Submitted by Darlene:

Henry took me to a late-afternoon wine tasting.  It was a lot of fun, although he seemed quiet and a little shaky.  I did my best to put him at ease (I was nervous, too!) but each time I reached out to him, it seemed to make him retreat a bit more.

We met online, and I was just out of a long-term relationship.  He said that he wanted to go slow, and that was just my speed.

After the wine event, he asked if I wanted to go for a walk in a local park.  It was cooling off, and we'd likely have been able to see the sunset.

We went down a few paths, and finally made it to an overlook by a set of train tracks and a wide river.  I stopped and looked at the landscape.  Henry wrapped his arms around me from behind and gave me a hug.  I thought it was a nice gesture.

Then I felt his boner.

I pulled away slightly, but he held on.  "Henry," I said, trying to brush it off, "Are you ready for dinner?"

He sighed, then said, "I guess.  Can you feel my boner?"

I yanked myself away, creeped out, but still hoping to diffuse the situation with good humor.  "I sure did.  But maybe we could have dinner?"

"Maybe you could have my boner for dinner."

I shifted from "he's an adorable, horny rapscallion" mode to "get away from him" mode.  I said, "It's a little fast, you know, it being a first date.  Maybe we could do dinner and then see how things go?"

"I'm already hard," he said.

"I'd bet that you can make it go hard at least twice in a day, can't you?" I asked, saying anything I could to move us toward his car and away from isolation.

He agreed to this, and we left.  After some discussion, we went to dinner at a good place, all the while the gears were turning... how was I going to escape this guy.

I settled on saying good night right after leaving the restaurant.  We'd be out on a public street.  I began yawning and trying to look droopy-eyed, so as to appear more tired than I actually was.  I mentioned the busy day I had.

As predicted, once we were outside, he said, "So, where to next?" and he patted his crotch.

I said, "I'm really too tired."

He said, "I'd wake you up."

I said, "No.  Take me home."

He stared at me, then laughed.  He must have taken what I said for a joke, because he said, "I'm going to turn around and imagine myself fucking you.  Once I'm hard, I'll turn back around, and if you're still there, then we have to do it.  Got it?"

"If I'm still here?" I confirmed.

"Yes."

He turned around and, while standing on the sidewalk, manipulated himself.  I didn't stick around to find out how fast he could harden.  As quietly as I could, I slipped away and ducked down as many side streets as I could.  At every noise, I turned around to make sure that he wasn't following me.

I made it home on my own, and, thankfully, never heard from him again.

Submitted by Danny:

Ivy and I had been getting to know each other for a while.  We met online, and had been on several dates.  I had very little doubt that my relationship with her had high potential to become something more.

I had an idea for an overnight date, camping at a park.  She loved the idea, and we went out shopping together for supplies.  We were both very excited.

I had an old tent, but it wasn't really in great shape, so I bought a new one for the trip, and hopefully more trips to come.

We made it to the site and set up camp.  I was in charge of the tent.

I put it up quickly and exactly according to the instructions.  When Ivy saw it, she said, "Whoops!"

I wasn't sure what the problem was.  She said, "Looks wrong."

I double-checked the instructions.  It was symmetrical, upright, and everything seemed to check out.  She elaborated, "It looks too low."

The instructions said that it would be of a certain height, and it certainly seemed to be that height.  I opened it up and showed her the inside.  The walls were taught, and there was plenty of space.

She took it down and re-pitched it.  It looked exactly the same.

"Something still doesn't look right," she said, and looked at the instructions for a while.

I said that it looked good to me, and that I wanted to finish prepping the area.  Instead, she took it down and pitched it once more.  It looked the same.

"Something's wrong with the tent," she announced, "We have to return it."

I said that I'd consider it after the trip.

"The trip is ruined," she said, "Our tent doesn't work."

I went inside, zipped it up, and rolled around in it.  It worked just fine.  "It works just fine!" I reported.

Next thing I knew, the blade of a small hunting knife I had brought jabbed through the fabric, inches from where I was.

I shouted and scrambled out of the tent.  "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded from Ivy, who was holding the knife and looking at it.

She said, "The material of the tent's too weak, too.  Now you have to return it.  Let's go."

I could have stayed and argued with her.  Instead, I nodded, packed everything back up, dropped her back off at home, forgot all about her, had the tent patched up, and have gone camping with it, with other people, a few times since. 

Submitted by Joan:

Alex wanted to take me to the top of a lighthouse for our first date.  Nevermind that the closest lighthouse was a couple of hours away.  He said that he'd take me out to dinner at a restaurant on the shore and then we could climb to the top of the tower.  Sounded unusual but fun to me.

Alex was two hours late in picking me up.  He didn't call, and none of my calls to him were answered, so I assumed that he was standing me up.  Imagine my surprise when I was in the process of making alternate plans when he knocked at my door.  "Ready to go?"

He apologized for being late, mumbled something about bad traffic and being out of cell phone range.  This was in a city with excellent cell reception, but I was willing to put it aside.  Fun times were potentially ahead.

It took us about two hours to make it to the coast.  The restaurant and lighthouse were both closed.  He became a bit distraught and led me down to the beach, where he kicked sand in every direction until he had made a sizable trench.  Then he offered to drive me home.  I asked him if we could stop somewhere for a quick dinner.  Fast food, any food, it didn't matter.

He sped back and we stopped at a 24-hour McDonald's.  When we made it to the drive-through window, he turned to me and asked if I'd pay for everything.  I told him that I wouldn't.  He sped off, mumbling something about eating the charcoal briquettes behind his back seats.

He didn't say anything else to me until he dropped me off at home.  "I had a great time.  Want to make out all night?"

I considered it, then realized that I didn't want to.  I shook my head and left his car.  One of the longest, strangest, and most awkward dates on which I've ever been.

Submitted by Justin:

On her online profile, Erica had listed over three dozen countries that she had visited.  That alone intrigued me enough to write to her.  We decided to meet in person after a couple of weeks of messaging.

She asked if it was okay if she picked me up, rather than the reverse.  I didn't have a problem with that, and so she did.

On our way to dinner, we passed a thin, 30ish hitchhiker in a flannel shirt and a backpack with a handwritten sign on cardboard: "Florida."

She slowed the car down.  I asked, "What are you doing?"

She accelerated past him and said, "That poor kid... he looked so tired."

I didn't say anything to that, but said a silent, thankful prayer that she didn't stop to pick him up.

She turned to me and went on, "Should we pick him up?"

I told her that it was probably for the best that we didn't pick him up.  After all, this was a date.  I shifted the subject to her travel adventures, and she eagerly followed me there.

Towards the end of dinner, I had forgotten all about the hitchhiker.  Erica asked for a chicken parmesan to go.

"For the hitchhiker," she explained, "If we pass him again."

I hoped we wouldn't.  Of course, we did.  She stopped the car and unlocked it. He climbed in without even speaking to us, first.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

She handed him the chicken parm.  He tore into it without a thank-you.  She said, "Where can we take you?"

"Florida."

"We can bring you to the edge of town."

He pointed his plastic fork at me.  "This your boyfriend?" he asked.

"No.  He's just a friend," she said.

He belched in response.  I was silent the entire time.  She drove him to the edge of town, and let him out.

"Bye!" he said, and slammed the door behind himself.

She drove away then turned to me.  "What's your problem?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Exactly.  You didn't say hi or anything.  It was like he was an unwelcome visitor.  You could've been nicer to him."

"You're right."

I agreed with her until she let me back off at my house, where I exited and initiated my plan to never speak to that crazy woman again.

