#actual dates

After our second hookup, I knew I had screwed up. (Okay okay, I knew I had screwed up as soon as I met him, really, but that's not the point.) I was getting daily texts asking about my day, telling me about his day, pictures of what he was wearing to work (yes really I am so not kidding you), asking what I'm thinking about, do I want to see him soon, "i don't know if you noticed but I deactivated my okcupid profile", do I like this or that in bed, bondage things, today I bought new handcuffs look at this does this turn you on when are you coming over again etc etc etc 

IT WAS CRAZY AND I COULDN'T HANDLE IT 

And so finally after several weeks when he insisted that he wanted to take me out on a "real date", I was like YES OKAY FINE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

I agreed to meet him for dinner one night after my class was over, with the condition that it couldn't be too late because I had to be back in class at 8 the next morning. Somehow this led to him trying to sext, again, and I never play along because I hate sexting, but then I started to get texts like: 

"well...as long as I'm not scaring you away i guess that's good?"

"this is me trying to get you to flirt back but i'm having a hard time trying to read/figure you out"

"but you know...our relationship doesn't have to be just physical. or are you content with what we are?"

And instead of responding I decided it was best to just go to bed and deal with it later. Because surely this guy isn't seriously trying to come on this strong intentionally after 2 booty calls. Obviously I was in denial. And also I sort-of wanted that dinner, since he spent all kinds of time talking about how great I was and how he wanted to take me out for something nice.

Turns out that in his mind, "something nice" was the very suburban, middle-aged soccer parents sports bar that was about the halfway point between us. Again, I should have known better. It took about 30 seconds to realize that being out in public with that guy was the absolute last thing I wanted to be doing. In true Clinger fashion, he was all over me. I was literally pulling my hands out of his after he kept trying to hold them across the table while we waited for our food. Finally he called me out, since I was obviously acting incredibly uncomfortable, and all I could say was, "I'm just really not into PDA." It was miserable. I don't even remember what we talked about, all I know is that I have never been more grateful for a TV playing basketball in my line of vision. So we ate, we drank, and we finally reached the point in the conversation where I had to say that I just wasn't interested in any kind of serious relationship. And I don't know if maybe he just chose not acknowledge that fact, or if he really thought he could change my mind, or maybe he just wanted to get laid again? I don't know. I just could NOT get this guy to back down. 

After managing to power through our meal, Clinger dragged me out to the car and drove to the empty end of the parking lot. Unfortunately, I was so disinterested by this point that even parking lot sex sounded like a chore. It didn't help when he pulled out a bag from the backseat that is apparently used for toting around handcuffs and ball gags. My first instinct was just to say something along the lines of, "You have GOT to be kidding me with this I am so out," and push him off of me. Instead, I just decided to distract him with a blowjob and go on my way. 

Another huge mistake. 

I literally had a text waiting for me when I got in my car about how amazing it was. And then another text about 10 minutes later about how sexy I was. And then another text the next morning. And the next. And the next, saying that he was going out of town for 2 weeks. And then 5 days later, asking if I had plans (even though he was still gone), and then saying that he'll be home in another week. Attempts at sexting. "One more day here, so ready to come home!" Paragraph about feelings on travel. "I'm back until Sunday!" 

It was so much. So much all the time. Mostly I didn't respond, and if I did it was pretty much small talk or sarcastic responses to get out of sexting. I didn't really think too much about it until I got a text saying that he was moving, and "should be closer to your next of the woods!"

And then I started to get a liiiiitle weirded out. He was texting constantly, telling me about moving, when he was getting the keys, when he was going to have the place all to himself, asking me about free nights and how he can't wait to have me over. I tried to be cordial but non-committal; lots of "Okay, great, I'll let you know when I'm not so busy."  "Oh, I'd love to, but I'm really not feeling well." After a few weeks, I started to run out of excuses. I finally caved and said I could maybe stop by on my way home one day. He suggested a day, I agreed, and I magically didn't hear from him for almost a week. 

