Kielbasas or Cocktail Weenies?

Dear Eve,

I met a woman online about two and a half months ago. Things had been going good and we are supposed to meet in several weeks.  But I am not sure if I am going to be able to go through with it.  The problem is, we started having phone sex week before last.  And it was really great, and really hot, until she started talking about how she couldn’t wait to have my big hard c**k.  Over and over, she just kept talking about my giant, enormous, monster dick.  Well, I do not have a big dick, at all.  In fact I am fully aware of the fact that I am well below average.  I’m not ashamed, I just think this woman is going to be disappointed when she finds me to not be as well endowed as she imagined.  So Eve, do I need to cancel my ticket?  Or tell her the truth?  Or just go and deal with the sad look I know will cross her face when I drop my pants in front of her for the first time?

Signed, No thunder down under

Dearest Under-achiever,

Well, well, well.  This is quite a pickle, my friend.  Trouble is, it’s a gherkin and your lady friend was really hoping for a dill.  I know, I know, how completely un-kosher of me.  I’ll stop.  Where were we?  Oh yeah, your small penis.

Honestly, phone sex talk is just that…talk.  Sure, she might be a big dick fiend who will laugh (or cry) in the face of your Cracker Jack prize of a peen, but it is just as likely that she is simply playing with the dialogue in the only way she knows how.  What do most guys want us ladies to say about their dicks?  That they are soooo big…soooo hard…sooo thick… blah-ditty-blah, blah.  This girl most likely said what she assumed you wanted to hear, that’s all.

Lets chat for a second here, woman to man.  Do you know what matters most to me, and 99% of my female friends?  Your ability to make us orgasm.  So do you work what Mother Nature gave you to the best of your abilities?  Have you perfected your oral skills?  Are you good with your hands?  And most importantly, are you going to be able to go into this with confidence in your abilities?  If you find yourself answering yes to all of the above, don’t cash in your ticket.  Go, have fun, and don’t say a word about her “big” talk.  Take her to the moon and back and she will not care about thumb-kin down there in your pants.

Now, if she IS one of those women, (and yes, they are out there) that just cannot be satisfied with anything less than a Godzilla-wang, well then unfortunately she is not the one for you.  (Or for most guys, really.)  But you won’t know unless you try.

And if she does unwrap your package and promptly ask for a refund, you don’t need her giant vagina having self anyway…so there!

Love and kisses,

Eve

Well, folks…what is the consensus?  Should he confess?  Should he cut her loose?  Or should he chalk it up to kinky talk and not worry about it?

Mis(s) Matched

During the evolution of on line dating it was the ultimate breeding ground for…well, breeding; or at least practicing the art of breeding. The plethora of options was limitless and everyone seemed to show up with their A-game. There was an insurmountable collection of perfection with every click of the mouse. But alas, all good things must come to an end and year after year the number of worthy adversaries was dropping like flies. And then along came the summer of the triple threat that nearly endangered my already perilous dating life.

Enter bachelor number one. Match.com’s simplistic rating system gave us a ninety-two percent compatibility factor and being as how I was on the verge of finalizing my second divorce anything over fifty percent seemed to be a step in the right direction. We did the usual interweb dating song and dance…he winked, I replied and before I knew it we had scheduled the “meet and greet.”  Thrilled with the anticipation of sipping coffee over lingering glances with a former Calvin Klein underwear model, the day couldn’t arrive soon enough.

As per usual, all went off without a hitch, but then again, I’d practically perfected the meet and greet. Give just enough information with subtle innuendos to grab his attention. Look cute, but not high maintenance. If he’s tall wear stilettos, if not, flip-flops… just to ensure there’s no awkward first kiss height issues. Throw a few ego stroking compliments his way, laugh at his jokes and be sure to end the festivities before the conversation had time to get stale. Honestly, it’s really not all that difficult, and I’m fairly certain a monkey could do it. So there he was, Mister Hawter than Hawt, eating out of the palm of my hand and booking another go round before I had time to thank him for the triple café mocha.

