Just pay attention to the dates in these messages and reconsider not deleting messages in your inbox for this reason…
It’s probably not actually related, but I will remember it for this reason: Donald Trump was elected president of the United States on the day I got my first dick pic. My cellphone chirped in the middle of the night, waking me. (I keep it on because I know no one will call unless it’s an emergency.) I don’t even have to click on the message to see in the preview it’s a dick pic. I didn’t realize how upsetting it could be. I’m not traumatized, no, nothing like that, but I felt oddly somewhat violated. I hadn’t wanted to see that, I’d been woken up, it startled me, and it disgusted me. I’ve been attracted to both men and women, but a random image of a dick has never been an attractive image, yet a lot of men still don’t seem to realize this. I quickly smirked to myself a moment later; “Well, that’s never happened before. That was the first,” I thought. Without even thinking about it I immediately deleted it and tried to fall back asleep. But, I couldn’t fall asleep. Now I was wondering if I shouldn’t have deleted it in case I need to use it as evidence. Then I start wondering if there’s an app that will bring it back. Then I start wondering who sent it. Did it belong to the person who sent it? Why did they send it? Was it a prank? Was someone laughing at the idea of me receiving it? Was it a wrong number? Was it one of the people I’d messaged on a dating site? How did they have my number? Did I give my number to a creep at some point in time? Did someone give my number out? Is my number listed somewhere? Was someone upset with me? Do they know who I am? Did someone think I’d actually want that picture? Unless requested or in some kind of relationship, this seems completely inappropriate. It shouldn’t have gone on for hours, but it did and I didn’t get much sleep.
My first reaction had been to ignore it and hope it went away, but I woke up determined to get some sort of revenge. I Googled the phone number, but could only confirm it wasn’t spam and it belonged to someone with a zip code in my city. I typed it into FaceBook, but didn’t get very far. I looked through my physical address books to confirm it wasn’t someone I knew that I’d lost touch with. When I got to my office I checked the company directory and it didn’t belong to anyone at my job either. I blocked my number and dialed theirs. I’d pretend I was calling to sell them printer toner. I’d start out, “Hello, Mr…I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name?” and see if they’d fall for telling me their name. It went to voicemail. I’d Google dick pics and I’d send one back. I’d come on to them as a guy. It might have been sent by a straight, homophobic guy who’d lose it over that. But it’s been done too many times. It was just before lunch time and I decided I’d scare them worse than homophobia. I texted, “This is Jason’s mother. Who would send something like that to a seven year old boy?! I just picked him up from school and we’re going straight to the police!” They never responded.
I spent my business trip rather miserably. Every time I had to reach for a tissue I remembered why I had a cold and felt guilty all over again. “You threw away a potential relationship for a fling!” just repeated in my mind. But part of me didn’t regret it, either. I’d rally back how I was justified in my actions and perhaps my feelings for the new guy would return when I saw him again. Shortly after the week was up, he was asking me to come over and I agreed. I showered and got dressed pretty casually. I didn’t bother to do my makeup; I wasn’t going out and he’d seen me without it before. My doorbell rang. I opened the door and…disappointment. I felt nothing again. I wasn’t excited to see him. I wasn’t really attracted to him. I let him inside and we sat down on my bed, where I typically lounge. I was kind of cold to him at first. “How was the trip?” “Fine.” That sort of thing. I paused and decided to tell him everything. What did I have to lose at that point? My feelings were gone, I had to get it off my chest, and he deserved to know why my interest had suddenly changed. So, I told him everything. And I mean everything, back to when I met my foreign crush, through the details of my evening with him, along with the details about how I honestly felt about my intimate encounter with the new guy on his birthday, into how I felt on my business trip, and concluded with my current feelings. “Wow, you’re smiling and back to normal again. What a difference!” he responded when I’d finished. I hadn’t realized how much lighter I’d felt without holding that all inside.
