I have been debating on if and when to tell this story because it is both funny and gross, but you my dear readers deserve to read this BECAUSE it's both funny and gross. I'm pretty sure this is also be the very date that sparked my desire to write Kate's Dates, so how could I deny you this joy/awfulness?
Another disclaimer: If you think of me as a daughter or I am your daughter, you may not want to read this.
I met a guy online. He was about 5 years younger than me, and I don't normally go for younger guys, but we hit it off and I thought I'd give it a shot. For our first date he took me out karaoking, which I adore. He had asked me if I had a place I wanted to go, but I let him pick. One of my rules I don't think I've addressed yet is I do not take dates places I regular. If it doesn't work out, I don't need some clingy guy just happening to show up at my home base locales. Anyway, he chose a place I'd never been, and it was great. He even got up and sang and totally hammed it up. Too funny. We spent all night goofing around, being silly, and it was great! Ok, maybe I underestimated the fun I could have with someone who's alot younger than me. (BTW, I know 5 years isn't alot, but I was 27 and he was 22, and there's alot of change that goes on in between those ages, so I feel I had a right to be a smidge leery.)
Our second date we went out to a club, which is something I'm not a huge fan of, but it wasn't wasn't some swanky high end club and not too crazy packed, so it was fun dancing around all night without a care in the world. Now we've had two really fun dates and things were going very nicely! It was laid back and exciting all at the same time. How great!
During the week after our second date, we were talking and right before we got off the phone, he asked if we could go out again on Saturday. I said sure, and he said he'd call me Saturday to set up plans. Yay! Date #3! Date #3 to me is a tell-tale date. You've gotten comfortable enough with a person that they almost always let down their first-date-make-a-good-impression wall a little. It's when you get to see little glimpses of the differences between who they actually are and who they want to portray. Friday night he texts me telling me to be sure to keep Saturday night open for him. I write back, done and done!
On Saturday, my roommates are going out for the evening. They invite me, but I say no, I've got a date later. Where am I going? Not sure, but you guys have fun! I had kinda hoped I'd hear from Young Boy earlier in the day so I knew what to get ready for, but whatever. It's no biggie. I don't know where we're going or what we're doing, so I just get ready for a casual night.
7pm rolls around, and no call. Hmm. That's strange. Well, I guess we didn't make set plans, so maybe we're not doing dinner? I grab something out of the fridge and plop down in front of the TV.
8pm rolls around, and no call. Ok. I check my phone again to make sure he didn't say next Saturday or something. Nope. 24 hours earlier he told me to keep tonight open. He's still in his early 20s and is probably just a late-starting guy. I'm not gonna worry quite yet.
At 10pm, I decide this just isn't happening. I get out of my going out clothes, into my jammies and grab a glass of wine trying not to be hurt. Realistically I could've called or texted him, but I just don't do that. I'm not desperate, I'm not clingy, and if he's not interested in pursuing me then I'm certainly not going to go chasing him around. I'm a pretty cool chick, and he's missing out! These are all the things I'm saying to myself to try to ease the pain of being stood up by someone I thought was into me. I'd like to say it helped a little, but if you've ever been stood up, you know it sucks balls no matter what you tell yourself.
11:15pm, I get a call. I was almost mad when I saw his number come up, but I answered anyway as nonchalantly as possible. "What's up?" Young Boy asks. Um, duh. I've been waiting on your ass all night long. Of course I don't actually say that. "Nothing. What's up with you?" "Nothing," he says, and then asks, "Do you still want to get together?" What? It's 11:15! Where the hell are we supposed to go this late? "Where would we go? It's pretty late and by the time we got out somewhere, it'll probably be last call." "Yeah, that's true," he says. "Maybe you should just come hang out at my place." Oooooh, I get it now. You're booty calling me! Interesting choice since we've only kissed at this point, so why he thought a booty call was going to happen, I have no idea. Silly Young Boy. I did still want to hang out, so I figured since I knew where he was trying to go with this, I decided I'd go and just be ready to thwart any advances.
I show up at his studio apartment just before midnight. When he answers the door, he kisses me hello and I can smell and taste the whiskey on him, which I hate. The guy has been great up until now, so I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Oh, were you out with your friends earlier tonight?" That would make sense why he waited so long to call me. He was out with his friends and time got away from him. It happens, so that must be it! "Nope, just hanging around here all night." Um, what? You've been sitting around your apartment all night long? Alone? Waiting until the middle of the night to call me to ask me to do the exact same thing with you? And you've been sitting here alone drinking enough whiskey I can smell it on you?? All of this is just reinforcing my third-date-exposes-all theory. Not cool, but I've already wasted my Saturday night, so whatever. I'm already here so I'll just bear through it. As if he can read my mind, noticing I'm not drunk and he clearly is, he asks if he can get me a drink. Sure, whatever. We walk into his kitchen and he opens the fridge. The fridge is entirely empty except for a gallon bottle of Jack Daniels and one egg. That's it. Literally. No bottle of ketchup or salad dressing, no to go box with leftovers, no can of pop, not one single thing in the fridge except for a gallon bottle of Jack and a lone egg sitting on one of the shelves not even in an egg carton. "Oh, did you just move in?" I ask hopefully. I mean, come on. That's just weird. Everyone has something in their fridge! Without any notice of my tone whatsoever he replies, "Nah, I've been here for years." Weird!! I don't drink Jack, or egg for that matter, so he has nothing for me to drink. "I'll just have some water," I say. He pours me a glass of water and himself another glass of Jack. Awesome.
