Posts Tagged ‘dating stories’

Written By: Dick Lambert

Sorry, I haven’t been posting my adventures recently. I am going to catch you all up and also say goodbye, as this will be Dick’s last post.

I recently, had a house guest for a few weeks. A friend of mine from high school is getting divorced and he needed some time to recharge his testosterone at my man cave. Nothing cures a discouraged heart better than getting right back on top of or behind another woman, so we set out with Operation Wingman.

Operation Wingman has a few key ingredients: one is a dive bar where the drinks are good n cheap, two the women are plentiful, and three a friend who knows the fine art of wingmanship. I was looking forward to helping Ned out because he was going through a tough time, while he is handsome, Ned is an awful closer. Plus Ned hadn’t really seen the full Dick in action so I was going to show off a bit.

We hit the bar at 11:30 pm enough time for anyone there to have already gotten a buzz on. Ned eyed two women he was interested in and in a brazen move walked right up one and started chatting her up. Ned was just plowing through trying to be bold. I had to rescue him as he was like a bull in a fine china shop. Once I reared him in and helped him get his drink on we casually saddled up next to his second pick, let the games begin!

I wish I had a good name for this particular wingman technique, your suggestions are welcome. I played to perfection the role of funny but obnoxious friend that goes a little to far. I started the ice breaker off by talking about an unusual viewpoint on the movie Forrest Gump. I then poll those around us, lo and behold the woman Ned is interested in. No matter what her opinion I tease her, disagree, and bust her as much as possible in a playful manner. The wingman is great because you are loose and on your game because you don’t care, there is no pressure for yourself. I say playing the wingman role is great practice in general for picking up woman. Now, here comes the tricky part, you want to make Ned seem smarter, funnier, and a better choice. You do not want to flip her to yourself that usually causes problems between you and Ned. I make sure this doesn’t happen by occasionally pushing things in the kidding around a little to far and there is Ned to rescue her, offer her a smoke outside, another drink, and a dance all to rescue her from my sinister clutches.

Ned is such a bad closer that he goes outside for a smoke without her. I tell her straight out look what you have done. My good friend from way back is outside by himself, smoking while you are in here being made fun of by me. I think there has to be some sort of rule that you aren’t following, do you leave your girlfriends alone to brave the women’s room alone? Im pretty sure you aren’t suppose to leave Ned alone. She complies because by this time she knows the dynamics of our group, I’m the funny but obnoxious one, Ned is the very funny (laugh extra hard when you are the wingman), employed traveler.

By the end of the evening I invite all to the diner for some grease to settle stomachs. I of course make up some outlandish reason my car is full and I have to stop home so Ned and her will have to ride together. They never make it to the diner and Ned gets his freak on at her place for the next three days; my man cave is mine alone!

I have also been hard at work breaking into an ex’s new circle of friends at belly dancing class. I have met the women after class at the local bar on two occasions. I have shown I am funny, smart, tall, handsome, man of means who can thrive in a pack of sexually aggressive liberated belly dancing women. My X is doing her part of the wingman by downplaying we use to go out ages and ages ago. I’m torn between two of her friends. The belly dancing instructor herself or the young Latin gal. I even come to the performance showcase and afterwards close the dance floor with them. By the way this is the best advice about dancing with a woman I have ever seen.

I start a little dance circle, a little conga line, and just have silly fun. The young Latin girl is into me and the belly dancing instructor takes every opportunity to check me out, impressed I can have fun dancing. I eventually choose the young Latin woman, Marisa.
I figure I can always come back to the dance instructor.

I bring all the A game to my first date with Marisa. Our first date is the gun range and drinks or what I like to call Shooting and Shots (in that order always!). If you have never shot a rifle or pistol before you should go with some of your friends. It makes for a fun first date because its exciting, you can show off a little, on a primal level guns are sexy, men who can handle themselves with a firearm is sexy, and a woman with a gun is sexy, its win-win. I also like the gun range because you can have a lot of fun with body language and some non-creepy touching. Help her grip the pistol, help her spread her legs even with her shoulders, shift her hips to the side, look down sight, control your breathing, and lean into the recoil. Afterwards we are doing shots high on the excitement from the range and then down the street from her parents’ house, making out in my car.

