“I love touching you.” “I just want to kiss you all the time.” “Just give me a hug.” And the worst of all “Relax, don’t worry.” These are all pretty normal phrases to hear from your boyfriend or someone you’ve been seeing for awhile. On the other hand, these are not phrases you want to hear on a first date with someone, not even knowing his last name. Especially, don’t ever tell me to relax. Telling me to “relax” if I don’t know you just puts me on guard even more.
And yes, this story gets worse.
As someone who many moons ago was date-raped by someone I trusted, I am fairly cautious when it comes to getting to know people and dating. I rarely (anymore) jump into bed with someone on the first date, and I never sleep with someone just moments after meeting them. Also, because of previous life experiences I tend to have very good radar for crazy and I have visceral reactions when I am in a situation I shouldn’t be in. My stomach starts to hurt, my heart races, I start clenching my jaw.
Tonight, I went out on a first date with a guy I met yesterday on the beach. Let’s call him Lorence. He was attractive with nice hair and pretty blue eyes, he had a nice smile, and he seemed a little dopey – not too bright – but, sweet. I thought he could be fun for a few drinks and maybe a date or two. Plus, these days I’m trying to build new “yes” habits instead of “no” habits, so it was sort of a personal goal I set for myself to say yes to something even if I wasn’t 100% sure about it. That will teach me.
So, we met yesterday, exchanged numbers, and parted ways. When he called me on my way to dinner to go out tonight, I thought “why not?”
He picked me up at my friend’s house on his motorcycle. On the drive, he kept moving my hand from his waist to his chest. It was awkward. I felt like I was being forced to cop a feel. So when he would take his hand away, I’d move it back to his waist. And the dance went on like that until we got to the bar.
We both had a beer. Longest beer ever. I tend to drink beer on dates when I’m not super comfortable. I can’t get drunk from beer and it takes me forever to finish a pint so, it’s a good go-to. During the drink, it was obvious that he thought the bar was a formality he had to endure before we went home to have sex. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to fuck. He kept trying to shove his tongue down my throat, he was rubbing my arms, intertwining fingers with me, touching my hair, staring at my lips. Horn dog.
I kept shrugging off hiss weird behavior and saying to him “I don’t even know you,” when he would try to kiss me with so much tongue (yuck.). Or “I just want to get to know you a bit first,” when he would try to put his hand up my shirt. Or “I really just want to take things slowly,” when he tried to start kissing my neck in the middle of the bar.
Every time I would say “you don’t want to talk, you want to have sex.” He would get defensive and say something like “we are talking!” But the only things we were talking about was the fact that I wanted to talk and he clearly didn’t. Eventually, it was obvious to me that the date was not working and I said, “I’m getting pretty tired. I’ve been up since early this morning. I think it’s time you took me home.” He said fine but that he needed to stop and get something at his place first, if I didn’t mind. “Of course,” I said, “no problem,” and off we went.
Once we arrived at his place, deep in the ghetto of Florentin for those of you who know Tel Aviv, he said, “I might be a few minutes. You can come up if you want, or stay here if you want.” Not wanting to be left alone on the street with his motorcycle in Florentin at 11pm, I said I’d come up with him. Once upstairs, he “looked for something” for a moment while I commented on his apartment being nice looking. Then, the next thing I knew, he was kissing me hard and trying to take my shirt off. I pushed him away, no easy feat because he is so much bigger than me, and said “We’re not doing this tonight. I want to go home.”
Then, he spewed some profanity at me including calling me a “cold bitch,” claiming that he “knows my type,” and that I should “leave and go the fuck on with my life without him,” and threw me out of his apartment. Door slam, angry muttering, all of it.
Then, stranded in Florentin, I started to walk home. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?? Then I started to shake. How dare he say that to me?! He doesn’t even know me! Then I started to cry. What the fuck?? Then I started to make phone calls. No one was awake, until finally, Ben’s brother (who I’ve become quite good friends with) responded to my text. We talked as I walked home. I cried. I told him what happened. He did his best to console me. It mostly helped. It’s not so much what Lorence said that hurt so much, as much as being in that situation dredged up all these weird sensory recall memories of how horrible I felt so many years ago with that man. I felt alone. I felt vulnerable. I felt like I just wanted someone to hug me and tell me that they’ll protect me. I wanted all of those things tonight on my walk home.
Yes, this date with Lorence could have ended way way way worse. But this is not the kind of date girls dream of having when they meet a good looking guy on the beach. And I should have listened to my instincts. When my stomach started hurting and my jaw started clenching, I should have just left then on my own and not asked for the ride home.
What an asshole.
Update!!! Not moments after posting this blog, I got a text from Lorence that was accusing me of “playing games” with him and warning me that “the next time I go to a man’s house if I do that, I’m going to lose.” I can’t help but feel like the sane person in the insane asylum. All I did was tell him all night that I didn’t want to touch, kiss, or have sex. I just wanted to talk and get to know him. He brought me to his place under the pretense of “getting something” and then threw me out to walk home when he jumped on me and I stopped him. Wtf.