And I SHOULD HAVE DONE IT when he first checked in the day before to see if we were still on, but I didn't. I don't even know why. I guess I sort of felt bad for the guy - he was obviously super into me and trying so fucking hard, and I was going to have to break his heart eventually. And I SHOULD HAVE DONE IT when he texted the day of, to check on my schedule for the night, and I just said I'd have to give him an ETA closer to time. And I SHOULD HAVE DONE IT when I used my first excuse to delay, which was that my friend was in emotional crisis. (For the record, it was actually true.) But instead of just saying we'd have to rain check, I said I'd let him know when I could escape. 

Finally, 3 hours later, I asked if we could postpone to the following week. All I got in response was, "Sure!" and then nothing for 2 days. I felt sort of bad. But mostly relieved.

He sent a text asking if I'd seen a movie that had just come out. I had. We both liked it. 

Two days after that he sent a series of texts about the bondage equipment he got online from a company that was going out of business. I never responded. And I never heard from him again. 

I'll be honest - I was pretty terrible to this guy. He was actually a very nice person. I guess maybe, in some sort of twisted way, I led him on a little bit and generally I am not somebody who wastes time on that sort of shit. But to be fair - THIS LITERALLY STARTED WITH A BONDAGE BOOTY CALL, OKAY. How was I ever supposed to know that after two, count them, TWO random sexual encounters this guy was going to be so attached to some girl he met on the internet and has only met in the real world a handful of times? It just doesn't make any sense. There's no way bondage kink and super-clingy tendencies could have gone together in my head. So, whatever. 

I guess I sort of just got lucky with this one, too - he must have gotten the hint and finally given up without me having to do too much of the work. Oh god, it could have been so much worse. 

Not long after my first internet date, I got a message from a guy that actually included some questions that would actually be worth a response. My profile evaluation to determine if I actually want to message back goes mostly like this:

Pictures. Sorry bro, if I don't find you attractive at all it's not going to happen.

Also I don't like guys who are shorter than me.

If he can't construct a basic sentence or use apostrophes: pass.

See how much I can read through without getting bored. If I can get through most of it and still be marginally interested, congrats!

Check the questions to make sure he knows the sun is bigger than the earth. And, you know, that's he not racist, homophobic, all kind of misogynistic, or just generally horrible. (Read: Conservative.)

Generally if a profile can survive all these steps and the initial message was in any way decent, I'll send something back. No, this doesn't happen very frequently.

Anyway, this guy seemed very nice and relatively normal (if super nerdy, but I'm into it), and so we got to talking. Basic stuff at first: work, books, movies, general entertainment...and then, a few messages in, I got this:

"I think the idea of a dating website is great in theory. But in practicality every girl on this site probably has a ton of guys she can talk to and I know if I'm talking to someone I'm not the "only one" in her life. Last date I went on from this website the girl was telling me about her FWB (friends with benefits) she has and it was strike 1, 2, and 3 instantly. So if you do have a FWB just don't tell me. 

Sorry for the rant, I'm about to head to bed and felt like sharing to a stranger. I like confiding in strangers too at bars (and the internet). It's fun... I don't like telling my RL friends because I feel it shows weakness (know what I mean?)." 

But it was late, and obviously I wasn't about to tell him anything about my current sex life, and so I just let it slide. Sometimes people ramble, I do it all the time. No big deal.

Conversation picked up again the next night, and went right back to normal talk. It was the weekend, and we had both come in from nights of lightish drinking, both keeping up the buzz in our respective homes. And so, when I asked him what he does in his free time and he gave me a complete run-down of his weekly schedule, I just blamed it on booze and moved on to something else. And when he said he just happened to have an extra ticket to see his favorite band on Saturday night (I was actually busy, didn't even lie), I thought that was a little weird, but whatever. Maybe somebody just cancelled on him. I didn't know his life. And then when he asked me to come over and offered to make margaritas and asked if I had an early morning...

I started to get a little suspicious.

Now, I am OBVIOUSLY not against booty calls. But the whole conversation was just starting to feel a little strange, and clearly just heading over to some guy's apartment when you met on the internet three days ago is never a good idea. So I passed on that one, and then he said this:

"well what night are you available? I'd love to make you a nice drink and listen to music and figure out who you are."

