Recently, while walking in the park, I noticed an elderly couple sitting on a bench holding hands.

Like most people do when they see old people in love, I tried to picture them having sex.  But then I started to think about soul-mates.

A few weeks earlier, I had broken up with a guy I’d been dating. He was nice, but he had this annoying habit of introducing me to hot guys as his girlfriend. Also, because of his insecurities, he would harass me with countless pathetic text messages while I was out on other dates.

At first, I let it go. But after he freaked out when I asked if he had any single, less effeminate-looking brothers, I knew I had to end it.

Still, I missed the companionship. The feeling of knowing that if worse came to worst, I had someone to pick me up from the bar after last call. Or of waking up and smelling the pillow that would have his lingering scent had I actually let him stay long enough to need it.

As I ogled the geriatric couple from behind a nearby tree, I felt a renewed sense of hope that my true love was still out there. So, after spending the next few hours convincing the police to drop the senior citizen harassment charges, I went home and began my search.

In an effort to get the ball rolling, I decided to visit one of the dating sites I frequented to see if I had any new messages.

Instead, I found this:

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I  didn’t know what was worse. The fact that I could no longer contact any of the guys wanting to pamper me, or that this “Support’ contact that the site referred to didn’t exist.  Knowing I would never in a million years pay to date a man-child led me to believe it was the former.

I felt like I had been mislead. I never would have joined the site had I not received the following message in my inbox:

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Since I wasn’t even a member of the Adult Diaper Dating community, I knew it was fate.

The sign-up process was exhausting.  They asked me about fetishes I’d never heard of. They used acronyms I didn’t understand.

Fortunately, because I’m an anal-retentive puritan with the street slang of a Femdom Sphincterphile Cunnilinguist, I was able to wing it.

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*I typically play the part of “Vertigo-Challenged Woman With Gluten Allergies and a Micropenis”
**So what’s the big deal it’s not like I’m going around engaging in group sex with a bunch of random strangers
***Don’t know what this is
****Don’t know. But as long as there’s munchies, count me in
****Though I’m not familiar with mating rituals of  the animal kingdom,  if the rooster expects the bull to put out I feel like he should at least put in some effort.

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Given that 90% of the guys weren’t even potty-trained,  it made sense that their communication skills were lacking. Most of the conversations went something like this:

Him: Hi
Me: Hi
Him: ABDL
Me: SWF
Him: Mommy/Nanny
Me: No/No
Him: S&M
Me: LOL
Him: Bondage?
Me: DIY
Him: WTF?
Me: STD
Him: Bye
Me: Bye-Curious

But over time, I did manage to meet a few potential connections. (See below)

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Sadly, given the circumstances, I may never find out if there was potential for a long-term relationship. Still, I haven’t given up hope.

If you happen to known any of the guys above, please tell them to email me at bschooled@hotmail.com.  Except babyinvegas. (No offense, I just find sissy babies to be a real turn-off.)

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