He may be a dating expert, but on one first date, Jackie Summers discovered that there is only so much sh*t he can take.
There are few things in life Morgan enjoys more than giving me shit.
One would be belly tickles with her lhasa apsos. Another would be Manolo Blahnik’s personal contribution to a shoe collection roughly equivalent to the GDP of Paraguay. The other things can’t be mentioned here, as they might sear your retinas.
A tsunami in a size two, Morgan is equal parts beauty, brilliance, intransigence and sarcasm. A former nationally ranked figure skater, my best friend is now married to a guy she loves “way more than she should” and is mother to forty seven pounds of blonde-haired, chin-dimpled, testosterone fueled rambunctiousness. Unimpeded by budgetary constraints and settled into domestication, she now lives vicariously through my–sometimes–sordid dating-slash-love life.
Translation: if I ever decide to run for public office, a large portion of my campaign funds will have to be diverted towards hush money, as Morgan knows every detail of my life that is blackmail-worthy.
♦◊♦
I’ve long thought meeting for dessert makes for a perfect first date. As it stands I’ve frequented the same dessert place since my early teens. Long before a deal with Beelzebub was struck to put a Starbucks on every corner, you could go to La Coccina de Salvatore, order hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick and a slice of pecan pie suitable for divine consumption, and sit unmolested, with a book or sketchpad, for hours. It wasn’t until after my divorce that La Coccina became my default first date restaurant.
Salvatore, the proprietor of said establishment, practically raised me. Having enjoyed my continual patronage from childhood on, he always knew when I was in a dating phase. “Zhahk” he’d say in his thick Italian accent “wha’ja have tonight?” “Sally” I’d reply, you know I always get the same thing: pecan pie, heated, with two scoops of vanilla ice cream.” “No,” he’d counter, smiling wryly, “wha’ja have? Blonde, brunette, redhead?”
I once even had a date call “shenanigins” on me, mid-date. “This place is amazing” Marcy remarked as she dipped her focaccia in spicy olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “How do you know of it?” Without hesitation I responded “I’ve been coming here since I was thirteen.”
Convinced she had me cornered, a smirk curved its way across her full lips. “This is your first date place, isn’t it?” she alleged. “You take all of your first dates here, don’t you?”
“The owner is sitting right behind you” I quipped without flinching. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Marcy made a quarter turn to her left. “Sir,” she inquired, “are you the owner of this restaurant?” Salvatore—swarthy, statuesque, and stout from a lifetime of air-dried meats, stinky cheeses, and red wine—leaned back in his chair. “Yes madame, I am” he said. “How may I be of service?” Marcy pointed at me without turning in my direction. “Do you know this man?” she asked Salvatore. “Yes, of course I do” Sally replied. “Tell me the truth” Marcy challenged, “does he bring all of his first dates here?”
Salvatore stroked his salt and pepper beard. “I must admit, Zhahk has brought many women here” he reassured her “but none quite as beautiful as you.”
♦◊♦
Unfortunately, Uncle Sally’s old European charm isn’t always around to rescue me. The second they told me they were out of pecan pie I should have known that my date with Eloise was doomed to end in disaster.
Which is not to say it didn’t start off in spectacular form. We were dining al fresco on a warm autumn evening, candle light flickering both in her ample cleavage and hazel eyes. Eloise, an RN by profession, displayed both depth and warmth as our conversation meandered across a broad range of topics. She segued from one subject to the next with casual confidence, between bites of her tiramisu. Her index finger turned circles with her golden tresses, as our discourse descended form cerebral to sensual.
We began to compare notes, to see if we had similar likes, dislikes, predilections. Tension and anticipation were building when she leaned forward, and quietly asked me what the nastiest thing I’d ever done with a woman was.
I’ve always considered myself a bit of a libertine. With more than a dash of hubris, I brazenly recounted the bevy of sex acts I’d participated in that one might consider “fringe.” Eloise simply sat there smiling, unfazed and unimpressed. She was refreshing her shimmering lip gloss–as if preparing for a proclamation–when I finally conceded. “If a man and woman are engaged in a consensual act” I confessed “I don’t consider any of what I’ve done ‘nasty’. Tell me,” I asked, now brimming with curiosity “what’s the nastiest thing you’ve ever done…?”