Submitted by Lilly:

Jonah explained from the beginning that he was a man of mystery:

He wrote, "People like to think that I'm an all-around good guy, and I am.  But I have certain things from my past that I want to keep secret.  I'm sure that everyone does."

I wrote back, "Just so long as one of those certain things isn't, 'I'm a serial killer,' or something similar."

"No!  God no!  Nothing at all similar to that!" he wrote back, "I just have certain secrets that the whole world would probably be way better off not knowing."

Ah, melodrama.  I'm sure that he had broken a few hearts, hurt people along the way... everyone does.  I liked everything else about him.  That is, aside from the fact that he worked in his little bit about keeping secrets with each exchange.

Before meeting up for the first time, we spoke on the phone.  As a joke, I asked him, "So, tell me one of your deep, dark secrets."  I meant it to be fun and flirtatious.

He took a deep breath and sighed.  "Let's just say that you'd have second thoughts about meeting me if you knew."

Again, at this point, I was reasonably sure that he was just kidding around, or that he was making too big a deal out of something minor.  I was expecting "I had a homosexual experience in college" or "I spied on my sister undressing."

We met up, and he did come across as a good guy.  A little nervous, but I chalked that up to first-date anxiety.  I was nervous, too.  However, unlike him, I didn't keep looking over my shoulder and biting my lip.  He was seriously uptight about something, and I think that it was more than the date.

I asked him what was going on.  He asked me to tell him something about myself that I considered secret, and then he'd tell me his deep, dark tale.

I told him that I had stolen a bike during freshman year in college, and returned it two years later.  I had never told anyone this before.

He leaned in close to me and said, "I did something awful a few years ago too.  Ever since then, I've had a kind of physical... issue."

"Impotence?" I asked, perhaps a bit too loud.  Sorry.

He said, "I did a ritual with a girlfriend and now... I have two dicks."

You read that right.  I was in a great mood that night, so I didn't see any harm in indulgence.  He repeated what he said, and explained that he had a second member above his naturally occurring man-growth.

I told him, "That's awesome.  Can I see?"

I wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass me up.  There are only so many times that a woman experiences a two-pronged man in her lifetime.  I wasn't about to put my mouth or my lady-parts on top of him... I just wanted to see.

He nodded solemnly.

After dinner, we went to my car, I drove to a little suburban street, parked, and asked him to yank down his pants.  He did.

He had a regular, floppy wang.  Just one.

"I see one," I said.

He groaned and parted some of his hair.  There, just barely poking up from his skin, was a little pimple.  Emphasis on little.

I laughed.  "I wouldn't go around bragging that that's a second penis anymore... and especially if it was your first one, and the second one's the larger."

He laughed a bit himself, then reached for my head.  I anticipated this, and shoved him back at the passenger side door.

He went for my head again, with both hands, and I threatened to scream rape if he tried it again.

"You wanted to see my dick!" he said.

"I wanted to see two dicks," I explained, "You didn't deliver.  And I never promised you anything.  Ever.  If anyone here owes anyone something, it's you."

"Fuck this," he said, hiking his pants back up and jumping out of my car.

I drove home, not having seen a man with two of anything, except perhaps with two sex drives.  C'est la vie.

Submitted by Corey:

Emily was a manager at a cosmetics store.  At dinner, she told me all about how difficult her employees made her job.

"They socialize in the break room.  The break room is for planning sessions and for sales presentations only.  I can't tell you how many of them I've had to write up because of this."

and

"A couple of them pull in more for the company than I do.  I'm the boss.  I should pull in the most, and they know it.  That doesn't stop them from trying to show me up, all the same."

and

"A couple of them use makeup tricks to try to look prettier than I am, but I'm wise to that and I make them scrub their faces as soon as they come in."

It had been years since I had worked in retail (at a high-end clothing store) but I think that I would have shot a manager who was seriously this insane.

I asked her what her relationship was like with her employees.

She said, "I'm the mother hen.  In fact, most of them call me that.  Isn't that cute?"

"They call you 'mother hen'?"

She smiled and replied, "I asked them to.  It builds team solidarity.  Like I'm a hen and they're the lost little chicks."

She also said, "I dated a guy for almost two months, once.  He tried to make me decide between himself and work.  He didn't like my decision, but I value my independence."

She stared at me hard, as if daring me to make the same mistake.

I didn't.  I said, "Work is all yours.  Because I don't think I want you."

She asked, "Then why the fuck are we wasting our time, then?"

I said, "I'll get the check."

She stood up with her bag and said, "Yeah, you do that, asshole," and stormed off.

Mother hen didn't even offer to help with the tip.  I know where she works, though, and I'm going to pick up each and every one of her hot coworkers.

Submitted by Kevin:

A friend of mine (Betsy) set me up with Tracy, an illustrator for a small greeting card company.  Tracy was also very tall and was born in Mexico while her parents were vacationing there.  Now you have sufficient back story on Tracy.

Tracy and I were supposed to meet up at a restaurant, but she called me twice less than an hour before to inform me that she was going to be held late at work to deliver some new art.  The second time she called, she suggested that I meet her at her office, off of a main street commercial area.  We would be able to walk to a place from there.  Worked for me.  So far.

I found the building and made my way to her office.  I had seen a photo of her, but nothing had prepared me for how tall this Amazon was.  She had a head and a half on me at least, and I"m 5' 10". 

I could tell at once that this displeased her.

"Oh no," were the first words out of her mouth, followed by, "Betsy didn't mention?  I only date guys taller than me."

I pressed, "What, like guys in the NBA?"

"Pretty much.  I feel bad.  We can still hang out."

She showed me some of her artwork, which was pretty good.  Most of it was abstract and very colorful.  Tall and talented.

We went out to a Brazilian place for dinner, just around the corner.  The following conversation is essentially verbatim.

We had been talking about our families, our friends, this, that, and the other things, when she said, "I'm very sensitive down in my nether-parts.  I think it's because I'm Mexican."

She smiled at me and drank some water.  "Come again?" I asked.

She told me the story of how her parents were vacationing on a beach in Mexico when all of a sudden her mother's water broke and how she was born shortly thereafter.

"But I have super-sensitive lady-parts.  A lot of Mexican women do."

I asked, "But both of your parents were American.  You're not really Mexican."

"I was born in Mexico.  I'm Mexican."

"So where you were born, not genetics, is what makes you more sensitive to stimulation?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "It's really too bad that you're not taller.  We could have totally tested it out.  We may as well stop talking about it, though, since sex isn't on our menu."

I shrugged.  What else?

After dinner, we walked for a few minutes when she leaned into my face, within striking distance of a kiss, and she said, "It sucks.  It's been so long since I've even made out with a guy."

"I could stand on a bench," I offered.

"If you were taller, we'd have all kinds of crazy sex."

"Are you a virgin?" I asked.  I had to know.

Her happy manner died at that moment.  I had crossed a line.  She said, "I can't believe that you just asked me that."

I was already in the hole.  I dug deeper.  "It's just that you're so obsessed with talking about sex.  I was wondering when the last time you did it was."

That made her mad.  "I've had sex more often in a week than you'll have in your entire life!  I had sex six times last week!  With six different people!  Guys!"

Odd.  Hadn't she just said that it had been a long time since she had made out?  Maybe her kind of sex was kiss-less.

At any rate, this "date" was pretty much shot.  I said good night, and she seemed all too happy to take me up on my offer to end things then and there.

I asked Betsy the next time I spoke with her if Tracy was a virgin.  Betsy told me, "As far as I know."

Submitted by Maria:

Brad contacted me via an Internet dating site.  He was really into the outdoors.  So much so that he practically insisted on taking us out on a hike for our first date.