Strangely, he didn’t take it that bad. Before I told him everything I’d asked him if he had been seeing anyone else. The inexperienced dater that he is, he asked if it was normal to share that sort of thing with someone you’re dating. I assured him it wasn’t at all, but I’d always been far from normal in my dating endeavors. He’d actually gone on a first date with someone from the dating app the night before. That had been why he’d turned down plans with me that evening. I’d kind of hoped he would come out with my friends for a casual birthday gathering they were having at a bar. I had hoped my friends opinions would help mold my own opinion of him. I desperately wanted to feel something for him again, just because it had felt like such a dizzyingly amazing experience I hadn’t had in so long, but forcing my feelings to return just didn’t seem to be possible. When I pushed him for details and found out he’d kissed this girl the night before I felt a flicker of jealousy. I hoped, perhaps I still had some attraction to him? But it turned out simply to be the idea of not being all that special anymore. He started to say he felt a little guilty and wondered if it was wrong to casually date two girls at once. No, no of course it wasn’t, not if you’d only just met them, and hadn’t agreed to be exclusive with either of them. So, then I let my story spill.
When all the cards were on the table, he asked to borrow my phone charger. This was when I remembered I’d put aside a bunch of promotional items from my company to give him. One of which was a portable phone charger. I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I’d essentially just broken up with him, as I’d let him know I no longer had feelings for him in whatever kind of short-lived relationship this had been, but I saw no reason I shouldn’t give him the goody bag anymore. So, I handed over a tote bag with a portable phone charger, pens, measuring tape, and so on. He thanked me but then looked a little confused. “Is this like a consolation prize?” he asked. Yep, I’d just dumped someone and then given them a gift bag to take home. Smooth. Because that’s how awkward people do it.
We went out two more times after that. As “friends.” We got some food, some drinks, and returned to our separate apartments. Then, at a gradual pace, we spoke less and less frequently. Every day turned into every week and every week turned into “once in a while” and that turned into not always answering every message. His FaceBook page is still connected to mine, while his profile is now nothing more than a ghost reminder of the couple of weeks we had in the past. I haven’t matched with anyone on my dating apps in a few weeks, ‘nor come across any dating site profiles I felt like clicking on. I’ve been considering hitting the bar scene again, but haven’t found the right wing women yet. There’s love and there’s sex and it’s great when you have them both with the same person, but when you don’t have either, sometimes it’s nice to have one if not the other.
I spent most of the new guy’s birthday nervously awaiting seeing him that evening. I’ve always been bad at withholding information or being dishonest, but I also didn’t think someone I was dating would like to hear that I’d slept with someone else just under 24 hours before them on their birthday. It was all so out of character for me. I discussed the situation with a friend over instant messages. Their modified advice -after I insisted on having to say something was: “Tell him that you are interested in him, but that you wanted to have a fling with this guy who you’ll never see again. And then even if he doesn’t want to sleep with you today, I would almost guarantee that it won’t matter and there would still be the chance to see where it goes at another time. He can’t be upset that while you were single you hooked up with a guy from out of town whom you’ve known for far longer than him, and had plans to hang out with even before you knew him. You might have to explain it to him that way. But that’s the only way it is. He may be upset at first, and that’s because he’s jealous, but he should get over it.”
The new guy’s birthday plans with his family ran late. Like, close to midnight arrival at my place late, but since it was his birthday and I was leaving on a business trip, I felt like I should still see him. Waiting for a guy to come to my place late at night for the second night in a row was too weird for me. I was feeling awkward before he even arrived. I let him in my apartment and right away I knew I wasn’t excited about seeing him. This is awful, I thought. I continued to be awkward around him, and I knew I couldn’t say anything to him on his birthday. I gave him the card I’d made him and he seemed to appreciate the effort. I hadn’t had a big enough dinner, so I wasn’t in the best mood. When I mentioned it, he kept offering to go out to get something for me, but I couldn’t let him go out in the rain on his birthday just because I hadn’t eaten enough –and after the previous night I’d just had. Why was he so nice? Was he that into me? I felt worse. Though he put no pressure on me, I still felt like I should help him have a good birthday in whatever ways I could. So, since he wasn’t going back out we ended up sleeping together…sort of…no, we did…but it was just…well, that bad. I don’t entirely blame him, clearly there was a lot on my mind keeping me out of the mood, causing me to be so cold towards him in my awkwardness of the situation I’d created…But his lack of skills played a part as well. It seemed like he just said all the wrong things at the wrong time and suddenly became an incredibly awkward person himself. We stopped what was going on and lay there in the dark. He described worst-case-scenario and asked if it was that bad. It was, but I just couldn’t say it. I played down the level of “bad.” It also couldn’t help that this performance was being held up side-by-side with last night’s, just making it seem that much worse. I felt kind of awful. Did I mention that already? And he had no idea about half of it. We went to sleep.
