Now You Know

Submitted by Paul:

I met Mari at a tag sale that she was running.  We spent over an hour talking, and she gave me her number.  I bought a couple of books, because I would've felt weird if I didn't purchase anything.  It was a tag sale, after all.

I called her a day or so later to arrange a date.  She said that she was too busy for the following three weeks to do anything.  I guessed that it might have been her way of blowing me off, so I asked her to let me know if a time opened up in her schedule.

Despite not meeting up, we stayed in pretty constant contact.  She'd call me or I'd call her and we'd talk regularly, sometimes for over an hour at a time.  It was nice thing to look forward to, most days.

It started sounding a little red-flag when she said that she wasn't in touch with any of her former boyfriends.  "They just block me out of their lives.  I have no idea why," she said.

At the time, I replied, "That's terrible," but I couldn't help thinking, "Why?"

After a couple of weeks of conversation, she wrote me an e-mail about a funny work incident that happened to her that day.  I read it, chuckled, and went on with my business for the day.

Shortly afterward, she called.  It was polite and civil for a few moments.  She asked me if I had read her message, and I told her that I had, and that it was funny.

Then she asked, "Can you meet up tonight?  I want to talk to you about something."

I was thrilled that she had an opening in her schedule, but it seemed pretty abrupt.  I asked her if everything was okay, and all that she said was that she had to talk to me about something.  I asked her for more details, but it seemed to upset her.  We made hasty plans and ended the conversation.

The front of the local library was where we had chosen to meet.  It was right by the downtown area, and though I was nervous about the sudden nature of our meeting, I was looking forward to dinner and a date.

She stormed down the sidewalk at me, pointed a finger in my face, and said, "We need to talk."

I said, "Okay.  Should we sit down somewhere?"

"No, we'll do this right here," she said, "You didn't even read the e-mail I sent you, did you?"

I said that I did, and even volunteered specific details from it.

She shook her head and said, "No, no, that's not what I wrote.  Okay, you obviously didn't read it."

I pulled out my phone, which has access to my e-mail, and I said, "I can prove it.  But I don't see what the big deal is."

She made a grab for my phone, but I backed away.

"Back off, psycho!" I yelled, perhaps a bit too harshly and too loud, but what the hell was she thinking?

"You're a monster!  You're a beast!" she screamed.

I pulled up her e-mail.  "Here!" I yelled, "Here!  Exactly what I said!  Exactly what I said!  See?  See?"

She started crying and begged me to stop.  "Never contact me," was the last thing I said to her, as I walked into the downtown area, in case she had it in mind to follow me back to my car.

Check the Number and Don't Dial Again

Submitted by Wendy:

My date with Rich was off-putting, but more so was what happened after.

I met him online.  His music choices were what piqued my interest at first, followed by his sense of humor.  He worked for a medical equipment company, which wasn't the humorous part, and also was an aspiring stand-up comic.

Online, then over the phone, he did indeed make me laugh.  Why not meet and see if there's a connection?

He took me out to a restaurant.  Soon after we sat down, he slammed down two beers faster than you could say, "You're a drunk."

"Helps me loosen up," he explained, "Don't worry, I can hold it."

I've heard that twice before from other guys (both of whom couldn't hold it), and soon Rich was loud and obnoxious, but I focused on having a good time.  He didn't make me feel uncomfortable, aside from the fact that he addressed precisely half of his statements to my chest.

After dinner, we parted ways (it was a work night, after all), and on my way home, I received a text from him:

"SASASASASASASASASAAAA."

It was such a strange message, I wondered if it was a technical error on the part of his phone.  I ignored it, figuring that if he had anything intelligible to say, then I would respond to that.

I didn't have long to wait.  Another message arrived.

"DUDE THE GIRL I JUST MET WAS FIIIINE."

Uh oh.  Well, mistakes happen, and sometimes they're of the flattering variety.  I typed out, "Hey, Rich.  Wendy here.  I think you meant for that last message to go to–"

Then, before I could complete it, the following arrived:

"I WANT TO GO BUTTRAPE ON HER."

After picking my face up from the ground, I decided to handle it with a good sense of humor.  I wrote, "Thanks for the compliment, Rich.  You've been sending these texts to me, Wendy, by the way."

I can't imagine what sort of reaction he must have had.

I didn't hear from him until about three weeks later.  A simple text arrived that read, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it!" was my response, but at that point, I was already dating someone new.  It didn't matter anyway, as that was the last I heard from him.

What a Beach

Submitted by Hunter:

Rosa and I were in early dating stages when we decided to hit the New Jersey beach for a day.  We packed up the car and drove there as early as we could, although several like-minded folks had the same idea.  We could tell, even early on, that it was going to be a busy day, but at least we could pick out our own spot and enjoy it as much as possible.

We were lounging out for maybe about an hour and a half when it became exponentially more crowded.

There were a few shops on the boardwalk including some food places.  Rosa asked me if I wanted anything and said that she was going to go grab something to eat.  I offered to go with her, but she said that she'd be right back.

Almost an hour later, she hadn't returned.  I figured that she had perhaps also gone to the bathroom, or that maybe there was a long line.

She didn't come back for a little while longer, and I started to worry.  She had brought her handbag with her, which had her phone, and I tried calling it.  No luck.  I looked around the immediate area, but of course there was no sign of her.

I asked one of my neighbors if she would mind keeping an eye on our stuff while I ran off to find Rosa.  I walked up and down the boardwalk, becoming more and more anxious.  I tried calling her twice more.  Nothing.

I thought about finding a police officer, but thought that that might have been too rash at the moment.  She hadn't been missing for too, too long, and I was sure that there was a logical explanation.

I walked past a little cafe with an outdoor deck, and took a look at the seated patrons, which I hadn't done before, having assumed that she very likely wouldn't be sitting in such a place by herself.  She had said that she'd be right back, after all.

Well, turns out she was indeed sitting down, and she wasn't alone.  Two guys were at the table with her, and they all seemed in good spirits.

I wove my way to the table and greeted them.  Her face noticeably dropped.  She introduced them as old friends who happened to be coincidentally visiting the beach on the same day.

I remarked that I tried calling her, and she looked at her friends, rolled her eyes, and said, "Yeah.  It's a little creepy.  If I don't pick up, just leave a message."  She gave a nervous laugh.

Well, forgive me for being concerned.  "I'll be right back," doesn't usually mean, "I'll come back when I feel like it, after spending time with these two guys.  Even though I could've picked up the phone to let you know that I'd be a bit longer."  I had no problem with her spending time with her guy friends.  It was her inconsiderate attitude that bothered me.

I made as if to stand and said, "Well, don't let me creep you out any further.  I'll be back at the blanket.  It was nice meeting you guys," and I shook their hands.

"What's your problem?" she hissed, then turned to her guy friends and said, "See?"

