Just The Tip Please

Here is the best story we’ve heard about or we received all month…..

At the beginning of a relationship things are hot and heavy, but what happens when things start to get comfortable?  A friend of the tip has a story to remind guys to keep trying…

August 20, 2009

When comfortable in a relationship with someone, you start to let things slide.   Maybe you don’t dress up for when he comes through the door, maybe he catches you without make up on more often, maybe he slacks on shaving that 5 o’clock shadow…but there are some things you just shouldn’t slack on.  Here are my “Always List:” WASH YOUR HANDS AND CARRY GUM. Always. Period. No slacking. (This also goes for personal grooming but that’s a whole other blog)

I have been seeing a guy for about two month.  Not being the relationship type, this is all new for me.  Letting someone in my space (aka my side of the couch and bed) and being a bit more uninhibited, its all new and a little unnerving.  So last night he comes over.  I wasn’t really in the mood to see him but decided it would be nice to spoon with someone and fall asleep.  The second he walked through the door, I wasn’t havin’ it.  He had this silly hat on (that he takes seriously), hadn’t shaven in about a week (I like my men hairless) and had some sweatshirt on that had long since seen his day.  So already I am thinking he is not getting lucky tonight, has he even showered today?  He than comes over to the couch where I am sitting and practically sits on top of me.  All up in my bubble.  It was like every limb of his was suction cupped to a part of me. I was already feeling claustrophobic….then I noticed a faint smell. I couldn’t quiet put my finger on it and he had just come from work but still couldn’t figure it out.

He talked about his day and then mentioned that he went to Baja Fresh (Mexican) for dinner and had a “Diablo Burrito” which consisted of all things Mexican and shrimp to top it off. P.S. PEOPLE- DIABLO MEANS DEVIL IN SPANISH.  I could feel him breathing on me and felt like I was partaking in this Mexican fiesta, too. He went to stroke my hair and I could smell the salsa on his hands.  I was not having any of it.  This devil burrito was all over him…maybe he did shower…IN THE BURRITO!
Needless to say he didn’t get lucky based on looks and smells that night.  I was having a Sex in the City moment trying to think of what his “spunk” would taste like…no thank you ladies, I am on a diet and Mexican isn’t in the plan.

A story from the male perspective…

July 27, 2009

Julie and I had been dating for nearly a month and it seemed we were both fighting the urge to jump in the sack the entire time. I knew she wanted me, as badly as I wanted her.  You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.  We were fooling around here and there, but the homerun still hadn’t been hit.  Finally one night she brought up ‘the conversation’.  I assured her it was cool if we wait, after all I am a gentelmen – so, ladies chivalry is not dead, contrary to popular belief.
When it comes to having sex with your partner, everyone has their own pace and waiting a month, is by no means a long time.  Six months, now that’s a different story.  It wasn’t the waiting I minded so much, it was how she was turning our first time fucking into Game 7 at Fenway…anyway, FINALLY – THE NIGHT HAD COME.  Can you tell I was excited?  After two bottles of wine and some post-dinner shots, we took an observably carnal path to my bed.  It was hot and definitely worth wait. I knew she was having a good time when she came quickly…I aim to please.
We reposition ourselves back on the bed for round two – did I mention this was a mobile session?  It was.  So we’re back on my bed and she gets on top of me.  She starts making the same noises that precluded her orgasm from earlier and I’m thinking, ok, this’ll definitely do it.  Then, I feel this unfamiliar warmth that spreads over my entire midsection.  I pick my head up to see… Julie, still deep in the deed w/ eyes shut and head tilted slightly back, peeing all over the place! What the fuck?!?!?!  I swipe her off me and jump off the bed in one motion. There on my sheets are two large, dark shapes that are divided in the middle by an outline of me. Stunned, entirely.  I quasi-quickly assure her not to freak out as I thought to myself: man I wish I still had the newspaper delivered. She bolted to the bathroom, grabbing the towel I offered her. No exaggeration, 15 minutes goes by until she returns, gathers her things, apologizes and turns for the door. I tell Julie it isn’t the first time this has happened to me but I just couldn’t keep my poker face….I’d like to meet a guy that could have kept a straight face after that.  Completely mortified, she never called me, and we never went out again….needless to say, it was a night that’ll be remember for years to come, least I got her to expell some fluid from her body right???

