Kayak Stan: I Smell Sex and Starbucks

I got a message from Kayak Stan the Wednesday following the posting. He described himself and asked a little about me, we exchanged pics (which is where his name comes from… he’s sitting in a kayak in the one he sent), and he asked if I wanted to meet the following Saturday for some people watching in Dupont Circle. I said I was game, and we arranged to meet. Fortunately, I already had dinner plans for a friend’s birthday, so I knew there wouldn’t be a repeat of the lengthy and torturous Ice Cream Guy fiasco. I’d officially learned to hold the all-important escape plan in high esteem.

I spent the morning and early afternoon running around with friends and jetted home to shower up and make myself presentable before meeting Kayak Stan at 4. When he arrived (and after verifying that he was, indeed, the guy in the picture I’d received), the first thing I noticed was an enormous stain on the front of his rumpled white T-shirt. I waited for the standard I’m-a-klutz-and-spilled-something-on-the-way-out-the-door-and-didn’t-want-to-be-late explanation, but it never came. For that matter, none did.

All right, I’m thinking, I don’t expect you to come out in slacks in a tie to sit in the Circle and people watch, but is it too much to ask that you have on a clean shirt when you show up? I was miffed, to put it politely. I’d rushed around getting everything done early in the day, cut time with my friends short to get ready to meet this guy, and he couldn’t even manage a shirt without stains? Nice. Within the first two minutes of meeting him, I was already relieved this date had a predetermined time limit.

While all this was running through my head, Kayak Stan was saying he had a hangover, it was too hot to sit outside. Could we go somewhere cool and get an iced coffee or tea? Not a bad idea. As we walked toward everyone’s favorite coffee mega-monster (my choice got vetoed), Kayak Stan told me about his night out and his profession. Clinical psychologist, you say? That didn’t sound half bad.

After getting our drinks, we took the last two seats available in the place. And that, friends, is when the real fun began. Right there in the middle of that tiny and very crowded café, surrounded by a bunch of geriatrics and their likely very impressionable grandkids, Kayak Stan started in with the sex questions. Skipping right over more traditional avenues of conversation, he worked into it by asking how CL had worked out for me, if I’d tried other dating sites. Then if I’d hooked up with anyone from CL. When I answered that question, I suppose he took it as a green light signaling that anything went in the sex-question department. From there on out, the questions got progressively more explicit.

Now, I’m no prude. I don’t mind talking about sex (Yes, yes… I know I wouldn’t talk to Ice Cream Guy about it, but that’s because he’s a judgmental creep. Double standard? Sure. That’s my prerogative.), and I’m a pretty open person in general, so I don’t mind talking about my experiences. But Kayak Stan was getting a little loud, and I could feel the geezers boring holes into the back of my head as he exposed their precious scions to perversities the likes of which they probably never wanted to contemplate themselves. (Seriously, how many people collecting social security do you think want to know if I’ve ever had a threesome or gone down on a girl?)

Before the old-timers could rally their collective strength to toss us out on our derrières, I told Kayak Stan we were moving it outside. Screw his hangover. I wasn’t about to get mauled by a pack of superannuated, cane-wielding, coffee behemoth patrons because this guy’s filter was turned off and his volume was on high.

When we got outside, he related a story about a girl he’d met from CL. He called her Sex Position Girl. She’d posted one of those ‘I’m bored. Want to chat?’ ads, and he’d ended up going over to ‘watch a movie.’ Within five minutes of his arrival, he claimed, she was describing (then demonstrating) her favorite sexual positions. Of course, he had no choice at that point but to help her out.

He went on to relate a few other tales about girls from CL and other sites. I already knew he wasn’t someone I’d ever be hooking up with, so I wasn’t really fazed by all this talk about sex with other girls. But something in the back of my mind was taking me back to his original e-mail. Didn’t he say he was new to all this? Oh yeah, he did: (verbatim)

How do you like CL? I'm pretty new at it, so hope to meet come cool people. It'd be nice to get together with a fun person and have some good times this summer you know?

Interesting. He must've work incredibly fast to have all those stories if he was ‘new’ at it.

Anyhow, I entertained his questions for a while (Where’s the wildest place you’ve had sex?) and asked him some of my own (Ever had sex with a guy? Ever fantasized about it? Do the other men in your fantasies have huge packages?). In turn, he started asking about my friends. (Are they hot? Have they ever hooked up with other girls? Have you ever hooked up with them? Would you?) Even though I was certainly not speaking for my friends and their sexual behavior, he kept it up. I let him, mainly because it was entertaining to hear what kinds of questions he’d put out there. This was loads better than making up stories about strangers in the Circle. He was doing all the work for me, and all I had to do was sit back and take it in. Finally, we said our farewells and I headed off to the adult bookstore to purchase a present for the friend's birthday that night.

I left thinking that, for a psychologist, Kayak Stan seemed a little off-kilter, potentially obsessed with sex. Maybe he was just horny though. Or maybe he’s somewhere writing a blog about all the answers he gets from girls he meets on CL.




* Names have been changed -- for the innocents and the slimeballs alike -- because, hell, I’d want my name changed if someone were putting me in a blog. (And who’s to say any of those were their real names anyway?)