Submitted by Ellen:

Nathan asked me if I would meet him at his house. It was an unusual request, but I agreed to do it.

He opened his door wearing a black t-shirt with a big red dragon on it. He asked me if it was okay for our date, and I told him that it was fine.

He didn't believe me and told me that he'd be right back. This time, he came back in a white dress shirt and short cut-off jeans. I couldn't help but smile.

He asked me what my goddamn problem was. I told him that he could wear whatever, and that I just wanted to go out to eat.  He asked me into his house.  I refused at first.  He then said that he'd cancel the date completely if I didn't help him pick out something to wear.  I didn't want to cancel the date at that point, so I followed him in.

He pointed me in the direction of his closet and asked me to pick out a good outfit for him.  Most of his clothing wasn't bad at all, and I picked out several potential outfits for him, all of which I thought were flattering.

"You suck at fashion," he told me, "Go wait downstairs."

I waited in his living room, and he came back down wearing the dragon shirt, exactly as before.

"I didn't need you after all," he said, "Ready for dinner?"

I canceled the date right then and there.  The guy was just too weird for me.

Submitted by Frank:

I picked Jordana up at her house and we drove off to an early dinner.  She asked me if my brother was all right.  I thought that it was a strange question, but I answered that he was fine.  Then I asked her why she asked.  She said, "Wasn't he in that bike accident?"

I had no idea what she was talking about.  I told her that my brother, as far as I knew, was well.  I had just seen him earlier in the day, and there had been no bike accident as far as I was aware.

At dinner, she asked, "Your birthday just passed, right?"

It hadn't.

Not much further on, she said, "So, you do landscape architecture on the weekends, you said?"

I had never said such a thing, and was beginning to suspect what you're likely beginning to: that she had mixed up my details with those of someone else.

As politely as possible, I told her, "I don't do landscape architecture.  I think that you must have some of my details mistaken for someone else."

But she said, "That can't be right.  You're Frank.  You work at a college.  You do landscape architecture on the weekends.  You just moved here."

She only had the first detail right.  I told her that I indeed do work at a college, but that, again, I was no landscape architect, and I had lived in the area for my entire life.

She asked, "Are you sure?"

I assured her that I was reasonably sure regarding my own life's details.  She apologized over and over after that, and I told her not to worry about it, that everyone made mistakes.  I wasn't in a hurry to ever call her again after that, though, and she never called me.

Submitted by Greg:

The night before my date with Dana, I had slept at a male friend's place in the city, as I didn't live too close by.  I had my backpack with me, and brought it on the date.

When Dana and I met up, she asked me about the backpack, I gave her the above explanation, and no more was said about it.

At dinner, we sat in a booth, and I put the pack next to me.  Conversation was pleasant enough, although she asked me twice (within the space of five minutes) what I had been up to the prior night.  My answer both times was the same.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom.  When I came back, our food had been delivered to the table, but I was further delivered an uncomfortable surprise: Dana had opened my bag, gone through it, and was flipping through my calendar, as if it was a dime store novel.

I grasped it from her hands, but she pulled it back towards he chest.

"Who's Jenny?" she asked, her eyes flashing with distrust, "It says here that you had a 'playdate' with her last week."

"My goddaughter.  I babysit her.  She's six.  Can I have my calendar back?"

She frowned and flipped to another page.  I grabbed for it again, she protested, "No!" but let go after a short struggle.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then put the calendar back into my bag, shouldered it, carried my plate to the restaurant counter, asked for them to pack it up, paid for my dinner alone, and left her there.

Submitted by Greta:

For date number four, Joe and I went camping.  We were discussing the plan for the trip, and I asked him when he wanted to go shopping for food supplies.

He told me that he had it covered.  I pressed him for further details, and he said that we would fish for our dinner at a nearby lake.

I didn't have a problem with fishing, or with eating cleaned fish, but I didn't like the idea of going into the wilderness solely dependent on that for our source of food.  I asked him if we could to to a grocery store anyway, just in case.  He told me that I could if I wanted to.  I sure did.

On our way there, he'd joke with me a bit about the bag of quick, easy-to-make meals that I had brought.  "You don't think I can catch anything," he jibed, "Oh ye of little faith."

I was sure that he could catch something, but why not go into things prepared?  What if there were no fish in the lake?  Or none edible?  I always wanted to have a backup plan.

We made it to the campsite, and I volunteered to set up the tent while he went out to the lake.

After setting things up into a quaint little campsite, I walked down to the lake to see if I could spot him.  He wasn't anywhere that I could see, which was a little disconcerting, but there was an inlet or island further out, and I assumed that he was on it.  Cell phone reception?  Not a chance.

I set my chair up at the edge of the lake and read there, hoping to spot him soon.  He finally did sail out from behind the island and I waved.  He didn't wave back.  Maybe he didn't see me.  He was out until it became pretty dark, and finally returned.

"Hey sweetie," I greeted him, "How'd it go?"

His fishing pole was broken.  I gasped, "Oh no!  What happened?"

He threw down his pole pieces in disgust.  "I caught jack shit, is what happened."

"What happened to your pole?"

"It broke."

"How?"

He said, "Take me back to the campsite."

I led him back, where he promptly crawled into the tent and zipped it up behind himself.  I called after him several times to ask if he wanted dinner, but after a while, I figured that his pride was too wounded to be anything but bitter.  I repeated that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't control the fish, etc.  Nothing would coax him out, so I was the only one of the two of us who had dinner.

After dinner, I read a bit by the light of an electric lantern, and finally crawled into the tent.  I put my arm around him, but he shoved it off.  I shifted away, and that was our torrid night in the wilderness.

He was gone when I woke up.  I went down to the lake, and he was out a ways, fishing, using a piece of his broken pole.  This was ridiculous.  I looked forward to the trip to spend more time with him.  I couldn't care less about whether or not he was able to catch a fish that day.

I called out to him, "I'm making breakfast!"

He called back, "I'm catching breakfast!"

I returned to the campsite, made breakfast for both of us, and waited.

He returned in the early evening, with nothing.  He hadn't eaten for more than 24 hours at this point.  He sat down for a while and ignored everything that I said, then turned to me.  "All right.  Let's pack it up."

I thought of half a dozen arguments, but swallowed them all, realizing that, in an instant, I had gone from wanting to spend time with him to wanting to be as far away from him as possible.  We packed up the site in record time, left it, and he dropped me off back home.  He never contacted me after that, and I wasn't exactly motivated to talk to him, either.

Submitted by Tom:

Angela was a student loan officer at my college.  She was just a couple of years older than I was, and we met as a result of my stopping into the financial aid office to check on my loan status.

The first time I met up with her, we joked around a bit and spoke more about each other than about my loans.  Because I thought she was cool, I made another appointment to see her next week.  I didn't want to waste her time, but I figured it would be obvious why I had opted to meet with her again.

Sure enough, at our second meeting, our words went from platonic to flirtatious in a hurry, and I asked her if she wanted to hang out after work one day.

She took my hand and pulled it close to her and said that she'd love to.

Fast forward to our date, it became one of the strangest, most uncomfortable experiences of my life.  The perfect encapsulation was if we were walking, she'd take my hand.  Just when I'd give her hand a squeeze, she'd drop my hand for no reason and keep walking.  Why take my hand in the first place, if you're not going to hold it?  That's small.  There's more.

At dinner, I said, "You're very pretty."

"And you're very handsome," she replied, making me feel great for a second before finishing, "A lot of guys who go to this school are cute."

Here's another one: she traced her fingers up my arm before saying, "I can see us getting really close.  Like a brother and sister.  A brother and sister who don't have sex."

At one point, I had to clarify, "This is a date, right?"

She said, "I don't know.  Is it?"

I told her that I thought that it was.  Didn't she?  Her response was a shrug. 

I didn't know what to make of it at first, but then convinced myself that maybe she was just taking it slow, and that she didn't like the idea of labeling things.  I could understand that.

Until after dinner, when we took a short walk around campus.  We stopped and sat down on a bench by a fountain.  She looked at me and said, "I'll bet that you're an amazing kisser."