Broken up with over the phone, over text, over email and over an ecard????  This friend of The Tip got this ecard after going on one date with a guy….

July 9, 2009

From: ecardguy@whatadumbass.com
MESSAGE
Hi Julie,

I really had an awesome time with you on Thursday and you’re an amazing women but I just didn’t think there is a connection between the two of us. I think we would be much better friends than anything else. I’m not sure if you felt this way as well or not but I wanted to put it out there and just let you know.

I would really like to still be able to hang out and go bowling, see a show, go to Coney, ect. with you but if your not interested in that then I understand.

All the best,
- – -

Have you thought of dating an older guy?  Well, this friend of the Tip wants you to know how it is….

June 1, 2009

As an Asian American woman, I have experienced the silly racism of non-Asian guys thinking there’s something extra sexy about a woman of Asian ethnicity. (Ooohh, HOT Baby!)  Come on guys, I’m as American as anyone, born and raised here, like you.  I’m open-minded about race, avoiding assumptions about individuals, so I was surprised to realize I had an equally foolish blind spot of my own: ageism.
So, generally my mind was closed to the possibility of dating a man past age forty.  But when I was 27, I met a 45-year-old guy, at work, and I got to know him slowly, over time, without really thinking about it.  Gradually, I started seeing him clearly.  Yeah, he had some facial wrinkles and some gray in his (abundant) hair, but eventually I noticed that his body was taut, but relaxed, like a dancer maybe.  I found out he was like a super athlete, always working out, eating great (no junk, rarely alcohol), taking all kinds of vitamins and supplements, etc.
It was always great talking with him at work, so eventually we went out to dinner.  No typical male ego monologues.  He asked about me.  Great listener.  We laughed a lot…hours flew by.
Eventually, we’re in bed together (and seeing him naked did not disappoint!).  I have rarely been so turned on, so eager to get to the main event, because he seemed to be savoring every little moment, each touch, making me feel incredible, savoring me in every way, you know?  (Why is this so damn rare??) Finally (Is this the part you were most interested in?), Oh – YES – he fucked me ‘like a rock star’.  All nightlong.  He had learned some Tantric breathing thing, which kept him hard, but not cumming.  He drove me totally fucking wild several times… This man loooved making me cream for him… I lost count (I was like ‘happy dizzy’).  When he finally really let himself go with me, he was bucking like a human earthquake (and I couldn’t tell if I was riding him or being ridden, you know? OMG). So yeah, it was amazing, erotic fucking, for hours, with a guy who’s 45 years old!
The way he was in bed with me, I felt sooo affirmed as a desirable, sexy WOMAN, being so savored, getting this hot, sexy MAN sooo passionate about me, and then, after we finally stopped fucking, he wanted to hold me and caress me so tenderly.  And while we’re on the subject, yeah, it was better than lots of guys in their 20s or 30s.  Sorry guys gotta be honest here.
The main thing about our age difference was his sense of time.  He lacked patience for just hanging out for hours with lots of friends.  He found that aimless and kinda empty – “pleasant but not compelling”.  It consumed the time he’d rather spend doing other stuff.  But I do think it’s valid for younger women to anticipate that most older guys are not so happy to do the bars, clubs, brunch with a crowd of friends, etc, etc, which most of us enjoy on a regular basis, right?
So anyway we became like a now and then kinda thing for a while, the sex was always amazing, but I guess overall I just prefer a guy who is just an all around typical cool guy my age.  Ideally my sex life and my social life (my circle of friends) are blended together.
I guess the bottom line is this experience opened my eyes, about the possibility of dating an older man, and about the foolishness of ageism.  I still think MOST older men are not for me, but at least now I’m not just automatically closed-minded about ALL of them (Oh BABY!).