"See what?" I asked, curious about what she had already told them about me.

She rolled her eyes again, said, "Never mind.  I'll be back there in a bit, all right?  Go."

I went back, intent on forgetting all about her and enjoying the beach.  She hardly spoke to me for the rest of the day, and on the ride back.  It was the last time that I ever wanted to see her, and it was.

Dressed and Unimpressed

Submitted by Angela:

Sam contacted me off of an online site.  I checked out his profile and there were a few shots of him with his shirt off.  Teasingly, I asked him if he ever wore clothes.  He sent me two pictures of himself that he took especially for me, of him wearing probably close to a dozen layers.  "This enough for you?" he asked.

I took it as a fun exchange and we made plans to meet in person for lunch.

Imagine my surprise when we met and he was wearing enough clothes to hit a ski slope!  And this was in June!

"This enough for you?" he asked, just as he had online, but this time with none of the humor I had previously ascribed to the phrase.

I asked the obvious, "Why are you wearing so much clothing?"

He said, "My naked chest is obviously hideous to you, so here you are.  This is what you want, right?"

It wasn't.  I decided right there that this wasn't going to go anywhere, even though, just to be civil, I went through with lunch. 

Looking back, I probably shouldn't have, because he acted angry at me the entire time, swiping up his fork when it was time to eat, and slamming down his glass after taking a drink.

I think he took the hint that I wasn't really feeling it, and he hasn't contacted me since then. 

Give Her Your Priest's Number

Submitted by Bruce:

It was my second time seeing Mia, a 29-year-old .  I was over at her place, and we were on her couch, watching Finding Nemo.  Early on in the film (which we had both seen before), I snuggled close to her and she seemed receptive to touch.

I kissed her cheek.  She turned to me.  I anticipated our first kiss, but she kissed me on my forehead and turned back to the film.  She also adjusted her position, and in doing so, shifted away slightly.

I waited a little longer, then made another try.  I gently turned her head to face me, and I went in for a kiss.  She gave me her cheek and smiled.

So that was that, as far as I was concerned, at least for that day.  I guessed that she thought that it was too fast.

After the film, though, she invited me to her room.  That made me think that she had reconsidered, and I followed her.

We wound up on her bed, with me spooning her.  I lightly tried turning her to face me, but she stayed in her facing-away-from-me position.

I asked, "Am I going too fast for you?"

She said, "A little," followed by, "I don't like fooling around so much."

Hmmmm.  "Like, ever?" I asked.

"Pretty much."

I thought for a moment, then replied, "Then maybe we should just be friends."

"Oh..." she said, sounding disappointed.  Then, "I thought you were different.  Every guy I've been with wants to get into my pants as soon as possible.  What's wrong with taking things slow?"

"Nothing," I told her, "But there's a difference between taking it slow and not fooling around ever."

She said, "I just don't think it's necessary for a healthy relationship."

I moved away from her and sat up.  "That's fine.  I think that it is necessary, but we can stay friends."

She shot up and wrapped her arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze.  I hugged her back.

"I want you to be my boyfriend," she said, "I think we're a great match on everything else.  You'll just get used to it."

"To not having sex?"

She nodded.

"Yeah.  No."

"Can we just try it?"

"It's not going to work.  I'm not celibate.  I'm sorry."

It was back and forth like that for a while as I eased my way off of her bed, out of her room, and (finally) out of her house, with the promise (that I meant) that we'd stay friends.

In the following couple of weeks, she called, e-mailed, and texted me non-stop, as if everything was hunky-dory and we were an item.  Texts like, "Look at this funny article, sweetie," or "Hey hun.  I just wanted to tell u that I like u a lot" appeared constantly in my phone.

I called her after a little while to tell her that I was seeing someone else and that her messages weren't really appropriate.  I wasn't really seeing someone else, but it had to be done.

She sounded very hurt and jumped off the phone quickly.  From that day to this, I haven't heard from her.

Define "Time Off"

Submitted by Elisa:

Last summer, my boyfriend and I were taking some time apart when an old high school friend of mine came into the picture. 

Aaron and I moved in the same circles in high school and he and I were good friends.  After graduation, we grew apart, but he was in touch every year on my birthday and we hung out once or twice in the ensuing years.

He called me out of the blue and we had a good talk.  He asked me how my boyfriend was, and I told him that we were taking some time off.  Aaron then asked if I wanted to hang out over dinner.  It had been a while since I had seen him, and we always had a good time, so I agreed.

Aaron insisted on paying for dinner and even walked me to my door afterward.  It was a very sweet gesture and I thanked him.

A couple of days later, Aaron called again and asked if I wanted to do breakfast.  I liked the idea, and imagine my surprise when he arrived at my door, having already made a homemade hot breakfast!  Eggs, toast, and even bacon!

While we ate breakfast, he asked me out to dinner again later that week.  I was so glad to have him back in my life, and it was great to have such a good friend to help take my mind off of my boyfriend's depression.

That Saturday night, we did a light dinner followed by a walk in a local park.  We sat down on a bench, and it was then that Aaron tried to kiss me!

I pulled away from him.  He asked what was wrong and I reminded him that I had a boyfriend.  Turns out, he was just confused and thought that "time off" meant "broken up."

I told him that I hoped we could be friends, and he said the same thing.  I haven't heard from him from that day to this.  Sad.

Who Wore Short Shorts?

Submitted by Joe:

Corinne was a dancer (in a regional troupe) who I met on the Internet. She came across as serious about her work, but also as someone who was able to relax during down time. Down time which, according to her, came far too rarely.

For a first date, I suggested that we do an early dinner. She had other ideas.

"Let's go to the mall!" she said.

So we went to the mall and walked around. She was absolutely stunning in person. I could imagine her dancing not only onstage, but also all over my bedroom.

We passed by the usual stores when she turned and asked, "Is it cool if I try on one or two things at Banana Republic?"

I had a feeling that "one or two things" meant "dozens of things" and that "Banana Republic" meant "everywhere." In any event, I told her to go for it, provided that we could do dinner sooner rather than later.

She took a couple of skimpy outfits into the dressing room that I had hoped she'd model for me.

She didn't come out for some time. When she did, she looked a bit shaken. I asked her if everything was okay, and she didn't respond. She put the outfits back up on the racks and we left.

She didn't say a word until we were out of the mall, when she turned to me and asked, "Am I fat?"

"Of course not," I said, automatically and truthfully.

She lifted up her blouse a bit to show off her stomach. What a beautiful stomach she had. She tapped it. "You're just saying that," she said, then rolled her shirt back down. "Don't you lie to me."

"I'm not. You're one of the least fattest people I know."

She said, "So you're saying I am fat, but just one of the least fat. Thanks, Joe."

She sped up and ahead of me along the sidewalk. I hurried to catch up. I said, "You're not fat at all! That's not how it was meant! Can we just do dinner, please?"

