Dating is hard enough, but dating in NYC is harder

It is two weeks before Valentine’s Day, quite possibly the most miserable day of all. No, ironically enough I’m not single, but I’m considering being single.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was. Only six months, but I’m down to my last pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, I swear ( I’ve eaten about 20 in the past month and a half). As I sit in a steamy hot bubble bath (the perfect place to eat ice cream during the winter), I’m wondering how this happened to me, why I always meet the wrong men, and if there is something wrong with me.

So this guy…what can I tell you? My roommate, Frankie and I call him limp dick, because its rather true.

Limp Dick and I met over drinks and appetizers at House during a work venue. I work in publishing where everything is quite incestuous, but I had never seen him before. Now we’ve been seriously dating for six months. Six months is kind of a deadline. It’s either stay or go. It’s either going to work out or it isn’t. And even though after six months, he has been the perfect gentleman and does everything right socially, I’m really considering dropping this relationship because sex is that bad.

Seriously, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but it’s definitely his issue. I’m not a nympho or anything, but come on! We are dating; I’ve got blood pumping! He was perfect, except for sex or the lack of thereof. Seriously, the other day I greeted him at the door of the apartment in black high heels and a black silk thong, and the man thought I just got out of the shower and told me he would come back in ten minutes. Really! So he’s 28 and impotent, super Catholic, or in the closet.

Limp dick was never really into sex. When we first started fooling around he wanted to “slow down”. We laughed, we talked, and we became great friends. The first time he froze up. He just hung there like meat in a freezer. I tried a few um things… the usual. Its never failed before, but he might as well have yawned. So I decided to spice it up. I bought porn, I bought sex toys (that I wound up using on myself), underwear. Nothing worked. He wouldn’t go down on me because he didn’t understand the workings of a woman’s “yoo-hoo”. So I got him a book. It was quite mechanical. In; out. In; out.

So I told my roommate, Frankie.

“Dump him,” she said. “Not worth the trouble. Damn, that was a waste of six months,” she added.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve had better sex with women. I don’t need this,” I added.

Well, that was two weeks ago and here I am in the bathtub with Chunky Monkey dripping down my chin and into my bubbly bath water.

“Damn, Ruby. It’s steamy in here. Oh, yeah, it’s decision time is it. Six months. So dump him babe,” Frankie said as she walked into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet.

“I know. But what if I never meet anyone,” I said.

We both laughed.

“Oh Chaquita banana, you know that ain’t happening,” Frankie said grabbing the spoon from my ice cream and shoving a spoonful into her mouth.–Ruby