From a friend of the Tip we have a story on the male prospective for this week…

May 25, 2009

Back when I worked as a waiter, I shared an apartment with a guy who lost his job.  He became a male stripper.  When he needed a ride home from work, I’d go to his club and wait at the bar, chatting with the manager and bartender (both women) and the waitresses.  One night this girl comes up to me, says ‘Hey, you live in my building!’  I recognized her from this one time we’d both been getting our mail and I had tried to chat but she had totally frozen me out.  So now in this club she’s so friendly with me.  ‘Are you a dancer here?’  I started saying No, but all the other women around me told the girl ‘Yes, he’s so popular!  This is his night off’, groping my biceps, etc.  I tell the girl they’re joking, but she tells me ‘It’s cool, I totally respect what you do.’ Then I see my buddy across the room, walking toward the back door, so I say ‘Gotta go’ and I leave.

A few days later, I see the girl at our mailboxes again, she apologizes for being cold that other time, wants to make it up to me with a drink in her apartment.  So we’re drinking in her apartment, she’s coming on to me, and we end up having lots of wild sex.  When we got quiet and still, she tells me she’s always had a fantasy about doing it with a male stripper. Me: ‘So, did reality live up to your fantasy?’  Her:  ‘Oh my God.’  Then I asked her if she ever fantasized about sex with a waiter.  She’s looking puzzled, and I explained her misunderstanding at the club.  Then I tell her, gently ‘You’ve been fucking a waiter.’  She got mad, so I left, but not before saying, as if I was her ‘Oh, FUCK me waiter!’

After that it was always fun saying hello to her at our mailboxes (despite her frosty demeanor).

This friend of Team Tip knows just how much it too much crazy…

May 19, 2009
So I was grabbing some late night happy hour at the woods with my two girlfriends.  The Woods opens at 8-10pm and has a great happy hour for anyone who works late.  Two guys came in and sat at the corner of the bar.  I noticed they were pretty cute.  They started chiming in to our conversation because it was pretty quiet in the bar and we have a habit of being loud. The guy who was sitting furthest from me was definitely the better looking one.  We both liked the same band and talked about the neighborhood since we both lived close by, but he was sitting so far I was practically yelling for him to hear me.  So I stepped to the ladies with my friend and she told me “the guy on the end is totally into you”.  Well, in order to really appreciate this story, you have to understand how I behave when the pressure is on to be flirty.  I become a quiet, awkward ball of nerves.  So I was at that point, and the only thing I could think to do was down vodka/tonics.

The bar is now more crowded, we are all more drunk, and he has now moved onto chatting up another girl who didn’t go mute.  I tried to redeem myself by going over and saying goodbye.  So I tapped him on the opposite side of his new eye candy, and told him it was nice talking to him.  He said “yeah call me sometime” and gave me his card.

Apparently in vodka time, “sometime” means, on your walk home.  So I called, it was a little fuzzy and I may or may not have left him a message.  Unsure if he would be able to reach me, I was lying on my couch minutes later, with my blackberry in hand EMAILING HIM.  So this guy thought he was brushing me off by giving me his card, but what he was really doing was giving me two forms of contact.  Needless to say, I have yet to hear from him.  I now have an iphone and plan on purchasing the drunk dial application!

April 13, 2009

Our friend, “Flash” sent us this story…

Bullet Point #4

Met a guy at a bar (problem #1) agreed to go on a date with him after talking on the phone for a week.  He had a great laugh, healthy, hardy, sweet, honest sounding.  He talked about all sorts of things and really was trying to prove a point he wasn’t like all the other dogs out there.  We met for sushi and sake and got into a conversation about what our intentions were with each other.  I thought it would be a cute idea to make him write them down and I would do the same. He starts writing in bullet points! (problem #2) I had one sentence.  Somehow the joke on the date became “well we will see if in time you can handle the mysterious bullet point #4.”  Three bottles of sake later, it was less about intentions and more about our deepest secret. Fast forward to about 2am, more sake and wine, come to find out he had a bullet point 4a, 4b and 4c.  4a:  both nipples were pierced (he told me I didn’t not bare witness) 4b:  he was a former stripper with a fancy stripper name and all 4c:  he was a self proclaimed “dominatrix-into S&M and sex parties.”  Go ahead, absorb all that…and no I won’t tell you my bullet #4, this is a place to put them on blast not me!

