Bad Date

Side of Same

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Bar, Dating 0 Comments

Bad DateYesterday was perfectly typical. A regular work day, an ordinary haircut at a shop Uptown, and in the evening drinks and dancing with the usual friends. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Possibly, so typical, this day and evening you might wish to call boring.

Then I met and took someone home. This is where a red flag should have come up to point out that nothing would be defined as regular, normal or ordinary for the rest of the evening. It started off simple. You see, this gentleman told me he was thirty-four…I pretended to believe him.

Then the actual naked activities began, which can really go either way as far as normal or terrifying. Penis business aside, this has to be the most unusual encounter I’ve had with another human being (in bed). First, he kept whispering things. Which was intended to be sexy, I think. I’m a little deaf, as in I don’t pay attention, but the whispers were so soft that I kept saying “what” in my nasal, glottal, way-too-loud for my body voice.

Whispers aside, everything was almost saved by the kissing. A good kisser is hands down a winner even if they’re bad at everything else. That was until he wanted me to breathe into his mouth. [Pause for reaction of WTF] That’s right. I apparently took home some sort of soul sucker who was hoping to wretch a soul from my body, yet the joke was on him as there’s nothing to withdraw.

At this point it was far later in the evening than was acceptable. Finally, I gave up, let him dry hump my leg a little before just rolling over to fall asleep. Not so much a fan of sleepovers, I got exactly what I don’t like when we woke this morning. I believe it was intended as a compliment, though I didn’t take it as intended: “How are you single? You’re a catch.” Why? Because I’m a bitter, obnoxious, person, that’s why I have friends, not lovers. Maybe that’s what I should have tattooed on me next.

Oh, but there was one final kicker as he was dressing to leave. He informed me that he was married. Gay married. I add the gay just so we are aware he’s not cheating on his wife, not that it would be any better, but in some small way it feels less horrible. He told me they were in the open relationship blah, blah thing. I ushered him out the door and thought to myself two things:

1. Have I run out of single people?

2. Thank baby Jesus I used my slutty alter ego’s name.

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