The next morning I had to run a few errands and pack for my business trip. We said goodbye, nothing special, and I went about my day. I had the beginning symptoms of a cold. I knew why. I also felt sad. “Sad” is such a simple word, yet it really didn’t feel any more complex than that. I had hoped when I saw him my feelings would return, but ever since I’d rekindled my crush on the foreign guy, my feelings for him had vanished. In a breakup you miss the other person. In this, I just missed what I’d felt. I thought I’d go on this business trip and see if I missed him. See if I’d want to give him another shot after the night before. When I returned I’d tell him what happened…
I’ve been sitting on a few posts I was hesitating about making public before I knew where things would lead. Spoiler Alert: Things lead no where, so they’ll be appearing here over the next few days…
As my time with the short guy seems to have ended, I feel obligated to round off our story. I asked him to go on a day trip. I figured it wouldn’t matter who my company was, I’d hit two birds with one stone -a third date with him and a day at a festival I wanted to attend. It was one of those early morning events where we’d have to be on the road by 8am, and considering the distance between our apartments, we decided it made sense for him to spend the night at my place. In theory all of this should have been perfectly okay, but the reality of situation lead to disappointment. He had to work late and didn’t make it to my place until 10pm. I’m getting older and kind of lame, so I was tired, but tried to stay up like a good host -and date, only as we lay in my bed and he stroked my arm, it hit me that there was nothing between us. Pretty bad timing. He was nice, he wasn’t unattractive, there wasn’t really any reason for me to feel so uncomfortable around him, but I did. Maybe it was that we rushed into everything or maybe it was that our sense of humor didn’t quite align or maybe we just had too vast of differences in interests which had certainly shown through in our favorite movies and TV shows. I always thought having an interest in the same shows couldn’t be that big of a factor in a relationship, but I suppose it reveals more than enjoyment of the show itself. We weren’t entertained in the same way. I didn’t feel anything for him, ‘nor that I’d develop any feelings for him later. I wasn’t thinking about him when I wasn’t with him and I wasn’t looking forward to what could be with him. This shouldn’t continue. But it was close to midnight, we were leaving for a long car ride in the morning, followed by a full day together and I felt like it was a mistake. I couldn’t back out now; I’d feel too bad about making him travel all the way back home and then missing the festival I’d purchased tickets for. He’d gone out of his way to spend the night because he said “maybe we’d have some fun *winking face*” and now I wasn’t in the mood under the pressure of how perfectly fitting that would’ve made the situation. So, I rambled through most of my thoughts and we went to sleep.
The day was okay. It wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t great. It was just okay. I felt awkward spending time with him now that I knew we just didn’t have that connection between us. I calmed down with a drink for part of the day, but I wasn’t looking to replicate our second date, so when the buzz faded I went back to my discomfort. I thought about relationships I’d been in and how exciting it had felt to spend a day with them. I’d feel happy and light just being by their side. And then there was him. I looked at the people around us. He could have been any other passerby, but here I was with him and I began to feel lonely. Towards the end of the day I started the talk. What is this, what are we doing, why are you here with me today, are you enjoying this? We seemed to be on the same page in the sense that neither of us wanted to be in a relationship with the other, but that left me wondering if we should continue whatever we were doing. It’s usually by the third date I’ve made up my mind for sure, only I wished I hadn’t decided to make a day trip of it. So what was left? We could keep dating in this sort of open relationship, but it had been established that we didn’t really have a connection. We could turn it into a strictly sexual relationship, but I wasn’t that impressed by that aspect with him. He said that he enjoyed my company outside of our nights together, so I asked him how he felt about being friends. I guess it’s not easy to friend zone someone after they’ve been out of it. He said he’d rather not remove the sexual aspect of our friendship, to which I shook my head, “A few minutes ago I just asked you if you were looking for this to be strictly sexual and you said that you also enjoyed my company and that wasn’t what you were looking for. It’s okay to say that that’s what you wanted…” It’s hard to find people as straight forward and honest as I am. We headed back without talking much. I walked him to the door. He didn’t ask to kiss me this time. He laughed awkwardly, as if it was clear we weren’t going to be seeing each other again.
