by K. S. Adkins
Thus began my journey of taking Dating Diva down.
Though I should mention, two days later while I hover across the street subtly watching the students learn their routine through the window, I still don't know which one is her.
Several of the women were really good and easy to look at but I couldn’t take my eyes off the one that was nothing short of painful to watch. She spent more time on the floor than on the pole. Honestly, she looked drunk. However, she laughed easy, smiled a lot and never gave up. I was instantly attracted to her thick body, wavy chestnut hair and lush breasts. Now here was a woman a man wanted to grab onto.
Oh yes, I wanted her to slide down my pole.
While I had no idea who she was, I knew I wanted to find out.
When a week goes by and nothing about it came through on the blog I wondered if she’d changed her mind. If she did, then I couldn’t confront her about her posts. If I didn’t have the right place, or, she canceled, then I needed to stop creeping on the thick clumsy one because I didn't want to explain myself. I mean, anything that I came up with sounded...criminal.
Look, I was far from ugly. My body was fit. I was just over six feet and had it on good authority I had a fat cock and a skilled mouth. But no guy enjoys the stress that comes with asking a girl out. Especially when she says no, which in my case was what usually happened. I was sick of being passed over because I didn’t make a lot of money and had a habit of coming on too strong.
I knew what I wanted and went after it.
A wife.
Kids.
A minivan.
A Labradoodle.
Soccer on Sundays.
Life in the suburbs.
Honestly, I was a good guy and tired of being alone.
My name is Oliver and I’m taking Dating Diva down.
Tomorrow.
Because today, I had a woman to see about a date.
Until this class, I didn't even know a woman's asshole could sweat.
Beyond exhausted with shaky limbs and a slight wheeze, I was ready to snag a first responder from across the street.
I've been making a fool of myself in front of a uniformed male audience all week.
Firemen, no less.
Hot Firemen.
It was unnerving.
“Can we close the blinds?” I ask, not even bothering to be subtle when I reach in to wipe the sweat from my crack.
“Oh come on, Dee,” Shay, the pole expert laughs at my discomfort. “You should perform for the crowd, it's good practice.”
Easy for her to say, she was amazing at this. I on the other hand was awful. I had pole burn, my ass cheeks keep having spasms from constant clenching and that fireman across the street won’t stop staring at me. Seriously, it was making me anxious. Because class after class, there he was. Watching.
Always watching.
Me.
Shay knows who I am, why I’m here, and knows to keep it quiet. It was for that reason I didn’t kick her in the face for leaving the window wide open for Detroit's finest to ogle my jiggling goods. Queuing up the music, I take my spot by the pole channeling my inner seductress. Bitch was a recluse most days and most def did not like an audience. Even a cute one. Shit, I needed to stop thinking about cute men in uniform who slide down poles and get to work writing this piece before I killed myself. But honestly, I couldn't help it. The stranger in uniform was cute.
Tonight I had to at least start the article but I’d been putting it off because putting fingers to keyboard on your suck factor was not fun for me. At least not this kind of suck factor.
Reaching high, I twist as instructed, arch, when my leg catches and promptly hit the floor with a crash. Considering I ate two donuts, a bag of chips and washed it down with an iced mocha for breakfast, I was positive the aftershocks were heard across town. Groaning in pain and embarrassment, Shay runs over with two of my classmates flanking her. Shay ran a tight ship, err pole. She thinned the herd on day two. Us three were all that’s left.
Trust me, I didn't make the cut due to skill. It's called fair trade.
Shay was getting free ads for the next six months...
“You okay?” she asks eyeing me suspiciously.
“Super.” I grumble, wondering if it was my ass sweat that caused the slip.
“Show me your hands,” she says reaching forward to help me up. But she didn’t help. She ran her fingers over my skin and narrowed her eyes instead. “I told you to stop putting your hands down your pants and not to apply lotion before class.”
“I refuse to be ashy.”
“White girls don’t get ashy,” she reminds me. “White girls get dry skin.”
“Ashy sounds better,” I shrug from down here on the floor where the floor was cool and no one could hear my wheezing.
“You done?” she asks blandly, clearly bored with my theatrics.
“Done?” I snort loudly. “I never got started.”
For the rest of the class, I observed. Strangely enough, the cute creeper from across the street did too. He actually stood there and observed me sitting. He hadn't watched the other women, just me. This, I found odd considering my fellow pole aficionados were stunning.
Swear to God, I couldn't come close to their height and grace even if you stretched me.
Happy it was over, I slid my flips on, very slowly putting my sore arms inside my cardigan and grabbing my bag and hit the door. Walking around back to my car, I wasn't surprised to see him leaning against the driver’s side door.
“You almost had it,” he says reaching forward to take my bag.
Retreating a step, I give him that are you going to stab me? look before telling him, “And you are all up in my safe space.”
“I’m Oliver,” he says putting it out there for a shake.
“Dee,” I say staying in my safe zone. I may not know this guy but I wasn't such an asshole that I'd shake his hand that was, in fact, wiping sweat off my butt. So I asked, “Do you get paid to watch women exercise?”