April 6, 2009

Our friend, “The Animal” sent us this story about her Sunday out, and well I think it speaks for itself…

Jungle Fever and Sunday Funday!

Of course these two phrases go hand in hand… or should I actually say hand in penis?

In my old age, I’ve gotten into the habit of staying low-key on Friday and Saturday nights in order to rest up and unleash on Sunday. The most Funday of them all. In all honesty, this “practice” began to occur more frequently when I realized that my track record with meeting men on Sundays was far more impressive than on any other day. Looking back, that has actually been fairly accurate for quite some time. There must be something about men getting in touch with themselves on God’s Day. Or at least something about them wanting to be touched? Sorry, JC.

Anyway, I found myself at a local watering hole with a few friends this past Sunday enjoying double redbull vodkas (strike 1: Lenten promise = broken). We began to chat it up with some clean-cut fellows, who actually turned out to be military men (strike 2: this clearly isn’t going anywhere good). The gent that I took a liking to turned out to be 23 (strike 3: cuff me already… and not in the bedroom). After an hour or so of conversing, he and his smooth, coffee-colored skin took my number as he left to bring his superior back to base.

Fast forward 2 hours to some text messaging banter, and cue his return to my neighborhood. He scooped me up and we went back to base. Oh, and base was 30 minutes away. Yes, people – apparently I was in such dire need of “man-tact” that I opted to return to freshman year of college and to willingly sleep in a twin bed for the night, in a room that boasted a bathroom that looked more like apublic restroom.

In true high school fashion, we decide to “watch a movie” and the make out marathon begins. Don’t get me wrong, this part was fine. In fact, he was probably the best kisser I’ve laid my lips on in 10 years. And then I felt it: THE TUG. Not on my head, which I would have actually understood, but on my hand.  My poor, unsuspecting hand.
A hand job. The one sexual act that I’ve never fully comprehended. The night cumminated.. ahem, (there’s some of the throat clearing I did not need to perform Sunday night).. culminated in a hand job (HOMERUN!!).  What a happy ending.

March 23, 2009

A reader sent this in this week…another horrifying second date story for all you single ladies…

It is NEVER okay to just whip it out!

So I meet this guy, very cute, good job, owns his own home. He comes off very shy and sweet. Skip to date two.

On our second date (we only kissed on the first date) he invites me out but wants me to come by his buddies house to hang out for a bit first (there were suppose to be a group of people hanging out). I think cool, what better way to get to know someone then meeting there friends…boy was I right just not in the way I thought I’d be.

I arrive and it is just him and two other guys. We chill have a beer, shoot the breeze. After a while the guy asks to show me something in the back yard.  I protest, asking what it is and pointing out how dark and cold it is outside and I am in heels.

He convinces me and we head outside. Now we are walking through this very large muddy back yard and I am like ‘Where is it?’ ‘What are we looking for?’ He reply’s with, “It’s just over in this corner.”  When we get there I look back at the lit up house and notice his friends watching from the sliding glass door.  Before I have time to wonder why he says “You wanna suck it?” I am about to say what, then I look down and there it is…his penis…not even erect hanging out of his pants.  Stunned I just say ‘um…no’ and quickly head back toward the house push through his friends get in my car and leave.

Now I always tell my guy friends if you EVER want to get any from a girl it is NEVER okay to just whip it out!

March 16, 2009
This was sent over by a friend and had to be posted.

Buckle up ladies, the Holy Shit Train just pulled into town…
PS – This is all true.

On Saturday night, I didn’t really have much to do, so I decided to join some coworkers for what was slated to be a low-key evening at a Cuban bar in Virginia. We were all in good spirits, and I was laying down a healthy amount of booze. I don’t have an Irish liver, so I was pretty well oiled after about an hour and a half. It was at this juncture that I was informed that one Kerri Strug, former Olympic Gold Medalist, the girl who brought it home for America when little Dominique Moceanu couldn’t, was at the bar. She was pointed out to me, and what I saw was not the short little tomboy with the permadour from the mid-90s, but…well, who am I kidding, the short little tomboy only without the permadour, which was replaced by shoulder-length blond hair.