For two weeks neither of us checked in with the other…except for my drunk-text to him about how we should keep the option of hooking up open whenever I’m drunk and near his place. Yeah, apparently I said something like that –or maybe that is exactly how I phrased it. Happy hour turned a little more intense than I’d planned for last night and while he replied that we can try that, I’m mostly ignoring that a drunken version of myself suggested it.
I’m an idiot. Have you ever done something stupid and just felt like an idiot? I spent my Saturday night like I was nearly a decade younger than I am. I had much too much to drink. It started out like most days before a date. Eventually “I have nothing to wear” became “I guess this will do” until I tried it on and the straps of the dress kept slipping down. I tried safety pins and tying them in a knot, but it just looked silly and not cute or sexy or whatever the heck I was going for anyway. Back to my closet of misfit outfits I do a double take on a dress that I haven’t worn in nearly a decade. Maybe I’ll blame my actions later in the night on the dress. There’s nothing particularly wrong with it and it’s not too short like most of my dresses that shrunk in the wash. Maybe it’s a little faded, but the only thing I ever remember about it is that a guy once guessed my bra size to be an entire size bigger than it is, and I decided that the dress misrepresented me. But now it’s 10 minutes later than it should be before I start doing my makeup to leave in time. I can’t say I don’t look good in it, and while I don’t feel like this date deserves any extra cleavage, I figure at least I’ll be on time.
Only then I step onto the train and I swear everyone’s eyeing my chest, so I send him a text. It’s my second date exactly a month from the first time I met the short guy. “I’m on the train so I should be on time but it’s only because I didn’t spend time changing my clothes and I wore a dress that wasn’t my first choice because it’s a little more low cut than I felt like wearing, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look at my boobs any more than you would any other stranger passing by.” Before he replied, I followed up that text with, “Yes, I actually just sent you a text that says that lol.” At the next stop twenty minutes go by and the train hasn’t moved. Now I’m late. As I’m about to update my date on this turn of events they announce that a tree has fallen on the tracks and train service has been suspended. This time I call my date to work out a new plan. Eventually, a few different train rides later, I meet him off a different train stop. I don’t really believe in “signs” but I’m wondering if that tree was a message about how the rest of my night’s going to go.
We make it to the bar. It’s the bar I chose, not the bar he chose, all because I had a craving for this amazing artichoke dip they serve. We get a table and it’s at the booth I like. “Hey, maybe despite the tree falling and the rain things are looking up for your night!” he says. I open the menu and flip through but something’s wrong. It’s not the menu that I’ve been ordering from for the last few years. After a waitress explains to me they no longer serve any of my favorite dishes because of a new chef, my date changes his mind, “Or maybe not.” I tell him too many details about Clark Kent too quickly and he gets awkward, but he seems to push through it. I pressure him to tell me about the other dates he’s been on. Of course he’s been on dates, so I don’t even ask if he has been on any others when I ask this. He eventually opens up and we laugh about it. He’s telling me about how rusty he was and how he had some difficulties getting back in the dating game, but he hasn’t been seeing as wide of a variety since he met me. I tell him that this makes me nervous and we both assure each other that neither of us is looking for anything serious with the other. That martini was my first drink. It was a strong one. And without anything I liked on the menu, I definitely didn’t eat enough. One of the first stupid things I did. I’d joked with my date that he owed me a drink for my hassle on the trains and he opted to pay for everything. He hadn’t forgotten that I’d admitted to not being thrilled with him accepting my offer to pay for half on our first date. This time he didn’t let me.
