On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.

“He growls like a bear when he comes,” I said to my friend Erin one night over drinks.

“Like a bear, or more like a dinosaur? Because a dinosaur would be far more exciting.”

“A bear; OK, more like a cross between a bear and a rabid dog,” I explained.

“What about a Pterodactyl?” she asked.

“They don’t growl.”

“Yes, they do… they’re dinosaurs!”

“I already told you he doesn’t growl like a dinosaur… and if you recall from your prehistoric dinosaur classes or whatever you’ll remember that Pterodactyls make that weird screeching sound, Erin.”

“So no Pterodactyl — what about a Tyrannosaurus Rex?”

I didn’t answer her. Instead I made a face that simply inquired “really?” then rolled my eyes.

“Fine,” she said, “a bear crossed with a rabid dog it is.”

It was true. D did growl every time he came. It wasn’t a moan, a sigh of relief that comes following an orgasm, it was a full on growl. And when I was looking at him, his face contorted into such a way that there really was no other adjective for it. In the beginning, I considered it a compliment. He was clearly having a good time and enjoying himself; it was also mildly charming, an animalistic intensity that perfectly matched the animalistic sex we were having. But after awhile, it just got weird.

Since science has suggested that the brain pretty much shuts off for those few seconds during an orgasm, I assumed he had no idea the verbal response he was giving me each time his legs quivered and he let out a roar. For all I knew, in my own few seconds of intense orgasm, I could be singing Lana Del Rey, was totally oblivious to it, and no one had the heart to point it out to me. But after several weeks of multiple times a day growling going on in my bedroom or his, I thought it might be time to address it. Or at the very least, perhaps, point out to him what he was doing.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been doing it forever and haven’t had a complaint yet. Girls love it!”

“You’re kidding, right? Girls love that sound you make?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just like I love it when a girl whimpers just before she comes.”

“Who the hell whimpers?”

“You do,” he said. “Lots of girls.”

“That’s not true. I don’t whimper. A whimper is something someone does when they’re sad or scared or dying on the side of the road and know that help isn’t coming any time soon.”

“Describe it however you want, but most women whimper. At least it sounds more sincere than that stupid screaming that they do because porn has convinced them that’s how they’re supposed to respond,” D explained.

“Well maybe you should cease the growling when you’re with me. I think it’s weird and it reminds me of some Clan of the Cave Bear type shit.”

“No,” he said adamantly. “I won’t.”

“I said it’s weird.”

“And I told you girls like it,” he explained again.

“I’m not most girls.”

“Yes, you are. You just think you’re not so that technically makes your worse than most girls.”

“Are we having our first fight?” I asked.

“No. We’re going to go home right now, have sex and I’m going to growl all I want.”

“I don’t really foresee this lasting very much longer,” I said as I reached across the table to steal one of his French fries.

“Me neither. You don’t want me growling and I don’t want you swiping my French fries.”

I sat back in my chair and stared at the growling fella. I knew there would be lots more fun sex in the weeks ahead, more growling to be had, and according to him, more whimpering on my end. I also knew it was fleeting. There’s only so long you can go to bed with a bear who won’t let you steal a French fry or two every once in awhile. We were clearly not compatible as I will not be denied French fries by an species.


Photo: Wild Animal Fight Club