She spun to me and said, "Dinner will make me fat!"

I said, "I think you're fine. Let's just have dinner."

"No," she said, "I'm going back to the mall. There was something wrong with those shorts I tried on. You'll see."

I said, "No. I want to do dinner. We already did what you wanted to do.  Now I want to do dinner."

"What you want to do?  What you want to do?" she repeated as if trying to find hidden meaning.  "What you want to do doesn't matter.  I'm going back there with or without you."

"Fine.  Let's go back," I acquiesced.

She smiled and started back to the mall.  Then I said, "On second thought... bye," and I walked away from her.

He Was a Prize in a Cracker Jack Box

Submitted by Tara:

Steve was a very attractive guy who I had hung out with a couple of times. He seemed like a nice guy, was a decent kisser, went to my school, and was only a couple of years older than I was. I had just ended it with my previous partner that I had an open relationship with, so I was trying to get my mind off of the break-up.

Steve had mentioned that he had been a drug addict, but had been sober for four years. I thought it was great that he had overcome such an obstacle.

The third time I met up with him, we walked through a park late at night and traded wild stories.  I told him about how a friend and I flashed some guy at Del Taco for free food. Innocent fun, of course.

I asked him for one of his more wild, interesting stories. He told me that a little over four years prior, he had tried to steal his ex-wife's car, failed, and instead hitchhiked to a party where he tried cocaine for the first time.

I laughed it off, but he insisted that it actually happened.

Some people have crazy pasts, and he seemed nice now, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.  I told him about a movie he should see, which I happened to own, and invited him into my apartment to watch the movie (hey, if he tried to rape me, my roommates would hear me, right?).

Things went along fine until the movie ended. He tried feeling up my crotch, and I told him, "No genitalia.  Anything else is fair game for touching."

"Okay," he replied, "Will you jerk me off?"

"No."

"Come on."

"That counts as genitalia."

Then, he said, "How about if I spank you as hard as I can?  Either that or you jerk me off.  Your choice."

"How about you leave?"

He stood up, put on his shoes, and left.  The whole thing made me really miss my ex.  It sucked.

Going Vesuvius

Submitted by Mary:

On the day of my date with Roger, I woke up with a sour stomach.  It was normal for me to sometimes have a little bit of an ache before eating, but this was different - it felt as if I was going to be best friends with the toilet all day.

I took a couple of antacids and had a light breakfast and that seemed to help a little bit.  I wondered if I was coming down with a virus, but the on-again, off-again bad stomach was the only symptom.  I grabbed the bottle of antacids and went off to work.

My stomach behaved itself for most of the day, except around lunch time, when I had a bathroom run that probably registered on the Richter scale.

Roger himself was a really great guy who I couldn't wait to meet.  Turns out, we went to the same college but never met each other while there.  He studied psychiatry, and was most of his way to his doctorate.  I was looking forward to the date like no other in recent memory.

I arrived at the restaurant we had picked out before he did.  Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was just bad timing.  Whatever it was, when Roger called to tell me that he'd be five minutes late, my stomach felt like it was thrashing itself from side to side.

I ran to the restaurant bathroom, a bit panicked.  For some reason, I felt sure that if my stomach kept giving me trouble, then it would cost me any chance I had with Roger. 

I sat on the toilet, nothing happened, my stomach rumbled, and it seemed to settle down.  I sat there for an extra minute or two, then readied myself to meet him.

He arrived a minute after I made it back to the front of the restaurant.  He looked great, and he gave me a big hug.  So far, so good.

We sat down at a booth and ordered a couple of waters.  He was very friendly and seemed really glad to be there, as I was myself, but fears about my stomach kept distracting me.

The waters arrived and I absently took a sip.  It was cold.  The next thing I knew, I shivered, and I felt almost all of the strength flow out of me.

"Oh my God... are you okay?" Roger asked.

"Be right back," was all I could muster as I freight-trained my way to the bathroom.

I bust into a stall, not even bothering to lock it behind me, sat on the toilet, and went Vesuvius on that thing.

After that, I felt better.  Way better.  But I was still really weak.

Someone entered the bathroom.  "Honey, it's a waitress.  Are you all right?"

I imagined Roger telling her to check on me and her replying, "Don't worry, sir.  I'm a waitress."  It made me smile.

I told her that I was fine, that I had a bad stomach, and that I'd be grateful if she could relay that to Roger.

I was in the bathroom for a little while longer, most of the time gaining enough nerve to exit it.  I finally did, and Roger was waiting right outside for me.

"Do you need a doctor?" was the first thing that he asked.

I told him that I was fine, and he offered to take me home.  I felt awful for ruining the date, but he kept reassuring me that it was all okay.  We ended up sitting back down, and I ordered something very, very light.

We're still together.

'Ol Smoke-Mouth

Submitted by Michael:

I nearly fell out of my chair when I found Rita's profile on an online dating site. Here, finally, was a girl who had a great personality, was hysterical, and was hot as hot could be. "How is it that no one else scooped her up yet?" I asked myself as I wrote my first message to her.

She followed up quickly, with a message full of questions and comments about my own profile. She even said that I was the handsomest guy she had seen on the site. Granted, I'm sure that it was hyperbole, but she didn't have to say it in the first place.

Not too long after that, I called her and asked her out.

She showed up looking great — in a dark blue dress with a belt and her brunette hair was down.

"Do you mind?" she asked me as she pulled out a clove and lit it up.

Her profile had said that she was a non-smoker. I wasn't about to call her on it, but I hadn't expected this. It wasn't a big deal.

Dinner was, surprisingly, not nearly as fun as I had imagined. She spoke for most of the time about these two guys that she used to date and how they screwed her over, one with money, the other with, as far as I could tell, taking all of the blankets while they slept.

"Every fucking night it was the same," she whined, "He'd take all the blankets. Hello! You're not the only one in bed! You like fucking me, so how about sharing some of those blankets on a subzero night, pal?"

After dinner, we took a short walk. She lit up a clove and I brought her back to her car to say goodnight.

She was half-finished with her clove when she put it out on a nearby railing and, I'm serious, opened her mouth and tucked the thing in the inner side of her mouth, between her lower gums and her teeth.

She slid it back and forth for a few seconds, then drew me in for a kiss. I pulled away.

"What's your problem?" she asked.

"You have a clove in your mouth! That's gross!"

She corrected, "Half a clove, but lots of people do it. If it freaks you out, then fine."

She gave me a quick kiss on my cheek, then said goodbye.

I later told her that we'd be better off as friends, and we've stayed in touch since then. The idea of kissing her still makes me shudder.

Anger Not the Water Gods

Submitted by Erin:

Walter was an old friend of mine from elementary school and beyond.  In high school, we had connected through a mutual love of music.