“No,” he laughs deeply, sexily. “I just like to watch you.” When I blink and have nothing to add, he keeps going. “We’re going to know each other eventually, why not now?” Still blinking he takes a small step forward but it isn’t intimidating, it’s hesitant, cute. But still a little pushy. “Too much?”
“You quoted Jimmy Stewart,” I say baffled by him. “You’ve seen, Can’t Take it with You?”
“We watch the classics at work sometimes,” he says easily, proudly. “Could I take you out for dinner, Dee?”
Totally off kilter and sweaty, I move around him fishing my keys out. Opening my door and tossing my bag in, I realize he is waiting for an answer. “I don't date, Oliver, but it was nice meeting you.”
“I’m persistent,” he smiles wide. “You’ll cave.”
Not knowing how to take that, I get in and drive off as quickly as possible. But I won’t lie and say I didn’t check him out one more time in my rear view.
There was something settling about Oliver.
And that unsettled me.
Stupid.
God, I was so stupid.
That’s what’s run through my head ever since I scared the shit out of her in the lot. A woman couldn’t be too careful these days and while I was no threat, she didn’t know that. She didn't know me from Adam. Shit, I'm luckily she didn't run my ass over with her car.
Parking in the garage at my place, I pull out my mower and start on Stella’s lawn before doing my own. After my epic fuck up earlier, I needed to blow off some steam.
As for Stella, her yard, like mine, was small. Stella, unlike me, was pretty old and couldn’t manage her lawn or afford to pay a service. I did it to help her, to pass the time and get my money out of the damn equipment I spent a fortune on.
Like always, when I finished I commenced sitting on the stoop, Stella offers me a glass of iced tea and, like always, I took it despite not liking iced tea. I should mention she never offers me a Long Island. Since she was better tha
n the police, I asked her, “Have you ever seen the woman that moved in next to me?”
“Lovely girl,” she smiles waving her drink around. Her drink, I should mention, is a Long Island Iced Tea. “I haven’t met her but I think she works a lot, she must be single then. No man would want their lady love working so hard.”
“So she’s pretty?”
“Very much so.”
Just then, a service pulls up and two guys unload, ready to cut her grass. Excusing myself, I head over and ask one, “Hey, I live next door. Any chance you’ve met my neighbor?”
“I haven’t,” he says gassing the rider up. “We cut, she pays, that’s it.”
Leaving them to it, I cut my own lawn then hit the shower. That done, I realized I had no food and went to the grocery store up the road. Grabbing the basics, I was enroute to the junk aisle when I spotted her.
Hell yeah! A chance to fix my fuck up!
Oh and I had a hard-on. What timing...
Coming up alongside her, I offer her a smile before saying, “Judging by the items in your cart, you’re single.”
The second it left my mouth I regretted it but Dee threw her head back and laughed. Peeking into mine, she says, “Judging by the items in yours, you’ll kick it before your fortieth.”
“I like chips,” I defend lamely.
“I like chips too,” she says pointing at my stack. “I just don’t buy four bags at a time.”
“Ready to have dinner with me yet?”
“Best pick up line you've got,” she dares me in the middle of the snack aisle. “Hit me.”
Clearing my throat, I blank my features before leaning in and saying, “I’ve got some meat here that’s best used by tonight.”
Stopping a laugh from escaping, she covers her mouth and shakes her head no. “Tough crowd,” I mumble, however I should mention, I was smiling. “Okay, you asked for it.” I continue. “You’re shopping for frozen when I can offer you homemade.”
“You’re good at this,” she says biting her plump lip. God, I wanted her.
“I suck at it,” I admit truthfully. “By now I’ve either been slapped or security was called. It's a gift. Okay, your turn, hit me.”
“You make me want to get a job,” she deadpans.
“Someone actually said that to you didn’t they?”
“Yep.”
“Wow,” I whistle low.
Turning away she looks over her shoulder before leaving me with, “Hey Oliver?”
“Yeah?”
“You might be getting warmer.”
And just like that, I felt my dick leak.
I couldn’t get outspoken Oliver out of my head. Not only was he cute, he was refreshingly blunt and adorably awkward. It was a powerful combo. He wanted to take me out and for some reason, I wanted him to work for it. Not my usual M.O. I assure you. But if you want to get out of a rut, you have to be prepared to make big changes.
Making a man chase me was a change for me.
I think I liked it.
And if he liked me enough, I expected to get caught.
And spanked.
Hard.
Stretching out behind my desk, I look out of the window in my trendy over-priced loft wondering if I’ll ever adjust to the new house I bought but really don't want to live in.
Honestly, until very recently, I never had a life plan which included never putting down roots. Because if I did that, in my mind, I was committing, I was stuck.
If I owned real estate, that meant maintaining it, budgeting for it and living in it.
You know, with the intent to stay long term.
Sure it was a quaint, the perfect size for me but other than dropping off a few boxes so far, I hated how quiet it was. I was used to noise and traffic. Everything over there was just so...residential. Yards had fences with soccer nets and dogs for fuck sake. I haven't bothered to meet my neighbors because that's another commitment and I even hired a lawn service to handle the landscaping for the season. Shit, I've never owned yard equipment because duh, I never had a yard. But in less than a month I had to leave my loft forever because my lease was up.