Here comes the part where I explain why this is my last post. I got a lot of high fives from Ned, my other friends, and some great feedback from our readers, and of course Miss Singlefied herself. Meanwhile, through this I started dating this one woman who I met online. I’m not going to even make up a name for her here. We have been on three dates and haven’t even hooked up yet. Out of all the ladies: Marisa, belly dancing instructor, and the others along the way I’m more myself around her, I make all the mistakes I implore you not to make in my previous posts. I think I have reached a time where I find if I play the game too well I outplay the organic development of any real connection or feelings. Marisa and I played a perfect game but it wasn’t much of a challenge, I wasn’t being myself, I was really just Dick Lambert looking to win and score, somehow more and more it feels unnatural and I feel alone. By playing the game too much and too well you play yourself out of romance and love, like the difference between a delicious homemade cherry pie and a diet artificial supermarket cherry pie if there was such a thing.

Playing the game is fun, but with the girl who really matters, you just have to play yourself. Gentlemen, it has been an absolute pleasure.

Happy New Year.

Thanks to the hilarious Simone Grant, I was given the opportunity to guest post for her popular blog, Sex Lies & Dating in the City.  *No exes were harmed in the making of this post:

Let’s face it, most of us don’t exactly get “closure” when we go through breakups.  Sometimes, after much time has passed, it’s hard to even pin point what were the exact reasons for splitsville.  For the past year, I’ve been playing around with this idea of an Exit Interview.  We have exit interviews when we leave a job, so why don’t we have exit interviews when we leave a person?

The premise of the Exit Interview is to reveal each other’s strengths and weaknesses, reasons for departure, and key takeaways for the next relationship.  I know, this all sounds so corporate, but the Exit Interview is most successful when it’s mostly void of emotions.  As a , I recommend all of my clients to first close the ex files for at least 3 months and then conduct the interview.  This way, it allows both parties a time to chill out and think (somewhat) rationally.

While this all sounds fine and dandy, and it has proven successful with several of my friends and clients, I decided it’s time to practice what I preach.  I picked 3 victims from my past and went for it.  Here’s an overview of my victims:

1)   The Freebird.  He loved the idea of falling in love.  The problem was, we weren’t in love.  Also, his younger age created a sense of insecurity about where he was in his life, and I needed more from the relationship.  Not commitment-wise.  I just needed more of a man.  [I ended it]

2)   The Good Guy.  He was perfect on paper.  The problem was, I never felt a connection with him.  I tried and tried to like him.  But in the end, my heart wouldn’t budge. [I ended it]

3)   The One.  I pictured him at the end of the aisle.  The problem was, he was a perpetual bachelor whose heart was as small and crammed as a NYC apartment.  Not much room for anybody else.  I thought I could change him.  He was my “project.” [He ended it]


We decide to meet for lunch at a casual restaurant.  The premise is to “catch up” but of course I have ulterior motives.  Freebird looks cuter than ever with his borderline hipster style and frayed backpack.  That’s the problem: Freebird would’ve been my perfect crush in high school.  He’d walk by me in the hallway on his way to Chemistry and I’d giggle to myself while secretly writing our initials in hearts inside my locker.  But again, that would’ve been great in high school.

Our conversation starts with the usual small talk and I slowly ease my way into the hard-hitting questions, Barbara Walters style.  I ask him why he thinks our relationship ended….(read the rest here). recommends The Flex Belt, the only FDA-approved device proven to tighten, tone and strengthen your abs without crunches.



I love sharing my illicit experiences with you guys. I hope they titillate and inspire you to new levels of lewd and crude ways to get off with those heavenly creatures we call women. I have a lot of success without a doubt but sometimes I feel like the Anti-Dick when I fail. When I do fail it is in spectacular fashion, so without further ado let me share with you the last two weeks.