We hadn't hung out much in recent years, but he contacted me online to ask if I wanted to have a date on a forthcoming Friday night.  He asked if I wanted to do dinner with him and listen to some new albums.  He also said that he was working on his own music, and I told him that I'd be happy to listen to it.

I went to his house that Friday night, and he invited me inside.  We sat down, listened to a couple of metal songs off of an album, and then he plugged in his amp and went to work.

He had a unique sound (although his songs all sounded a bit similar, and he was a much better lyricist than songwriter) and it was nice to listen to him, overall.  He looked and sounded good.

After a little bit, I asked him when he wanted to do dinner.  He told me to wait a bit and ran out of the room.  He didn't come back for about fifteen minutes, and when he did, he tossed a Chinese take-out container at me, a little too hard and fast.

I caught it, but it opened and gooey noodles flew everywhere.  Brown sauce stained my outfit, and Walter just stood and watched as I mopped it off of myself and left the room to find some water.

While I was in the bathroom, dabbing my shirt clean, I smelled something funny, like gingerbread but with a side touch of rancid mold.

I opened the toilet.  Nothing in there.  I looked behind the shower curtain.  A multi-colored mound of wax sat in the tub, a little over knee-high, as if dozens and dozens of candles had been burnt over the course of weeks.  On the top of the pile, a new candle was freshly lit.

I returned from the bathroom to ask Walter about it.

He replied, "It's part of my religious observances.  I haven't used the shower in a month.  I'm giving thanks to water."

I asked him, "Then where have you bathed?"

He said, "I haven't.  For a month."

I pressed, "How does not taking a shower for a month show that you're thankful for water?"

He said, "It just does.  We don't have any Chinese left.  Want a hot pocket?"

I didn't.  Then he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie.  We had been friends for a while, so I said that I'd stick around, but there was no way I was going to let him put his hands anywhere near me.  He didn't try anything during the film, but he did keep inching closer, to which I responded by inching away.  I think he took the hint.

After the movie, I told him that I had to go.  On his doorstep, I said goodbye, and he gave my right cheek a wet lick.

I pulled away, said goodnight, and left.  That was our only date.

Lady Unluck

Submitted by Ray:

Donna and I met at a professional conference at the Excalibur in Vegas.  She caught my eye at a presentation and I sought her out afterward.  We talked, had drinks in a group, and took a walk around town alone together afterward.  We kissed right on the street, and we spent the night in her room.

The next day, the last of the conference, she was nowhere to be seen.  I made a couple of inquiries, but she was gone.  Ah, well.  What else was I expecting?

Certainly not the phone call a few days later.  She rang and said, "Hey, Ray.  I miss you."

She lived a little over a thousand miles away from me, and although hearing all of the nice things she said to me was very flattering, I wasn't really up for such a long-distance relationship.

All in all, it was nice of her to reach out, I thought, and we ended the call as friends.

A few days later, she called again.  "Hey, Ray.  What are you up to?"

Friendly enough, but it was just a little weird.  Especially when the friendly-catch-up calls turned into an every other day affair.  I began avoiding her calls, and they soon arrived every day.  Her messages made no mention of the fact that I wasn't picking up - only that she missed me and hoped that I was okay.

She left one, finally, that said, "Guess what?  I'm traveling to your area on a business trip!  Let's meet up again."

I called her back to inform her that it wasn't necessary for her to leave as many messages and call as often as she did, although I'd be glad to meet up with her over a quick cup of coffee.

She made a few strange moaning noises, then said that she'd call me back.

I didn't hear from her for several months after that.  I figured that I wouldn't hear from her ever again.

I received an e-mail from her about a month ago.  To summarize, it read that she had told her husband that she had met me and was planning on leaving him for me.  Her husband didn't take this so well and put up such a "fuss" (to use her word) that the two of them had gone to couples therapy and put their lives back on track.

She then apologized and said that despite the fact that she'd be "obviously hurting [my] feelings," she didn't think that she and I should be in touch anymore.

Hopefully, that will be the end of that.

Time to Expand Your Reading List

Submitted by Sia:

I had an anthropology class with Adam.  He was tall and gawky, and I didn't think that he was too attractive, but he was always very nice, and seemed like he'd make a good friend.

One day, around the end of the semester, he asked me out to dinner.  I told him that I'd be glad to go, but that I wasn't interested in dating.  He sounded fine with that.

He took me to a nice restaurant close to campus.  We had a good conversation, and he was clearly a good listener.  I felt like we got along great, and any concerns that I might have had were washed away.

Then he asked me if I was seeing anyone.  I told him that I wasn't, but that I was too busy to really consider a relationship at that time.

He said that he'd be really understanding if I wanted to take things slow.  I repeated that I was really only looking for friends.  I was trying to be as gentle with possible.

He persisted.  "What's your ideal guy like?" he asked.

I listed off the usuals (fun, smart, compassionate, good-looking), plus a specific or two (I particularly like painters, musicians, singers, and guys who are mechanically inclined).

He shrugged and said, "I can do all of that.  You see, Sia," he took my hand, but I ripped it away.  He didn't seem to notice, "I've been reading a lot of short stories lately about women who find guys that they don't like at first, but then they spend more time with them and get to know them and then they start liking them.  You know, like really looking on the inside of a person."

I said that this was great.  However, I didn't want to be seeing anybody.

He asked, "But what if your ideal guy is right in front of you, and this is your one chance to start something with him?"

I replied, "My loss, I guess."

I knew that this wasn't what he wanted to hear.  He stared at me and muttered something.

"What?" I asked.

He said, "You're a big fucking idiot."

I left then and there.  I told all of my friends.  They told their friends.  The rest of the semester was particularly uncomfortable for him, I'm sure, but he never spoke to me again, after that.

What Happens in the Woods

Submitted by Trey:

Brianna and I had been on a couple of dates and seemed to have great chemistry. One weekend, she went out camping with some friends. I wished her a good time, and we planned to have a date sometime during the following week.

On Sunday, she left me a voicemail, asking me to pick her up from her campsite, an hour and a half away. She sounded pretty upset, but I maintained a level head, wanted to be chivalrous, and off I went to the campsite to pick her up. Her phone went right to voicemail each time I tried calling.

When I made it to the trail head, she was nowhere to be seen. I waited for a little while, then hiked a little ways into the path, calling her name. I must have been gone about a half hour.

I was relieved to find her when I returned to my car.

"Where the fuck were you?" she asked, hoisting up her backpack, "You're not here to hike, you're here to pick me up."

That's no way to speak to someone who just drove an hour and a half to pick you up without explanation. I said, "Drop the attitude, or I'll leave here without you."

She threw her bag into my car and climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her.

I wasn't about to leave her behind at this point, so I pulled away from the forest with her.

