So I had an icky experience Friday night. And I kinda knew it was going to be icky but I did it anyway.
This is not full Cat Person territory, but it’s definitely on the spectrum. Before we go any further, let me make it clear that I am mad at myself, but don’t have full regret because this experience was indicative of something I need to work on with myself. There is some regret, however. Because this guy, he was all talk. I should have known by how he didn’t ask me any questions about myself that he just wanted sex. And now, three days later, I’m less mad, because people are allowed to just want sex. They’re just not allowed to keep “innocently” pressing you when you’ve expressed that you don’t.
Jared was a random white dude. Short, British-descent, bald and scruffy, super cute face. He teaches English and as soon as he started to tell me his story, I was red flagging all over the place. He was so much like Theo. Charming, sweet, oblivious to his privilege. But unlike Theo and Mr. SN, he didn’t make me laugh. I was enjoying mild flirting, but there were no belly laughs. Shared laughter is so key to who I am, and a HUGE turn on, and on this date, it was sorely lacking.
We had some snacks and drinks at a hip establishment downtown halfway between our places. He was pretty open and honest in conversation, but there were some red flags for me. For one, all his movie references were in what I call the “I never considered the need for female narrative” space: Taxi Driver, Godfather, Tarantino. No dude, we are no longer discussing Polanski’s art separate from the man. (Yes that literally came up.)
He said he’d had a midlife crisis and went back to school, only to discover that he hated his chosen career. I should have dashed then. Because, um, hello, didn’t I just live that five years ago? But instead, I decided to ignore ALL THE SIGNS, all my Jiminy Cricket inner voice, and go back to his place once invited.
I went home with him thinking we were going to hang out and listen to records. And yes, makeout. That’s what we’d agreed to. I made it clear I wasn’t there to have sex. Truth be told, I wanted to save my sexual energy for my date with Mr. Saturday Night the next day. Why was I even out with this guy? I’d texted friends saying I was only feeling 6/10 about this one, but it was clear from our conversation that he was super excited to meet. I did look damn good, I’ll admit. I’d worn a flirty dress and heels, only to have him show up in t-shirt, jeans and kicks, a.k.a. Theo’s uniform. Why didn’t I listen to the voice in my head?
As soon as we were in the cab, it was clear that all he wanted to do was sexy time. I am so uncomfortable with taxi makeouts, like the driver does NOT get paid enough to hang out there while you put your hand up my skirt. There were five bajillion times that I could have said, “You know what? I’m not feeling this,” and walked out or grabbed a cab. But I was like, “Nope! You need to have experiences! Bad ones and good ones.”
I’ve been super sexually lucky so far. All the men I’ve slept with, save for my borderline-date-rape one-night-stand, have been fairly generous lovers. But this dude; he was in such a hurry. All his talk about going down on me for half an hour was total bullshit. Also it was clear from his moves that he was a porn addict. The narrative, the performance was a porn one. This was about him, what he thought of himself as we went through the motions, how he felt bringing a woman like me back to his place — all of it feeding his narcissistic narrative. I know, I’ve lived it with Theo, although Theo (when not depressed) was a thoroughly thoughtful lover.
He wanted to talk the ENTIRE TIME. If that’s your thing, cool, no judgement. But I talk all day, every day. For me sex is a way to escape my brain chatter. He wanted to talk fantasies, but I kept thinking, “I’m not drunk enough to share that with you!” and also, “I just fantasize about a guy who wants to buy me dinner and can afford a life that matches and enhances mine and then actually makes me have an orgasm without expecting dick all from me.”
But no, he wanted me to talk about the idea of two girls at the same time. So fucking boring to me now, after a lifetime of that kind of talk with men. By the time I was down to bra and panties, I realized, “I don’t like this guy!” And then I remembered my friend Lara telling me about the guy she didn’t like who made her squirt and took her to a sex club. Jared was making a similar claim about making me squirt, so I tried to go with it.
He made a big show of it; put a towel down on his bed (he mentioned being OCD at some point), and then went to town with his fingers in a way that’s left me feeling a bit injured, frankly. He was good to ask me to tell him if pressure was too much and so on, but I was mostly just trying to go with it, tried to disengage from my brain and experience my body, but he was so impatient that we kept switching activities.
He was not nearly as sexually perceptive and explorative as he made himself out to be. He’s asked about my likes and dislikes in the restaurant and I surprised myself by being fairly clear. So why did I not continue to establish firm communication and boundaries? Why is coercion a thing?
I have no time for impatient boys. I will not get into details about the horribleness of the sex and how it ended, but let’s just say that it’s not going to work for me. Nope. NOPE!
This is not about shame or my religious upbringing. I’m mindful enough to know that my whole upset with myself is around not going with my gut. Disappointed that I ignored the little voice, the same voice that says, don’t buy some dress off the internet without trying it on! This felt like getting a dress from Instagram that arrives and looks just meh, and you knew it in your heart but clicked in the moment, spent the $60 you really knew shouldn’t go to this and then waited three months for it to arrive from China. So you shrug, forgive yourself and move on.
There was a moment, after we’d negotiated some rules of engagement, after he’d tried to wear down my boundaries and succeeded, where everything we’d discussed went out the window, mostly because he’s a shitty lover with shitty aim. And his reaction to his stupid blunder was, “There’s no chance you might get pregnant, is there?” Dudes, this is on the list of things you should never put yourself in the position to have to ask. Especially right after you’ve splooged. That is really bad form.
I went to clean myself up and found myself making the face one makes when you’ve just been thoroughly disgusted by something you’ve eaten, but you’re trying to be polite to the chef. I tried to force a smile and went back to his bed to listen to music. But after a while I just wanted to get out of there. So I made an excuse about an early yoga class and said I should go. He looked a bit wounded, “You’re not feeling remorse are you?” Again, dudes, this is not a thing you should have to ask. Had he respected that this wasn’t on the menu as I’d stated from the beginning, “I don’t fuck on first dates,” then he wouldn’t be wondering that.
Yes, we were two consenting adults. Yes, I knew sex was a possibility (despite what I’d outlined) when I chose to go back to his apartment. Yes, I could have been more explicit in my no sex boundary. But I don’t own all of it.
Ok fuck, I want to move on so let’s process what we learned.
1. No wasting time on guys you feel 6/10 about before a date. I could have gone out with my girlfriends and been way happier.
2. If your rule is “I don’t fuck on the first date” don’t break that rule for a guy you are only 6/10 about at the end of the date.
3. Speak up!! If something doesn’t feel right, say it. If something’s not working for you, say it!
Fortunately, the weekend got sooooo much better after that experience. Of course Jared seems to think we are going out again. Had I not LEFT MY EARRINGS AT HIS PLACE, that would not be true, but damn those were expensive earrings! To be continued…
Dreaming of Maria Callas 