I hang out with this one female and it is obvious to all that she worships and is completely intimidated by me. Let’s not mince words, she is obsessed with me and would do anything for me. Sounds great right? She is marrying material except I don’t want to get married. She is also a tad below my high standards for looks. Lets face it, I love having some nice arm candy wrapped around me that others covet and do a double take while thinking how does a guy like that get a girl like that. Otherwise, she is pretty damn awesome; smart, witty, sweet, shares some of the same hobbies I enjoy. But there is no chase, no pull of chemistry, it just seems too damn easy for me. I know what would happen: I would take her for granted and a few weeks from now write about how I hooked up with her cousin or mother. Meanwhile, we go on these “NoDates” together, you know dinner and a movie but no affection. Today she jumped into my car for another “NoDate” and had a gift bag of a bunch of cute thoughtful gifts. I’m tempted but I don’t want to run over her heart.

Meanwhile, on top of my plethora of “NoDates” I have this young female friend on XBox Live. We met playing Team Fortress 2 together. She is sweet but awfully young like just now she is legal. She is a good player though, so we chat on our mics from our separate lives but we have been playing together for so long inevitably we became Facebook friends. Well, this week she admitted in a tirade of heartfelt messages that she wants me to marry her non-English speaking mother so one they get their green card, two so her mom doesn’t grow old alone, and three because it would be nice to have a father figure around like me since I don’t talk down to her when I give her good fatherly advice. The messages were so serious and desperate they pulled at my few heart strings. The next morning was a final message from her saying her mom said we should all go to the zoo together.

Am I getting soft?

Then finally my one good friend calls me up saying he has found the perfect girl for me. She is this cute hard edge death metal chic who is Jewish and harbors some dark Nazi sexual fantasies she hasn’t found anyone to fulfill with. Now, I am perverted and twisted but Nazis? I always say try it once for it’s better regret something you have done then regret something you haven’t done but how down the rabbit hole would this take me? None of this stopped me from looking her up on Facebook. She is skinny, tough, but soft, Israeli woman, who defiantly loves Death Metal. Speaking further with my friend, apparently he and four other friends had a conference with her at the local bar to sell her on me. Now, I know all about her and I could see us getting together and all that implies but again not only is that some dark twisted shit but it just seems too easy.

The last weeks were just a slew of belt notches in the waiting from the friend willing and waiting to be sacrificed on the penis alter of Dick Lambert, the desperate illegal non-English speaking mom of a video game teammate, to the sick little songbird that wants me to break her further. Aren’t there any normal women out there? Anyone up for a good ole fashioned chase?

Even I know the exquisite pain of the guy who goes home alone because without the bitter baby, the sweet ain’t as sweet.

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Written By: The Unsung Romantic

I think my father said it best to me, as well as a few unsuspecting buddies of mine while packed into the ’86 Plymouth Tourismo Duster I inherited a little after this short lived sermon took place. “Look man,” he said (Try to envision a middle-aged suave Cuban man, with white hair, a mustache and a thick accent when hearing him). “You guys have to get this really simple with all the bullshit you keep talking about Paul’s (my good friend at the time) crazy girlfriend …” “What’s that? She’s fucking crazy,” I said! So he goes with the voice of a man who’swisdom of biblical proportions was only beginning to release itself that day after baseball practice, “That’s right, guy. She’s fucking crazy. They all are, but that isn’t what matters. It is the farthest thing from the solution to understanding women because that’s the constant of the female universe.” “The real problem is you, Paul. If you want to be happy, then you have to understand that it is you that is the problem in the formula, not her.”

Immediately after this, like a bunch of virgin assholes who think the old man has been married to my mother for so long he’s lost all sense of his manhood, has been emasculated, recircumsized and can’t remember what a pussy looks like my idiot friend goes, “But Mr. X, girls are fucking nuts now and pussies are much better now than they used to be. They’re like cleaner and so girls think they are the shit. Like they can do whatever they want.”

Dad pulls the car over into a church parking lot just a few lots down from our house …

“Do you know what a pussy is, Steve? (idiot friend). What does it look like? Describe it. Do you like the way it tastes? What about when ‘jur little cock is pretending to fuck it?”

“Whoa! Mr. X. You are fucking crazy!” (immediate teenage boy blushes occur) because we have no fucking idea what a pussy really is.

