I met Doug after sending out a flurry of emails one weekend on the internet dating site. My goal at the time--nearly a year ago now--was date quantity over quality. His brilliant and witty response? "I'm interested. When should we meet?" I understand that not all fellas are wordy, so I responded and over the course of several brief emails, we determined a time/place to meet.
That evening, I approached the pub and saw a guy waiting outside. The guy was both shorter and wider than Doug's internet profile pictures, but the guy was Doug. Fine, okay, some people don't have their most up-to-date photos online. Perhaps Doug would win me over with his personality.
Inside, we sat at the bar and ordered food. I find sitting at a bar a little awkward on a first (blind) date, since I prefer to look a person in the face when I'm talking to them. Doug evidently wanted to look everywhere in the bar except my face. At one point, while I was answering a question he'd asked me, I was pretty sure he was watching the television on the wall above and slightly to the left of my head.
Doug had a lot of stories about his rugby team, even though he was no longer playing due to injury. Doug thought the best way to spice up these stories was by frequent use of foul language. So, I've heard this kind of language before. I've used this kind of language before. But, I try to put my best foot forward on a first date, and this includes using actual vocabulary as descriptive language--not just "fuckin'" this or "muthafuckin'" that. I was particularly surprised by this lack of self-editing on Doug's part because he told me he was in sales. Don't sales people have to make good impressions? Perhaps that could've explained Doug's currently unemployed status.
After we ate, Doug suggested we move to a booth. A corner booth had just opened up, so we moved over. Doug regaled me with stories about his roommates: one, a girl he'd met because she'd dated several of his friends (but he wasn't interested in her because "she's fuckin' crazy, man"), and the other, a lesbian woman (but "it's okay, she's the pretty kind").
By this point in the evening, Doug and I were each on our second beer. I generally have a first date two drink maximum, but I was drinking pretty quickly to try and wrap things up. Doug got about halfway through his beer before he decided to recline in his portion of the booth. Yes, Doug laid down in the booth as if it was his couch at home. I asked him if he was okay, and he told me he was just resting.
Time to wrap up the date! I told him I'd had a long day, and needed to get home. He'd started paying a lot of attention to his phone, and told me some of his rugby friends were all meeting up at a different bar. He begged me to join him. I honestly wondered if he'd make it there. Was he drunk? Tired? In any case, I was headed home.
Doug insisted on walking me to my car, which was just down the street. At my car, he held out his arms for a hug, and I obliged. As I pulled away, he leaned his face in close. . .and licked my neck. Somehow I managed not to kick him in the nuts; I simply retreated quickly into my car.
He emailed me the next day via the dating site, and told me he'd really enjoyed our date, etc. I responded that I didn't feel a connection with him (and unless he wanted to feel a connection between his scrotum and my shoe); we shouldn't see each other again. He replied that he was sorry, he thought he probably came across as too forward, and that wasn't "really him."
Yeah. I'll never know the real Doug.
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