A woman I was about to ask out on a first date laid out her expectations clearly as she complained that too many men expect to kiss her or have sex on the first date.
“I want to get to know him long before I’ll consider becoming intimate.”
“Define ‘long,’ please.”
“There’s no set time, silly. When I feel comfortable that the relationship is going somewhere, then it’s time.”
“Yet, if we go on our first date, and I don’t try to at least kiss you, you’ll assume I’m not interested.”
“Are you asking me out?”
“We’ll get to that. You’d want me to attempt to be somewhat affectionate, right?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t include grabbing my ass or anything.”
It’s such a frustrating dilemma for men. It’s what lands me solo most evenings. I haven’t got the patience. Time is precious for men of the gray-chin tribe.
This is further aggravating because I have been on a few first dates with “you’re not getting any tonight, mister” groundwork laid out prior to my paying the tab. Next thing you know, we’re going at it like sweaty fuck-monkeys. Then, as my love stick deflates, comes regret and justification.
- “Oh my god, I never do this.”
- “I don’t know what came over me.”
- “Did someone slip something into my drink?”
- “Christ. I hope this wasn’t a mistake.”
- “You don’t have any STDs, right?”
- “Um, can you get me a bottle of water? I need to take this call.”
- “Look, I know I said we weren’t going to do this. How did this happen?”
I understand the concern. Unless the sex sucked, she’d like to maybe see me again, probably not be pregnant, and definitely not want me telling anyone how quickly sushi turned into lovemaking.
It’s all so complicated. Doesn’t get any easier as time passes, my young male friends. Learn to shrug.