Johnny.

I have learned something about posting Craigslist ads: you'll need a whole day to manage the replies. It's a bunker down with popcorn, a cocktail, and laptop in a comfy chair kind of experience that really does require a good eight hours or so. Eight hours? Really? Really.

The response to a Craiglist Casual Encounters ad, if you include a photo like I did, and if you don't sound like you might be trying to get a guy to go to your website with a credit card, is overwhelming. 400+ emails overwhelming. Within minutes of clicking the word "publish," the emails start flooding in, one after another at an alarming pace. You'll read through one email, delete it, and find 3 more in it's place. You'll read one of those three and 5 more are in your inbox. And so it goes for the next 24 hours.

One guy who responded, Johnny, I initially deleted. He was just too Jersey meathead for me. He looked like a guy who was far too into himself for me to enjoy being around. But then he and I ended up chatting through gmail and my mind changed about him. He had good chat manners. He used good grammar and his sentences were strung along with proper syntax. He was charming but not ewww. He was interesting but not self obsessed. He asked good questions. And, he offered to buy the drinks.

He suggested Margaritas at my favorite restaurant in east county San Diego, Por Favor. We met, drank, had easy conversation with no awkward lulls. He had been married once, had a son who lived with his mother most of the time, and had spent time training Navy Seals. He had a degree in electrical engineering from Oklahoma State where he had been recruited to play football. His father was dying and he had ambiguous feelings about this. He told me he had never mourned his mother's death, was afraid to be alone, and that I now knew more about him than most of his friends. He asked me, "How do you do that? Get people to feel so comfortable around you?"

I was liking Johnny. He was sexy. He was playful. He was strong and tall and would pull me close to him and say, "You have no idea how sexy you are, do you," and then kiss me. He liked being seen with me, I could tell, and there is no stronger aphrodisiac than catching your guy feeling proud to be seen with you.

Except maybe a good kiss, which he also had. And a gorgeous home. And a fantastic body. And a great, big bed with clean, expensive sheets. And pretty amazing skills in bed, if ya know what I mean. What girl doesn't like to hear "I looooove eating pussy." I was thinking I had struck local booty call gold.

Until.

He couldn't keep it up. Bah! What!? NO! The poor guy tried and tried and tried, and then I tried and tried and tried, but the soldier had lost his salute. Now, this is just an awkward situtaion all around and I did my best to fumble through it. "What do you need?" I asked, hoping it wouldn't include a closet with chains and handcuffs. "To eat your pussy some more." Oh, just that. Okay, I'll oblige.

But no dice. Fortunately he had a different sort of sex toy supply that did the trick, and in a phone call the next day he invited me over for round two. He apologized and blamed the alcohol and told me he couldn't wait to do to me what he hadn't been able to do last night. Quite frankly, neither could I.

So when it happened again on night number two, the awkward level went way up. He was trying to stay calm, but I could feel the frantic underneath the sexy exterior. I was trying to not call myself a fat, disgusting pig who makes guys' penises go limp, but the body loathing had set in and all I wanted to do was run out the door. We both kind of floundered around like fish on a boat deck for what felt like a really long 15 minutes before I finally called the game. "I've got to get up early," I lied. "I should go."

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah. I'm okay," I lied again, close to tears.

"Look, I can tell you're getting frustrated. Please know that this is not about you."

"I'm having a hard time believing that, " I said, honest for the first time. "It's kinda starting to mess with me."

"I know. I understand. But you've gotta trust me. It's so not about you."

I left and we haven't spoken since. He's texted a few times, and I lied again about being sick. He called again today, while I was writing this and I ignored the call. I'm not sure if I can lie again. But I also know that my fragile body image can't quite take these kinds of blows. One guy friend I told this story to said to me, "Don't take it personally. Keeping it up takes a lot of work. Sometimes, when given the choice of chasing tail or getting a burrito at Sombreros, I'll choose the burrito." Another friend, Crystal, said, "Girl, you shouldn't have to work this hard in a booty call! A marriage, maybe. But for booty! Shit. Move on."

I might just move on to a guy whose burrito works with minimal effort on my part. In the meantime, I could use your stories. Girls, have you had this experience? Guys, what should we think? Educate us.