First thing I did was ask her what happened. She said that she didn't want to talk about it. I asked her if she wanted to talk at all, and she put the radio on in response.

About an hour into the drive, she said, "Fred tried to have sex with me."

Fred was an old friend of hers that she hiked with sometimes. I asked her, "What happened?"

She said, "He tried to put the moves on me once everyone else went to bed. I told him I wasn't interested, but we drank a bit more and I finally let him."

"Let him what?"

"Have sex with me. It was just a one time thing and not really a big deal."

As far as I was concerned, that was the end of our dating life.

"Are you angry?" she asked.

"Nope," I told her. Why would I be? I had decided a moment before that I didn't want to see her anymore

"Why not?  Is that your way of getting revenge on me?"

All I wanted to do was drop her off and have things be over.  I said, "You do whatever you want.  Who am I to tell you what to do?"

"So you are angry," she said, "It's none of your business, really.  I told you out of the goodness of my heart."

"Thanks."

"You are such an angry, bitter person.  I'm glad that I fucked Fred."

"Okay."

It was essentially that conversation on repeat until I dropped her off at her house.  Oddly enough, she called me non-stop over the next few days.  Probably to try and yell at me more, but I never once answered the phone or listened to any of her messages. 

A Closet Is No Place for a Mighty Woman

Submitted by Joanna:

Corey and I had been on one date already, and it had gone well enough for us to kiss goodnight... for twenty minutes. Needless to say, I was really looking forward to seeing him again.

Corey was in the middle of an employment transition. He was an engineer, but it was for a big company, and he was doing a lot of consulting work on the side in preparation for leaving the corporation..

I was a big supporter of his plan to freelance, and it was after a meeting that he had on a Friday that we had decided to have our second date.

"Everything's on me, tonight," he said, "I think that this client's going to be the one."

"The one" referred to the one client who would pay him enough to make it worthwhile for him to quit his 9-5. Corey had been seeking out this "one" for some time.

I was very proud of him, and offered to split dinner with him at a nice place.

"I have a better idea," he said, "My parents have a house out of town, and they're away for the weekend. I have the keys to their place. Let's have dinner in."

I trusted Corey and we were both in great moods. I was up for it, and he drove us to the suburbs.

We had dinner in, we ended up on the couch, and from there, his parents' bedroom (it was the largest bed in the house).

A door opened from somewhere in the house.

I jumped off of Corey.

"Shit, shit, shit," he repeated, as he leaped out of bed.

He pointed at me and said, "Get in the closet."

"Just close the door and explain it to them," I suggested, "Or throw on a robe and go out and distract them while I get dressed."

He scrambled over the bed and pushed me, lightly, into the closet, and shut the door behind me. "Just in case I can't delay them," he explained.

He threw on his pants and shirt and left the room. I heard his voice among other voices, and figured that he was diffusing the situation. He had obviously made a bit of a misestimate regarding his parents' plans!

In the meantime, I slipped out of the closet, put my clothes on, and made the bed as nicely as possible.

After several more minutes, I figured that it was safe to leave the bedroom and find Corey.  I wasn't sure what he was telling his folks, so I tip-toed my way to just outside the living room, where he was speaking to what sounded like two younger people, a man and a woman.

I peeked in.  Corey was indeed talking to a young couple, probably early twenties, on the couch.  I figured that everything was okay, and I stepped out.

The man and woman turned to me, and the man at once asked, "Who are you?"

Crap.  He didn't tell whoever these people were about me.  I said, "I'm Joanna.  Corey's friend."

Corey, who had turned a bit whiter, strode over to me and said, "Hey, Joanna.  Come with me."  Then he turned to the young couple and said, "I'll be right back."

He ushered me out of the house and said, "You have to go."

I said, "Uh... you drove me here.  What's wrong?"

He sighed the biggest sigh I've ever heard, like I was some sort of stupid infant and should've figured it out on my own.  He said, "Look, I like you so I'm going to be honest.  My younger brother showed up with this girl who... this girl who... who I've just really liked for a while.  And so I was trying to convince them to leave, which I would have done, if you didn't come in and interrupt us."

I stared at him, unsure of how he expected me to react.  Hell, I didn't even know how I expected myself to react.

"So you have to go, or at least wait here," he said quietly.

I replied, "Drive me home right now, or I'll give you a lot more trouble than you'd like to have."

He smiled and made as if to laugh, then his face snapped into an angry mask and he pushed past me, toward his car.  "Fine!  All right!  I'll take you home right now!"

He turned to me and said, "You're the one who wants to go home!  Are you coming or not?"

I heard myself say, "Never mind.  I'll call a cab," and I walked away from the house, past him, and down the street.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," he called after me.

I found a bus station after wandering around for the better part of an hour, and I made it home safe and sound.


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A Bad Case of the Dates on the I Like You Podcast!  Check it out here!  Yay!

Orbiting Twin Sons

Submitted by Architect:

Melissa contacted me on one of the many dating websites and introduced herself.  I was pretty psyched because she was super cute and seemed to have her life together.  She had two kids, her own home, and seemed, for all intents and purposes, sane.  We did the standard email exchange for a week or two and then moved on to chatting via IM.

As our conversations became longer and longer, I noticed an irritating trend: we always seemed to be talking about her.

I asked, "So, where did you grow up?" and she would pour out everything I ever wanted to know about her childhood.  But each time, there was no follow up about me.  Now, I'm as much of a self-centered jerk as the next guy, and while I liked learning all about Melissa, I wanted to talk about me, too.

The main reason that I noticed this fact is because I was unemployed at the time and had moved back in with my parents to save some money.  Naturally, I was pretty nervous about revealing this information because of the negative light it would cast on me.  I really wanted to get it off my chest because I like to be upfront and honest.  I decided to wait for the right opportunity.

Melissa and I moved on to phone calls but the pattern persisted.  If I turned the conversation to me, she turned it right back to herself and her two kids.

For our first date, Melissa scored some tickets to a ballet downtown and asked if I would pick her up.  I was really looking forward to the date, but was still concerned about explaining my job situation to her.

I consulted one of my best female friends, Fizziks, on how I should approach the topic, given my inability to get a word in about myself.  Fizziks advised, "This girl has already decided exactly who you are even though she knows nothing about you.  Facts won't change that."

Friday came and I sallied forth to pick up Melissa for the ballet.  I was dressed to kill and she wore a little black dress that looked great.

On the car ride over, I explained that I had no job and was living with my parents.  I held my breath and braced for the worst.

She replied, "Last week, one of my boys did the cutest thing..." as if I hadn't even said a thing!  I could have told her that I liked killing small animals and making hats for my wang out of their lifeless corpses!  She just didn't care.  Fizziks had nailed it!

