Mr. Hot Chocolate: in honor of successfully completing my dating detox, I threw myself a sort of “Carly’s Got Her Groove Back” coming out party at my favorite bar. I invited all of my friends. And my friends invited all of their friends. I baked snacks. Brought treats. Booked a space. And I let me love flag wave. Yes, in true La Petite Provocateur fashion, I wore short shorts (blue sailor-inspired ones) and high heels (gorgeous suede sky-high wedges) and I mingled like it was my job. But, I really wasn’t expecting to meet anyone special…until in walked Mr. Hot Chocolate himself. All smiles. All charm. All dimples. And ALL MAN. Still, I wasn’t convinced that a hottie like him would go for a girl like me. I mean, I’m all kinds of hotness, but…. Fast forward to the end of the night. We kissed. He came back to my place. We had incredible sex (twice). And we saw each other three more times that week. I’m definitely invested in him, and I miss him when he’s not around, but I’m unclear about where he is emotionally, and I sense him pulling back a bit (okay, A LOT). So, for as much as it breaks my heart, I’m turning the heat down a few (or more) notches on Mr. Hot Chocolate’s pot.
Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie: When Mr. Hot Chocolate flaked on a night out, I decided to stick with the plan and make some memories and bad decisions the other night. So, I grabbed my favorite wing woman, threw on a short dress and my favorite spring time heels and hit up the nearest block o’ bars in San Francisco. Within minutes, I had a stranger reaching down to touch my bare legs on a street corner, another stranger asking to kiss me, and yet another stranger sweetly ask if he could keep my company to ward off all of the creepers that kept hitting on me while I waited for my friend. Somehow, the evening turned it to a number-scoring man-tastic bonanza for my friend and I, and I was left wondering what yum yum secret pheromone sexy hot sauce we had somehow dipped ourselves in because, quite literally, there were men lining up at the bar (and circling like hungry lions) to talk to the two of us. Regardless, this led me to meet Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie, who fought off a friend to score my attention…and a few kisses. There was instant chemistry, the kisses were gold-star worthy, and he seemed genuinely interested in me. Plus, he was assertive and masculine, even pushing me in to the bathroom stall at one moment to steal a steamy makeout session with me. It was hot. He was hot. I was all hot and bothered as a result. But, there is such a strong undercurrent of raw sexuality in our conversations that I have concerns about longevity and sincerity. No worries. This pot is on and cookin’.