We sit down on the couch and watch some movie he had already started. He asked if I wanted to start it from the beginning, but jesus no, let's just get this over with. While the movie is playing, he leans over to kiss me and I think 1) Yuck, I hate Jack! but 2) he's been a good kisser thus far, so at least I can have something good about this evening. We start making out and then he bites my lip. Hard. Not a playful, sexy bite, an I was worried he'd drawn blood bite. I ask him what he's doing and he said he was just playing around. We start making out again and somehow he bites my cheek, really hard. Like leave a mark hard. Even softly, how is biting my cheek supposed to be hot? Not to mention, how the hell do I explain to anyone why I have a bite mark on my face?! I tell him, if he bites me again, I'm going to knee him in the balls. He laughs and I tell him, no, seriously. Stop it. He leans over and kisses me again, and now I've learned his pattern and right as he's about to bite my shoulder (again, come on dude. How is gnawing on my shoulder hot even a little bit?) I push him off me and tell him I'm going to get more water. He was up doing something when I came back in from the kitchen, but he was on his way back to the couch. When I sat down next to him, he leaned in again. I blocked this attempt by turning away and telling him we should finish the movie. He says, "Ok, let me use the bathroom first."
Now I've been quite a tolerant girl at this point. This guy has done weird thing after weird thing tonight, and I've just taken the punches and tried to roll with them. As he's in the bathroom, I start to notice the quiet. He hadn't turned the movie back on, I'm assuming because he didn't want to miss anything, and there are no other noises in this little studio apartment. Except for the noises coming out of the bathroom. I wasn't specifically listening to what noises were going on, I just thought to myself, "Man, you can sure hear everything in this little studio! If I go pee, I might turn the water on so he can't hear me." Then I start to notice that the noises I'm hearing from the bathroom aren't of him peeing. And they aren't from him dropping a deuce. What the hell could he be...no. No no no no no no no. No. He can't be...could he? I thought back to us kissing on the couch and I could clearly feel on my hip he was ready to take making out to the next level, but really? Really?! No, I must be wrong. I HAVE to be wrong. Who does that? I sat for a second and listened really closely.
Yup. He's whackin' it in the bathroom while I'm just sitting out here on the couch.
Ok, time to bolt.
It was summer, so all I had to do was get my shoes and purse and get the hell out of there. My shoes. I took them off at the door, but they weren't there anymore. Where the fuck are my shoes?? I'm in a freakin' studio apartment. There are only so many places they could be! I look under the couch. Not there. I look in the kitchen. Not there. I frantically look by the bookshelves, by the TV, under his stack of video games. Nothing. As I keep searching, I think, they're only shoes. I'm not parked that far away. Even if I was, who cares? Maybe I don't even need them. Right as I'm thinking this, I find them in his closet, behind his hamper. So this guy is not just whacking off in the bathroom at this exact moment, he also tried to steal my shoes?? I sure as shit didn't put them in his closet behind his hamper! Am I on a hidden camera or something? Can this actually be happening in the real world? If everything went his way and I stayed the night, how would he expect me to get home the next day without shoes?? Would he try to convince me I came there barefoot so the little freak could keep them? I need to get the hell out of here, like now!
I make the poor choice of sitting down to put my shoes on (I shoulda just left barefoot!), and as I'm midway done, he pops out of the bathroom with a big old goofy smile on his face. Now there is a smell of not just whiskey, but of a guy who just whacked off and didn't wash his hands. Gross dude. Gross. He drops down on the couch next to me all super close, trying to put his arm around me and says, "What should we do now?" He smelled awful and on top of that, he had broken a sweat. Beads of sweat had formed all along his forehead from his bathroom activities. And now you want to know what I would like to do? Are you freakin' kidding me? "I'm gonna go," I say. His smile dropped immediately and he asked with what I can only describe as genuine confusion, "Why?" Wow. Wow. I don't even know what to say to that. If you don't know why, I can't help you dude. "I'm just going," are the only words I can actually get out. He asks me if he can walk me to my car. Oh, NOW you're a gentleman. Is that that first-date-make-a-good-impression wall I see coming back up? Too little too late nutjob. No, dear god, I do not want you to walk me to my car. I flee so quickly that I didn't even notice him trying to give me a kiss good night. When I get to my car, I see he'd texted me saying, "No good night kiss?" I look up to where his apartment is from my car and he's standing in the window with one hand on the glass and a sad look on his face, watching me read the text. It was so pitiful I felt sorry for him for a second. Then I shook it off remembering he just beat off a few feet away from me and tried to steal my shoes. I put the car in drive, peeled out, and never looked back.