Yes, I know what you're thinking.  What a stupid idea.  That was also my first thought.  I had a general impression of the guy that he was harmless.  Jut to be safe, I shared his profile with friends, told some people where I would be, and brought my pepper spray.  I liked the idea of being adventurous, but even more so, I liked the idea of being careful.

I showed up with a small knapsack with water, snacks, and lunch.  He arrived with a pack fit for a year-long sojourn on the Appalachian Trail.  Also, he had a full beard, and none of his profile pictures had been of his bearded self.  A minor thing, I guess, but it made me realize that his pictures were not, one way or another, representative of his current self.

"We can do overnight if you want.  I brought a tent." he told me.

I informed him that an overnight camping trip was a little fast for my tastes, but I appreciated the offer.

He countered with, "Whatever.  Didn't think you'd go for it, but you'd be surprised how often that works."

With that, he spun and started on the hike.

Despite his enormous backpack, he hit the trail like a cheetah through lotion.  I was hard-pressed to keep up with him, even though I was in pretty good shape.

Finally, after over a half-hour at a breakneck pace, I was drenched with sweat.  I called out, "Hey, can we stop for a bit?"

I stopped.  He kept going.  I called out again, "Hey!  Brad?  Can we stop?"

I'm positive that I was loud enough for him to hear.  He kept going, not looking back once.  I stayed where I was.  He disappeared around a bend, and that was actually the last time that I ever saw him.

I sat down to lunch, half-wondering if he'd be back for me.  He never came back.  I shouldered my pack, walked back to my car at a leisurely pace, and drove away.  I never heard from him.  Thankfully.

Submitted by Nicholas:

For what turned out to be our only date, Gwen asked me if I'd take her to a certain steakhouse.  It sounded fine to me.  Until...

"I take all of my first dates there," she explained.

I asked her, "Doesn't that get boring?"

"Nope."

We made it to the place, went inside, and the host greeted her by name.  The host also mentioned that Nancy was working that night, whatever that meant.

Our server came over and took our drink and appetizer orders, and soon afterward, Nancy showed up.

Nancy was a waitress, about 60, was rocking a light blue perm, and knelt down at our table, just like they do at TGIFriday's when they want to seem like your very best friend.

"Who is this?" Nancy asked, pointing at me.

Gwen said, "Nicholas."

Nancy asked, "He's the handsomest one yet."  She leaned into Gwen's ear.  "Do we like him?"

Gwen whispered back, "He's a little too tall and his hair's the wrong color, but we'll see."

Gwen and Nancy giggled, Nancy (whose blue hair, I suppose, was the right color?) kissed the top of Gwen's head, said that it was nice to meet me, and disappeared into the restaurant.

Gwen must have caught my stare.  "What?" she asked.

I couldn't help but laugh.  "Sorry if I'm too tall.  Or have wrongly-colored hair."

She turned a shade or two paler and said, "Oh my God!  Did you just hear me with Nancy?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it."

"Oh my God!" she said again.

It struck me as really weird... Gwen said what she said to Nancy at a volume that was low, but that I'd think most people speaking at that volume would easily realize could be heard by someone else, sitting across the table.

These thoughts took a back seat as Gwen began to tremble, as if she was having a seizure.

I asked if she was all right, and was about to jump up from the table and call for a doctor when she stopped me.

"I'm just terrified that you heard me with Nancy.  Why did you even listen?  Why?"

I decided against reasoning with her and told her again that it was nothing to worry about.

"Well I'm just going bonkers over here," she said.  I couldn't have said it better myself, so I let it go.

Nancy walked by a few times, always patting Gwen on the shoulder and giving me a smile.  I asked Gwen at one point how she knew Nancy, and Gwen said that Nancy was like her second mom, there at the restaurant.

The rest of the date was nothing special, and I didn't pursue Gwen any further.  She was just bonkers.

Submitted by Alisa:

Larry and I met at a farmers' market for our first date, and after exchanging pleasantries, I suggested that we explore it.

"I have a better idea," he said, and we walked to a dog park.  He entered and started chasing the dogs all around.  Most of the dogs seemed to enjoy it, but a lot of the owners weren't too into some random guy chasing their pets.

I picked up on this first, and Larry got the hint soon afterward.  We walked away (he stank as if he had walked into some serious dog piles) and I asked him what he wanted to do next.

"What I want to do," he said, "Is to bring you someplace secluded.  Not for anything bad, though."

I laughed this off, although the warning bells had been going off for some time.

I suggested, "Let's go back to the farmers' market."

He said, "I'd rather leave town forever.  It sucks here.  I'm always getting yelled at or chased or whatever.  I'm thinking about leaving with just the clothes on my back and a smile."

I nodded, trying my best to understand what he was talking about.  Then, he added, "If I did that, would you come with me?"

I laughed and told him that he could go if he wanted to.  I figured that he was bored of the date and wanted an out.

He said, "I'm 100% serious.  I'm leaving town forever.  I want you to come with me.  You're the last thing I've been waiting for."

I said, "Let's just check out the farmers' market."

He didn't say anything to that, but followed me there.

At some point while we were browsing, he slipped away.  I later found out that he actually did leave town.  He's living in Arizona, now.

Submitted by Gerry:

Andrea and I actually met at a local beach while I was on a walk.  We were both there with groups of friends, but had gone off on our own for a bit.  She was beautiful, had a great smile, and looked a little too good in a bikini.  She had to have a boyfriend.

She didn't, and she gave me her number.  All was awesome.  We set up our first date.  I thought dinner and whatever-happens-afterward.  She was on board with dinner, but wanted to return to the beach where we had met, afterward.  It was a drive, but I was smitten, and smitten guys do stupid things.

Dinner went very well.  The whole time, I couldn't help asking myself, "Why is this girl single?  She's smart, funny, and has everything going for her."

She alluded to former relationships and that made me feel a bit better.  After all, at least she was able to maintain a relationship, for however long it lasted.

As I said, dinner was great, and afterward, we climbed into my car and drove to the beach.

It was deserted.  I spread out a blanket, we cuddled up close, and we began making love.

It all sounds great, right?  It was.  Until after a particularly passionate moan, she said:

"Gerry, impregnate me."

Come again?

"Please," she said, "Give me a baby."

60 to zero in less than a second.  Crap, crap, crap.

I slid my way out of her (I was wearing a condom).  She pulled me close.  She whispered, "Take off the condom."

I said, "That's too far for a first date.  At least for me."

She curled her fingers around me, pulled off the condom, and drew me close.  Ugh.  No.

I pulled away.  "Not going to happen," I said, "Sorry.  I can't do that, now."

She sat up, looked at me, and then out at the ocean.  She looked very sad, then shrugged, put her clothes back on, stood up, and stretched.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

I felt really bad for her... she must have felt awful.  I repeatedly assured her that it had nothing to do with her... it was just too early in a relationship to consider having kids!

She didn't respond to anything I said, so I finally just shut up.

"Have a good night," I said to her when I dropped her off.

She said, "Yeah," and left my car.

Sucks, because otherwise, she was awesome.

Submitted by Allie:

I attended a very small liberal arts school where the dating pool was very, very limited. At the time, I had only ever been in relationships with guys I had met through school so I felt weird about meeting people in bars and going online seemed like a good alternative to what I perceived as my only other option.

Within a week of creating my profile, I received a very articulate and interesting message from Ben, a Ph.D. student at a much larger, neighboring university. We messaged back and forth for several weeks until I finally felt comfortable enough to meet.

He didn't have a car, so I agreed to drive the 20 minutes to his school instead of asking him to take the train to meet me. He was somewhat of an environmental activist and he seemed put off that I wasn't going to use public transportation to get to our date.  I explained that I needed to pick a friend up at the airport later and therefore, preferred to drive. That seemed to settle the matter... or so I thought.

