
“YES. I put that in my profile. Do you remember?” I text.

Of course, he didn’t read my profile.

I should have just written, “horny morons message me.”

My “free” time interferes with 99% of most working men’s lives. And the 1% left are a little worrisome. Hobo’s welcome here…lol. It’s men of questionable leisure. Their free “time” is awfully unstructured.

“Ummm, do you have a job?”
“I’m in between gigs at the moment.”

Yup. Those guys. I might be better off with a bartender or a musician at this rate.

I finally found a guy I wanted to meet who might be able to make hotel afternoons happen, but he’s too guilty.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” one hour before we are supposed to meet for coffee.

Oh, really? I will block you — the guilt kings.

Nice guy. Good looking. Something must be wrong with him. I just know it. He’ll be a secret sadist.

“I want to punish you, bad girl,” he texts.
“Nope. No thanks.”

I am being punished plenty by this process of looking for a lover.

Enough red flags are hoisted to make me look twice.

“Can you host?” one guy writes.

In my profile, I wrote that I could NOT host. Why would he think that I suddenly could?

“You do realize this is adultery, right? Most of us can’t host, nor would we want to.”
“Oh, I can’t do hotels; my wife counts every penny.”
“Then, how do you expect to cheat?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Or an idiot with too many clichés.

Another overwatched marital prisoner-of-war, hoping to make a run for it. But the walls are too high, and the guard is on duty.

“Can’t you come over now? My wife is out of town for the weekend.”

Will I come to a stranger’s house and fuck you for free while your wife is away? Wait, am I a prostitute? I don’t think so. I’m not getting paid. But I am risking my life for the possibility (oh, so slight) of an orgasm. Nah. I’m good.

Last time I checked, I was respectably married.
And I can guarantee myself an orgasm with a toy at home.

I don’t believe how much worse it can get.

“Do you want to come out to the supermarket for some milk, and we can fool around in my car?” a potential suitor writes.

Another superlative idea. Let me go to a stranger’s car at night that I have NEVER met before, and I don’t know his real name, and risk getting murdered. Or a possible STD. I won’t be a headline in tomorrow’s news.

“Married Woman Clandestine Encounter GONE Wrong.”

Who is this stupid?

This is why men get caught cheating far more often than women.

Thinking with their small brain, as usual.

Lowest common denominator. Middle school math. I couldn’t do it then, and I can’t do it now.

I refuse to lower my standards. I’m picky and patient. Until I get so frustrated by this search that my boxes start evaporating. What I want and what I’ll get are two vastly different things.