"Figure out who you are" is never, EVER a good sign. Ever. Not a single time has a guy ever said any kind of variation of those words to me and something good happened. I've gotten all kinds of that shit from guys in my life, about being "mysterious" or "different" or "hard to read" or  just a simple, "You're so cool, you're not like any other girls I know." Which, okay, I get that. I'm not like most of the girls I know, either. Girls suck. Girls are the worst. I know that. But, oddly enough, it's never those guys that stick around. It's always, 100% percent of the time, the guys that hang out with me a bit and then say, "Okay, yeah. I know you. I know your deal," and aren't afraid to call me out. 

Aaaanyway, this guy. I'd manage to steer the conversation back to smaller talk for a bit, and then he was about to call it a night (which for whatever reason is the same as "give me your number so we can text"), AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN TO EVERYONE'S COMPLETE SHOCK AND AWE

He tries for the sexting route. But wait, there's more! Not only is this guy into sexting, he is also the proud owner of quite a bondage kink.

Of course. OF COURSE this guy is into bondage. OF COURSE HE IS. So, now we have a problem. No no, it's not what you think it is. 

Because now...NOW I'm intrigued.

Bondage isn't something I'd had much experience in up until this point. I'd never been with somebody who was into it, and as much as I'd tried to introduce a bit of tying-up with The Ex (more on that later), it never really caught on. Plus, it always ended with me doing the tying, which is fun and all, but sometimes a girl gets tired of men always being so intimidated by her, you know? 

And so the curious sex addict in me took over, and we made plans for the following week.

Looking back, the problem here was glaringly obvious. I mean, maybe telling me paragraphs of information about his life and hopes and dreams were all a part of his tactic to get me into his bed/handcuffs and leave it at that, but that's a hell of a lot of conversation for a booty call. Also, I have never had a booty caller offer to make me dinner and text me questions about my foods and drinks of choice for days before our meeting. But it was too late, I had the sex blinders on, I couldn't be stopped.

The day has come, and I have chosen the most easily torn-open dress I own for the occasion (I mean, it snaps, no way I'm letting him actually destroy my clothing). He meets me outside when I arrive, and is immediately handsy, not to mention shorter than I was anticipating. (Seriously, guys, don't lie about your height on the internet. Lame.) There are about 6 minutes of small talk in the kitchen as he fills a pot with water for pasta before he stops pretending and pushes me against the counter, discovers the snaps, and then practically drags me to the bedroom. 

And so this is all fun and great and whatever, but he's clearly taking it pretty easy in order to not scare me off (as easy as you can take it when you've got somebody cuffed, I guess), and also...I realize that maybe I'm not so cut out for this sort of thing. There are two reasons for this:

I am, by nature, almost never intimidated by people. In any situation. So rough sex is all fine and dandy, but I guess I just can't take any kind of submission seriously. 

I am even less intimidated by people who have the exact opposite of intimidating-sounding voice. Like, think of how David Beckham looks, and then think about the first time you heard him talk. (If you haven't, you gotta Youtube that shit like right now.)

I laughed. Literally LOLing. And he's asking me what I'm laughing at in what I assume he thinks is his sexy aggressive voice, and I just keep saying, "Oh, no, nothing," because as long as I can shut up him up the sex is actually pretty great (and also he is seriously packing, I won't lie). The funniest thing is that there comes a point where men simply lose control of the situation, because, you know, dicks. And since he's all NO YOU HAVE TO FINISH OR I'M A FAILURE, I end up taking over anyway. Typical. We get to the end, he uncuffs me, and then gets all touchy and wrist-massage-y and I throw on my clothes and practically sprint for the kitchen because holy god do I need a fucking drink already.

So I have my fucking drink already and he finally makes food, and so we sit and drink and eat and recharge for a bit. Also his roommate shows up and so we do a shot with him, and naturally he is infinitely more attractive and more hilarious and less socially awkward, goddammit. Anyway, I'm drinking gin like it's water, as I do, and trying desperately to avoid the couch cuddling that he's trying to make happen, and decide that the only effective way to do this is more sex. SURPRISE, he went for it.

And then I left.

