Other People's Rules

I went out with a guy a year ago that I will call Jim because he looks like Jim Halpert from The Office.  We went out, had a good time, and ended up fooling around that same night.  We didn’t have sex.  I feel this distinction is arbitrary, but he seems to think it’s relevant.  He had to leave for a work trip the next day, but we texted a lot during that, mostly about how we wanted to fuck each other’s brains out.  When he came back I tried to make plans to do stuff, like go out to dinner, or get drinks, or something.  He was unequivocally not into that; he wanted to come to my apartment.  And as soon as he walked in the door, that’s all he wanted to do, we were having sex within…  2 minutes?  I guess?  (It’s so great being young)  He hung around for a few minutes chatting, put his clothes back on, and left. 

I was pretty bummed about it for a while.  I tried again to get him to go out, but when it was clear he didn’t want to, I didn’t force the issue.  I kept hooking up with him periodically, because the sex was great and it took zero effort (I didn’t have to leave my house!) and went out with a few other people as well.  When I started dating my boyfriend, I told him so, and obviously didn’t see him again. He kept sending me sexual texts and facebook messages even though I told him to stop, and that it was making me uncomfortable.  I defriended him and didn’t respond to messages for a while.  He seemed genuinely upset.  He would resurface every few months, saying I was so great and that I never gave him a chance.  I explained that he’d painted himself into a fuck buddy corner and of course I was going to end up dating someone else, if that’s all I was getting from him.   

My long-standing belief has been that if I have sex with someone “too soon” and they think less of me for it, that’s not a person I want in my life.

We hooked up again recently, since I’ve gone back to my slutty, slutty ways.  He said he’s a little more careful now, and that when he goes out with someone he thinks he might really like, he’s sure to wait at least until the 3^rd date.  This wouldn’t bother me, except for the context of my history with him, and the fact that the rule is not a natural inclination but an unyielding requirement. 

Sarah: “So how long do you wait?”

Jim: “Like 4^th date, maybe 3^rd.  The first date is like a meet and greet, you just have coffee and it’s under an hour, it barely counts.  And then the second date is dinner.  And then one or two more dinners, and then it’s ok to”

Sarah: “So you don’t really feel comfortable having sex until that long?  Or you want to, and she wants to, but you wait because you believe you should?”

Jim:  “Yeah, I need to wait a while before I have sex with someone, if I want it to be a real relationship.  I don’t want to ruin it by having sex too soon.”

Sarah: “You’re afraid you would mess something up if you had sex earlier?  How so?”

Jim: “Well then it would just be all about the sex, I wouldn’t get to know her and like, build a relationship with her, I’d just be having sex with her.  And like that’s ok for some things.”

Sarah: “You can’t get to know someone after you have sex with them?”

Jim: “I mean, in theory, sure, but I probably wouldn’t”

Sarah: “That sounds like a problem specific to you.”

Jim:  “Yeah, maybe?  I don’t know, that’s how it works for me.”

Sarah: “Do you let people know this, ahead of time?  Because these girls you go out with, they might not anticipate that you’ll lose all respect for them when they put out.  Because you don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

Jim: “Oh it’s not that I lose respect for anyone, I just would stop thinking of them as someone I would date long-term.”

Sarah: “I’ve noticed that when guys want to wait a long time, it’s always been cause they’re really bad at sex.  Just my anecdotal evidence.”

Jim: “So when would you first have sex with someone?”

Sarah: “Second date, almost always.  You have a lot of Ok Cupid-ing and texting, the first date you usually talk for like, hours, and you establish whether there’s an attraction.  Then you text for a while and build some anticipation, and then after you have sex you know better where you stand and what you want, and if it’s going well you go out again soon, and you’re even more at ease with each other, because you’ve seen each other naked.  Icebreaker!” 

Jim: “And that’s worked for you, your 2^nd date policy?”

Sarah: “It’s not a policy, it’s just what ends up happening most of the time.   And it’s absolutely worked.  The times I’ve waited much longer, it’s gone horribly, and I wish I’d known earlier so I didn’t waste time and emotional energy getting to know someone I have no interest in having sex with.”