At that point, I completely lost interest in her.  We went to the "ballet" which actually turned out to be a kids' production with tinny music coming from one lonely speaker hung from the ceiling.  Melissa talked right on through it.  "Oh, I should have gotten my boys involved in this!  Did I tell you about that cute thing they did last week?"

At dinner afterward (I know, why did I bother?), I asked her point blank, "We've been spending a lot of time talking about you and your kids, is there anything you want to know about me?" 

She said, "Um, do you like kids?"

That's it.  I was done.  I took her home, told her I was not really feeling a connection, and left.  Cute or not, nothing could make me want to spend another evening orbiting the center of the universe that was Melissa.


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A neato article from the BBC about love 'n friendship 'n how pursuit of the former could cost you the latter.

The Ball, the Chain, and the Muumuu

Submitted by Elizabeth:

James chatted me up at a bar, and I gave him my number.  His first time calling me, he asked if we could meet up for a date.  It was a little fast, but he made the case that we had already met once in person.  I didn't see any harm in a dinner date.

He asked me if I'd be able to pick him up at his suburban house, since he didn't have a car or easy access to public transport.  I didn't mind the idea, and I made it to his place a little early.

I went to his door and rang the bell.  A woman, around my age, in a muumuu, answered.

I introduced myself and asked if James was home.  She asked me if I was his date.  I said that I was.  The woman told me to wait, and she closed the door.

I heard her yell, "James!  Get down here!"

A few moments later, James came to the door.  He invited me in.

The place was a sty.  A small mountain of take-out cartons sat on top of a half-dozen full garbage bags, and that was in the middle of the living room.  James pulled out a wicker chair without a bottom.

"Here, sit on this... somehow," he said as he put his mismatched shoes on.  "Sorry.  I won't be another minute."

The woman appeared again and gave James a list.  He pocketed it and she eyed me suspiciously.  I asked her what her name was.

She belched and farted in response.  I stepped toward the door.

"Okay, time to go," James said, hugging the woman and kissing her on the mouth.  "Love you," he said, then turned to me.  "Let's go."

Out in the car, before I pulled away, I asked him, "What is going on here?"

He explained that the woman was an ex-girlfriend who had gone way, way off the deep end.  She apparently thought that the two of them were still going out!  He had promised to take care of her until she was back on her feet.

"She's getting better," he explained, "She's letting me do the grocery shopping on my own, now," he said, pulling out the list she had handed him.  "Is it okay if we stop on the way back?  It'll be quick."

I still hadn't moved the car.  There was still an opportunity to cancel.  I told him that I wasn't comfortable with a situation in which an angry-seeming, muumuu-wearing woman thought that I was stealing him away.

He teared up, moaned that it was so hard for him to get laid, and asked if I'd drive him to the grocery store and just cut out the date part.

The whole mess made me uncomfortable, but I told him that I'd drive him to the store if he'd find his own way back, I don't know, by calling a friend or something.  Going back to that house gave me a bad news feeling like you wouldn't believe.

He agreed to my plan, I dropped him off, and that was that.  Saddest, shortest "date" I've ever been on.

Last Night's Cell Count Came Up One Short

Submitted by Alex:

My first time calling Alicia (we had met online), she asked me if I was a "protector or a predator."

I wasn't sure if it was a reference to something, but the logical answer seemed to be "protector," so that's what I said.

"Really?  Interesting," she replied.

I pressed her for what she had meant, but her only answer was that she was "just curious."  Maybe she just asked it to be quirky.  I put it out of my mind, and everything else was normal, for the time being.  That being the case, I asked her out on a date.  A walk and lunch.

I made it to our meeting place, and not long after, a pudgy young woman, around my age, walked up to me and said, "You're about to meet Alicia.  You'd better treat her right."

I asked this girl who she was, and she repeated, "Treat her right!" and walked away.

Moments later, Alicia herself showed up.  She seemed glad to see me, and we hugged hello.  However, there was the little matter of...

"Some girl just came up to me and warned me to treat you right.  What was that all about?" I asked.

Alicia said, "That's one of my protectors.  She used to be a predator, but now I've made her into a protector.  It's okay."

"Can you explain what you mean by 'predators' and 'protectors'?  I'm just not following."

"Protectors wear white.  Predators are everyone else.  You're wearing some white, so you're safe."

It was true, I had white in the shirt I was wearing.  And the girl who had approached me wore a white skirt.  I decided to just roll with it.  It was probably just some game that she was playing, that I'd be clued into, sooner or later.

It became more than a game in a hurry, though.  After a brief walk, I asked her if she wanted to go to lunch at Andre's, a cafe nearby.

She refused.  "I can't.  I haven't scouted it since last year."

"Can you explain all of this to me?" I asked, "It's creeping me out."

She suggested that we do lunch "somewhere outdoors with lots of light," and so we found another place.

She never explained her strangeness to me, and I wasn't about to bring it up anymore, fearing that she'd do something even weirder.

After the date, we went our separate ways, and I had no real intent to contact her again.

That night though, an e-mail arrived from her:

"had to make sure you weren't one.  sorry."

A few days later:

"knew you were one after all.  bye."

Welcome to the Hotel. No Touching Privileges.

Submitted by Diane:

James seemed like a really nice guy over e-mail, so after a little while I felt good about meeting up with him in person.

He showed up looking good, but he dragged a huge black duffel bag with him.

I asked him what was with the bag.  He told me that he was coming from work.  He had told me before that he was a part-time coach (and part-time sales associate) so I figured it was all just some soccer equipment, although it mystified me as to how he had enough time to change into something nice but not enough time to drop off his equipment before the date.

At dinner, though, the truth came out.  Earlier in the day, he had been kicked out of his parents' house and the bag carried everything that he owned.

I felt terrible for him and asked him what he was going to do.

He explained that he had to stay in the area because of his jobs, and then asked me if he could stay at my place.

I was taken a bit aback, as we had just met, but I felt as though I knew him well enough to trust him.  I asked him how long he'd need to stay.

He said that he wasn't too sure.  A week at the most.

I told him that a week was a little too long.  Would he settle for a night?

He said that he would.  I told him that I had a couch.  After dinner, we went to my place to set him up.

A little after we had gone to bed, he came into my bedroom and he sat down on my bed!  He asked me if we could sleep together.

I told him that we couldn't, and asked him to go back to the couch.  He did, and the next morning, I told him that I wanted him to leave.

He called me all sorts of nasty things (the nicest of which was, "You're just like my parents").

He was probably right.  I'd bet that they wouldn't sleep with him if he asked, either.

Your Clothes Are Dry, But You Smell Funny

Submitted by Andrew:

I was a little early in arriving at Christina's house to pick her up for our second date.  Our first one had gone very well, and I was looking forward to seeing her a second time.

I called to let her know that I was outside, but to take her time if she was still preparing.

She said that she was glad that I had called, and asked if I'd mind coming in.  There was some sort of problem.