“I like to to poop on people” she whispered.
“No shit” I countered, without blinking.
The molten Mississippi mud cake I’d ordered in lieu of my beloved pecan pie would sadly, remain unfinished.
♦◊♦
“Why did you leave?” she demanded. “You always call for the check too soon! Here was a unique opportunity to discover first-hand about the sex life of someone different than you,” she snarked “and you bailed before you could get the details!”
As I absorbed her taunts I reluctantly ceded; she was right, as usual. Speaking strictly from an anthropological standpoint, I’d blown a unique opportunity, and abdicated my responsibility to feed Morgan’s deviant sense of curiosity. In retrospect, some (but not all) of the questions I might have asked upon further investigation, are:
- How did you first discover this activity stimulated you sexually?
- I realize you’re hot but, how many guys actually consent to this?
- Are you strictly the pooper, or do you enjoy being the poopee sometimes as well?
- What’s your diet like? Eat a lot of fiber?
- I sleep on Egyptian cotton 300 count sheets; what kind of bed linens are best suited for scat?
The one question that did not need to be answered was how early in a relationship Eloise felt it necessary to introduce the concept. Bridging the subject of defecation for sexual satisfaction on the first date was both efficacious and practical; there are certain fetishes you need to know your partner is open to, before becoming emotionally embroiled.
“So does this mean,” Morgan snickered, making no attempt to restrain her amusement “that you’re not going to call her again?”
“Fuck you, Morgan” I chortled. “Just because I take your shit doesn’t mean I’ll let just anyone shit on me.”
“So does this mean,” Morgan snickered, making no attempt to restrain her amusement “that you’re not going to call her again?”
“Fuck you, Morgan” I chortled. “Just because I take your shit doesn’t mean I’ll let just anyone shit on me.”
That made me crack up. I always enjoy your pieces Jackie.
In answer to at least one of your questions, Jackie, two words: rubber sheets
And because this made me laugh and think of you today.
This is a good story to break into a discussion for some kinds of group work.
Count your blessings. Think about it. Here is something that turns her on that she can do every single day of the year, her body does it naturally, and it’s absolutely free. Imagine if her fetish was skiing in the Alps or new diamond jewelry or making love during a solar eclipse. Unlike many other women, when she feels bloated she’ll be *eager* to have sex, not out of commission. If you’re a gourmet chef, there’s a certain symmetry to making her a fancy dinner and then, um, I don’t know, seeing it through to the end? Not to mention… Read more »
All true. Whatever kinky stuff you want to try will probably be more vanilla than what she likes. You do her fetish, she would find it hard to turn down yours.
I’m guessing like anything else the first time would be the hardest and then you might get used to it? (Assuming it would be your first time.)
Now wait a minute. Did she say it was a dealbreaker if her partner didn’t do copraphilia? Or, was it just that fact that she liked it and you don’t that did it? Imagine if she said she tried it one time and kinda liked it. Is that fact all you need to write her off? Just because she likes that doesn’t mean she requires that from every one of her lovers. I doubt that’s the ONLY thing that turns her on. Just because it would be a huge turn-off to you doesn’t mean she expects it from you. Seriously.… Read more »
Jackie I always know I can count on you to bring this PROJECT back from the brink of over seriousness and disaster to something REAL and damn funny. A few issues though. I was single for 6 years between marriages and was a heavy dater until I met the ONE, who I’ve been married to now for nine years. Dessert is a horrible first date. Sweets happen at night. Night is when sex happens. This causes pressure on both sides. If you are really not sure about the other party coffee is the best option. Mid day coffee. If you… Read more »
I couldn’t tell from the article. Did you have sex with her or not? : – )
+1
Is it possible she made that up as a way to prevent you from asking her out on another date? If I were in that situation, I would probably think that she’s just saying that to make sure I don’t pursue a sexual relationship. It’s sort of going straight to “the nuclear option.” Either way, the effect would be the same for most men.
She should really try online dating. There are entire online groups for such preferences, and I’m guessing an attractive woman who is in to that would be VERY sought after.
OMG…what a funny story…!!!