Thinking this a transparent cue, I went in for it.  She laughed and pushed me away.  She asked, "What are you doing?"

I said, "Showing you that I'm a good kisser."

She said, "Slow down there, cowboy.  We're just friends."

I had enough of her mixed messages.  Maybe she was confused, and she had every right to be.  However, that sort of hot-and-cold behavior wasn't what I was looking for, so I walked her back to her car and called it a night.

I drove my own separate way, and received a text from her about 20 minutes later.  It read, "Are you still on campus?  I'm possibly reconsidering that kiss idea."

I didn't respond, as I was possibly reconsidering going to bed, waking up, having breakfast, and finding a woman who wouldn't "possibly reconsider" anything.

Submitted by Stephen:

Last semester I was walking through the quad when I saw the hottest girl I had ever seen in my life. She looked like Megan Fox and Adriana Lima had blended all of their best parts together and intensified themselves by a thousand.

I would have killed myself if I didn't ask her out, so I ran up to her and asked her to dinner out of the blue. She seemed flattered, said that she was hungry right then and there, and knew a great place around the corner. I was on cloud nine.

On the way, she told me that her name was Chloe and she majored in general studies. I asked her exactly what a general studies major was and she replied, "Oh, it's for the people who aren't smart enough to go here but have rich parents who donate lots of money to the college." Okay, so she wasn't a genius, but she still seemed like a cool girl.

Chloe lead me into a restaurant with wall decor that probably cost more than my parents' house. We were seated immediately, and the prices on the menu almost made me vomit.  Still, I really wanted to impress Chloe and not look like a cheapskate.

During the whole dinner, Chloe talked about how hot she was. She said that she was only in college because her father refused to pay for her modeling portfolio unless she got a degree.  All that she wanted to do was, "model, booze it up with my besties, and date hot rich guys."

Right as the food came, she got a text from a girl who was apparently an, "ugly, jealous, hater bitch," and she spent a good 20 minutes texting back and forth with this girl. As I ate my tiny, overpriced meal, Chloe explained that this girl was jealous of Chloe's beauty and the fact that a bunch of guys had been hitting on Chloe at a club that weekend.  The girl went on to say that Chloe could never make it as a model (in her defense, Chloe looked better than many models I've seen).

At that point, I had made up my mind that the date had been a bad idea.  Before we parted ways, she asked if I wanted her number. When I said no, she totally flipped and starting screeching at me in this high pitched voice. I couldn't understand a word she said. I took off.

Lesson learned: date average girls.

Submitted by V.:

I met Tim online. We'd spoken on the phone just about every night for a week and decided that it was time to meet in person.

I arrived first and wandered around the shopping center, waiting for him to arrive. When he came over to me, he immediately went for a kiss, which was a little forward for me, so I presented my cheek. He chuckled and told me that I looked beautiful.

I thanked him and he stepped back, gestured to himself and said, "So?"

"So what?"

"Do I look like my pictures?"

"Um... yes."

I knew he wanted a compliment in return, but really, I was feeling no spark.  I honestly wanted to give him a chance, but I hate to lie and I also hate to be pushed into a corner.

He pushed, "Well, how do I look?"

"You're cute enough, I guess," which was true.

"Playing hard to get, are we?"

To get off this extremely awkward topic, I grabbed his wrist and told him to come with me, that I had something silly to show him.

I dragged him into a nearby supermarket where they'd misspelled the word "Deli" on the aisle sign (it said "Delly"). This wasn't terribly interesting, but it amused me. Apparently it amused him, too, because he took a picture of it with his cell phone, then said, "We'll be showing this to our grandkids one day." I chuckled because I thought he was just trying to be cute.

We went for a walk. He took my hand, which was a little uncomfortable, but I let it go because I'd grabbed his wrist earlier and thought that perhaps he'd got the wrong message. He told me how his mother made incredible enchiladas and that next week he would have her make them for us for dinner.

I just said, "We'll see."

Later he turned to me and said, "You think that I'm the best thing to ever happen to you, don't you?"

"Why would I think that?"

"Silly, it's written all over your face!  Hard to get, again!"

We started walking back to our cars, and he went on and on about how beautiful I was, how much his mother would like me, how much he wanted to meet my mom, and what our kids would look like.

Urgh. We made it to my car and he grabbed my head and planted one on my lips. I felt his tongue trying to push its way into my mouth and I yanked my head back.

"Modest little thing, hmm? This is wonderful."

I slowly backed away from the crazy man, got into my car, and got the hell out of Dodge.

Submitted by John:

A few minutes before our date, Traci called me up in a bit of a panic.  She had parked her car a couple of blocks from where we were meeting, and something had gone horribly wrong.  She asked if I could meet her at her car.

I was in for a shock.  Traci had attempted to drive her car through an alleyway that was just barely too thin for her car to drive through.  The front couple feet of her vehicle was in a bad state, dented and crumpled to hell.  Additionally, she had to have driven the car over the curb in order to have made it there in the first place.

She explained, "I wanted to make it to the parking lot on the other side of the buildings.  It looked big enough, so I figured, 'Why not?'"

I offered to reverse her car out of the alleyway for her, as a good portion of it was sticking out over the sidewalk.

She asked, "Is it going to scratch it any more?"

I said, "It might, but at this point, you're already banged up pretty badly."

"I don't need to be banged up any worse."

What a strange thing to say.  I replied, "But you do need it removed from this alleyway, right?"

She said, "Yes," and so I climbed in, turned it on, and backed it out of the alley.  It screeched to high heaven and then smashed down, off the curb.  I parked it on the street and took a look at it.  It was bad.  The headlights, bumper, sides, and even the hood were smashed pretty badly.

I advised her to drive it home, if she could (she lived close by), and bring it to a mechanic as soon as possible.  She asked me if it would be expensive, and I told her that it probably would be, but that she couldn't really drive it around in the state in which it was.

Glumly, she thanked me and drove away.

Submitted by David:

I met Brianna in college, but we really hit it off at a friend's party about a year after graduation.  I asked her out for the following week, and she agreed.

We decided to meet at a local coffee shop, have a chat and see where the night took us.  When we got to the cafe, we sat down and placed our orders.  I reached for my wallet.

It wasn't there.

Now, I'd never had a panic attack before, but I'm pretty sure I came close at that moment.  I remembered changing my clothes right before I left my house, and must have left my wallet in my other pants or something.

After embarrassingly explaining the situation and apologizing to Brianna, she said that it was no problem and offered to pay.  I felt like a total moron, but was relieved that she was so gracious and forgiving.

Once I got over my mortification, we actually started having a really pleasant night.  She didn't mention the wallet snafu at all, we had a great conversation, and she really seemed to enjoy talking to me.  I couldn't believe that things were going so well when an hour or so later I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and saw my father.  He held my wallet.

"Hey son," he said, "Look what you forgot at home again!"

See, I was living at my folks' house at the time and I had told dear old dad that I was meeting Brianna for coffee.  He must have noticed my wallet sitting wherever it was at home and thought to himself, "My idiot son just went out on a first date without his wallet!"

Part of me was touched that he cared enough to attempt to salvage my date, the other part wanted to pretty much die right there.

Dad left and Brianna, to her credit, just giggled and told me that she thought it was sweet.  I agreed and appreciated her being so kind, but any attempt to keep things going was beyond hope.  I felt completely embarrassed for the rest of the night.

We went out again once or twice after that, but it was not meant to be.  Every time I looked at Brianna, all I could see was my father standing there awkwardly, waving my wallet in front of me.

Submitted by April:

This occurred on my second date with Dorian. He was smart, funny, very cute, and also a tennis pro.

Before we met up for lunch, he had been playing tennis all morning.  After the meal, we went for a brief walk and when he returned me to my car and hugged me goodbye, I smelled something that made my nose hairs curl.  I told him, "Wow, you must have had quite a workout this morning!"

He stared blankly at me. I, naturally, keep going, "You really stink, honey." (I am nothing if not smooth).