I met him about two blocks away from the cafe where we had decided to go. When he first approached me, I mistook him for a homeless person. He wore a hoodie that was quite literally falling apart and jeans that looked as though they had been washed in a mud bath. He hadn't necessarily been dishonest about his appearance... just his cleanliness, I suppose.

He briefly said hello and then walked into the cafe ahead of me and pushed the heavy swinging door so hard that it hit me on the knee as I approached it.  I don't have any expectations about doors being held open for me, but getting nailed by a door because someone doesn't even have the courtesy to extend the handle to you is another matter entirely.

I sat down at the table he had selected where he promptly told me that I "wasn't very athletic." I glared at him and pointed out that I was wearing heels which made it difficult to keep up to which he replied, "Oh, so you enjoy being part of the sexual second class?"

I was beyond annoyed at this point but before I could retort, a waitress came by to take our order. He ordered a quiche and a sugary coffee drink. I decided to stick with black coffee and get out as quickly as possible.

As soon as the waitress left, he launched into a technical analysis of an experiment on which he was working. I listened as intently as I could, but became a bit despondent around the half hour mark. At that point he had allowed me all of ten words in the conversation. Even worse, he was sporting a giant whipped cream mustache for his entire speech. As the whipped cream wobbled around on his upper lip all I could think was, "Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole."

He finally stopped his rambling long enough to inform me that I was "a worse listener than his grad students" and "not very smart."

I replied, "I was under the impression that this was a date, not a lecture," put down some cash on the table for my coffee and got up to leave. My chair was back up against the wall and his was out toward the restaurant so as I began to walk away he put his leg out to block me.

He said, "I'm not finished talking.  You're being rude."

I said, "We have nothing in common.  I want to leave, and I need to use the bathroom."

He became more aggressive and I sat back down out of fear. He then began talking about me... more specifically, everything that was wrong with me. He started out by saying that my skin was darker than he had expected it to be and said that he thought that tanning was disgusting. I explained that my skin tone wasn't the result of tanning but of my mother being American Indian. He rolled his eyes and chuckled at this.

Then he began to dig into his quiche... without a fork. He picked out the eggy part in the middle and managed to get it all over the front of his shirt, in his hair and on the table in the process.

I flagged down the waitress for the check and thew some cash on the table which he shoved back at me insisting that he would pay. He handed the waitress his card.  By now I had to pee so badly that I felt like I was about to burst. I again tried to excuse myself to the restroom and he again became aggressive and blocked me with his foot.

A few minutes later, the waitress returned with his credit card which had (surprise!) been declined. I handed her a twenty and plotted my escape. He got up and insisted on walking me back to my car. I declined and told him that I was going to the restroom and that afterward I would walk to my car alone. He grabbed my wrist and attempted to drag me out of the restaurant.

The hostess intervened and told him that she would call the police if he didn't leave immediately. He smirked and then left.

I ended up staying at the restaurant for a bit longer to make sure that he wasn't lurking outside. Our waitress offered to drive me to my car to ensure that he wouldn't follow me on foot and I accepted.

Later that evening while I was out with friends I received a text from him letting me know that I wasn't his type and that I shouldn't call him.

This happened three years ago. I've checked the dating site again recently and he's still on it! Beware. He's still out there!

Submitted by Doug:

I had just arrived home from work.  My live-in girlfriend and I were preparing for dinner when my phone rang.  It was an out-of-state number that I didn't recognize.

I answered.

Breathing.

"Hello?  Hello?" I asked repeatedly.

Then, "Doug."

A vaguely familiar woman's voice.  I cycled through the potentials.  A relative?  A long-lost friend?

"Who's calling?" I asked.

"I'm back here, Doug.  I just had to call you.  I'm back.  Here."

I had a dinner to prepare and a girlfriend to do.  "I'm glad to hear it.  You're going to have to identify yourself, or I'm going to have to hang up."

"Doug, just give me a minute."

"Who is this?"

"Doug."

I hung up.  A little freaky, but I assumed that it was a friend, messing around.  Then, my phone rang again.  Same number.

I answered.  "Who is this?"

"You know who this is."

"I don't."

"You forgot me?"

I jettisoned "relative" and "long-lost friend" and replaced them with "insane asylum inmate" or "jilted former lover."

I said, "You'll have to tell me who you are, or I'm hanging up and not picking up again."

"It's okay.  I can leave messages on your phone all night.  A fitting way to commemorate what I can't believe you don't remember."

"Give me a hint.  Where are you?"

"The mall."

"And how long has it been?"

A pause.  Then, "Ten years today.  Happy anniversary."

Oh, I remembered, all right.  It was Shelly, my first college girlfriend.  We lost our virginity to each other.  She was clingy as all hell and ended up being crazy as sin.

Once, I was at an airport, going away to see some relatives, and she called me, swearing up and down that there was an emergency.  I left the airport to drive back to her place, missing my flight, and found out that the emergency was that she had wanted to give me one more parting kiss.

I broke up with her over that.

I wasn't sure what the significance of the mall was.  We had sex for the first time in my dorm room.  Our first kiss had been in a parking lot.  I just couldn't remember that.

Recalling all of these things (and more) in a fraction of a moment, I replied the only thing that I could, given the circumstances.

"I'm sorry.  I think you have the wrong Doug."

I hung up and set the phone on silent.  She called back five times, leaving messages four out of those five.  I deleted each without listening.  She hasn't called back since.

Spooky.

Submitted by Carmen:

Neil was a designer of special event invitations.  If you were planning a wedding, anniversary, bar mitzvah, or sweet sixteen, he'd come up with a specified invitation design for you.  I met him while accompanying my engaged friend, who was in the market for wedding invitations.

After our appointment with him (I had taken his card), I took the unusual step of calling him up to ask him out.

"That's awesome, because I thought that you were cute," he said, and so we arranged a date.

Not five minutes after meeting up in a downtown area, his phone rang.

"Sorry, it's a client," he said, and picked up the phone.

My first thought was that it was a little rude, but, being in business myself, I realized that sometimes, clients couldn't wait.  I thought it was fair to be understanding and patient.

He went on, into the phone, "Okay, so the mauve and mother-of-pearl?  Oh, you didn't want that.  I'm sorry, the reception is really bad."

At some point, I might have said, "Can I call you back?"  That point would've probably been around the five-minute juncture. Not Neil, though.  His conversation went on for closer to ten minutes.

"Is now not a good time?" I mouthed to him.  He put his pointer finger up to me in response, and then pointed his middle finger at the phone.

Finally, after the client had agreed on soft lilac and eggshell-white, Neil hung up.  "Sorry about that," he said, "Clients."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him.

We took a step.  His phone rang.

"Sorry," he said, and picked up the phone again.

"Hey Jim.  With the soccer awards dinner.  How's it going?"

I must have given a far more powerful exasperated look than I had meant to.

He said, into the phone, "Could you hold on for a sec?"  He turned to me and said, "I'm a businessman.  I run a business.  You're either going to be okay with that, or you can leave."

What a bargain.  I took a moment to process it, then said, "It's a deal.  Bye."

With that, I turned and walked away.  Over my shoulder, I heard him say, "Hold on a sec.  I'm sorry."

He caught up, grabbed my shoulder, and asked, "What the hell is your problem?  Are you psycho?  I'm with a client!  I'm running a business!"

I took another moment and replied, "Then run your business.  You've spent one-hundred percent of your time on this date with your clients, and I've been spending it with your rude ass.  Leave me alone!"

"What the..." he turned back to the phone.  "I'll call you back," and he hung up.  "Fine.  I'll spend the date just with you.  Happy?"

