My own 1992 story

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
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HubZilla started a thread about what you miss from 15 years ago in IMHO. My own story doesn’t really qualify for that thread, but it has a certain fascination for me. It’s elegant and symmetrical, to me at least. Maybe you’ll think it’s just dumb or boring, but I feel the need to type, so here it is.

I’ve had a fascination with those what wear long hair and dresses from an early age. The first was Kim. I was 6, and she probably was too. We’d walk home from kindergarten together. We’d hold hands. When we were in the woods, she asked me if I wanted to kiss her. The answer was always yes. And I must say, I loved it. I was hooked. I knew that my future happiness would include those what wore long hair and dresses.

Alas, my thirst for girls would not be sated until much later. In junior high school, I dated a bit. Cheryl, Laura, and Carolyn in 7th grade alone. Carolyn and I even engaged in a bit of mutual genital fondling. It was hot. I was hot. I had established Studmuffin status.

High school was a bit hit and miss, but I did my fair share of lame sexcapades. The highlight was the day before graduation. That’s when I met Pam. She was clearly the hottest babe I ever boffed. And it was so adult. She was living with a guy, so it was the first of two illicit affairs I was involved in.

Then came college. Babe City, one might say. Except it wasn’t. When you attend a university where the male-female ratio is 20-1, dating is simply not an option. It was soul destroying. My self esteem took a major hit. It was the beginning of the end.

The next twelve years were the saddest years of my life. I met maybe five women, and each was an exercise in drama, frustration, and suicidal tendancies. It was lonely beyond all imagining. I’d elucidate more, but I wouldn’t want you to slit your wrists. I’d resigned myself to being a lonely loser many many times. It was about as pathetic as you could imagine, and then some.

Part II follows.

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Part II.

Fast forward to December 31st, 1991.

I was fed up. I was angry. I’d spent my entire life ringing in the New Year without kissing a single soul. It was official – my life sucked ass.

(Not entirely true. I kissed Holly on 1/1/87. This was the second “affair” of my life. It mostly consisted of calling each other losers.)

(Not entirely true. It consisted of her calling me a loser, and me begging for more. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.)

Where are we up to? Oh yeah, 12/31/91. I was fed up. I had this great idea – Do something about my sad situation. I made a resolution: Get a real, steady, genuine girlfriend within the year. And do whatever it takes to make that happen. If I had to kill a busload of children, nuns, and puppies to do so, then that’s what I’d do.

Fortunately for children, nuns, and puppies, it didn’t have to come to that. And fortunately for the publishers of self-help books, they had a profitable year thanks to me. Every how-to dating book in the known universe saw at least one sale that year. National illiteracy took a major hit from January to June of 92.

I probably don’t need to tell you that most self-help books are pure crap. But for every 14243 thorns, there is a rose. And a smart person (and I like to occasionally pretend that I have two or more funtioning brain cells) can glean something useful from even pure crap.

I happened to stumble on on Intimate Connections by David D Burns. It was brilliant. It addressed my problems like no other book or shrink or bartender ever could. Damn, this book was all full of Science! Standard deviations and peer review and all that good stuff. This was a full and robust theory of how tdn can get his dick washed by supermodels!

Sliced bread, take a back seat.

Part III follows.

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Part III.

The best thing about this book was that it teaches that being alone is OK. I learned to love my solitude. To this day, I value my alone time more than anything. But I’d soon have less of it than ever.

I soon took a trip to the spiritual side. Not that I became a full-blown fundie or anything like that, but my voyage of self-discovery led me through some serious woowooism. I even spent a few bucks on a fortune teller. Say what you will about these blood-sucking parasitic frauds, but this one actually had some value. She told me that I needed to raise my self-esteem, a prediction of the bloody obvious. She also told me that I would meet someone in May, June, and August.

Fortune tellers are blood-sucking parasitic frauds. We all agree, right?

In May, I met Elaine through a sex chat line. Hot sex became my favorite hobby. In June I met Laura. Not only hot sex, but a potential love relationship. In August, I met Gerri through the same chat line. It was around mid August that I had a week where I had six dates on seven days, with four different women, and hot sex on four of those days.

And on the seventh day, He rested. And He saw that it was good. Not to metion exhausting.

Did I mention Intimate Connections by David D Burns? It became my bible.

For about six years, I never went more than six weeks without having a girlfriend. And that was only once. And there was often significant overlap. I increased the quantity of my sexual encounters by orders of magnitude. From around ten to several hundred. I even got a few marriage proposals, which I turned down.

From 1998 to 1999 I experienced a bit of a dry spell, punctuated by several hot sex encounters with women that could probably qualify as criminally insane. And once I got my heart ripped out, slashed with a kitchen knife, stomped on, and burned, then handed back to me on a fine china platter with a side of fava beans and a sprig of parsley.

In August of 1999, I met my latest squeezy toy. Halfway though these last 15 years, and it lasted for almost exactly 7.5 years. We broke up two weeks ago today.

So where does this leave me now? AT the end of my adventure. Or perhaps at the beginning of it. I bought another copy of Burns’s excellent book, and am starting over.

Wish me luck, and thanks for reading.

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Wait a minute? You dated in grade seven? :eek:

Good luck! But I think you’ll do well.

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Well, next time someone you’re dating asks why you’re not married, you can just give her a link to this thread. :stuck_out_tongue:

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Sure did. I was a hot ticket in those days. Three relationships, three weeks of OMG Huge Drama that Grownups Will Never Understand! runs off to bedroom to soak pillow in tears

I think I’ll do well, too. Buying Burns’s book, and being in this position sure takes me back to '92, though. It’s a weird kind of nostalgia.

The main approach of his dating technique is to build self-esteem. He gives a number of suggestions for how to do that. One of them is to clean your apartment, to make it as presentable to youself as you would to your dream lover. Looking around myself, I can see the wisdom in his method. This place is a fargin’ sty.

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Heh. Good idead. :wink:

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I dated in third grade.

Of course, that’s one of three girlfriends in my life (at 27), so early starts don’t seem to indicate frequency. (Hey, I’m picky.)

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For that matter, frequency does not indicate quality. MY mother only had one boyfriend in her entire life. 53 years later, the relationship is still going strong.