I went inside and she led me to her toilet, which was full of... well, clothes.

"They're stuck," she said.

"Why are there clothes in your toilet?" I asked.

She explained that for some reason, the water in her house was shut off, and that the only place wherein she could wash her clothes was the toilet.

"It's okay," she explained away, "It's the same kind of water that everything else uses."

"Why not bring the clothes to a laundromat?" I asked.  This, according to her, was impossible, as there were no laundry places close by, and she needed these clothes soon.

"But they're stuck," she said again.

I asked her if she had any rubber gloves.  She shrugged.  I looked in the cabinet under her bathroom sink.  There was one rubber glove.  I put it on and asked her for a garbage bag.

"You're throwing my clothes out?" she asked.

"No.  I just need a place to put them once I pull them out of here."

She grabbed me a bag and I went to work.  Most of them came out easily, but some were pretty deeply lodged in there.  After a few minutes, I was pretty sure that I had everything out, at least as much as I could see.

She tried to pick up the garbage bag, but it was full of wet clothes.  She asked if I'd help her carry it down to her dryer, which I did.  We stuffed her sopping wet clothes inside and started it up.

"Ready to go?" I asked her.

She looked down at herself and told me that some of the clothes she had wanted to wear were the toilet-water ones inside of the dryer.  "Would you mind waiting until they're dry?" she asked.

I was planning on spending the time with her anyway, so we played a few games and watched a movie.  Her clothes, because they were sopping wet, never dried fully that afternoon.

Around dinnertime, I suggested that we go out to dinner.

She said, "The clothes I wanted to wear are still in the dryer, remember?"

I suggested that she wear another outfit that was already dry.  She said that she only wanted to wear a set that was still damp inside of the dryer, and that she'd wear them if I insisted.

I didn't insist, but I again suggested that she put on a different outfit.

She suggested that I leave.  I left.

Burning Love

Submitted by Ginny:

I worked at a restaurant for close to two years when one of my coworkers, Ben, came onto me pretty hard.  He was younger than I was, but was a funny guy and damn attractive to boot, so we started meeting up outside of work.

One time, we were there past closing, and our manager had to run out early.  We lasted maybe about three minutes before our hands and mouths were all over each other.  We did it in the dining room, we did it at the service station, and we eventually ended up in the kitchen, which was, admittedly, not the smartest place to get it on.

He lifted me onto the counter, then slid me down.

On the stove.

The still-hot stove.

I saw a white flash, and the next thing I knew, I was on top of him, on the floor, screaming my guts out.

He said, "Oh shit, oh shit," over and over again, while I struggled to yell out for some ice or cold water or anything that would tamp down the skin-ripping heat that coursed through my rear and upper thighs.

He grabbed some ice and applied it, perhaps a bit too roughly, but I was grateful for how quickly he was useful in a crisis.

A trip to the hospital and a diagnosis of second-degree burns later, our wild night was over.

Ben and I stopped seeing each other (for unrelated reasons) but we're still friends.  Nowadays, we can laugh about it, but every time I get a pain in my ass, I think of him.

And She Don't Care

Submitted by Brendan:

Alyssa and I found each other on a dating site. I was just out of a relationship wherein my then-girlfriend had taken things way too seriously (example: I left a container of orange juice out by the sink overnight and she wouldn't speak to me for a week) and was attracted to Alyssa's apparent laid-back attitude. Also, she was an elementary school teacher at my old elementary school, so we already had a lot to talk about.

After dinner, she asked me if I was up for something daring. She said that I had an "honest face," and that she was going to tell me a secret that she hadn't told anybody.

What is it? I wondered. She asked me if I'd drive to the location. She would direct me. It seemed like fun, so I went along with it.

She led me to a patch of forest off of a main road. A dirt way led up to a fenced-in area of train tracks. She climbed the fence and I followed her.

"We flattening pennies?" I asked.

"Something like that," she said, then went on, "I do this to blow off steam. It's a hell of a rush."

She walked up to the train tracks and asked me what time it was. I figured that this was for effect, as she was wearing a watch, herself. I told her the time, and she said, "Just in time."

She sat on the train tracks and extended her hands to me. "Come sit," she said.

"Maybe we could sit someplace safer," I suggested, "Like alongside the tracks. Or behind the fence. Or in Afghanistan. Anywhere else, really."

"It's okay. We're not going to die. You have to trust me."

She explained that the object was to jump off of the tracks at the last possible second.

I didn't think twice. I reached for her arms and went to pull her off of the tracks.

"What are you doing?" she asked, "If you're too chicken-shit to do this, then you're not going to stop me."

I tried to pull her off again, but she struggled and kicked and tore. I practically begged her to come off of the tracks, but she refused.

At one point she said, "It's beyond safe. You just have to know when to jump off."

I asked, "If it's that safe, then how comes it that you develop such a thrill from doing it?"

She said, "Because it's a train hurtling towards you at top speed. Nothing beats the rush."

The train came. I kept repeating to her that I wanted her to come off of the tracks, but she ignored me. The train closed in. I prepared to lunge for her, to grab her, pull her off, and hopefully not die myself in the process.

She jumped off on her own, on the other side of the tracks, about ten seconds before the train would've hit her.

After it zipped past, she walked over to me and said, "You missed out. That was awesome."

What was even more awesome was driving her home and never going on another date with her.

"This Place Is an All-You-Can-Eat Buffet"

Submitted by Stephanie:

I knew Chris from church, and he always struck me as handsome and nice, but also a bit of a loner.  I was surprised when he joined our youth group's weekend hiking trip.

Eleven of us were signed up, mostly women, and I was really looking forward to it.  We arranged the caravan and headed out late on Friday for the state park, two hours away.  Our plans were to camp until early Sunday afternoon.

Most of us were together in a minivan, and most of us were talking for most of the way.  Chris was sitting next to me, typically, silent.  I began prodding him, asking him a bit about himself, and slowly, he opened up.

He was the one I knew the least about, and also the one about whom I was the most curious.  He was an amateur carpenter, an aspiring actor, and something about his voice made him irresistibly attractive.  At one point, he put his arm around me while we were talking.  It might have been to be more comfortable, or it might have been something else.  I was fine with it, either way.

We arrived at the site, and Chris stayed close to me.  He helped me pitch my tent, and he even started the bonfire.  He sat next to me while we all talked, sang, and enjoyed each other's company.

My first inkling that something was amiss cam when he followed me back to my tent.  "Can I come in with you?" he asked.

I told him, "I think you should sleep in your own tent, but we can talk more tomorrow."  I hugged him goodnight, and he trudged away.

The next day, we all went out for hikes, and Chris was noticeably paying less attention to me.  I didn't mind, but it didn't escape my observation.  He was talking, almost animated, with some of the other girls, like Katie, Jackie, and Kelly.  He seemed to be avoiding me.  It made me a little sad, but I wasn't there to impress a guy.  I was there to have a good time with my friends, which is exactly what I did.