Unfortunately he did not fall asleep, and so he actually got up and walked me out and tried to convince me to stay. Fortunately, I was not drunk enough to respond with, "Listen, man, I was actually hoping you'd pass out like a normal douchey guy so I could sneak out and not do this." No, I humored him and kissed him goodbye and agreed we'd do it again soon. Which, to be fair, I was totally game for.

What I WASN'T game for was a text 10 minutes later about how great the night was. And then another one an hour later asking if I got home okay. And then a "good morning" text. And then another text asking if I'd be free a few days later. And then texts multiple times a day every day after that, regardless of whether or not I responded. 

This is why I have dubbed this guy The Clinger.

  TO BE CONTINUED.

About a month after I jumped into the internet dating pool I got a message from this guy about boozing preferences (which is pretty common considering the amount of times I talk about drinking on my profile). Turns out we both drink like its our job, and frequent a lot of the same bars, so we set up a date at one of my regular places on a random weekday when it would be less crowded. 

A few days before the date, I was updating my mother on this guy's stats because she is ungodly nosy and also ecstatic that maybe I will not die alone under a pile of animals and empty wine bottles after all, when all of the sudden she says, "So, what's his name?"

I opened my mouth to respond, because obviously I've been talking to this guy on the internet for a few weeks and I'm meeting him in less than 48 hours so obviously I know what is name is OBVIOUSLY, but nothing came out.

Because (obviously), I didn't know his name.

Thinking that he must have introduced himself in either a message or on his profile and I was just incredibly indifferent, I logged in and scanned through his (incredibly verbose and pretentious-sounding) profile and our conversation. No dice. He never told me his name, and I clearly didn't even think to ask, since my name is part of my username so I never have to actually introduce myself. I contemplated sending a quick, "Uh, yeah, so, what's your name again?" text message, but decided it was far past the point of no return. I resigned myself to Mystery Date. 

And so, the day of the date arrived, and I was starting to feel a bit panicky. Fun facts about me: I don't date. I don't like dates. I almost never go on what people consider traditional "dates" even when I'm actually in a relationship with someone. I'm bad at it. It's just not my bag. So, trying to psych myself up for a date with a nameless man from the internet wasn't exactly an easy feat. I decided the best course of action was to arrive at least half an hour early for two reasons:

1. I could down at least one drink before my date could possibly arrive to calm my nerves

2. As many times as I had looked back at his profile pictures so I wouldn't miss him, I hate having to find the person I'm meeting at the bar. (Also, I am easier than most to pick out in a crowd, so, whatever.)

Of course, since I'm perpetually late, I ended up only arriving about 5 minutes before our scheduled time. Fortunately, Mystery Date was even later. He didn't show up for another 20 minutes, which gave me plenty of time to claim a prime in-view-of-the-door-but-not-looking-that-direction seat at the bar, get 90% of the way through  my G+T, and tell the bartender I was on an internet date so he would maybe not charge me for the drink I ordered on my own. 

Fortunately, Mystery Date had no trouble locating me when he walked in. Came right over, gave me an awkward side hug, and introduced himself right into my ear but it was loudish and I wasn't ready for it and so I missed it.

I MISSED IT. 

And then, because I'm an incredibly awkward human being, I didn't immediately ask him to repeat himself, and so then it was REALLY past the point of no return, and I knew I was going to have to go through this entire date without having any fucking idea what this guy's name was.

Which is exactly what I did.

6(?) drinks, 2 games of Jenga, 1 failed attempt at stealing a bocce ball court spot, and a few hours of mostly my nervous rambling in response to his questions about myself later, we decided we should probably close our tabs before we were too drunk to drive. The great thing about alcohol is that is the perfect way to get rid of any fucks you might give, and so as we walked out I turned around and proudly declared, "You know what, I should tell you, I went through this entire goddamn night without having any idea what your name was."

And, I'll be honest - this is probably the reason I agreed to see him again, he cracked up and said, "OH thank god, I have no idea what yours is either!"

So we ended the night with a proper introduction (I will refer to him from now on as The Highbrow, since he is a sort-of pretentious, intellectual, writer-type), a drunk and sort-of hot second-base makeout against the wall of the parking garage, and went our separate ways. 

In case you're wondering, the fact that this is how my first internet date went is pretty typical. Welcome to my life.