Date two likened the first, except this particular evening I was hit with the “next week is my Birthday” bomb. Cripes! Really, so soon? I should have paid more attention to his zodiac sign, but his half nekkid photos distracted me from the important issues like… don’t start dating someone who’s about to celebrate anything. Before I knew it I was stuck in a quandary as to how much cash to drop on his six pack abs. Not only was this going to be the all important third date, but I had to make it special for a quasi stranger who I had little more in common with than his DNA that he’d left in my mouth.

Being a sucker for twinkling eyes, a Colgate smile and an ass that I could rest my library books on, I opted to suck it up and make reservations at his favorite sushi restaurant in the Hollywood Hills… and I don’t even like sushi! It was a beautiful night, with an amazing view of the debauchery on Sunset Boulevard. Sadly, by the time we ordered appetizers we’d started to enter… the quiet zone. Without warning we’d run out of things to say and considering the circumstances we couldn’t ignore the silence and jump straight to the all important third date hump-a-thon. As I suppressed another yawn all I could think about was bypassing the formalities and getting at least one good romp for the dough I was shelling out to eat a meal that made me want to vomit.

Startled back to reality by the waitress with a plate full of raw fish and seaweed I was certain things couldn’t get any worse…and then I heard, “I have something I need to tell you.” Oh c’mon, seriously? Now you want to talk? Now you want to confess your childhood masturbation habits? What? What do you want to tell me, Mr. You’d Be Much Cuter Naked Man? Of course he did his best to prepare me with his rendition of some football mishap or another. (Honestly, I was halfheartedly listening while trying to ignore the eyeballs on my plate.) Perhaps in hindsight I should have paid more attention because before I knew it my 6′3 man of steel was removing his pearly whites and putting them in the front pocket of his shirt!

Now, I’d like you to take a moment and think about not only the horror that my super model date had suddenly turned into Elmer Fudd, but how incredibly difficult it is to not stare at a gaping black holed grill. Let me tell you, folks, there was nothing pretty about the way he gummed those oysters like a baby latched on to a lactating nipple.

Needless to say, that was my last date with Mc Hawterson. Not because of his lack of enamel, but because the bastard actually had the audacity to place an extra order to go…on my tab!

Let’s hear it kids. Have you ventured into the online dating realm, and if so, was it a glorious adventure or a horrific tale? And more importantly, would you date a 30-something with dentures?

The fun and not-so-good times are just getting started, stay tuned in the coming weeks for Bachelors 2 and 3 in the mini-series of Mis(s)-Matched.

The seduction of an aging internet starlet

What we are about to bring you is a tale of two people… as told by them in the hopes of deciphering the mysterious origins of their romance.
Welcome to the first installment of…Love-fucked (that’s a working title, folks…)

( Trista shall be in purple, her cohort in blue…as they weave the story of their unlikely…whatever the hell you call this…)

Once upon a time there was this girl who spent a lot of time on the computer. This was a girl a lot like you…a lot like me. Okay, it was me.

So This is how it went down… I was new to the computer age and had heard about this thing crazy lil’ thing called Myspace.

I was doing a little computer multi-tasking; downloading some music while playing around on Myspace.

So long story short I sign up and I begin perusing the top new blogs when I spot this chick with a fucking raccoon on her head… …now I am not a man prone to strong attachments…but something about the look on her face or the carcass on her head told me that this women would be fantastic in bed.

[Read more]

Friday Follies - Season 1

Hang on to your panties kids, Eve-101 will be back live next week, Thursday, April 24th at 10:00 p.m. pacific on TheStream.tv.

We have an extra special hunk-o-burnin’-love show planned for you so make sure to tune in!

Meanwhile, it is always our goal to entertain and delight you with our words of wisdom and outlandish antics, so here are the episodes from the first season of Eve-101. Pick one, any one (or two, or five) click yourself on over and enjoy. [Read more]

Once, Twice, Three Times…He’s Flakey!

Dear Eve,

I met a man online about six months ago and everything is going great. I have just one problem…he won’t meet me in person. We have had plans several times and he has come up with an excuse to break them every time. What do I do? I really like this guy, but I am getting more and more confused and frustrated each day. Help!

Sincerely, Frustrated with Flaking

[Read more]