He then said, "I took a shower and changed before I left work."

I went on, suavely, "I don't think so."

I made it back to my office and realized that I was the one who stank to high heaven. It was my own fault for leaving my clothes in the washer overnight and then drip-drying them.

Not only had I totally insulted this lovely man, but I was really smelly and he never said a word. He called later that night and enjoyed my apology.

Submitted by Kevin:

Felicia appeared as a potential match on an online dating site.  She looked cute in her photos, and she mentioned an interest in 14th and 15th century literature, and talked about a forthcoming trip to Romania.  I asked her if she had family from Romania, and the only answer she gave me was, "Sort of, yes."

These interests seemed unusual, but I was looking for someone a little different from the, "I'm a teacher who likes biking and spending time with my family" sort, so I went the distance and asked her out.

"Okay, but only at night," she cautioned me.

"Are you a vampire?" I joked.

"It's spelled vampYre, and I'll tell you more in person," she said.

The red alert light blared, but I figured that there was no harm in meeting up.  Aside from the Dracula overtones, she was a better conversationalist than most people I spoke to in general, and she actually seemed interested in me.

We arranged to meet in front of a restaurant.  I expected her to show up in all black, wearing an upside-down cross, with artificial fangs, and pale eyes.  As it turned out, she showed up looking like she did in her pictures, a normal 23-year-old.  She had long blonde hair, glasses, and was dressed pretty conservatively.  If you didn't know it, you'd have no idea how obsessed with vampires she was.  But she was.

The first thing she said after our introductory hug was, "Can we get out of the light?"

I offered to walk her inside of the restaurant, and she glanced at it before saying, "I don't think so.  It's too bright in there.  Can we go to a bar?"

We went to a bar that served dinner items and sat in the darkest corner we could find.

She explained that she was a direct descendant of the historical Dracula, and that she was the first in her family for generations to make pilgrimage back to the ancestral homeland in Romania.  She said that she didn't drink alcohol (it diluted the blood), ate only meat (for strength and power), and avoided the light as much as possible.

I asked her if she had any powers, and she said that she did, but that she could only use them in times of great need.  I asked her to go into greater detail, and she explained that she could make time slow down, and that she could hover for brief periods.

"The blood's been diluted through the centuries," she said, "So I can't do everything that my ancestors were able to, but once I visit our old castle, I should increase in strength."

Maybe it was that I feigned interest more than anyone else had, but she really seemed to enjoy talking to me.  I tried changing the subject, but somehow or other we always made it back to vampirism.  She couldn't play sports because her supernatural athletic prowess would give her away (to be fair, she was in great shape).  She was in all honors classes throughout her schooling due to her fast brain powers, etc.

I asked her about her parents and siblings, as she had never mentioned them.  She said that she didn't really get along with them, as they denied the family heritage and thought that she was taking it too far.

She said, "I've hired two genealogists, and they both traced our family back to Dracula.  I'm not sure how much more proof I can show them."

The date wrapped up and I offered to walk her back to her car.  When we made it there, she offered to show me one of her powers, since I had been so understanding.

I hadn't expected this, and was so amazed that she'd offer it, that I took her up on it at once.

"Okay," she said, and took a step back.  She spread her arms and closed her eyes.  She breathed heavily and trembled.

She farted.

Her eyes opened and she put her hand to her mouth.  "Oh my God..." she began.

I laughed, then hugged her.  I told her that it was okay, and not to worry about it.

I didn't take her out for another date, but we're still acquaintances.  She ended up actually going to Romania, but I have no idea if her powers have increased as a result.

Submitted by Hillary:

Jake and I talked online for two weeks before we had decided to meet each other in person.  He offered to make me waffles at his apartment, declaring them his specialty.  He said that he'd make all kinds of waffles: blueberry waffles, whole wheat, etc.  It sounded unusual and I like homemade breakfasts, so I took him up on it.

I arrived at his place early and I knocked on his door.  He asked me to wait a minute.  I heard the sounds of shuffling and cooking, and assumed that he was setting everything up just right.  I was looking forward to it.  What a nice guy, to make me waffles.

He opened the door and led me inside.  Once I stepped inside the kitchen, he asked me where the waffles were.  I didn't understand his question.  He again asked me where the waffles were.  I told him that he would probably know better than I would, seeing as how he was making us waffles for breakfast.

He said that I had it wrong, that I was the one who had promised to make waffles for him.  He even supplied details that we never discussed.  "Yeah, you said that you'd made banana waffles once and that you'd make them again, for me.  You don't remember?"

I didn't, because he was lying.  But he wasn't done.  He said that if I didn't have waffles for him, then I could make it up to him right then and there.  He pulled down his pants and stood there, bottomless, right in the middle of the kitchen.

Of course, my first choice was to leave, but before I did, I laughed at him.  He didn't like that and then he yelled at me to blow him or get out.

"Bye!"

Caroline and I had a date planned for a Friday evening.  She called me up earlier in the day to let me know that she'd either have to cancel or hold it earlier, before 4 o'clock.  Holding it earlier was fine by me, and I told her that.  Instead of meeting at the restaurant, however, she asked that I meet her at her office building.

She met up with me in the lobby and asked me if I'd accompany her into the building.  I figured that she had wanted to take me on a tour of her office.

We arrived in the sub-basement trash facility.  She led me through a few sets of swinging metal doors and we stopped in a big room that had two trash compactors.  She turned to me and asked, "Ready?"

You see, Caroline was in the marketing department for an educational supply company.  The prior day, she had accidentally mismatched two client files, and a folder with some very important contract information was apparently thrown away.  It wasn't yet garbage day, so that meant that the missing folder had to be inside one of the two compactors.

The two of us stood before the large metal machines.  Caroline, having explained the above to me, asked me if I had any questions.

"Yes," I said, "You're asking me to jump into a compactor and help you locate your file?"

She nodded.  "I'll get in huge trouble if I don't find it.  Do you mind?  I wouldn't ask you unless it was really, really important.  I'm really sorry."

I inquired further, "Why not ask someone from here at work, or a friend, instead of me, who you only just met?"

She said, "No one at work can find out!  And none of my friends are around at this time of day.  And besides, it would be too embarrassing.  You going to help?  Because we don't have a lot of time."

It was a bit miffed that she hadn't mentioned any of this before I had arrived, but that was besides the point.  She needed help.  I was dressed in a nice shirt and slacks.  I supposed that I could always visit a washing machine afterward and, I have to be honest, the idea of saving a nice young lady's job was appealing to me.

I asked the final, and likely most important question.  "Any chance that these will start compacting while we're inside of them?"

She said, "They can only be operated from the switch near the open hatch.  The person operating it will be able to see inside, and we can yell for them to stop.  I don't think that anyone's going to be coming down here until after most of us are out of the building, though."

While Caroline stripped off her outer clothes without a second thought, I opted to climb into the other compactor with my clothes on.  I couldn't help but notice a bruise on her thigh.

"From earlier today," she explained, "I hit myself climbing out.  Be careful."

Like Scrooge McDuck into a vault of gold coins, I waded my way into wet paper towels, gummy foodstuffs, and one sack that smelled a bit like old diapers.  If I didn't hug the sloping sides of the interior, the pile would have easily been up to my neck.  The smell became too rancid to bear, I switched to mouth-breathing, and forged on.

There was nothing for it but to tear open bag after bag, sift through the contents, and find that file folder.  Once or twice, I heard a "Shit!" or a, "Damn it!" from the direction of Caroline's compactor.  I went on.  It had to be there somewhere.

It was.  A little over half an hour later, I pulled a bent file folder out of a trash bag.  It was spattered in coffee grinds and some red fluid, but it was definitely what she was looking for.

I jumped out of my compactor and alerted her.  She screamed in joy, and I helped her climb out.  We were both a bit of a sight, but she looked far worse for wear.  My clothes were in a sorry state, but the look on her face made it completely worthwhile.

She asked if I could run and grab some paper towels and cups of water from the maintenance area, which I did.  She washed herself off as best as she could, pulled her clothes back on, and took the file.