"Isn't that what a date is?"

His phone rang.  He rolled his eyes.  "Probably that last client, angry that I just hung up on him.  But it's okay.  Tonight's my night just with you!  It's not like I have a business to run or anything."

I backed away.  "I'm going to go.  Have a good night."

"Why are you leaving?  I just said that I'd spend the whole night with you!  Isn't that what you wanted?"

I stormed away and threw him the finger over my shoulder.

Submitted by Ron:

My second date with Joyce is one that I won't forget too easily.  There's a beautiful cafe by a river in a town convenient to both of our houses, and she was all over the idea of going there on a cool summer evening.

Dinner went well, and we really had great chemistry.  Afterward, we took a walk around town, and found ourselves on the campus of a local college.

There were plenty of low walls, balustrades, pillars, steps, and gates, and we had the typical kind of running, laughing, and gallivanting about that you'd expect.

We made it to a low, iron fence that had, every few yards, a pillar with a lantern and a sculpted bust.

"A lot of heads," Joyce remarked, then ran to the other side of the fence and stuck her head through the bars.  She made a serious face like the heads on the pillars  I laughed.  She smiled and attempted to extricate herself from the fence.

Her smile became a frown, and then an expression of panic.

"Okay," she said, "Um... help."

I thought she was still kidding around, so I acted as if to put my foot up to her head and push her out that way.

"No!" she shrieked, "I'm seriously stuck!"

I said, "You got yourself in there... your head can't be any bigger, now.  Try turning it."

She tried and failed.  Oh, how she failed.  I ran to her side of the fence and try as we might, we just couldn't free her from the bars.

I suggested that I run and grab some vaseline from a nearby drug store.  The idea of it grossed her out, but we were out of ideas.

Before I left, I told her, "Keep trying, but don't force it."

I made it back in about twenty minutes.  Luckily, she was able to lower herself into kneeling position so that she didn't have to stand.  However, she was still held fast.

I rubbed vaseline all over her face and head.  She shuddered, and we worked her head gingerly back and forth.  As I said, we were out of other ideas, save for calling the fire department.

That's funny.  That sound of fire truck sirens.

She turned her head, and it popped out.  She fell backward.

Moments later, two fire trucks arrived, down at the road.  Three firefighters jogged up to us.  Someone must have seen that Joyce had caught herself and had called the fire department.

However, the vaseline had done the trick.  I explained the situation to the firefighters, and they asked Joyce if she was okay, if she had any pain, etc.  They were really very nice, and Joyce told them that she felt fine, although she desperately wanted a shower.

As an epilogue, Joyce and I are still dating.  She doesn't go sticking her head into fences anymore, though.  And if she knew that I had sent this in, she'd probably shove my head into a fence.

Submitted by Jennifer:

Last May, my town held a Relay for Life at the local high school. It was a 12-hour walk around the track from 7pm to 7am.

Before the event, I went there with a friend to sign up.  While there, we met Russell, who was also signing up.  We talked, I thought he was cute, and the three of us decided to do the walk together, thinking that it would be a good way to learn more about him.

The evening of the walk arrived.  It was hot out, so my friend and I both wore athletic shorts and tank tops.  Within minutes of starting the walk, Russell looked my friend (who is a bit chubby) and said, "You probably should have brought sweatpants and a jacket."

He then looked at me and said, "Girl, you are damn fine! I hope you wear those booty shorts all the time."

Finding his behavior beyond rude, my friend and I walked faster and talked among ourselves.  But Russell was relentless. He jogged to keep up with us.

He started telling me about his job as a cashier at Jack in the Box.  "I'm probably going to be promoted to assistant manager."

I talked to my friend about her plans for the summer, hoping that he would take the hint.

Instead, he said, "Today some girl gave me a blow job in the bathroom so I would give her free food. She was hot.  Hotter than you."

My friend and I continued our conversation, ignoring Russell completely.

All of a sudden, the guy yanked down my pants.  I grabbed my shorts from around my ankles and pulled them back up as fast as I could.

By the time I was dressed again, Russell was running across the field, shouting profanities such as "bitch" and "cunt" in my direction.

I haven't been to a Jack in the Box since.

Submitted by Charles:

I met William at the corner pub where he worked.  He was one of those rugged, blue-collar types.  I was fresh out of a relationship and not looking to get back into one anytime soon. However, I found him so attractive that I said yes when he asked me out. 

We went to a small Italian place. We downed a few pitchers of beer and a lot of unhealthy food, along with great conversation and laughs.

During our dinner we both got a little buzzed and I got up the guts to tell him that I basically just wanted to have sex with him and that I wasn’t looking for anything deep, just a casual thing.  He got that look on his face when a guy finds out that he’s about to get laid. You know, the widened eyes and that slight smirk.

We paid the bill and went back to his first-floor place which was right down the road.  Everything was great for about an hour. We both consumed more alcohol at his place and I was getting very lit up and hoped to stay the night there.  The conversation and laughs continued along with a heavy make out session.

I then heard this tapping on the window, looked over and saw this strange guy staring in at us with a deranged look on his face. He yelled, “Tell him you have AIDS! Tell him you have AIDS!”

William stood up and said, “Oh shit! My ex!” 

I looked out the window and the guy went and stood in the street and yelled over and over again, “William, tell him how you have AIDS! You're still my boyfriend!”  This was around 11pm in a nice, middle-class neighborhood.

William freaked out and told me that I needed to leave or his ex would damage my car. I told him to call the cops, but he nudged me toward the door.

I said, “I can’t drive like this!”

He said, “Well, you can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

I left, took my time to make it outside, and ultimately saw no sign of the psycho ex. My car was fine and I drove the 20 minutes home. How I didn’t get a DUI is beyond me.

William called me the next day and explained that they were together for 9 years and that the ex was having a hard time letting go. He said that he’d understand if I never wanted to get together with him again.

I just said take care and hung up. I don’t go near that pub anymore.

Submitted by Cynthia:

Joseph wrote me a message online, the gist of it being, "You're really pretty and I'd love to show you a good time."

This was an average sort of message, so I ignored him and figured that he'd just go away, off to impress someone else with his terrific offer.

A few days later, he wrote me again.  "Sorry about that.  My stupid brother and I share an account and he sends out messages like that to piss me off.  Sorry."

Thanks for the apology.  Have a good one.  I figured that such words would be implied by my not writing back.

A couple of days later, this gem: "Hey.  I just wanted to make sure that you got my apology.  Also, want to hang out sometime?"

I ignored it, hoping that my lack of response would be taken as a no.

Soon after, "Did you or did you not get my apology?  This is really bothering me.  I'm really, really sorry."

I didn't reply.  The next day: "There's really no reason for you to be so nasty.  You're making it extremely difficult for me to be nice.  Did you or did you not get my apology?  Yes/no?"

I didn't respond.  The amount of calories it would have taken to write either yes or no could've been better spent on doing other things, like not writing yes or no to some online weirdo.

No new messages for over a week.  Hopefully, he had forgotten about me.

Nope.  A new message arrived: "It's women like you who ruin it for everyone.  I can't imagine what I might have done to deserve this treatment, but you not accepting my apology has gotten me so upset, it's kept me up nights.  That's the honest truth.  Now I feel like you're the one who should apologize to me.  I await your apology.  Please don't delay."

I ignored this message, and a day later, he wrote, "I've contacted the site administrators to ban your account.  Sorry.  I just don't think that someone like you should be on here."

This prompted me to write a message, but not to Joseph.  To the site administrators.  I forwarded them all of his messages.

His profile vanished less than a day later.

