Welcome to this week’s house of dating horrors. I figured I couldn’t just tell your stories without telling one of my own.
Once upon a time, I decided to venture into online dating. Now, don’t get me wrong, online dating can be a great way to meet people without having to set one toe into a bar, club, lounge, or for some of you heathens, church.
I started corresponding with a nice guy named Joe. Nice meaning he was in his late 20s, had a great job, was intelligent, could hold a convo, and best of all, could read and write. Listen to me when I tell you that fact alone is a rarity these days. Anyway, we had a couple of dates, and everything seems to be heading into the right direction.
So, it’s inevitable that Joe wants to graduate to the dreaded “house dates.” Those consist of going to his/her house and watching movies, cooking dinner, a little touchy feely, and probably intimacy at some point. At this point, I didn’t want him to come to my house, but I figured there’s no harm in going to his house to check things out, right?
I get to his apartment complex and call to let him know that I’m there. Instead of coming out to meet me, he sends his roommate. First red flag. What in the hell and damnation is he doing that he can’t come outside to get me? Being the naïve 20-something that I was at the time, I assumed he is probably freshening up. When I get inside, I find Joe sitting his ass on his couch watching television.
Because the roommate think it's appropriate to turn the stereo on, despite the fact that we are trying to have a “house date,” Joe suggests we go to his room where it’s a little more quiet.
Of course, we have to lay on his bed to watch a movie. I mean, he doesn’t have a chair and I don’t know him well enough to be sitting in the floor, so I had to, right? At the time, I was working an overnight shift, so if I sitting still for any amount of time often led to me drifting off to sleep. I closed my eyes for what I thought was a brief moment, only to start feeling hands on my body, caressing my boobs. Thinking it was a dream, I didn’t open my eyes. I started feeling light kisses on my face, and the hands keep moving down my body. When I finally did open my eyes, though, the caresses stopped.
Seemingly oblivious to my concerns, Joe smiles and asks if everything is OK. Well, I think to myself, maybe I imagined that he had his hands on me.
We continue watching the movie, and my eyelids get heavy again. I drift off to sleep.
The next thing I know, a heavy weight presses down upon me. My eyes fly open and I see Joe straddled on top of me.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Let me reassure you here that I am fully clothed with a sweater and jeans on. Joe, on the other hand has nothing but his birthday suit on. He takes my hand and places it on what feels like a stubby vienna sausage (see picture below, if you're unfamiliar). I quickly snatch my hand back and make the ugliest face possible.
Now before I can ask, WHAT THE ENTIRE HELL?!!!! and knock his ass off of me, he fixes his lips to say in what I imagine he thinks is a sexy voice that oddly sounds like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street, “Can I squirt on you?”
My heart is racing, and I’m thinking, is this dude about to have his way with me?! Maybe I can scream and his roommate will help. Then I think, no, they clearly planned for things to happen like they have. So in the nicest, let’s-not-tick-off-crazy-dude-in-any-way voice I could muster up, I say, “Joe, could you and your penis please get off of me? I am not interested in being squirted on, and I would appreciate keeping my new sweater clean. Thank you.”
Without a word, he rolled off me, and I got up out of there in record time. I grabbed my shoes and purse and took off like my name was Wilma Rudolph. I have to wonder if he had planned to just squirt on me whether I was awake or not, but I’m certainly glad I never had to find out.
Ladies, the lesson here is, don’t fall asleep around strange fellas. If a man can’t take his time to get to know you before trying to get intimate and squirt his juices on you, tell him to “Beat It” like Michael Jackson because he’s more than likely trying to spread the wealth and who knows what else. Clearly, dating in Charlotte is a sticky situation.
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