It's like all of my big dreams went poof. Just like that.
And here I was, a homeowner.
Such is life, I suppose. Never trust a fart and don't get too comfortable.
Finishing up my piece on pole torture, I do some light editing before finally publishing the piece. That done, I finished my bottle of wine before climbing into bed and wondering when, and if, Oliver would find me to ask me out again. And if he did, would I say yes? Part of me wanted to. Part of me didn’t. Simply because Oliver was a rare one. He was an honest to god good guy. He was the guy you appreciated after nailing every asshole within a fifty-mile radius. Oliver was husband material. He screamed wife, kids, and minivan.
Whereas my life, my career, centered around being single.
Oliver wasn’t a social experiment like most of my dates were. He just wasn’t that guy. If I said yes it would be a true date, not an opportunity for fresh material. Was I even ready for that?
Shit.
I knew that I wasn't.
I've navigated the singles scene to the nth degree.
Between dating apps, bars, and co-workers, I was a god damn professional serial dater.
And I wasn't over it.
For me, being single had become a habit, part of my identity.
Single meant freedom.
I loved my freedom. And, my side of the bed.
And peeing with the door open. And not hiding in the linen closet if I had to rip ass.
So at the next class, I was still thinking about Oliver while quietly yelling at myself for drinking too much when Shay asks, “Dee, are you hungover?” Last night I couldn’t sleep so I opened another bottle. So yes, I was hungover. Pretty sure I looked and smelled the part.
“Inside voice,” I groan in misery.
“Yep,” she says slapping my ass. “Hungover.”
“I hate you,” I mumble assuming the position.
“You’re improving, Dee. Keep up the good work.” Pleased by her praise and my gorgeous classmates nodding in agreement, I suck it up determined to get the hang of this fucking thing.
Hell, if I could ride a dick while free-styling Cardi B, I could master a pole right?
Thirty minutes later, I was half-way to dead and walking out to my car with my sunglasses firmly in place when I hear, “Wanna come over? You’re already sweaty.”
God, why was everyone screaming at me today? “Not now, Oliver.”
“You know, there are other ways to release tension.”
Grinding my jaw, I face him and he throws his hands up. “Whoa,” he says pretending to be scared of me. A child wouldn’t be scared of me. I'm not kidding. Shop with me at Target, you'll see.
“You look like you want to kick my ass.”
“I do but I'm hungover,” I say going around him.
“Dee?” he whispers this time.
“Hmm?” was all I could manage.
“Be different, be the one that says yes.”
Right there in the lot, dehydrated and determined to have a shitty day, Oliver flipped the script. Further proof he was that guy, the one you didn’t screw over. The one who could do better than someone jaded like me. But there was something about him; plus he was the first guy I’d ever stayed up thinking about. Most nights I go to bed trying to forget one, not wish he’d smile at me one more time or crack a bad pick up line. Extending my hand, I ask, “Can I see your phone?”
Giving it over, I add myself as a contact along with my address. Handing it back, I tell him, “My place, seven o’clock, tonight.”
“Dee?”
“Yes, Oliver?”
“Are we having a sleepover?”
Shaking my head hurt, so I grinned instead. Then I got in my car and went home to die until dinner. Sleep didn’t come because the birds sounded like airplanes and Oliver had text me asking what he could bring. I told him, himself but
he insisted. Meeting in the middle, I told him to bring the movie of his choice and he asked if porn counted. To this I said, yes.
Chugging a Gatorade mixed with liquid children's Motrin, I hit the kitchen to marinate the chicken. If the drugs kicked in, I wouldn’t need sleep. If my nerves kept up, I’d need to start drinking again. Either way I was certain I'd win.
Cooking, cleaning, and finally ditching the hangover, I heard my buzzer, checked the intercom, looked at my clock and saw it was barely five thirty.
I sat in my car for twenty minutes debating whether or not to go up. She said seven, it was five fifteen. I couldn’t help it, I was pumped. I’d never met anyone like her before. I'd barely spoke to her and yet I knew she was the whole package. But it didn’t hurt that she was seriously pretty and the first woman to say yes in a long time either. Granted, the one before her tried stabbing me with a fork when I dumped her, so Dee was definitely a step up. I was positive she was the one.
Grabbing the movie and my phone, I hit the steps and the buzzer. A year of celibacy meant this date needed to happen yesterday. When the door unlocks, I hit the steps heading to the third floor. Her unit number was 313, which made me smile but the look on her face when she saw me cured me of it. I had fucked up again and I knew it.
“I have a thing about being late,” I shrug uncomfortably hoping she doesn't slam the door in my face.
“Okay?” she blinks in confusion.
“Actually, I’m lying. I couldn’t wait to see you. I’ve been outside since quarter to five.” When her face softened, I was confident I recovered well until she started biting her lip. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“No,” she rushes out. “I didn’t take a shower, I’m gross.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re a genuine guy,” she says with wide eyes. “Aren’t you?”
“About you, yeah. I am.”
“Get in here,” she says waving me inside. Divesting my hand of the movie, she flips it over and mumbles, “A romantic too.”