Jim: “What about the guy you just broke up with?”

Sarah: “Yeah, exactly, we had sex on the 2^nd date.  And we dated for like, 10 months.  By far the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

Jim: “But you broke up.”

Sarah: “Yes…”

Jim: “So, that didn’t work for you.”

Sarah: “Of course it worked.”

Jim: “You’re not with him now, so it didn’t work out.”

Sarah: “So you think because a relationship ends, it’s a failure?”

Jim: “Of course.”

Sarah: “Heh, yeah I think that’s where we differ, fundamentally. I’m not interested in, like, a race to get married.”

Jim: “Wait so,- what are you planning to do, long term?  Go on Ok Cupid dates for the rest of your life?”

Sarah: “God, I hope so!”

Now there’s this other guy, I’m going to call him Jason, because he looks JUST like Jason Sudekis.  (the TV show of my life is basically casting itself!)  We went out, and then we went out again, and from there went to my house and had sex.  There was really no decision to be made about whether that was the ideal time, I fucking wanted him, and he was so cute, and he kept touching my neck, and it was either go back to my house or push the beers out of the way and start going at it on the actual bar.  I went with “in my own home,” and I stand by that decision 100%.   

He mentioned a few days ago that he has a “12 hours of face time” rule before having sex with someone new.  We had… 9, I guess?  So no, he is not one of those weirdos that makes up arbitrary numerical requirements and bases actual decisions on them, but the existence of the rule is still puzzling to me.

Sarah: “So what are you trying to prevent, what’s the real danger in having sex with someone earlier?”

Jason: “That they turn out to be shitty?  I think after 12 hours if they’re awful, it’s probably come out and you know you don’t want to.  But sometimes you sleep with someone too soon, just off of physical attraction, but they might be a racist.”

(Doesn’t matter; still counts!)

Sarah: “So, can you just not go out with them after you realize they suck?”

Jason: “It’s just a lot harder at that point.  And you don’t want to be a the guy that has sex with a girl then never calls her.”

Fair enough.

John and I went out for drinks the next Saturday night.  In my mind, this was finally the sex date.  We’d developed some chemistry, he’d told me about a hundred times that he had a “very high sex drive” and we’d held out for this long.  At this point I was determined to have sex with him.  After a few hours, the conversation had basically run out and he suggested going back to his place.  “I have a bottle of Cakebread we could open.”  Well, good that he’s finally making a move, but I know that he lives with his parents, and I do not want to go to there. 

“Are you sure?” I asked.  “I don’t want to wake up your parents or anything.  We could go to my place?”

“My place is closer,” he said.

“By like, 3 minutes!”

“I have Cakebread.”

“I have…mango sorbet?  And wine?  A sauvignon blanc, I think?  I mean, it’s not quite Cakebread…”

“What, are you scared of my parents?”

“No I just…” kind of, yeah? “I mean, I don’t want to bother them.  And like, I have my own place.”

“It’s a big house, they won’t notice.  It’ll be fine.”

We got to his house and did this awkward creeping through the darkened kitchen and living room.  I felt like I was sleeping over at a friend’s house in high school and we were sneaking back in so her parents wouldn’t realize we’d gone out 2 hours before to smoke a bowl.  We descended into the basement, and it was abasement, I mean, finished, and not gross or anything, but it was a place for children.  The walls were bright blue with kid’s painting all over them, wall-to-wall thick carpet, a big sectional, a dedicated video game area, and big, glaring, fluorescent lights, the kind they have in office buildings.  I didn’t even know you could have those in residential  settings.  He made several furtive trips up and down the stairs, first to placate his mom who called down for him, then to retrieve wine, glasses, and corkscrew, each in a separate trip.   He poured the glasses on the ping pong table and we moved to the sectional, trying to maneuver a way to sit together with wine.  It proved to be difficult, probably because nothing about that space was intended for two adults to sit there with a glass of wine- it’s set up for a 15 year old to spend hours there with a jug of Gatorade, a bag of Doritos, alternating between Call of Duty and internet porn.  

