He’s an ass man
My track record of internet dating is not only very short, it’s quite disastrous. I’m thinking I can’t be the only one. The last one I did was so bad I deleted all the apps and went back to my tired rotation of twats.
In case you don’t know, on my last internet date the guy told me I had ADHD. He also wanted to “strut around a park and get ice cream” which I took to mean he wanted to make me fat whilst walking towards me like one of the queens on Ru Paul’s Drag Race before killing us both in a frenzy with gelato all over his face. I suggested a pub, which is where he diagnosed me.
But that was in the past. My new internet date and I arranged to meet in a nice bar in a nice area of London. As always, I was going to cancel but my friends made me go.
So I went.
And I had THE best night.
He laughed at all my jokes. He’s quite funny. He’s cool and laid back. He’s a teacher (I kind of thought he would be MI5 or something chic because he swerved it when I asked him what he did, so I was a bit disappointed). But overall, we had so much fun. When the midweek bar closed early we went back to his. I was pissed enough to think this was a good idea. I pinned my friend the location but I didn’t think he would kill me. And I knew I wouldn’t have sex because I’d done my trick of wearing ugly underwear, and there ain’t no chance of anyone but myself or my mum seeing that shit.
We made out. Then I left.
He didn’t text that night (hot), but he did the next morning, and asked me out for the next day and round to his to cook for me.
This freaked me out.
I’m weird about eating with friends, so eating with a guy is literally hell to me. The very idea? But I like him so I’ll try to make it work.
Friday came around and he asked me “What don’t you eat?”
Dude, you done fcked up there. This was my out. I had the perfect response planned to get romantic dinner for two in teacher’s house cancelled.
So I said “everything.”
“Let’s just get a take away then!”
I took round a bottle of champagne. We drank it and watched a Kanye West documentary I’d been wanting to see. We were having so much fun. He went and bought vodka, soda water and limes (I’d been drinking that on the date), and while that’s a great drink to have on a night out, after a bottle of champagne in a small (but perfectly tidy and nice) London flat, not so much.
Omg we were fcked.
I had no intention of staying. But vodka indoors told me otherwise.
There’s a lot of blanks here. But I know this:
Drunk, having fallen asleep, we woke up early and were (still drunk) making out.
At which point he whispered in my ear “Do you like anal?”
I pretended I hadn’t heard.
He repeated it.
I said: “What? Dude, I don’t even know you.”
I stopped making out with him and annoyingly fell back asleep. I woke up a few hours later. Horrified. I got up, grabbed my shit and fled like Cinderella. Except I took both my shoes because I’m not a total wanker.
I called my friend and insisted on a late lunch so I could divulge the story.
Anal? We haven’t even had sex? Anal? On date two? Anal???? With a fckin stranger???
Listen right, I am no prude. And some of my friends are the freakiest muthafckers you are ever likely to meet. But this shocked us all.
Even the gays were confused.
My brother, the serial shagger, said: “It means he’s a freak. You would only ever go in for that with your girlfriend. Although I’m not sure that’s always been the case with me tbh…”
My girlfriends were all empty, none of them had a similar story.
What made it so bad was that I actually liked him. I’d had two very impressive dates. Why did he have to go fck it up?
Is this an internet dating problem or a society problem? Like what’s going on here? Now, because you have access to potentially thousands of women from the comfort of your own teacher’s bedsit you also think that there are no boundaries to what you can do when you get one of them all fcked up on vodka?
I mean, yeah I’d been round his on both dates, and yeah I’d got drunk af both times, and yeah I stayed over… I guess if that doesn’t scream “Anal” at you then nothing does. It’s my fault really.