Submitted by Jeff:

Hayley worked as a coordinator in the English department of a local college.  She was also into ceramics, and sent me pictures of her work.  It was good.  She offered to show me her studio at the college, as part of a first-date kind of thing.  Sounded good to me.

We met up at the college, she showed me her work, and somehow or other, we ended up with lights and clothes off.

"Hey," she pointed to the walk-in kiln at the other end of the room, "Want to go in there?"

I couldn't think of anything much hotter than doing it in a kiln, so I agreed to the plan at once.  We went inside, kept the door open, and were at it for a while.

Of course, if things had gone well from there, you wouldn't be reading this.

A minute or two after our post-orgasm reverie, she said, "Get off of me."

A little confused, but definitely compliant to a woman's demand to remove myself from her, I peeled myself away.  I asked, "You okay?"

She snapped, "Are you fucking crazy?  Doing it in a kiln?  Do you have any idea how hot these things get?  We could've died!"

It was such an outlandish statement that I wondered if I had heard it right.

"This was your idea," I reminded her.

"That you went along with!" she reminded me.

Was she crazy?  "Are you crazy?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, get the fuck out of my studio," she said, storming out towards her clothes, "Get the fuck out."

I had never experienced anything like this, and went for my own clothes when she grabbed a handful of them and threw them towards the room door. "Get out," she repeated, pulling on her pants.

I could've asked her what her problem(s) was/were and tried to save the situation.  Then I realized that I didn't want to save it and that I didn't want to be around her for another second.

I grabbed my stuff, sneaked into the hallway, found a men's room, dressed in there, and took off.  Unsure what it was all about.  Any ideas?

Submitted by Marrah:

Drew, a hospital administrator I had met on a dating site, had canceled our first date twice.  I had the distinct impression that he was stringing me along, and I waited until the next time he reached out to me to tell him how I felt.

He became very defensive and offered to take me someplace "special" to make it up to me.  How was 3pm, next Monday?

"That's an odd time," I told him, "Let's do dinner instead."

He insisted, "It has to be then.  I promise."

It would mean that I'd have to take off of work a little early (I work in an electronics store), but I would probably have been able to do it without repercussions.

When I asked him where we were going, he only said, "We'll have a lot of time together.  You'll learn a lot about me.  I think you'll like it."  He told me to meet him in the parking lot of a professional building in town.

That Monday, I did, and he led me inside the building, where we both had to sign in.

We entered an elevator, and he had a hard time making eye contact with me.  I asked him if everything was okay.  He replied that he was slightly embarrassed, but glad that he was "doing this with" me.  A knot that had formed in my stomach was steadily tightening.

We made it to the third or fourth floor, and he led me to a door with a nameplate:

"Dr. Michael Yarrow, Clinical Psychologist."

Drew pressed a buzzer on the door, and it unlocked.

I asked, "Hey Drew, why are we at a psychologist's office?"

He said, "It's a good way for you to get to know me, and I think that it'll be healthy for us.  It's my way of saying sorry for canceling those two times."

I went inside with him, met Dr. Yarrow, and sat down for one of the most excruciatingly painful hours of my life.  If Drew needed my support, I would've felt awful for leaving, but I found his method of springing this on me to be inconsiderate in the sharpest sense of the word.

So preoccupied I was with these thoughts, I hadn't even noticed that Dr. Yarrow had asked me a question.  "Marrah, why do you think Drew asked you to come here today?"

"He didn't ask me, but I'm here to support him."

"I'm sorry?"

I explained to Dr. Yarrow that I had no idea that we were going to the psychologist's until we had arrived there.

Dr. Yarrow asked me to step outside, and he closed his door to be alone with Drew.  A minute or two later, Drew came out, still not making eye contact, and said, "I'm sorry for springing this on you, Marrah.  It was wrong to not tell you, first.  Do you forgive me?"

I forgave him, and told him that I had to go.  Thankfully, I haven't heard from him since.  I wish him well and hope that he's okay.  Far, far away from wherever I am.

Submitted by Nick:

Dori and I met online.  At first, we were messaging machines, often sending each other upwards of five messages a day.  It quickly deepened from superficial curiosity to deep flirting, and it finally became, I thought, a good plan to ask her out.

That was my last message to her before she went dark.  Five to zero messages a day.  Silence.  I waited a day and sent her another quick one, just to check in, hoping that everything is okay, etc.

Nothing.

It happens.  I thought nothing of it, and went on about my life.

Over three weeks later, an e-mail from her.  One line: "7pm at my place.  I can't take it anymore.  Bring wine."  She included her address a line below, along with one of those "<3" hearts.

I had no idea what she was talking about, but figured that in her eyes, I had come on too strongly by suggesting a meeting.  She had likely spent the ensuing few weeks wrestling with the idea, and finally came to realize that she should give it a shot.

It was important to me to be as understanding as possible, so I picked up a nice bottle of wine and planned to go in as expectation-free as possible.  I took the train into the city (as I lived out in the suburbs) and made it to her place right on time.

Her door had a sign taped to it.  "Open me."  I entered, and saw a sparse trail of candles leading to a sofa in a living room.  Clearly, her expectations were a little different than mine, but I didn't have much trouble readjusting.

"Heeeey," her voice came from where I guessed the bedroom was.

"Hey," I called back.  "How've you been?"  I sat down on the sofa.

"How've I been?" she repeated, then said, "It's naked time!"

She stepped out from around a corner in a short red robe.

She screamed, "Who are you?  Get out!" and she screamed again.

I stood up and backed toward the door, saying, "You told me to meet you here tonight.  Bottle of wine!  Remember?"  I held up the Shiraz I had picked out.

She stopped screaming and said, "Oh shit.  This is a mistake.  I'm sorry.  Please go."

She must have meant for that message to wind up in someone else's inbox.

"It can still be naked time," I suggested, yes, jokingly.

"No," she yelled, and the next thing I knew, I was outside.  I never heard from her again, of course, but there had been just a second in her apartment wherein I had thought that there was going to be some naked time.  Ah well.

Submitted by Rona:

Andy was a regular at the coffee shop where I worked.  He always came in wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase.  Sometimes he would sit down and read the paper, but most times he would take his coffee, give me a smile, sometimes a wink, and then head out.

One Saturday, he came in wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Andy," I said, "I've never seen you looking like this."

He and I started talking, and I offered to take my break so that we could talk a little bit more.

We took a walk and he asked me out.  I really liked him, so I said yes.  He and I decided to go out the very next day, my day off.

He picked me up, looking sharp.  We drove into town, and he parked right around the corner from the coffee shop.  We walked down the sidewalk and he entered the coffee shop.

"What are we doing?" I asked him.

He turned to me and said, "Dinner.  They make great sandwiches in this little shop of yours."

I said, "Is it okay if we do dinner someplace else?"

It wasn't so much that my coworkers would see me, but more the fact that, well, I worked there six days a week.  I'm sure that Andy's heart was in the right place, but it seemed like he could've used just a bit more imagination regarding where we went for our first date.

He answered, "No.  I really like the sandwiches here, and their desserts are cheap and delicious.  We can get more than one, each.  My treat."

I said, "I'd really prefer it if we went elsewhere.  We can split the bill.  I don't care."

"I'm not cheap.  Is that what you're saying?"

"No!  I just don't want to have a date where I work!"

"Why not?  Let's talk about this."

Dude, just let it go.  There are so many reasons why it would've been a mistake.  I tried a different tack.

"There's a seafood restaurant just outside of town that's shaped like a boat.  I've always wanted to try it."

He said, "I have.  It's crap.  This place makes the best sandwiches.  Come on."

He started inside, but I wasn't going to cave in.  He said, "What's the problem?  Can't you just do this for me?"