LOL Jackie, it’s good to know even you have a off date as well. Good writing as usual. Thanks. 🙂
Wow, that reminds me of my weirdest date (and illegal too) that I had. I was about 25 years old and was dating an older woman of 40. She was very nice and we had been going out for about a year or so. I thought everything was awesome. The sex was great, she was very open about what she wanted and told me so and for me (and I think alot of men) being told what a woman wants from sex is the greatest turn on. Once night she asked me if I had ever wanted a threesome.I had… Read more »
John, I don’t even know what to SAY about that, except the police response was completely inappropriate.
JFB
Surely you meant “completely appropriate”?
Jackie, you know I love this story; thank you for sharing it with the world! Your encounter with Eloise proves the dating marketplace is full of surprises… ,-)
The one question that did not need to be answered was how early in a relationship Eloise felt it necessary to introduce the concept. Bridging the subject of defecation for sexual satisfaction on the first date was both efficacious and practical; there are certain fetishes you need to know your partner is open to, before becoming emotionally embroiled.
yeah it was good that Eloise was honest and upfront about her non-negotiable. Saves a lot of time and discomfort later.
Funny story JS
JamesEQ, I have to give the woman credit: clearly she’d been through these negotiations before and–without flinching–she made it crystal clear what her explicit desires were. This is something few have the courage to do, especially if what they want might be considered “out of the norm”. I’m certain she had a high success rate; alas, one must draw a line somewhere.
JFB
Nah, I reckon you dodged a bullet (nugget?) in that instance. I would have bailed on that, too.
MODERATOR’S NOTE: This comment was removed, as it is an ad hominem attack and not allowed under our commenting policy. See complete commenting guidelines here.
EXCUSE ME?! It was entirely for fun and in keeping with the topic of scatology and the tone of other comments.
If you people don’t want me commenting here at least have the integrity and honesty to tell me directly. I await your next set of excuses.
If you’d pursued a relationship, would you be #2 on her speed dial? Would the sex be more moving than usual? Does she look flushed after orgasm? The scatalogical jokes are just too easy on this one. Kidding aside, though, it sounds like a pretty brilliant way to kill your interest if, after hearing your recital of “libertine” acts, she lost interest and decided to have a little fun. She put the “dump” into dumping you. Or, she really meant it in which case “consenting adults” and all that applies, but personally the idea makes me want to vomit. Would… Read more »
Marcus gets the award for the most poo jokes in one comment!
He does, but poor *Zhack*, he’ll never know, because he let the beautiful, deep, bosomy Eloise get away. I read this as a cautionary tale.
Some dates are just destined to go down the drain? Your turn…
I see what you did there ,-)
JFB
@Jackie
Some dates are just destined to go down the toilet. 🙂
OK, not particularly funny, but the best scat humor I could come up with on short notice. I haven’t had my coffee yet.
What was the purpose or message or whatever in this piece?
MODERATOR’S NOTE: This comment was removed, as it is an ad hominem attack and not allowed under our commenting policy. See complete commenting guidelines here.
Didn’t you see? It’s Best/Worst Date week on GMP: https://goodmenproject.com/category/dating-stories/
JFB
I thought this piece was hysterical. The purpose? To tell a dating story, of course!!
Haven’t we all had that moment, where you’re like Aww, man, just when I thought I’d found someone I could connect with… And now she wants to poo on me!
Okay not that EXACT moment. But you get my drift.
I went out with a guy once and on the second date I found out that the stuff that looked like watered-down applejuice in his little Evian bottle was actually PEE.
He thought it was healthy. Like a detox.
Just sayin’.
OMG, Joanna!
Sure you and Jackie don’t seem having had boring dates…! 😆
Oh well! And I thought I was daring…! 😆
Fucking-good writing as usual, Jackie.
And, BTW, being Italian myself, the answer Sally gave to Marcy is pure Italian style, I’d say. 8)
Valter there is something to be said for old-world charm, and charmers…
JFB
LMAO- Good post.. we always think we can handle the edge, till we see it.. I probably would have reacted the same way. Just how open minded can you let yourself be?
Dinomax, I’m pretty open minded–I think. BUt everyone’s gotta draw the line somewhere.
JFB