So, my four men. Potential boyfriend #1 was a techy Puerto Rican with a teenaged daughter. Potential boyfriend #2 was a weird white guy coming to Kansas City for the weekend and clearly looking only for sex. Potential boyfriend #3 was a pediatric psychologist new to town, whom I referred to as the Game Changer. And then, potential boyfriend #4 was the Dark Prince. The Dark Prince also was new to town, working for an extended period of time as a consultant with a local firm. He decided to not include any photos on his profile. This tactic played right into my plan of trying on men that didn’t fit because no photos under more routine practices would have landed any suitor in the reject pile.
These four were being juggled at the same time. I’ve never been one for enjoying circus acts. Initially, I had all four men in the mix. Quickly, the Weird White Guy was lost.
The Weird White Guy. This one left me just feeling dirty, and not in a good way. Weird White Guy was from Iowa, and he was coming to town for a long weekend. He wanted company to show him around. I was still learning the hidden vocabulary. “Company,” I was quick to discover, meant casual sex. I responded and said something to the effect of, “Thanks so much for contacting me, but I’m looking for something more long-term. I’m also really busy with preparing for the start of school. I hope you have a nice trip to Kansas City.” Nice, right? Courteous, and I would have thought enough of a message to be the end. Nope. He replies, “What are you studying? You don’t have time for just a drink and then getting naked with me? I need company this weekend.” First of all, I state clearly in my profile my love for my teaching job, which was proof enough for me he wasn’t interested in what I had to say about myself. Secondly, although I didn't state this explicitly, I’m not a hooker. Where and when did this become an escort service? This time, I had no response. Furthermore, if this conversation had happened in person, thiswould have been an instance where I would have been mute as my foot left a painful impression in his crotch.
Then there were three to juggle. I was in contact with the Puerto Rican, the Game Changer and the Dark Prince. The next one to get some time in the center ring was the Puerto Rican.
He was a nice enough guy, which has to be the most insulting thing you can say about a man interested in you. His Latino background was enough to tweak my parents without totally alienating them. He had a military background and had questionable health. He wrote epically long emails featuring seemingly total transparency. We went on two dates. After the first one, he was exuberant about his interest in me. I was not. He was easy enough to talk to, but when I looked at him, there were no nervous flirty flutterings anywhere - not even my eyelashes. So, naturally, I agreed to a second date. And sure, I could have avoided the awkward end of the evening kissing moment in the parking lot if I had just been direct. I should have said, “I thought the fact that every time you touched me, my machine-gun-like recoil would be a clue I wasn’t interested, but I can see it has not had that effect.” Or, I could have been nicer and said, “I really appreciate dinner, but I’m not your girl. There is a better woman for you out there, but it isn’t me.” But, instead, the awkward kiss comes toward me, and I find myself squishing my face in repulsion, and at the moment of contact, I did it. I gave him the cheek. That was my cowardly exit from the Puerto Rican.
Emily Brown was a single woman in her mid-30s living in the Midwest when a Dark Prince found her online dating profile. Fearing it was now or never, she relented to his persistent persuasion and immediately began ignoring the instinctual pulls telling her something wasn't right. Their tawdry relationship centered around guilt, shame and withholding served up by the Dark Prince until Emily put her foot down. Well, actually, she put her foot in his backpack. And that showed her all she needed to know.
Emily shares the painful discovery of how the man she loved was sharing his life with other women, how she went on to befriend her "Sisterwife," and how she found herself again. “Stories from the Sisterwives” is the remarkable true story of heartbreak, friendship, love and triumph over the darkness.
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Genre - Memoir
Rating – R
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