The incomparably short Kerri Strug was at the bar, flanked by what appeared to be several male gymnasts, and a short cute Latino girl. For a long time, this circle remained impenetrable, but I took this opportunity to hatch what was merely an embryo at the time into a full-fledged plan. Yes, I was going to pick up Kerri Strug tonight at all costs. I set a low and high from the beginning: Low = Get her number at least ….High = Install a springboard and pommel horse at the foot of my bed and engage in high-risk fuckrobatics, and make her wear the gold medal while doing it if possible.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the crowds parted like the Red Sea, and there, at approximately shin-level, stood little Kerri Strug, who had grown merely in age into a 26-year old White House staffer…But let me momentarily backtrack…
While she was flanked by the impenetrable circle of John Basedow lookalikes, her roomate briefly removed herself, and I spoke with her. I decided to use the angle of not-getting-starstruck-and-freaking-out, and just pretend that I “recognized her from somewhere”…so I asked her friend…

“Sorry to bother you but your friend looks really familiar…I think she used to work in my building,” to which she replied, “Uhhh, is your building the WHITE HOUSE?”…Dead End. I said, “No, of course not, but where do I know her from?”…she said, “Listen, don’t make a big deal out of it, but do you remember Kerry Strug?”…so blah blah blah and I told the friend I wanted to introduce myself and I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. She said go right ahead, and within a couple minutes, I was talking to Kerri Strug…

I started off strong, opening with the nondescript, “hey how are ya”…Thinking that she would probably know that I knew who she was and worry that I would make a big deal, I played it down, going all casual small talk at the beginning, asking her about what she did….This went well for several minutes, until her friend came up and decided to throw a log of ass-shit into the swimming pool.

“Oh Kerry, sorry, I forgot to introduce you …this was the guy who was asking about you before”….

Woman! What the fuck!? I stared at this hellacious wonder-bitch in whitefaced disbelief…Why is she trying to blow up my spot with the former Gold Medalist!?

Somehow, however, I dodged this bullet and another by just speaking really fast and explaining that I thought I recognized you from somewhere and that she told me who you were, and then asking “where were we?”…perhaps just because I spoke so fast, Kerry smiled and we were soon talking again…

During the next half hour, we talked about politics, music, weather, DC, and even Bela Karoly’s moustache (which I referred to as “moustachios” and which she actually LAUGHED at, and seemed to enjoy…i swear i am not making this up)…

I’m not one to give credit where its not due, but by this point, I was actually beginning to think it was in the bag, and counting down the minutes ’til I made a dignified exit after getting her number…My coworkers, who were watching from somewhat nearby, and taking bets and whatnot, seemed to think so too, from the body language….

AND THEN IT HAPPENED

I swear to you I never thought this, ever, and literally heard myself utter a line of such human stupidity and randomness, that I can only conclude that Satan, or God (in penalty for not believing in his existence) punished me by taking over my voice….I said, and I quote, verbatim:

“So Kerry, c’mon, tell me, was your ankle really that fucked up or did they just ham it up to make a good story out of it?”

Yeah I know, I can’t believe I said it either, especially since I never thought that, and actually legitimately regarded her triumphant vault as a great moment in American sports, in fact one of the greatest..

She looked disgusted and perplexed, or disgustoplexed, if you will, and said, quite angrily, “Actually YES, it was pretty “FUCKED UP” (making the quote signs with her little hobbit fingers)…I couldn’t believe I said it…
Within minutes all was lost.

I have nothing more to say.

March 9, 2008

Team Tip was sent this story on the page Drink This… it is hilarious and not a surprising interaction in LA.

Dating in LA goes something like this…

February 23, 2009

We got this email the other day from one of our readers who found this posting on craigslist in Oregon in the missed connections section..it definitely is self explanatory and is this weeks Tip Of The Week!