This is months later and after, again, another disaster round. A date I planned for months after I resumed talking to him on Bumble when his face popped up. Which by the way, wasn’t his real face, and I had to ask him.

“Did you meet with other girls after we met in March?”

He smiled. “Yes. East Asian girls. A Japanese girl who came here for a short time.”

“So, do you have any FWBs?” I asked.

“We met one time. All one time.”

“But why? Why didn’t you ask to meet again? Actually, why didn’t you ask me to meet again? Were we ONS too?”

“I like to take things easy. No rush,” he replied. He shook his head. “Not one time, we met two times before this.”

Well, at least he remembered. Yes, the first time we met, I did most of the talking. We went for a super long walk and, in the end, landed at the parking lot. We did it in the car. Cramped but exciting, and he, unlike some of the guys, had no problems with fucking or being worried about being caught.

So, he passed the first test, and that was why we met at the hotel. Quickies were easy. Hotel stays require stamina, which I learned to my dismay, was what he didn’t have.

And now in our third meeting, at his home, after four hours of drama, TV and then Top Gun Maverick on the high res TV which made everyone in the show look AI, wrinkles deep and eyes shining in a weird way, I was ready for my second fuck.

I showed him my apron, and I already had on my laced T-panty and for role-playing. We were having dinner, which I cooked and brought over,r and when we were in the kitchen, I hugged him from behind.

“Can we play again?” I asked.

He reached down and held his cock. “Sorry, it’s tired…”

“But…it’s so long ago. Don't tell me you can do it once a day.” I jumped onto his bed, trying to get him on but he was waving trying to get me off.

It wasn’t working.

This guy was serious. He was a one-pop guy.

“You are thinking too much. Guys are simple creatures,” said H. This was after the disastrous date. We talked about what worked and what didn’t. Usually, it was what didn’t work for me. H was selective, and so his number of bad dates was way worse than mine was. Plus, he had his FWB and was set.

I was still a rudderless boat looking for shore.

I wished my FWB — S boy was back from the East Coast, but I knew I shouldn’t ask for much. Being glad he was recovering was all I could ask for. And waiting for him to return next year was all I could do.

“If a guy is done, he is done. If he wants to watch TV, he’d watch TV. You should know better. You’ve been with so many,” H said.

“I was thinking maybe it was a cultural thing. He’s really Japanese. Maybe he couldn’t tell me what he wanted?”

H laughed. “All guys are the same. There is nothing on his mind other than what he needs. And after that one sex, he was done. And the last time you met him months ago, he was done too.”

“He said he was tired. He binge-watched…” I was finding excuses. H was right.

I was being stubborn. I was imposing my thoughts of banging onto the guys who didn’t want more than what they already did.

I wanted more from a friendship that didn’t exist. Men really are from Mars, and Venus was sitting alone on her planet, hoping for a friend to bang with.

I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. How much I squeezed and hoped I was going to get more than a sex friend. And if I found one who matched me, the guy was halfway across the ocean, too far to even have a meal together.

To be honest, the FWB in Korea wasn’t as horny as I was. He told me that, and I was okay with that because he is a good friend. I wondered if he was here with me, would he be tired too of my constant need to meet to fuck?

Reality bloomed light a flower in the night. I wasn’t a one-woman man. My needs were too much for one man to fill, and perhaps that was why H was fine with me running around. There was so much sex he could do.

“Don’t take that deep,” said a new Korean guy I was chatting with. We were becoming fast friends even though we didn’t get further than second base. He, like me, was both here and there. Neither East nor West, having studied here for more than five years, and planning to get a green card to settle down.

“You mean don’t take it too seriously?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. Echoing what H had told me the night before.

“Guys are simple. Don’t think too much,” said H. “He is a boring Japanese guy. There are boring people everywhere. Don’t waste your time on him.”

“I can’t change him.”

Of course not. He was a little more than a stranger despite my constant chatting and telling him all sorts of stuff. I’d forgotten for a moment of lust that was the reason why I dropped him in March. And once again, I was back at the starting point as I tended to be.

It was a race around and around the merry-go-round. I wasn’t getting forward, wasn’t getting to where I wanted to go. And despite my pushing and refusal to give in, was I just wasting my time?

“I don’t want vanilla,” I told someone else. “I’ve done enough vanilla sex.” Yes, and I could add, each body count was an increased risk. I was at the point where the sprint was becoming taxing, and this long-distance marathon was beginning to feel, as I hate to say, boring.

I wanted a pervert. A byeontae. An ecchi. Bian tai ren. My bucket list. It was time to check that off. I wasn’t getting any younger.

Yes, and with that bucket came the fuck boys and the weirdos.

“You have to lower your standards,” said H. “You can’t have everything.”

The tens of thousands of likes had gotten into my head. I might feel like a queen on the pedestal, but I was no better than a slave.

Top Gun shot down. Dreams get dashed. Reality caves in.

It was time to stop and recollect.

No point in running back to the starting point. I need to formulate. What was it that I wanted? And how was I gonna get it?

One thing was for sure. Boring won’t do.