I said, "I'm not going in there."

He said, "Well, I am.  I want a sandwich.  In ten seconds, I'll bet that you'll be right behind me."  He walked inside.

Ten seconds later, I was on my way home.

Submitted by Daryl:

Stella wrote me first on a dating site.  Her message was long, but friendly and she seemed very interested in me.  One thing that was an instant red flag was, "You work at a printing shop?  How much does that pay?" but I chalked it up to curiosity.

I wrote her back with answers to most of her questions, and asked her some of my own.  To the above-mentioned query, I replied, "It pays enough."

She wrote back one line: "Hello lifetime lo mein dinners.  Adios."

Well, shucks.  What a loss.  It took me the lesser part of three seconds to forget about her.

Until two months later, when she wrote me back: "Hey.  How are you?"

I replied, "I'm fine, thanks.  Still working at a printing shop.  Had sushi the other night."

She wrote back, "And you didn't invite me???"

What the hell, I thought.  I asked her out to dinner via e-mail, making it clear that it would be as friends.  She went for it and picked out a sushi restaurant nearby.

We met up, she came across as incredibly into herself, and after ten minutes, I ran out of things to ask her.  At one point, after about a minute of silence, she asked, "I could tell you more about myself.  Want to hear?"

For the sake of civility, I said yes.  Thereafter, I learned all about how amazing it was that dropping out of nursing school can lead to a series of epiphanies leading to someone wanting to become a teacher, only deciding to not become a teacher because of all of the tests that you apparently had to take in order to become licensed, etc.

At the present, she works at her father's company as an upper-level administrator (using her words). 

The bill came.  I pulled out enough to cover my meal and passed it over to her.

"What's this?" she asked, as if she hadn't ever seen a bill before.

"Yours came to about $20, including tax and tip," I prodded.

She gave me a look, then reached for her purse and pulled out a $100 bill.  She said, "This is all I have."

"I'm sure they can break it," I assured her, and sure enough, they did.

When we left the place, she said, "Goodnight," and sped off in the direction that I had to go in, myself.  I let a few minutes pass before heading that way, back to my car.

I didn't know that there actually existed people like this, but I guess I couldn't remain trapped inside the bubble forever!

Submitted by Christine:

Jeff and I were coworkers at a realty office.  I had been working there for a little over a year and we had playfully flirted back and forth for most of the that time.  It didn't come as a surprise when he asked me out, and we both agreed that we'd keep it on the DL.

We had arranged it so that he would pick me up at my house on a Friday evening after work.  That whole week was filled with some of the most over-the-top, intense flirting that I've ever had.  It was like a dam, ready to burst.

At the agreed-upon time, there was a knock at my door.  I opened it, and there was a single red rose.  I smiled and looked around.  No sign of Jeff, but there was another rose down the walkway to my house.  I picked up the first one, then walked to and picked up the second one.

There was another one on the sidewalk.  He had laid out a trail for me.  My heartbeat fluttering lightly in my chest, I picked up one after another around the block until the trail stopped at a car with tinted windows.  Its rear passenger door was slightly ajar.  I giggled and opened it.

He was inside, buck naked, legs spread.  A final rose leaning up against his crotch.

I screamed and turned away, but couldn't help laughing.  He called, "What's wrong?  Get inside."

Still looking away, I said, "Would you put some pants on?  Please?"

"No.  Get inside.  Come on."

I stepped away and said, "We can still have our date.  Just get dressed.  Please."

He said, "I can't wait.  You're so beautiful."

After going back and forth like this for a minute, the whole time praying that nobody would walk by, I finally convinced him that we should go through a proper date before anything else.

The entire time at dinner, he didn't act altogether interested in me, and by that point I was turned-off enough so that I didn't even feel comfortable giving him a kiss at the end of the whole thing (which is all he got).

We didn't go out again, and our relationship is perfectly cordial.  Still, every time I see him at work, I picture him with that rose, and it makes me shudder.

Submitted by Jeremy:

Roseanne was a girl I met online.  She was an editor for a fashion magazine, and, I thought luckily in my case, seemed to be attracted to blue-collar guys.

When we met, she extended her hand and shook mine, and I have to say that I'd be hard-pressed to find a guy with a firmer handshake than the one that she had.  I don't know why that stuck out, but it seemed unusual.

What was most unusual, though, came next.  She pulled out a small digital recorder and asked me if it was okay if she audio-taped the date.

This took me aback.  I asked her, "Like, research for an article or something?"

She explained, "I've had some really wacko dates recently, so it's for my protection and yours."

"How will it protect me?  From what?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "It's mostly to protect me.  You're a guy.  You don't need protection."

This didn't sound right, so I said, "I'm not really up for having our conversations recorded.  I'll be guarded with what I say, and the whole time I'm going to be wondering if you're going to use what I say against me somehow.  No."

She replied, "It's going to be recorded, or there's going to be no date."

I shrugged, perfectly willing to let this one slide right by.  "Suit yourself.  Have a good night."

I turned and left her there.  I heard her say, "You're such an asshole," but I ignored her.  Anything I would've responded probably would've ended up in her magazine, or in court, or being told to a council of stuffed animals.

Submitted by Elena:

Brendan took me out to a state park with plans to have a picnic.  I really liked the idea, and I cooked lasagna and made lemonade for the occasion.

We made it to a nice clearing and he set out a blanket.  It was a lot of fun and he had a great sense of humor.  All was going well.

Three kids who couldn't have been older than 16 came walking by, and one of them stopped near us and looked at Brendan.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he asked.

Brendan said, "Nothing.  Just leave us alone."

The three kids laughed, and the first one said, "What?  You want us to leave you alone?"

He kicked at my lasagna container, sending it spraying into the nearby woods.  He laughed again and said, "That's what you get."

Brendan and I stood up and I clenched my fists.  "Hey," I said, "He said to quit it."

What followed happened so fast, that I'm not sure if I remember it in sequence.  The same kid who had been talking all along said to Brendan, "What are you doing out here, you pussy?" and tapped Brendan's ankle with his foot.  Brendan shoved the boy away, and they started to attack.

Brendan landed a good punch on one of them, but there were three of them, and they concentrated their attacks on him, as opposed to me.  Brendan had an average build and could move, but three of these wiry teens would probably get the better of him.

Something that I hadn't told Brendan, that I haven't even told you, is that I'm a blue belt in Tae Kwon Do.  I had never had to use my training in the field, but I automatically knew exactly what to do.

I have to give Brendan credit – he gave them a good fight, but when I stepped in, it was over pretty quickly.  Within 15 seconds, it was done.  Two of them were on the ground.  The other one was clutching his arm, which I might have broken, his mouth open wide in pain, but not uttering a single sound.

"Get the fuck out of here," Brendan shouted, landing a vicious kick at one of them on the ground.

"Hey," I pulled Brendan back, "They've had enough.  Let's just go."

Brendan said, "I don't think they've had enough."

The still-standing one said, "You fucking bitch!  What did you do that for?" and started to sob.

Brendan took a step towards him, but I held him back.  He could have pulled away and continued to hurt these guys, but he turned back to me, helped me gather up the picnic things, and we went back to his car.

We were shaken (I think I was freaking out more than Brendan was) and we ended up having the date on my living room couch.  Luckily, I had lasagna to spare in the fridge.

Brendan and I are still seeing each other, but who knows how things will work out?

Submitted by Ed:

I met Hannah at my dentist's office.  She was a new dental assistant, and I asked her out after my cleaning.

She and I were at a restaurant, in the middle of regular, awkward first date banter, when she asked me about my passions.  I told her that I liked writing, biking, and home repair.

