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A Three Date Fling: “I’ve made a huge mistake.” -Gob Bluth

November 16, 2014

An Indian guy sent me a friend request. The usual. I accepted, having long ago given up any pretense of being selective or private with my facebook “friends.”

I checked out his photos. He was HOT. I’m talking model HOT. Like, out of my league hotness.

He started talking to me one day. I engaged. The conversations became more frequent. He was lonely. I was lonely. We chatted. He said I was pretty.

When I was shopping for new clothes for my new job, I saw him working in a kiosk at the mall. All of the kiosk workers appeared to be immigrants. Not sure what that racket is about. I went over and introduced myself as the person he had been chatting with. He tentatively said hello. I attempted to engage in casual conversation when his demeanor changed and he looked genuinely frightened. I had put him on the spot. I guess he was shy.  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” I said and walked away.

Walking to my car he messaged me, “It was nice to meet you too.”

The chatting continued with the usual getting to know you questions. Then he started flirting which I of course accepted and encouraged. He asked me on a date. He’s a graduate student.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Was I stupid enough, desperate enough to try this again? Like the Berenstain Bears in “The Spooky Old Tree,” Yes. Yes, I was.

I went through the ridiculous ritual of self-serving, validation-seeking, high-moral-code-pretending soul searching that is the rather sad method I have of getting to the inevitable place of doing whatever the fuck I want to. I took a poll. Would it be weird of me to date another 20-something? I pretended to be discouraging while not actually saying no.

I declared the reasons why said hottie should be dating girls his own age. I protested too much. Then I offered to meet him for a drink. The first date was good. I took him to my turf: Pamplona’s. He was comfortable and engaging. We made easy conversation. He kept up with the bartender’s banter and was polite to the manager. We made eye contact and lingered. There was some chemistry.

It was Friday night and we walked downtown. The usual college crowd was out. A group of girls dressed for the hunt walked by. “See, that’s what you’re missing,” I joked. On the way back he held my hand. “I’m not missing that,” he said. “I really like you. I know what I’m doing.” He bent down (he’s six feet tall) and kissed me lightly. He wanted to come to my apartment but I said no. We went home.

We continued to chat online and he confessed that he didn’t have much experience with girls. Maybe I should’ve stopped it right there. But he was so cute and he asked me out on date. No one else is doing that. We agreed to take it slow. Which is total bullshit. Who says that and actually does it anymore? I said that to Z. It took him about 4 dates. It took less with the 6-foot hottie.

He came over Sunday night–date two. (I’m using the word date with complete blasphemy here.) We talked. We kissed. One thing led to another as they say and we had what I suppose you could technically call sex. It was over before I knew it. Cue the inexperience.

When he left, I was taken back to memories of Z but I already wrote about that. He just needs practice. We need to figure each other out, I rationalized. The next Friday night–date three (again, blasphemy), he started kissing me as soon as we got walked through the door. “Oh, maybe this time will be different,” I hoped.

And……no. A one-sided quickie. I had invited him to spend the night. He turned over and went to sleep, having worked two- 11-hour shifts at his second job. There was no talking, no snuggling, no late night bander or weird questions about our lives. There was just frustration and static. I woke up early and he stirred. Asking the time he asked if it was ok for him to slept in. “Sure,” I said. I looked over at him. So cute. I had no feeling, no emotion, no longing, no interest. Nothing.

Science teaches us that love as we know it has nothing to do with romance or the things we think of as contributing to a good match. It’s all chemical. Two people are in each other’s chemical field, their pheromones interact, smells are exchanged and it either works or it doesn’t.

When Z used to spend the night, his smell would infuse the pillow. I used to pick up the pillow just after he left and sniff it, enjoying the scent that was sweet and delicious to me. I never wanted to wash his pillow.

After 6-foot hottie left, I was sitting on my bed and I bent over to where he had lain and sniffed the pillow. “Ew,” I reacted, “it stinks.” I busted out laughing. Well there you have it. This is not going to work.

I continue to amaze myself with my foolishness. So now I have to figure out how to end the three-encounter fling. Liz says just tell him. But she forgot that I’m a big chicken shit. She also forgot that when I was 19 I broke up with someone and he stalked me. I kind of have a fear of breaking up with someone. Especially if it’s just a “this isn’t working for me,” break up. It’s not like he did anything wrong. I will take the cowardly road. He works a lot. I work a lot. I have an event coming up for work. I have to work next weekend. I’ll just disengage like a man.

So, here’s what I learned from this “huge mistake.” Looks don’t mean anything. I really thought this guy was way out of my league. But he wanted to take ME on a date. I also learned that an average looking guy with an engaging intellect and skills where it counts would be preferable to a 6-foot hottie any day. I may have actually been cured of the younger thing for good this time. Not everybody is Z.

Z was a unicorn. I may be ready for a man. I think I also learned that when a guy suggests a date, which they never do, let him take you on a date. None of this drinks bullshit. A date sets a tone. No more casualness. And most importantly, as always, all of this is bullshit and I have no idea what I’m doing.

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