I had been all keyed up for it, I knew this was the sex date,  but I couldn’t keep it up for him.  First of all, why had I conceded to go to his mom’s house?  Why would he want me to see this, to see him this way?  Also, my house is sexy, it’s grown up, and it’s mine.  We don’t have to sneak in under shroud of darkness, we don’t have to hide in a basement, and we don’t have to be quiet.  This shit is a boner-killer.

Somehow we managed to start making out on the sectional.  I was there, the wine was open, let’s give it a shot.  He slid his hand into my jeans, and soon I was recoiling in pain.  I pulled my hips away; his hand pursued even harder.  I tried putting my hand over his to slow him down, or get him to ease up on the pressure. No luck.  “No, that.. that really hurts, that’s too hard,” I finally said. 

“God, you’re so sensitive,” he replied, almost accusingly.  It sounded like he was pissed off that I’d been offended by a sexist joke.  

“Well, that’s like, where a lot of nerve endings are…yeah.”  He did not let up.  Maybe he’d never done this before?  Maybe he was going off of what he’d seen on the internet?  “With girls, you don’t usually need to go so hard, you know?”  This isn’t your battle-worn, kung-fu-death-gripped dick, ok? 

Needless to say, I was not physically inclined to have sex at this point, but the buildup had gone on way too long, I was already there, and he seemed like he was trying to go for it.  I figured I could tell him it was bad and leave that instant, I could quietly wish for death, or I could take over and try to turn things around.  I sent him upstairs to get a condom, and I rallied.  I know I am not bad at sex.  I hadn’t had sex that bad in years and I was going to salvage it, and prove that I was not at fault for this mess.  He came back downstairs and lay motionless on the sectional, fully clothed except for his cock protruding from his fly, and pulled me over so I was straddling him.  Great, I thought, if you just stay the hell still, we should be able to get this done.  Don’t fucking touch anything. 

I hurried through as efficiently as I could, thanking Kettlebell classes for enabling my legs to work that hard.  We made some small talk and I left as quickly as I could.  On the 3 minute drive to my house, I ran through the sequence of events to figure out what could have been different.  Should I have insisted we go to my house?  Should I have pointed out that after a few hours of drinking our palettes were in no condition for an $80 bottle of wine anyway?  Should I have just stopped when it was clear it wasn’t good and said I wanted to go home?  Would I then be wishing I’d tried harder?

The next day he texted to say what a good time he had, and that he could tell I really enjoyed myself too.  Not sure whether that made me hate him or myself more.  Thanks to a business trip and some family obligations, I was able to avoid seeing him for the next two weeks.  We eventually went out again last weekend.  He wanted to go to dinner at a taqueria, at 6:00.  That seemed promising, maybe he had another date after.  (If I was trying to have sex with someone, I wouldn’t start the date at 6:00.  Just saying.)  I dreaded it for a few days, but the thought of delicious tacos kept my spirits up. 

I got there a few minutes before him, and he texted me “wait outside, I have a little gift for you.”  Oh…. No….  It was a basil plant, and it made me feel even worse for not liking him at all.  The tacos were amazing, and we were done well before 8.  He tentatively asked if I wanted to do something else, or if I had to get home.  Relieved that he seemed just as unenthusiastic, and grateful for the out he’d given me, I launched into a rambling story about the leak in my washing machine and how I had just bought a dehumidifier that I needed to go hook up and I hoped I hadn’t ruined my floor, and god, home ownership, amirite?  I  mean, it was not a lie, at all, but it was totally transparent, and he knew what was up.  I was so happy to drive away. 

I went out with John almost entirely because that he liked food.  Like, legit likes food, plans vacations around food destinations, seriously knows shit about wine, orders the chef’s tasting menu, no hesitation about eating offal.  Before we went out he texted me pictures of a cheese plate he’d made.  He seemed cool enough from his profile, although he hadn’t answered many questions.  On the Personality breakdown page (maybe my favorite thing about Ok Cupid) he only had one bar, and that was More Sex Driven.  But, liking food and sex are my top priorities.

We had a great time talking about restaurants and stuff on our first date, but I couldn’t get a read on whether he was into me.  He was more socially skilled than me (most humans are) and easy to talk to but he didn’t seem to be having a great time.  I’m not naturally flirtatious at all, but I try to make an effort to emote a little, especially on a first date.  We sat at a very civil distance from each other at a bar, and I don’t think any physical contact was made in the three hours.

(I vastly prefer that dates involve sitting at a bar, not a table, regardless of the drink: food ratio.  You’re not staring each other down, interview-style, but more importantly, you can make incidental physical contact.  If you’re into it, your knees will turn in towards each other, you can do the Arm-Touch, which I have never really mastered but I see other women do it and it’s fucking magic.  Or if the bar’s a little loud or you’re saying something a little subversive, you can lean in so your lips are an inch away from their ear and say something sexy like, “don’t tell anyone, but I totally parked illegally.”  Basically anything will work, I think.  When guys do this, I fucking melt.  Across the length of a table, the only tool I have to communicate interest is Flirty Eyes.  That or touching my hair?  I hear that’s a thing?  Or that people think it’s a thing?) 

Anyway, we did a hug and very brief kiss, and he commented that I was taller than I said I was on my profile. “I’m wearing wedges… but they’re like, barely two inches.”  He was visibly upset.  Ugh.  In follow-up texts, he seemed more enthused.  He said I was sexier than my pictures, and that he liked that I was “curvy.”  We had some flirty texts back and forth and I became a little more interested.  We arranged to go out for drinks Saturday night.

I wore a navy silk wrap dress that has become my staple 2^nd date dress.  I love the way I look in it, it’s totally grown-up-sexy, and it can come off in 2 seconds.  I also wore some pretty amazing Agent Provocateur lingerie.  I’m just saying. 

We had a few drinks and talked some more.  Made out a little.  Pretty solid date.  He walked me down a little side street to where I’d parked.  It was relatively private but a few people would walk by periodically.  We made out some more and then he started sliding his hand up my dress.  I pulled away to give him a friendly “Are you serious?” look.  This is the part where I thought I’d be giving him directions to my house.  It’s not that I didn’t want his hand up my dress, but like, that’s why I vacuumed and made my bed. I didn't wear the Agent Provocateur just to get molested in a back alley, you know? We did this stupid little game of him sliding his hand up, me pushing it away when it got indecent and after a few rounds of that I just said that I was totally into it but the middle of the street was just not ok with me.  I really expected him to have a response to that, like he wanted to go somewhere else.  I can’t totally remember, but I think he said something along the lines of “I guess I’ll just go jerk off then.”  Yeah, don’t let me get in your way or anything. 

We went out the following Wednesday to a totally amazing 20-course tasting at a Sichuan restaurant.  The wait staff knew him and knew he was the guy that would order the really authentic stuff, not the usual white person stuff.  The food was amazing and interesting and he was into it too, and I was just totally sold on him.  Way to play to your strengths, dude.  In the parking lot I kind of turned on the charm pretty hard, telling him how awesome it was that he knew about such a unique place, and what a great time I had, and I was kind of all over him.  We made out a bit, and then he sighed, “Another night of sexual frustration.”  Oh?  Is it?  I pressed up against him and said, “Well, what are you up to now, do you need to get up really early tomorrow or anything?”  Or did you want to come home with me and fuck me because obviously I’m asking you to?  He did this obviously fake looking-at-his-phone move and said, “yeah…  I kinda do have to.  Which is too bad.” 

My jaw dropped for a second.  If you want to wait a little longer before having sex with someone, that’s fine.  If not losing sleep on a weeknight is super important to you, that’s fine.  If you think immediately after eating 20 courses isn’t the ideal time for sex, that’s also fine.  If you’re thinking I just ate a massive amount of hot peppers and maybe you don’t want my mouth anywhere near your dick until I drink some milk or something, that is totally understandable.  But do not give me some whiny shit about how you’re not getting laid after taking me out.  That’s not how this works, for one thing, and also your inability to close is not my fault.