She leaned in and repeated, "But what are your passions?"

I repeated, "Writing, biking, and home repair."

Again, she said, "Yes, but what are your passions?"

I said, "I just told you."

She replied, "You told me stuff that you like to do.  I'm asking about your passions."

"Aren't those my passions?"

She shook her head.  I asked her what her passions were, so as to give me an example of something acceptable.

She said, "I can show you after dinner, but you have to promise not to freak out."

Always a loaded phrase, but it was a first date, and we seemed to be hitting it off just fine.  We climbed into her car and she drove us to the nearby airport, where we parked and walked inside.

We sat down on a bench and watched a departure screen.  I asked her, "This is your passion?"

She shook her head, then jumped up and ran to a ticket counter.  I jogged after her but hung a little way back.  She argued with the ticket agent that she had to be on a flight that had just left, and demanded that the plane be sent back to pick her up.

The ticket agent, a poor little waif who looked our age, argued back that it was impossible, that Hannah could be put on the next flight, etc.  Hannah screamed that the ticket agent "would never work in this town again," and stormed off, back towards the parking lot, where she climbed into her car and took off before I could jump in.

I figured that it was all part of her act, so I waited a few minutes before calling her back.  She didn't answer the first two times I called, then answered the third time with a, "I missed my goddamn flight!" and hung up on me.

I had a friend who lived close by, so he was able to pick me up and drive me back to my car.

The next day, I went to my dentist's office and found Hannah there.  She apologized and told me that the game was over, that she had showed me her passion.  Again, she asked me what mine was.  I told her that I'd let her know.

We're going on a second date in a week.

Submitted by Arianna:

Henry took me to a Jersey Devils game for a second date.  I wasn't too into hockey, but he promised that we'd have a good time talking and watching the game. 

We were in our seats for about five minutes when he turned to me and said that he was going to grab something.

He didn't come back after ten minutes.  Maybe the lines were long.

After thirty minutes, I called him.  No answer.  Maybe his phone was off.

At the beginning of the third period, I went out looking for him.  I had no idea where in the Prudential Center he could have gone, and repeated calls to his cell phone went unanswered.

I had just about given up and was ready to find a security person when I walked past a row of seats at the far end of the arena and found him, his back to me.  He was sitting with another woman.

I was more than a little hurt, and turned around to leave.

Then I thought the better of it and walked right up to him.  "Hey, Henry.  Who's your friend?"

He replied, "Hey.  What's up?" as if I was someone he had met at a college party ten years ago and had never heard from or seen since.

I didn't know what else to say or do, so I said, "Well, have a nice life," and walked away.

He followed me and caught up in the hall.  I told him to get away from me, and he did.  I left, and there's nothing left to say about it.  Asshole.

Submitted by Jack:

Allie and I hit e-mails back and forth for the better part of a month, but we were both so busy that we were each able to respond seldom.  She had the idea to meet up, and she gave me an address, which I assumed was her home.

The address that she gave me was that of a cemetery.  She met me out front and told me that we'd have to walk through it to make it to her house.  I asked if her family were the groundskeepers, and she told me that they weren't.  They just "lived in the backwoods."

We walked past an open, unoccupied grave.  She asked me if I wanted to go inside.  I turned the offer down, but she jumped in, walked back and forth for a bit, and asked me to help her out.

As I was pulling her out, she screamed, "Don't bury me!  I'm not dead!" loud enough to make me jump ten feet.

"Don't let go," she went on to warn me as I shakily pulled her the rest of the way out.

We went on and walked past several mausoleums.  "Want to go in?" she asked.  I told her that I didn't.  She walked up to one, opened its door, struggled with it for a bit, and opened it.

It was dusk, and I didn't really like the idea of bumbling around in a darkened building with dead people.  Bumbling around a darkened bedroom, though, is something else entirely.

Allie disappeared inside.  I heard her say, "Whoa," and nothing else for some time.  I called after her.  Nothing.  I walked up to the structure and looked in.  A few coffins and a stairway down, into darkness.  No Allie anywhere.

I called for her.  No answer.  Thinking that she might have been injured, I put my cell phone on its brightest setting and started down the stairs.

"Boo!" she yelled, behind me, nearly screeching my heart to a stop.  She must have been crouching in a corner that I didn't notice.

I ran out of the mausoleum and kept running.  I heard her running after me, but I didn't stop until I made it to my car and drove away.

Submitted by Elizabeth:

Dennis was a friend of a good friend of mine in college.  We had hung out a few times in person, and he always came off as very nice, but also very shy.  He was handsome, but nothing ever seemed to set him apart.

There was a knock at my off-campus apartment door one day, and when I opened the door, there was no one there, but someone had left an anonymous bouquet of red roses with my name on them.

I was flattered and had no idea who could have sent them.  I put out some feelers, asked some friends if they had any idea, but no one knew anything.  I taped a "thank you" note to my door, and figured that whoever it was would let me know eventually. Hopefully.

After a month, I had nearly forgotten about it when another bouquet appeared at my door, this time wildflowers.  Again, anonymous, and again, just my name on a card.  It was nice, but a little freaky.  It meant that someone was thinking about me and not identifying him/herself for a month.  I put another thank you note on my door, and decided to not let it bother me.

The next day, another wildflower bouquet.  This time signed, "Your secret admirer."  Very nice, very original, and more and more creepy.

The next day I came home early and waited behind a futon on our porch.  Dennis walked up with a smaller bunch of wildflowers.  I stepped out and engaged him.  I told him that I was flattered, but that talking to me would have impressed me far more than any amount of flowers.

He said, "I haven't been bringing you flowers.  These aren't for you."

They were the same exact type as the other flowers that I had received.  I asked him who they were for, and he said that they were for another of my roommates.  I asked him which one.  He couldn't name her, and offered to give them to me after all.  I told him that he should hang on to them until the roommate he was waiting for showed up.  He insisted on giving them to me, did so, and walked away, grumbling.

The next day, there was a brown paper bag with a frowny face on my porch.  It was full of dog shit.

Dennis never made eye contact with me again, after that.

Submitted by Ian:

Tanya's first message to me online was, "Did you used to have a ponytail?"

My response to her was, "No."

Her reply to that was, "Okay.  Let's meet up."

I checked out her profile, and she seemed worth spending time with, even if her first messages came across as unusual.  Maybe she was just quirky.  Like a good quirky.

She turned out to be bad quirky.  We had agreed to meet up at a local park, and the date wasn't too bad to start with.

Not too long into our walk, she took my hand and said, "Your skin looks and feels like leather."

I wasn't sure whether or not she meant it as a compliment, but for the moment, I kept our hands intertwined as we walked on.

She said, "I'm going to call you leather-hands."

"Please don't."

She said, "It's okay.  Your hands are just leathery, leathery, leathery.  I like it, leather-hands."

I asked her, "Can I come up with a nickname for you?"

"Not leather-hands.  That one's taken."

"Okay," and the first name that popped into my mind was, "Blue-head."

She shook her head and said, "I don't like that one."

"Well, I don't like leather-hands."

She protested, "But your hands are like fucking leather.  My head isn't blue."

I decided to change the subject.  "How's work?"

"Don't change the subject, leather-hands.  My head isn't blue.  I want to hear you say it."

"Fine.  You head isn't blue."

She barely spoke to me for the rest of the date, although she kept a firm grip on my hand.  The rest of the date, incidentally, was about another five minutes, when we reached the end of the park and she said, "That's as far as I go."  She gave me a big hug and said, "Have a good life," and walked briskly away.

I noticed recently that she put up a new profile picture of herself.  It's a regular photo, but it has a heavy blue tint.  Strange.