I want to check out the bar he suggested, so we walk over since it’s in the area. It’s loud and not at all what we expected. But we’re there, so we get another drink and decide to people watch, harshly and sloppily making judgments about people we don’t know who can’t hear us. I’ve just gone with a glass of wine this time. It’s slightly pricey, so I’m happy with how fairly they’ve poured it, only I don’t know that I’ll regret the hefty pour later. My date paid for it since we didn’t want to open a tab and I was short on cash. I decided it would be fair for me to get the next round. For the next hour or so, we drank while we people watched people drinking. The drunk girl in the red was the worst. We tried to figure out if she knew the guy who was holding her up or not, but we decided he looked like he was going to take care of her rather than take advantage of her either way. We watched the progression of her drunkenness from her awkward dancing, to inability to stand, and eventually her making the “I’m going to be sick” face. We watched her for so long that when she passed by and accidentally stomped on my open-toed sandal I winced through the pain with this weird feeling that some kind of celebrity had stepped on my foot. Little did I know I’d be joining her in poor drinking decisions in just a couple of hours.
We left that bar because it was too loud. I was certainly drunk by now, but I knew my usual tolerance was about three drinks, so I figured one more wouldn’t hurt. I remember announcing that we should go into the next bar we came across no matter what it was. We headed into a bar I’d been once some years ago. It was empty and we could sit down and hear each other for a change. I opened a tab and covered our drinks. Had it been good wine, my only drink, or on top of a decent meal I would have been happy with the pour, but I don’t think any wine connoisseur would ever agree to a wine glass so full one can’t take a step without spilling some. That was my third drink which might have well have also been my fourth or maybe my fifth without a proper dinner. But we were sitting and I felt fine. Sure, I felt a little drunk, of course, but not that drunk. Even he thought we were just having some pretty regular conversation. That’s the last part I remember vividly, though. The rest of the night gets a little splotchy, but if I only write about the parts I remember instead of the parts I was filled in on, it’s not as interesting. It would almost end up with, “and then I woke up” right here. But that happens a little later.
I am pretty sure I remember a second glass of wine. Only it was that colossal glass of wine because it was somehow even more full than the first and some poured onto my hands as I made my way back to our table. That would be number four, or possibly number five or six if you count the amount of wine in the glass. Now the official fourth glass we’re both sure I had. It’s the fifth that we’re not sure if I had or not, but at this point does it really matter? Apparently I tried to tip 120% and he had to fix the receipt for me. This is where a lot of sentences now start with “apparently” because it’s what I was told happened and just a blank spot in my memory. Later, I was thrilled to find out I’d brought home my credit card. Apparently he called a cab and we took it to my place after I convinced him this was the best plan and refused all others. I remember having that conversation when I still remembered the night, but I must have become more adamant about this plan. Of course, then nothing went to plan. Apparently I fell asleep in the car. Apparently I couldn’t get the keys in my front door. And Apparently I threw up. A lot. For a while. This was probably not the “good time” I’d promised either of us would be having back at my place.