“A pussy is the Alpha and the Omega my friends. It is the big bang theory. The instant the universe was created so was the pussy to make sure that man will always understand his purpose as number two in life, behind number one, the pussy. The woman. The girlfriend. The wife.” “Entiendes, mariconsitos (lil’ fags)? So stop fucking around.”

It was at this point in time where we still had no fucking idea what dad was talking about, until I put his next and final sentence of that car ride together many years and many, many women down the road.

“There are women you fuck … And there are women you marry … But guys, they’re all kind of crazy.” He pops the car in drive, pulls a few lots up into the driveway, turns to us and says with a commanding wink that’s usually given before James Bond wins the girl, the card game and kills you in the process, “But if you fucking tell your mother what I said, I’ll kill you and you will never know what a pussy is.”

So my mom was “that kind of crazy” that made my dad want to marry her, make me and live the rest of their lives together in a happiness that was created in a big bang the second the two of them were born.

So what’s my fucking point? The point is my friends, that the following series of many short stories will encompass every type of crazy (woman) known to man (at least through my vaginascope). And along the way I hope we can all share a few more undiscovered kinds of crazy that have done everything from make us cry (yes, I said it), to make us feel like we were born to be porn stars and even those who still make us us wonder if she was ever a man before you met her …

In the end, we’re going to figure out what it is that we really want in a woman. Whether it be your voyeuristic anal whore, or ultra orthodox religious virgin with a penchant for foot fetishes, or the girl next door who is also a doctor (while you are a kindergarten teacher) – we are going to find our “That Kind of Crazy” that makes us never look back.

I promise! Even if it makes us crazy, like a woman.

The Unsung Romantic

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Please welcome our second male contributor, The Unsung Romantic, who will be alternating posts with Dick Lambert.  The Unsung Romantic is what many would call a Euromerican. He is a lover, a hunter and a fighter all rolled into one overly complicated contradiction of a modern day American playboy. He’s dated mother-daughter combinations, Thai nannies, has almost been married, has fathered unborn children and has more fetishes than noted on your favorite porn site. All this aside, he loves the essence of woman for every perfect imperfection they have, believes there really is one woman (at least) out there that makes a man lose all sense of consciousness and understands men are from Mars and women are from another completely uncharted parallel universe.

Written By: Dick Lambert

Heather was a beautiful auburn hair, dark eyes, athletic type with all the prerequisite curves. My friend who served in the Navy with her introduced us when she was on leave.  He had a crush on her but was never able to seal the deal. She was also tough as nails as she was an arc welder. Heather was an outrageous flirt. Soon though we would all learn that Heather was all sailor and we were all just ships for her to jump from one to the other.

Heather and I fucked around in my dorm room often. I did notice even when my friend had introduced her to me that she was a flirt and she continued to be around any guy friends I introduced her to. Things were going pretty well until one day when I saw her on campus with one of my friends I had introduced her to. This lone ship passed the USS Heather and in tow the USS My Friend Who Could Just Shrug at Me. I was a little wounded. We weren’t exclusive and I couldn’t really blame my friend or Heather for that matter either.

A few days passed and any prideful wounds were quickly healed up when Heather came by to visit seemingly just to blow me. There was teeth involved and it was pretty rough, but enjoyable. I was feeling pretty good one day until I walked into our bathroom to take a piss. I immediately heard her moaning in our bathroom shower during a dorm party. Our bathroom served me and my roommate and our adjoining two roommates on the other side of the bathroom.

There was ice all over the floor, and our beer balls strewn about the bathroom floor as we usually packed our shower with ice and beer for the party. There was Heather in the shower with my other roommate. He had her bent over with her arms against the wall, suds and water everywhere. She saw me and smiled and said to me in her husky sexy voice “fuck me.” Threesome in the shower. I got another great wet blow job where my roommates thrusts were what was moving her mouth back and forth on my dick. We both came at the same time and yes, in a moment of sheer locker room joy, high-fived each other.

We learned later on that Heather had worked her way throughout our dorm room floor onto the the next one. We figured that out when we all met accidentally at the local clinic to get checked out just to be sure. She did return after another leave and once again it was Fleet Week on campus.  All ahoy the USS Heather!