She said that she wanted to repay me, and asked if I would wait for her to return the file upstairs.  I waited for a little bit on a bench near the maintenance area, and sure enough, she returned.

We agreed to clean ourselves up before anything else, so we went to our respective homes, showered, changed, and she took me out to dinner.

While being more-than-friends didn't work out, we're still friends, and I'll never forget how I met her in the first place.

Submitted by Brendan:

On my third date with Gwen, we finished our dinner and decided to take a walk outside in a nearby plaza.  It was a warm evening and there were plenty of produce stalls and craftspeople milling about.  Gwen had informed me that we couldn't spend too much time there, as she had to pick up a friend from the nearby airport in a little bit.

There was one booth in particular from which an older woman sold handmade picture frames and pens.  She had a scar on the left side of her face from her ear to her neck.

Gwen said, "Oh my God," and pointed, right in front of the woman.  Gwen continued, "What happened?"

The woman seemed taken aback, but she began telling a story about how she was born in Arkansas, fled an abusive home, went into college early, dropped out, re-enrolled, dropped out again, re-enrolled again, dropped out once more, saved some cats, worked at a flower shop...

I wasn't too interested, but I waited politely for a little bit.  That little bit turned into twenty minutes.  Then thirty.  Gwen was spellbound the entire time.  I didn't have a problem meeting new people, but we were on a date together.

Then the woman asked Gwen if she wanted to sit down.  Gwen did.  The woman went on, and I waited a little bit before telling Gwen that I was going to walk around a bit more.

Gwen said, "Yeah, yeah.  Whatever," and remained in rapt attention with the woman and her story.

After strolling around the area for a half-hour, I realized that it was about the time that Gwen had told me that she would have needed to end the date by in order to pick up her friend.

I returned to the pencil and frame stall, and Gwen was there, massaging the woman's scalp, as the woman's eyes fluttered in pleasure.  I reminded Gwen about her friend at the airport.  Gwen asked me if I would pick up her friend, as Gwen herself was too busy.  I refused.

Gwen said goodbye to the woman, called me selfish, ended the date, and I haven't heard from her from that day to this.

Submitted by David:

Andrea and I were out at dinner on our second date when she realized that her ex-boyfriend was sitting near us with another young lady.

Aside from mentioning that fact and studying them for a few moments, Andrea handled it maturely and we returned to our prior conversation.

It was close to a half-hour later, and I had actually forgotten about her ex at the neighboring table, when he and his date stood up to leave.  He spotted us, whispered something in his date's ear, and approached us.  His date continued outside.

"Hey Andrea," he said to her, then turned to me and continued, "Hey asshole."

I'm not antagonistic by practice, but the opportunity was too good to waste.  I replied, "I can see why Andrea broke up with you."

"Say that again?" he asked me, leaning in, then went on, "Andrea and I are none of your business, asshole."

I said, "There is no 'Andrea and you.'  You two aren't together anymore."

Andrea joined in.  "Who's the girl you're with?"

"None of your business," he said to her.

I said, "Well, then if it's none of my business and none of Andrea's, then why are you bothering us?"

He stepped back and smiled.  "I'll definitely be in touch with you," he pointed to Andrea, then said to me, "And I'll be waiting for you outside, asshole."

I wasn't in a mood to fight, but I was done talking.  Andrea apologized over and over, and I assured her that she had nothing to be sorry about.

When we finally went outside, her psycho ex was nowhere to be seen.  We made it back to our cars, though, and Andrea's window was smashed.

We called the cops, made a report, and we parted ways.  She must have said, "I'm so sorry" close to fifty times.

We're still dating, and that guy hasn't shown his face again.  Still, it's a little rough to be looking over your shoulder every time you take someone out.

Submitted by Nena:

I met Rick at a McDonald's. He seemed nice, and I gave him my number. We talked on the phone, sent text messages, and hung out once or twice a week, since we lived in the same area. We were both studying for our board exams: he studied engineering, and I went to nursing school. There were times when we'd just hang out and review together.

When our exams were done, he asked me out on a date. He said that he wanted it to be special, and he suggested a really nice place.  I'm from the Philippines and if any of you know about Tagaytay, it has lots of garden resorts and such, and he had planned to take me to one of them.

As we were nearing the place, I asked him to stop by a little store that sold huge pineapples. He stepped on the brakes and they did not work. He stepped on them again, harder this time, but still, nothing happened.

I tried to stay calm, but we crashed into a tree. I had several cuts, but nothing was broken. He sustained a fractured rib and fractured left arm.

The romantic date turned out to be a hospital vacation.

Submitted by Rene:

I had just moved to a new small town. Wanting to find someone to hang out with, I resorted to the Internet.

Ben messaged me, and I was rather reluctant to respond, because the pictures on his profile were that of a famous wrestler. That should have been my first clue. Nevertheless, his profile essays sounded sincere and down to earth.

We exchanged e-mails for a few days before I was comfortable enough to give him my phone number. When he called me, the voice on the other end sounded a lot older than his profile stated he was, so I asked him to e-mail me some recent pictures of himself.

The shots he sent were blurry and at a bad angle, but he appeared to be cute.  I told him so.  Big mistake. Not only did he sound surprised that I told him that, but he expressed that nobody had ever called him cute before.  That should have been my second clue.

We set up a movie date and agreed to meet in the theater parking lot.  When I spotted him, I wished that I could have jumped back into my truck and taken off.  He looked completely different from what he appeared to be in the pictures he had sent over. 

Oh well, what could one movie hurt? This was the only theatre in town, and I really wanted to see the film.

As we walked to the ticket booth, he grabbed for my hand. I politely told him that we just met, and I didn't think that sort of thing was appropriate just yet.

Once the film started, he put his arm around me. I told him that I didn't feel comfortable with him doing that. A little while into the movie, he reached for my hand again.  I moved my hand away.  He tried the arm around my shoulders again. I told him that I thought he was a nice guy, but if he didn't stop making me feel uncomfortable, I would move to another seat.

At the end of the movie, a very funny part came up, and he laughed so hard that a jet of snot shot out of his nose.  I saw it peripherally and tried my best to ignore it.

After the film was over, he walked me to my truck. I said my goodbye, told him that it was nice to have met him, and turned to unlock my door. He asked if he could at least have a hug.

It was then that I looked closer at his face and discovered the  huge glob of snot glistening from his nose to the side of his cheek!

He leaned in to kiss me, and I jumped back.  I told him that that was way beyond anything I do on a first date (with him, anyway), said goodbye again, and left.

Before I even got home, he had texted me four times telling me that he had a great time and couldn't wait to see me again.

After a week of his constant texts, I finally just told him that I didn't think we were a good match and wished him the best.

Submitted by Alexandra:

I had made the apparent mistake of writing "hiking" as an interest in my Internet profile.  For some reason, guys really seem to gravitate towards that.  I received messages like, "Hey, I like hiking, too. We should go on a hike together.  You know, just us," and "Hiking means that you're adventurous.  Are you adventurous in other ways, too?  JK, LOL.  Are you, though?"

These, of course, were ignored.  However, when Jeff wrote me, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and the very fact that he didn't mention anything even subtly implying sex (as far as I could tell) made me curious about him.

He asked me where I hiked around the area, and then asked if I had ever been to a place nearby called Hell's Canyon.  I hadn't been there, and he offered to take me there before lunch some weekend.

Despite the fact that he had offered to take me in broad daylight, I asked him if we could save it for another time.  For a first date, I liked the idea of keeping it simple.  Just lunch and seeing how things went.  He liked the idea.

Lunch was at a local diner-type place.  We sat down, and I noticed fairly quickly that something about him was a little off.  For starters he inserted the word, "daring" into almost each of his sentences:

"Meeting anyone in the real world from online is a little daring."

"I like to travel.  I've been to Canada.  I'm daring."

"These eggs are delicious.  Dare to try them."

At one point, after a lull in conversation, he said, "I can fill a coffee cup with urine from over ten feet away."