I woke up on top of my blankets, all my clothes on, with randomly sore muscles, some black and blues, and a skinned knee. “Shit,” is the first thing I say. I remember earlier in the night at the bar, I wanted to kiss him. I thought it would be fun to come back to my place after a few drinks. That didn’t happen. I don’t know what happened, I’m usually great at knowing how much I’ve had to drink and when to stop. I turn to him, he’s sleeping on my side of the bed. “How did we get here?” I ask. He starts to fill me in. It’s too early in the morning. I brush my teeth because it’s something I really need to do. Back in my bedroom I nudge him over and climb back into my bed. “You’re on my side,” I tell him while scooting him over. “Well, you lay down on that side after I finished cleaning up after you.” This is when I really start to feel like an idiot. I wasn’t that into this guy. I mean, he’s alright and everything but now he’s done something really nice that I probably wouldn’t have done for him. “Why does my knee hurt and it’s all rug-burned?” I ask him. “You tried to run back to the toilet to throw up again, but you fell on your carpet and skidded pretty hard. I tried to move you to the bathroom but you insisted on throwing up on your carpet, so I cleaned that up too.” “Aren’t you glad we didn’t go back to your place now?” I point out. He laughs and agrees even though it was closer to the bar. The morning of recovery goes on and I notice more. He’s refilled my toilet paper, put on my air conditioning, brought me a bottle of water, and so on. He fixed my dress when it slipped too low. I cuddle up to him because I feel bad and grateful. The first night all I could think about was how short he was, but it’s not meaning as much to me anymore. Aside from some long term relationships I’ve been in, I don’t know anyone else who would’ve done this for me without expecting anything in return.
The morning comes and goes, but we’re still in bed. Then the afternoon comes and goes. We talk, watch movies, order food from a diner, and eventually do some things that I’d originally planned on doing the night before. I turn to him, “What did you mean last night about being rusty with dating? Why give a shit about how you’re supposed to date. I don’t do that. This is certainly not how you’re supposed to date. I sent you that text from the train, told you about someone I slept with around 10 minutes into our second date, threw up, and then hung out with you like this the entire next day. I don’t think you always have to date a certain way because I certainly don’t do it.” Around 5pm it seems decided that nearing a 24 hour long date isn’t normal enough and he heads back home. He’s hesitant because how do you say “well 15 hours was great, but 20 hours, that seems like it’s been enough” without it being weird. We text a little the next day. It’s just sort of a check-in/recap. I have to apologize and thank him once more for really going above and beyond in the nice guy department. It sort of almost makes me like him a bit, but not quite enough to develop any strong feelings, just enough to be comfortable with a third date and possibly heading to his place for a change. “Why did you drink so much? So you could tolerate me?” he asks. “No, I don’t think that’s it, I’d still see you sober…That’s as nice as my compliments get,” I tell him. I’ve been tough on him since the start and I’m still not really sure why.
I’m always honest. I’m always so openly volunteering information about my life that it doesn’t come naturally for me to do anything else. But I wasn’t this time. While I was away on business my date from the previous week –the short one- checked in with me via text message. I hadn’t yet met Clark Kent and I’d been thinking even if this guy wasn’t “the one,” I’d at least be up for a second date with him to see how that went. I was going to text to him, “I was thinking about it and I decided we can hang out again when I get back,” but I read it to myself first and deleted it. What, was I that amazing I was going to allow him to spend more of his time with me? Well, maybe I am but I don’t have that big of an ego. So, I said, “I was thinking about it and I’d like to see you again when I get back.” He said we could arrange something then. I went about my week, Clark Kent came and went, and the short guy crossed my mind again. I was less excited now. Sure, there was no future with Clark Kent, but he was a nice height and not all that hard to get a date with. Clark Kent texted me at work today, just a “happy Monday” kind of text -even though there’s never anything happy to be about on a Monday. I was too busy to respond. A couple of hours later my short date checked in asking how my trip had been. I was too busy to respond to him either. Heading home from work I caught up on my text messages. First I replied to Clark Kent and then I went back to the short date. He asked how my trip had been. Immediately I thought, “Good, I hooked up with some guy” but that didn’t feel like the best response I could give to someone I was considering a second date with. I told him it went well. He asked if I’d seen anything interesting. “Yeah, some guy I met…The movie I saw with a guy I dated for the week…” but I didn’t say that either. I told him about the dinner my boss treated us to. He asked when I’d be free to tell him more. In person. I’d mention it in person if it came up. He’d probably dated someone else while I was away, and there was nothing wrong with what I’d done after just going on one date with him, but he probably didn’t want to hear about it. If he asks. If it comes up. If he’s prying to know more about my week. Then I’d say something. Until then, I’ll just have to learn how to be like most people and keep my other dates out of the conversations with my current dates. Oh but how uncomfortable hiding any thing at all feels…
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