Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 8

When I opened my online dating account, Bobby was already in my "like" bucket before I realized I had one, as if he had been holding his breath in front of his screen, index finger curled, just waiting for me to appear so he might be the first to strike, a cyber-cobra. Bobby reads my blog and is not looking forward to this installment. Yet he does not try to stop me, even though I might undermine his online gamesmanship should enough single ladies with active dating apps read this blog. Bobby is a champion of freedom. And he is an egoist Aries who likes the attention, even if it's bad attention.

If he is not a liar, Bobby is a divorced, independently wealthy sex addict relatively new to the region where I live. Only 50, he will retire in 4 years. He has multiple business lines and real estate and an orchard closer to the coast, where he is currently away on business before he visits an island territory, where he also has business. Other than Doc, Bobby is the only dude who has met my texting stamina. I always know when incoming texts are Bobby's because there are at least 2 in a row. Brief, rapid-fire thoughts shooting in. Bobby totally has ADHD. But he is good enough not to mention it.

If he can be believed, Bobby's real name is something Italian. His UNVERIFIED online pics appear handsome, kind, and swarthy--which does seem Italian. I love Italians. But I don't think I told him that because Bobby needs very little encouragement to decide he's amazing. Since we still have not met or even spoken on the phone, I remind Bobby that I suspect he is actually a homeless woman with a mustache trolling me on the public library computers or on one of those free phones they hand out at the mission. Not that there's anything wrong with that, aside from the gross deception. I make Bobby laugh. And that makes me happy.

I was triggered when Bobby revealed he was using a fake name and he was not actually 48, but 50. It was my first day in the dating app. I did not understand that deception came with the membership. I told him he was too old for me. He thought I was kidding. I was not. I am 47 and I am not looking for anyone a day older than me. My ex-husband is almost 53. Old guys can fuck themselves.

I told Bobby I was a cougar. He did not believe me. Then I looped him in on my online dating adventures. Now he believes me and takes too much pride in the fact that I made an exception for him and bother to entertain the possibility of something with a 50-year-old (Ugh. It hurt just to type that).

Bobby is there for me. He asks questions. When we decided to just be friends, he didn't ghost like all the rest. He is a dad and shows a certain amount of fatherly concern for my wellness, which I cannot help but crave, yet never tells me what I should do. Other than him. I should definitely do him.

Like Doc, I call him Bobby as a constant reminder of his initial online lie. His dating app name was Bob. I don't care if this means he has to start over now in his online dating life. Try using your real name, motherfucker. But I call him Bobby rather than Bob to express my affection. Although he is mostly pragmatic and hands-off and evolved, Bobby gets jealous, I suppose because he is Italian and an Aries. When I was super into Freddy, Bobby threw a bunch of shade his way, and I texted "Oh Bobby! Your bitterness is delicious," and he did a spit-take.

At first, Bobby seemed intent on putting me through what I call a Gold Digger Obstacle Course. Which I can understand if he is indeed rich and not a mustachioed woman living under a bridge. But I also resent this treatment because I am the opposite of a gold digger. When I told him (as I told Doc) I have never gone out with rich guys cuz they are usually dicks, Bobby agreed with me. Most of them are. Bobby's cool. And apparently self-made.

Ostensibly Bobby presented as looking for a trusted concubine to be his companion and meet his self-proclaimed sex addict needs. He would be satisfied with twice a day. "That's easy money, Bobby," I told him. After my first week of online dating, becoming an actual sex worker was starting to make a certain kind of sense. At least it was honest.

My only dick pic is from Bobby. If it is indeed his unit, it is breathtaking. Oh Bobby! I should pay YOU.

Post dick pic, when deep in my libidinal chaos, I agreed to sleep with Bobby once--assuming we liked each other when we met--just to see if we were compatible. At which point he decided the timing was wrong, even though he had single-mindedly been trying to get me to sleep with him with no strings attached up until this point. Prior to that, when I told him I actually wanted a family and a baby and he didn't, so we decided to just be friends, within half an hour he began to at least pretend to consider making me his girlfriend and helping me have a baby. And so the dance goes...

I don't know if Bobby and I will ever meet in person. I think he actually wants me to have true love and get my family and my baby, cuz Bobby might just be the sweetest little sex addict with a thick cock I know. Bobby could also be the only guy I met through my first week of online dating who isn't a liar. Although he still might be a penniless woman with a hairy lip, which at this point is no longer a dealbreaker (perhaps I will start spelling it Bobbi). Whatever happens or doesn't happen between Bobbi and me, she gives me hope.

I hope to host you again, so I might introduce the gentlemen I "met" during my 2nd week in the app.

Until next time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness