Before I had the balls to sign up for Ok Cupid, I would sometimes read Craigslist personals posts. I think I did this because I wanted to be able to say, “look, there are plenty of guys out there, don’t even worry about it!” to try to remind myself that boredom and loneliness were fixable problems, but without having to sign up for anything, thus admitting to myself and the internet that I was bored or lonely. Don’t do this. It will have the opposite effect, instead confirming your suspicion that everyone is terrible. It also seems very inhuman, all that faceless and nameless black text with acronyms and stats. The apparent number one priority of any Craigslist post is anonymity, and that fear comes across pretty clearly. It’s also hugely anachronistic, that compartmentalized view of the internet vs real life. Craigslist- great for furniture, not so much for people.
I answered a post from someone who lived reasonably close, had a good job, and was 6’4. 6’4 is irresistible to me, for some reason. I have made out with strangers because they’re 6’4. We met up at a bar halfway in between and talked for a while. He seemed extremely into me right away, which was flattering at the time but probably should have been a warning sign. We made out in his car and he asked me to go out again the next night.
We went out to dinner in my neighborhood, and went back to my apartment to make out. While that went down, he basically asked to be exclusive. “I want to take you off the market.” I tried to delicately explain that that was insane and that the phrasing was pretty troubling to me.
“Oh, I don’t mean to rush you,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything, you know, physical. I think sex just messes things up.”
Well that’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. I chalked it up to a misguided attempt to be non-creepy, or gentlemanly, or whatever people call it.
“That has never, ever been my experience,” I said. “But yeah, we don’t have to do anything right now if you’re not comfortable. Let’s just see what happens. But it seems a little fast to be exclusive; we met, like, 24 hours ago.” And who the hell would be exclusive with someone if they hadn’t had sex yet?
Anyway, we had another dinner date, in his neighborhood. Most of the conversation once again centered on him telling me how pretty I was and how happy he was to be seen with me in public. How does someone even respond to that? Maybe really beautiful women have a response at the ready, but I lack any experience in the area. I just did what I always do, change the subject to food.
He does not like any food. He orders salads with no dressing. Not on the side, no dressing. Dressing has “too much flavor.” He does not like Chinese food, Indian food, Mexican food. He does not like guacamole. He has no interest in sushi, but, “If a pretty girl tells me to eat sushi, hell, I’ll eat it!” What? No. Oh, you know what, I’m just now realizing that might have been a euphemism. Actually, probably not.
So we went back to his place and I made a good faith effort to fool around. Verbally, he could not have been more enthusiastic or more… narrative? “I’m totally touching your boob, wow, oh my god they’re both really nice!” “oh man, that’s your butt!” “Oh my god, my dick is in your mouth, you are so totally my girlfriend!” I did actually stop to correct that. When I got nowhere after like, an hour, I asked him if everything was alright. He didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. I tried to kindly point out that he didn’t seem, physically, like he was getting anything out of it. He blamed it on the beers.
2 beers.
3 hours.
6’4.
It became increasingly clear that he had never had any kind of sex before, which obviously bummed me all the way out (he was like, 32?) but also kind of made me want to help him. I came over one more time, we went to a shitty movie, glaringly sober, and then tried again, and oh my god you guys it was by far the worst attempt at sex of my entire life, including all the awkward teenage fumbling integrated together. I can’t even.
We had already establish that I was sleeping over, so I did. I woke up early in the morning when the sun came up, and lay very still hoping not to wake him too. I looked around the room mentally logging the coordinates of my dress, purse, left shoe, right shoe, playing out escape strategies in my head. If I get out of the bed very, very slowly will he stay asleep? If I carry my shoes can I get down the stairs without making a sound? Will he hear my car start? Will it matter by then? I stared down the large unopened box of Variety Pack condoms he had so proudly presented the night before (“We should try all of these!”) for another 20 or 30 minutes, wondering why anyone would need that many kinds of condoms or if anyone really has a positive experience with “ribbed for her pleasure” condoms when he started to stir. Oh good, I thought. I can leave now.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” he said. Fuck, he knows! “I had a dream you left in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have done that.” I said. I’d like to think I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But god, that was heartbreaking. “Why, did you think I was going to?”
“I don’t know; it was just a dream”
I told him I had to get to the gym (true story) and booked it out of there. Later I sent him an email saying we were in different places. Meaningless clichés are an awesome way to end things, I have found.
He responded, “Yeah, I got the sense you’re still very young and not really ready for an adult relationship.”
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