I took it as a joke and started to laugh, but he stared at me, dead serious.  I replied, "That's pretty daring."

Other than these quirks, he seemed like a decent guy.  When he asked me if I wanted to just drive by Hell's Canyon after lunch, I said that I'd do it, but that I wanted to take separate cars.

It was a bit further away than I thought it would be, but once we made it there, he parked and asked me if I would go just a little way in with him.  There was an easy in/easy out path with a cliff that looked over a forest.

I told him that I was afraid of heights.  He said that I didn't have to go close to the edge.

We made it to the overhang and he went to the edge, himself.  He looked over it and called back to me that I really should come and look with him.  I repeated that I didn't care for heights, and he promised that he'd prevent anything from happening to me.

Thinking, stupidly, that this was a good opportunity to demonstrate trust, I made my way, slowly, to where he stood.

I crept closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down, over the trees.  It was a beautiful sight, but I could feel my heart racing, and I retreated from the edge.

At least I tried to, because Jeff was standing less than a foot away, right behind me, blocking me.  I turned to look at him.  He smiled, grabbed my back, and made as if to push me over.

I screamed bloody, dripping murder and flailed, landing a solid crack to his face.  He pulled me back.

"Saved your life!" he said.

I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears, and when I looked at him again, he was rubbing his face.  "What was that for?" he asked.

I stammered, "You... you pushed me!  You know I'm afraid of heights!"

He rolled his eyes and said, "Where's your sense of adventure?" and he then stepped towards me, grabbed my shoulders, and made as if to push me off again.

This time, I landed my fist right on his ear, and would've grabbed his neck if he didn't let go.  He did.

Instead of waiting around for an explanation, I scrambled up the embankment.  He held his ear and was shouting expletives over and over.

The caring part of me would have stuck around to see if I had really hurt him, but I realized that he'd probably take advantage of that and make to push me off the cliff again, now that he knew how much I didn't like it.  I wouldn't have put it past him.

I hurried down the path, back to my car, climbed in, and drove off.

He called my cell.  I let it go to voicemail.  He called again, and then three times more.

When I made it home, I called one of my friends, who came by and listened to Jeff's voicemails with me:

"I locked my keys in my car!  You have to come back here and wait with me!"

"You bitch!  I can't hear out of my ear!  And I locked my keys in my car!  Get back here and help me get them out!"

"I locked my keys in my car!  It's going to be nighttime soon!  My ear hurts and you have to come back here and get my keys out of my car!"

It wasn't even noon yet.  I deleted each of his messages, and hung out with my friend, instead.

Submitted by Derrick:

Caroline, on her online profile, had posted some pictures of herself with stuffed animals.  Thinking this childlike but also charming, I e-mailed her, and we ultimately agreed to meet up.

We had arranged for a quick dinner and then maybe something else in town.  The day before, though, she called to ask if I could meet her at her house, and to bring a raincoat.

I asked her why, and she told me that it was a surprise.  As long as this surprise didn't involve an ambush and me dead, then I was sure that it would be enjoyable.

Raincoat in hand, I arrived at her house.  She opened her door wearing a dark blue apron with all manner of red stains on it.  Her hair was disheveled and she didn't at all look ready for a date, at least not the kind of dates I've been used to.

She led me downstairs, to her basement.  There were piles of vivisected stuffed animals and several skins hung from small, makeshift hooks.  Nearby, on a tray, there lay a pair of forceps and two very real-looking scalpels.

I looked at her apron, and she read my expression.  She said, "The blood on here, it's not from them.  It's from an actual butcher shop, though."

She pushed a stuffed elephant off of her operating table and motioned to it.  "Want to hop on?  We can do a pretend operation."

Having never had the opportunity to be operated upon in a filthy basement, I agreed, as long as I would be able to jump off whenever it became too creepy.

This visibly excited her, as evidenced by a little hop and a big smile.  She instructed me to lay out my raincoat on the table and lay on it, since the table was full of germs, as she put it.

I did this, and she pulled out some twine.  She tied one end of it around a metal knob off the corner of the table, and went to tie the other end around my right wrist.

I shook my head.  "No."

"It's to prevent you from thrashing.  You might hurt me."

I sat up and told her that I didn't really want to be on a table in her basement anymore.  Was she ready to head out?

She said that she would have to shower, change, primp, etc. and that it would take a while.  Apparently, she hadn't counted on actually leaving the house.

I told her that it was okay.  We could reschedule.  She really liked that idea, and she walked me out.

I never called her back.  I feel bad about it, but something about the whole thing was a turn-off.

Submitted by Mark:

Angela contacted me online.  She seemed like a pretty normal 32-year-old. We chatted, and over the course of our correspondences, she asked for my full name.  I didn't think anything of it at the time, so I gave it to her.  Shortly after this, she stopped messaging me, and I thought nothing of it.

About a month later, she got in contact and asked if I wanted to have a date with her.  We arranged a place to meet, but I was in for a surprise.

Angela said, "I looked your name up in the phone book and found two people with the same name and initials in the area. I called both of them. The first was your apartment, and I decided not to leave a message. The other person was Melissa."

Melissa is my cousin's wife, who I have only met twice and don't really know.

Angela said that she had two long conversations with Melissa. She had told Melissa that she had arranged a blind date with me from an online dating site, and wanted to know my dating history, my job situation, my salary, if I wanted children, if I had any mental disorders, and if Melissa had anything to warn her about.

She then congratulated me for passing the test.

I told her that I appreciated her honesty and her initiative.  However, I was a little weirded out by this.

Angela reassured me that there was nothing to be worried about.  She said that she was pleased to discover that our apartments were within walking distance of each other.

At this point alarm bells were going off, however I was also concerned about how she'd react if I didn't meet her.  We arranged to meet at a well-populated local cafe the next day.

I arrived at the cafe to see a very large woman in her 40s. The woman resembled Angela and approached me with, "Hi, Mark."

She was visibly shaking, and I became a little concerned.  I suggested sitting down for a chat and a drink.

Angela explained that apart from interviewing my cousin's wife, she had done some pretty thorough checks on the Internet about me as well.

I explained that I appreciated her honesty, however I really didn't feel at all comfortable or feel a connection with her, especially as her photo and profile seemed to be significantly out of date.

Angela became very defensive and told me that I wouldn't have met her if she had put a current photo up. I agreed. I wished her all the best for her future and left.

Submitted by Laura:

After a couple of messages via a dating site, Phil sent me a drunken e-mails around midnight, telling me how amazing he thought I was and how much he couldn’t wait to meet me.

This was followed by another e-mail sent at 9am, apologising for being, “a bit drunk the previous night,” and sending embarrassing e-mails.

I was slightly concerned, but everyone does daft things occasionally, so I still agreed to meet him.

When I got to our meeting place, I didn’t recognise him at all: he had lied about his height (definitely not over 6 feet tall.  Why lie about that?  It's not like I wouldn't find out in person!) and didn’t look like his photo.

The first thing he said was, “Sorry, I’m wearing the wrong trousers.”  Huh?  I suggested a bar over the river, so we walked found an outdoor table on the South Bank.

He went to get the drinks, and while he was gone, I got a call from a mate asking if I was free to go to a gig that night.  I said that I was on a date that already didn’t seem to be going too well, but I couldn’t really get away.

Phil came back as I put the phone away and asked if that was my “emergency call from a friend.”  I thought it a tactless thing to bring up. 

I explained what the call had been about, and he told me that he’d told his mates about me and that they thought that we should get married, as I also liked rock music and had a tattoo.

The final straw was when he knocked the remainder of my pint over a silk handbag my sister had bought me as a gift from Vietnam. I dashed off to try to dry it.

When I got back, he valiantly tried to continue the conversation, but when he offered me another drink, I just couldn’t face carrying on.

I still can’t quite believe that I managed to do this, but I said, “Sorry, I don’t want to waste my time or yours, but I’m going to go now.”

He said, “Right, okay,” and made as if to walk back to the tube with me.  Gah, awkward!  I made the excuse of stopping to call my mate, and thankfully he took the hint and, waving over his shoulder in my vague direction, he walked off into the sunset, never to be seen again.

Phew. The whole date start to end took 20 minutes, including a walk over the Thames... a record surely?

Submitted by Shannon:

I met Albert at a lingerie-themed house party in college.  He was cute and we hit it off well, so we swapped numbers.

A few days later, he called and asked me out to a movie.  He said that he wanted to see a new movie called Shortbus.  I hadn't heard of it, but agreed anyway.

Shortbus turned out to be just short of a porno.  I wish that I had known that when I had agreed to see it with him.  It was definitely not something that I was expecting.  At that time, I wasn’t really into the indie film industry, and as a girl from a small town living in a fairly large city, it was pretty shocking.  But I tried to be cosmopolitan about it and laughed it off.

After the movie, we went to a hookah lounge.  We made small talk when he said that he had a secret to tell me.  "I'm really a freshman, I'm 18."

At the party, he had indicated that he was my age, 21, a junior.  "Okay, well, thanks for being honest," I replied.  I had dated younger men before, so no big deal.

"I've got another one for you," he continued, "About six months ago, I got a girl pregnant."

I started choking.  When I had recovered, he rushed to say, "We were stupid and weren't using a condom.  I totally learned my lesson from it.  It's cool.  She paid for the abortion."

I was raised a pretty strict Catholic, and for a first date, I didn't expect to be told about his past impregnation of a girl and the abortion of his baby.

He went on, "About two months ago, I got a different girl pregnant.  She said that she couldn't get pregnant, so we didn't use condoms.  It wasn't my fault.  She was excited about the baby, but I convinced her to have an abortion too, and I paid for it again."

That ended the date.

Moral of the story: he was going to impregnate me and then pay for my abortion.

Submitted by Erik:

I commute from the suburbs into the city each weekday, and, as I've been doing it for some time, I've fallen into a bit of a groove.  I would sit on the same seat on the train every morning for probably close to a year.  There were even other "regulars" who I would greet almost each day.

One of these was Mallory.  She was very pretty and worked in an architect's office.  We'd exchange pleasantries, but never much else.  We were just train acquaintances, after all.

Around Christmastime, I was therefore surprised that she gave me a bottle of wine with a ribbon on it.  It was a touching gesture, and even more unexpected was her suggestion that we share it.  It was a Friday, and I suggested meeting up in the city after we were both done at work.

She picked an expensive place for dinner, but I was, stupidly, smitten with her, and I didn't think much of it at the moment.

She didn't say very much at dinner, despite my best attempts to make conversation.  I figured that she was shy, and was willing to forgive that.

After dinner, she suggested that we go back to her friend's place to share the wine.  The evening was potentially looking up.

We made it back to her friend's apartment.  No one else seemed to be home.  We opened the wine and then she started opening up a little.  For some reason or another, she started talking about her friend.  She told me how smart, fun, attractive, etc. her friend was.  It honestly felt as if she was setting me up.

All I could say to all of the friend's accolades was, "I hope to meet her, someday."

Mallory gave me a look and said, "My friend's Jason.  I think you guys would make a great match.  Want to meet him?  He's in his room."

I'm not gay.  Maybe I unknowingly give off the vibe, but the idea that the evening was just an excuse to liquor me up and set me up with another dude... no.  Not my thing.

I told Mallory that I wasn't into guys, and that I had thought that the evening was a date between myself and her.

"Why would you think that?" she asked, "I have a boyfriend!"

It would have been nice to know this going in, but she wasn't done.  "Just meet Jason!" as if me meeting him would be enough to change my orientation.

She knocked on Jason's door.  No answer.  She knocked again.  Nothing.  She pulled out her phone, called him up.

"I'm going to go, I think," I said, standing up.

"Don't!" she said, "I'll get him here.  He'd love a guy like you.  Just meet him!  Don't worry!"

Oh, I was worried, all right.  We had drank most of a bottle of wine between the two of us, but my sober-emergency-backup-generator kicked in, and I stumbled out.

"Wait!" she yelled, "Wait!  He's on his way!"

But I was long, long gone.

Submitted by Neva:

Corey had written in his dating site profile that his ideal first date would be a light dinner followed by a walk in a park, where he could play his guitar for any willing woman.

I like dinners, I like guitar music, and I liked the way that Corey sounded otherwise, so we made a date of it.

Sure enough, he brought his guitar with him.  He asked if we could take a walk and if I would mind listening to him play.  I didn't mind at all, and we found a park bench.

He opened his guitar case, but there was no guitar inside.  However, there was a flute case.

He looked up at me and smiled.  "I don't really play the guitar," he confessed, "but I do play the flute.  It's similar to a guitar.  Would you like to hear it?"

I was a combination of surprised, perturbed, and unimpressed, but before I could reply, he whipped out his flute and played "Mary Had a Little Lamb."  Twice.

He asked me if I wanted to hear another song, any one at all.  I asked him if he could play, "The Shadow of Your Smile."

He played "Mary Had a Little Lamb" again, then stopped and smiled at me.

I was about ready for dinner by this point, but he wasn't through yet.  He asked me if he could play "Mozart's flute solo" for me.

I expected another round of "Mary Had a Little Lamb," but I was surprised.  This time, he played, "Happy Birthday To You" with the talent you'd expect from someone who had never played it before.

I said, "Happy birthday to me.  Good job.  Ready for dinner?"

He asked me, "Can I play the flute for you again after dinner?  I know some show tunes."

I told him, "Why spoil me?  You don't want to put all of your best stuff up front."

At one point during dinner, he offered to take his flute out and play a song from The Music Man, but I told him that the cafe was probably not the best place to break out the flute.

After dinner, it was dark out, and I wanted to go home.  He said that he wanted to play a new composition, "My own first symphony.  I know you said not to put my most impressive stuff up front, but what the hell, right?"

Right.  He pulled out the flute right there on the sidewalk and played, "Mary Had a Little Lamb" over and over.

"I'm going to head home," I told him.

He finished the movement and bowed.  I clapped.  He told me that he hoped to see me again.  I told him that we'd see, and I took off.

Submitted by Neil:

Alana was freshly out of a long-term relationship and was slowly, carefully, testing the waters of online dating.  I found her profile, liked what I read, and thought her one of the prettiest girls with long brown hair who I had seen in a while.

She seemed sensitive, but receptive to meeting new people and seeing how things went.  She told me that I'd be the first guy she had been on a date with since her last boyfriend.  I promised her that I'd take things slow and let her set the pace.

She set the time and place for our date, a little mom and pop coffee shop on the main street, and I arrived early.  Then she showed up.

Remember that long brown hair I had mentioned?  Well, Alana showed up stark bald, and not just regular bald.  She showed up bald and sported a giant, dark blue, symbol-tattoo thing on top of her head.  It looked like a stylized letter M with claws sticking out of each of its prongs.  Wow.

I very nearly didn't recognize her when she stood next to me and introduced herself.  It took a moment to register who she was, and then of course I smiled and greeted her, although I was puzzled.

We ordered our drinks and sat down.  I asked her what was with the head tattoo.  She said that it was a symbol that her ex-boyfriend had created, and that she liked it.  She informed me that the design was temporary, like a henna tattoo.

"When did you apply it?" I asked.

She said, "A couple of days ago."

That's where the conversation ended, because at that moment, she looked towards the front door and stood up as a tall, weedy guy entered, sporting a trench coat and a vague mustache.

"There he is," she said, and stood up to meet him.

Of course, she must have planned this all out.  I watched from the table as she walked over to him.  He saw her, and I have to confess that I never want to see a look of horror cross a man's face the way that I saw one spill across this guy's.  He jumped back as she reached out to touch him, and he booked it out of the place.  That turned some heads.

Alana stood still for a moment, like she was trying to figure out her next move.  On one hand, there was me, a weirdo from the Internet.  On the other, there was the guy who had featured in all of her maniacal obsessions.

Of course, she followed him out.  Luckily, we had both already paid (separately) for our drinks.  I thought it only polite to wait for her, but I shouldn't have bothered.  She didn't come back.

Submitted by Clinton:

I had offered to take Julianne out for dinner, but she insisted on lunch on a Saturday, two weeks into the future.  She claimed that it was the only time she that had free in her schedule.

We spent the ensuing two weeks in touch, and although I was initially excited to meet her, we ran out of things to talk about pretty quickly.  It was like she wasn't really interested in me anymore, and to be honest, the feeling was becoming mutual.

Still, she usually made the effort to call me when I didn't call her, and she at least attempted conversation.  Maybe she just wasn't that good at communication over the phone.

The day of our lunch date came.  We had picked out a diner with outdoor seating, and wouldn't you know it, we actually had a good time, at first.  She seemed about ten times as into me as she had been over the phone.  Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Towards the end of lunch, she asked me if I wanted to go back to her house to hang out for a bit.  Thinking this a positive sign, I agreed.

We made it back to her place, and her mother was home.  I introduced myself to her, and her mother said to Julianne, "I'm glad you found an able-bodied man to help you out."

I turned to Julianne.  "Help you out?  With what?"

Julianne said, "Come on.  I'll show you."

She led me up to her room, which was a complete disaster area.  Piles of clothes, books, stuffed animals, unmentionables... you quite literally couldn't even see the floor.

I asked Julianne, "What is it that I'm helping you with?"

She replied, "I'm moving out of my mother's house today, and I need your help to pack up my stuff and move it to my new place.  I couldn't get anyone else to help me, and it needs to get done today."

This was not what I had signed up for when I had agreed to the date.  Still, I thought that it wouldn't hurt to help her out a little bit.  Then again, it was pretty convenient that she had never mentioned moving in any of our communications beforehand.

The problem was that Julianne had thrown everything into a big pile in her room and had no plan for how to organize it or even pack it.  She didn't have any boxes or any bags.

"We can just grab handfuls of stuff and throw it into my car," she said. 

After a few back-and-forth trips, to and from her car, I told her that I was probably going to go.  I didn't like leaving a woman in need, but at the same time, I really felt as if I had been suckered into spending the day helping her.

She didn't take it very well.  She said, "But we can still talk and have fun while we're doing this!  If we pack up your car with my stuff, too, then it'll get done twice as fast!  I can be all set up in my new place before the end of the day!"

The idea of carting all of her junk to wherever her new place was, helping her set everything back up, organize her closet, etc... I just couldn't.

I told her that I was probably going to go.  She then became less upset and more seductive.  She told me that if I helped her, she'd "make it worth my time."

Oh, so if I help you, my reward is giving both of us an orgasm?  How was I ever attracted to this girl?  I told her thanks but no thanks, and I headed out.

She didn't follow me out of her house at first, but when I started up my car, she ran out, alongside my vehicle, and started hitting my windshield with an old apron, over and over.

I pulled away, and that was that.

Submitted by Dina:

My first date with Patrick was originally planned to be a short meet and greet over a cup of coffee, since my 2-year-old cousin's birthday party was later that same afternoon.  Still, we were able to pack our time together with a good talk.

He told me more about himself, how he was relatively new in town, etc.  I told him that I had a fun family and a good relationship with my brother.

We ended up having such a good time with each other that I called my family to ask them if it would be okay for me to invite him along to the party, as a friend.  They said that it was fine, and he seemed really into the idea.

However, Patrick became really shy once we made it to my cousins' house, despite my best efforts to introduce him to everyone and include him in conversation. 

I took him aside to ask him if he was okay, and he assured me that he was.  He said that he was having a good time.

At one point or another he broke away from me to speak to some of my family members, and I was pleased that he was finally breaking the ice a bit.

Not too long after, my older brother, Rick, sought me out and brought me into a side room.  He told me that Patrick had asked him if we (my brother and I) had ever messed around.

I told Rick that he had to have been mistaken, or misunderstood what Patrick had actually been asking.  I couldn't imagine anyone asking that of anybody's sibling, ever.  Gross!

When Rick and I left the room, Patrick stood nearby, by himself, and of course he saw us.  Rick continued back into the party, but I approached Patrick.

"Had fun?" Patrick asked.

I asked him if everything was okay.  He said, "You know, it all makes sense.  Back when you said that you and your brother had a good relationship... I couldn't believe that you had said it, but now I see... and I'm sorry, but I can't really handle this."

He shouldered past me, and I ran in front of him.  "What are you talking about?  You don't honestly believe that my brother and I... ewww!  I said that we had a good relationship!  Not a sexual one!  Are you serious?"

He put up his hands and said, "I... just, no," and made for the front door.

I let him go, and he drove off.  I didn't hear from him again, and although I was really upset about it at the time (my brother took my out for ice cream afterward, and NO, we didn't do anything else), I think that things worked out for the best.  I mean, saying that you have a good relationship with someone doesn't imply anything other than a good relationship, does it?

Submitted by Ryan:

Ashley and I met online, talked, seemed to be a good match, and arranged a first date.  We agreed that I would pick her up at her house.

Unfortunately, earlier in the day, I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me, because by the time I had left work and made it to Ashley's I had to use a restroom.  Badly.

She pointed me in the direction of her upstairs bathroom, and I went right for it.  Ahhhh...

What I failed to notice upon entering was that there was a tiny bit of toilet paper left.  Thinking that spare rolls must have been stored under the sink or inside of a cabinet nearby, I didn't think much of it at the moment.

I opened the cabinet under the sink.  Nothing.  A white wicker cabinet hung above the toilet.  I opened it.  No dice.  Panic set in.

I had no choice.  I called for her.  "Ashley!  Do you have any extra toilet paper?"

No answer.  I called louder.  She ran upstairs.  On the other side of the door, she asked, "Oh my God, what's wrong?"

I said, "I... uh... I may need some toilet paper."

"That's it?  The way you were shouting, it sounded like someone got murdered."

Well I had just murdered her toilet, but that was besides the point.  "Do you have extra toilet paper?" I asked. 

She said, "Yeah, it's in the attic.  Do you need it now?"

The attic seemed like a curious place to keep spare toilet paper.  More curious than that was her question regarding whether or not I needed it now.  No, I need it next week.

"Yes," I answered, "I'd like it now."

She told me to hold on.

Fifteen minutes later, she came back.  "We don't have any more.  Sorry."

Crap.  I asked, "Do you have any tissues?  Paper towels?"

"Yeah, why?" she said, as if she truly didn't understand why I was asking her.

"Okay.  Can you grab some for me?"

"Did you spill something?" she asked.

"No.  Can you grab them?"

"What did you spill?"

"Just grab them!"

A minute or so later, she knocked on the bathroom door.  I wobbled over to it, pants around my ankles, and stuck my hand out.  She handed me a dish towel.

I asked her, "Do you have any paper products?  I have to... you know... I need it for toilet paper."

"No," she said, her voice rising with impatience, "Just hurry up!"

The hell with it, I thought, this is crazy.  I grabbed the towel and closed the door.  I then wiped myself with the towel, after which it looked like something you'd find on the floor of an auto body shop.  I threw it into the bathtub, flushed the toilet, turned the shower on, washed as much as I could off of the towel, wrung it out, washed my hands copiously, and opened the door.

There she was.  "Where's the towel?" she asked.

I offered to put in the the laundry for her, or, possibly, to replace it.

She asked, "Why?  What did you do with it?"

I thought that my reasons for requesting toilet paper or paper products would have been crystal clear.  However, because she didn't figure that out, I was in trouble.  I thought of every excuse I could, but nothing would really explain the darn stains on the dish towel that may or may not come out in the wash.  Also, I tended to doubt that they'd ever use it to dry dishes again, no matter how much it was washed.  I had to fess up.

I did, and Ashley was not pleased.  "What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, "You're a sicko!  Get out of my house!"

I know for a fact that I had told her that I needed something to use as toilet paper.  Could I have been much clearer?  The date was over before it began, and if she didn't keep her spare toilet paper in the attic (or had spare toilet paper to begin with) then it all could have been avoided. 

Submitted by Heather:

Jeremy was adamant from the get-go about stargazing on our date.  Having some experience, the first thing I thought was that it was an excuse to have me alone in the dark.  I don't mean to self-flatter, but 100% of the few other times that the idea has been floated in prior circumstances, that's what the guy had meant.

Jeremy was sure to head me off at the pass with, "This isn't an excuse to mess around.  I honestly want to stargaze."  The guy was very friendly and seemed likable, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The night of the date, it was cloudy, so it made stargazing a non-issue.  Or so I thought.

"I know a place where the sky is clear," he said, "It's out in the country."

I told him that I didn't really want to drive out in the country with him on a first date.  No offense.  Also, in retrospect, how could you know of a place where the sky was clear, out in the country?  Something's fishy...

But he was equal to it.  "It's okay.  I know of another place.  Not too far from here."

There were a lot of clouds that night, but maybe he had access to some advanced weather data.  Or maybe he was lying.  Either way, we had dinner, during which he told me about how he was trying to invent a vegetarian flavor that tasted like bacon.

"But you know all about the taste of bacon, don't you?" he asked me.

I asked him what he was talking about.  He said, "You know.  Vagina."  Hmmm.

Stargazing time.  It was still cloudy.  He led me up to a hill in a park near a traffic circle.  "Here's a good spot," he said, under the trees, under the clouds.

When I informed him that I didn't think that we'd see any stars, much less much sky from that position, he said, "I've got them right here..." and he unzipped his pants.

Finding it hard to maintain composure, I warned him that anything he showed me from his pants was liable to be torn off.  That stopped him, and he asked me what I wanted to do.  I told him that I wanted to go home and have some ice cream.

He asked if he could come.  I told him no.

Submitted by Dustin:

I met Christina while volunteering at a local charity dinner. We hit it off and she invited me to drinks with her and her friends after the charity event, I accepted and we had a blast.

We continued to talk all week and we also hung out a few times. She was several years older than I – I’m 24 and she said she was 28 – but I figured that age was just a number.  Besides, she definitely knew how to have a good time.

The following week was Halloween and Christina invited me to her sister’s birthday costume party. I thought it was a bit strange to be invited to a family event, but Christina's stepfather was actually quite wealthy and the party was going to be held in one of the nicest hotels in the city. I didn't really want to pass up that opportunity.

It was a dance party in the hotel bar. Christina informed me that she had actually reserved an extra room at the hotel for her and I (and another female friend of hers) to crash in if the party went crazy and we were too inebriated to drive home.

The night began and I had a blast drinking champagne and top-shelf liquor. Over the course of the night Christina became hammered and I learned plenty of details about her life.

"I have two kids," she began, "But they don't live with me because I'm unemployed, stressed out, and, let's face it, I need a break from them."

She took another drink and went on, "I've been divorced twice: my first ex tried to kill me, but it didn't work.  My second ex is still one of my best friends, and I tell him each day that I love him..." 

Finally, she confessed, "I'm really 32."

All of this information was news to me, and I was planning an exit strategy.  Unfortunately I was too drunk to flat out leave, so I told Christina that I was going to pass out in the reserved hotel room.

"That's fine," she replied. "I'm gonna stay a bit longer."

Thinking that it was no big deal, I fell asleep in the hotel room.

An hour later, the phone rang.  It was Christina.  "You need to come back to the party.  My brother just gave me mushrooms for the first time. You have to come babysit me."

When I arrived back at the party, I offered to take her to the hotel room to go to bed.  She got really mad at me for asking her to leave and she demanded that I stay. I told her I was not going to stay and that I was actually going to pack up my things and call a cab.

The next day she texted me to ask me if it was over. I didn’t dignify the question with a response.

Submitted by Tony:

I was coming down from a busy few months at work (I'm an accountant) and finally had time to go out with people.  My work life isn't too exciting, so I try to have fun hobbies.  One of these hobbies is billiards.  I've done well at some regional competitions, although I've never competed at the national level.

Carly was someone I met on the Internet, and as it turned out, she was also into pool.  We talked about it for a while, but when it came time for a date, she asked that we not go to a pool hall, because she was afraid of looking like an idiot while playing against me.

I assured her that she wouldn't look like an idiot, but I respected her request.  Dinner and play-it-by-ear was fine with me.

Dinner went well.  We had a good conversation, but whatever initial excitement I had felt just wasn't there.  We made small talk, but it seemed like we ran out of things to talk about.  Maybe it was her, maybe it was me.  Who knows?  Who cares?

After dinner, we took a walk in a downtown area.  We went by a boutique that had all kinds of really big women's hats, like Kentucky Derby hats.  Carly plastered herself to the window.

"Oh my God..." she began.  She was in awe of one of the hats, a white and green frilly thing.  Then she turned to me and asked, "Isn't it beautiful?"

I joked, "It's not my style," but she wasn't listening.  She was already inside, trying it on.

I followed her in.  The hat cost close to $600.  "It's so beautiful," she said, then glanced at me and said, "It's so beautiful."

"It is unique," I sort-of agreed.

"It's beautiful," she repeated, then did something strange.  She started lightly rubbing my back with her fingertips.

Of course, I knew exactly what she was doing.  She was going kamikaze on the date by implying that I should buy the hat for her.  $600 on a first date?  On a hat?  Was she out of her mind?

Yep.  She gazed at it longingly as the saleswoman put it back in the window.  "It's so beautiful," she said again, as if me hearing how beautiful something was a hundred times would make me want to spend $600 on it.

Now, don't get me wrong.  Some pool cues are $600.  I don't take issue with someone's interests.  Just if their interest extends to me buying it for them.

I thanked the saleswoman and made for the door.  Carly didn't move.  She gave me a look that I'm sure she meant to be seductive and asked, "Tony, would you like to see me in that hat again?"

I said, "If it'll make you happy."

She asked, "What will make you happy?"

I replied, "Leaving this store."

Carly stopped with the seductive look and said, "I think that I'm going to stay here and look around.  You can go if you want to."

I stuck around for a few minutes to see if she'd tire of her game.  When she didn't, I wished her a good night and hurriedly made my exit.

She called me not too long after to ask me why, if I was as good at pool as I was, why couldn't I afford to make a woman happy.  I told her that if a $600 hat would make her happy, then a $600 pool cue would do the same for me.  Would she buy it for me?

"That's not the same thing!" she said, but I was done.  I brought the conversation to an end, and by now, she's probably found some sap to buy her a frilly hat.

Submitted by Janie:

Chris was an engineering grad student at a nearby university.  His online profile made him appear smart, fun, and unusually deep.  Plus, we liked a lot of the same music, so I decided to give him a chance.  Our first date was in a public park.

It turned out that he was very fascinated with himself, and didn't seem too into me at all.  At one point, he said, "Wow, so you're a teacher?  That's very interesting!  I'm so lucky to be on a date with a teacher."  You know, like I was a 5-year-old.

He talked a lot about polymer engineering, and asked to see my cell phone.  It was an older Nokia, and I handed it to him.

He turned it around and around in his hands.  He asked me, "Isn't this one of the really durable models?"

Before I could answer, he knelt down and slammed it onto the ground, twice.  I jumped back, then found my voice and yelled, "What the hell?"

He handed it back to me with a smile, like he had proudly proven himself right.  The display was cracked.  Badly.

"Um..." I began, and showed him the damage.

He glanced at it.  "What?" he asked.

"You broke the display.  I think that you owe me a new phone."

He made a face and started making excuses.  "It was probably like that beforehand.  It wasn't my fault.  Those are built to last."

"No... you just slammed it against the ground.  I want you to replace it."

He grinned.  "No."

Well, this brought the date to a speedy close.  I told him that I had to go.  He seemed genuinely surprised that I wanted to leave, and even said, "I can't believe you'd want to go just because you broke your own phone."

What a psycho.  It turned out all right, though.  I filed a police report on my way home, and a little over a week later, a shiny, certified check for the cost of a replacement phone, down to the penny (and including tax!), arrived from Chris in the mail.  Thank you!