That night, he was absent from the bonfire.  We figured that he was in his tent, and so we didn't bother him.

A few hours later, when we had just put the fire out and gone to bed, there was a scratching at my tent.  I opened it and Chris tumbled in, reeking of alcohol.

"This place is an all-you-can-eat buffet," he said.

"What do you mean?"

He said, "Jackie and Kelly just let me go down on them.  You up for it?"

I stared at him and replayed his last words over a few times in my mind.  Once I was positive that I had heard what I had heard, I asked him to leave my tent.  He did, and I zipped it closed.

He was late coming out of his tent the next morning, so I had a chance to speak with Jackie and Kelly.  They denied doing any such things with Chris, and I'm inclined to believe them.  Mostly because they're my friends, but also because Jackie was sharing a tent with her younger brother, and such an act would be difficult to hide.

We were packing up by the time that someone collected Chris and stuffed him into the van with the rest of us.  He didn't say a word the whole way back. 

He only came back to church once since then, and I haven't seen him in over a year.

Why to Always Keep a Labeling Marker On Hand

Submitted by Bruce:

Last fall, my brother asked me if I could pick up my niece from her kiddie gym around midday.  I did, and while there I met Nora, one of the instructors.

Nora had a fantastic body, a great smile, and took a lot of time to talk to me about not only my niece's progress at the gym, but also each other.  I've been wrong in the past about mistaking super-friendliness for flirting, but I had a good feeling about her and asked her out to dinner on the spot.

We drove separately to a Japanese restaurant in the middle of town.  She showed up in a dress that accentuated each of her assets.  She flashed me that dynamite smile again, and I nearly forgot how to form a sentence.

Dinner went very well, although she seemed to be fishing for compliments a lot of the time.  I did my best to convey to her how beautiful and smart I thought she was.

After dinner, we hugged goodbye.  I promised to call her, and we headed to our respective homes.

When I made it back to my front door, there was something waiting for me: a small box with a red ribbon.  It was labeled, "From Nora."

I stood up and looked around.  Had she left it there before the date?  Or had she rushed back to my place to leave it there when I was on my way back?  Slightly more importantly, how had she known where I lived?

I went inside and opened it up.  A blank DVD.  For the first time that night, I had a bad feeling.  Something didn't seem right.  I popped in the DVD and watched...

...a video of Nora and another man, having sex on the floor of what looked like a classroom.

I turned it off.  Clearly, she wasn't the one who left it on my porch.  My guess, the guy in the video had left it, somehow finding out where I lived.  Great.  Now I had a psycho ex with whom to deal.

I thought about calling Nora, but remembered how tense she had seemed during dinner, and decided against it.  Why worry her even more?  My plan was to ignore it.  If a sex video was the worst that the guy could do, then what did I have to be worried about?

I called Nora the next day, and she sounded very happy to hear from me.  We made tentative plans for the weekend.

"Did you get the present I left on your porch?" she asked.

I forgot how to form a sentence again.  "Uh..."

"Did you like it?"

How to react?  "It was... well, it's a little unusual that you left me a video of you and another guy having sex, but... I guess I'm... flattered?"

Silence.  Then, "What did you say?  Me and another guy... oh my God."

Whoops!  Turns out, she meant to leave me a video of a solo acting performance she had done in a regional theatre troupe, and she had in fact left it there before the date.

She hurried off the phone, and out of respect, I waited a few days before calling her.

When I did, I left a message to let her know that it was nothing to worry about, that it was an accident, and that I'd be glad to return the disc to her whenever and wherever she wanted.

Never heard from her again.

Where Forty Minus Twenty Equals Just One

Submitted by Dean:

I was the bad date, on this one.  I was drunk at a party my senior year of college, and fell in with Patty, another senior.  We talked about this and that and at some point or another we started making out in a corner.  These were the only memories I had from that night.

The next day, I was out with some friends at a mall food court, and I told them about my encounter with Patty.  They all made faces and said variations of "Ew."

Great.  What was wrong with her?

"She's fat," one of my friends said.

I went to her defense.  "She didn't seem fat last night.  Maybe just a little overweight."

Then I remembered something.  I went on, "Is she in our sociology class?"

Another friend said, "She sits way in back.  The blonde with the..."

I remembered her.  She was a bit on the big side, but nothing terrible.  I decided to give her a call and see if she wanted to hang out.

She did, and we met at a local restaurant.  She was bigger than I had remembered from the party, but as I said, she wasn't Shamu.  Or even baby Shamu.

Unfortunately, I began thinking, "I can do better than her," and "She wants me... she's desperate.  I can run this easy."

I didn't mind the idea of keeping her around to fool around with, but she definitely wanted something more.  After seeing each other a few times, she confessed, "I think I like you more than anyone else I've ever been with."

I thanked her, and she asked me point-blank, "What do you want out of this?"

I didn't know.  A make-out-buddy, I guess.  "I don't know," I told her, "I'm not in a rush."

"If I was 40 pounds lighter?  Would that help?"

Why would she ask that?  What a catch-22!  Oh, honesty.

In retrospect, I should've said, "You're fine."

Instead, I said, "Twenty might be more realistic."

"I see."

She called me up after I hadn't heard from her in a couple of days to tell me that she didn't want to see me anymore.  I don't blame her.

Bad to Worse to Worst to Best

Submitted by Hannah:

For our first date, Robert suggested going ice skating.  I thought it was a great idea and original compared to a lot of dates I'd been on.

The only rink in the area was over an hour away on the train, but I thought this would give us plenty of time to find out about each other, so off we went.   Robert was smart and sweet and so hot!  Everything was going great.

The ice rink turned out to be closed, and Robert was furious with himself for not checking the times before we left.  I suggested that we get something to eat, which Robert was up for.

He said that one of his favorite restaurants was nearby, and we walked into the town to make it there. 

We arrived to discover that the place had been gutted in a fire.  On asking a passerby, we found that the fire had happened only two days before.  Robert was devastated.

We ended up at a McDonald's, not the best place to end up on a first date after traveling over an hour.  But we ended up having a laugh and I really enjoyed his company, so things could only get better from there.

After getting back home, Robert walked me to my door and leaned in for a kiss.  It was perfect until he stumbled back, gasping for breath.

At the time, I was unaware that he was severely allergic to certain nuts and that the lip balm I was wearing had almonds in it.

He's dead now.

Not really.  He turned out just fine, although I never expected a second date.

That was two years ago, and Robert proposed last week.

Willow Me This, Willow Me That

Submitted by Mia:

Lloyd and I met in a park.  He struck up a conversation with me while I was reading a magazine, and we clicked instantly.  By the time he left, it hadn't even occurred to me that we had been speaking for over an hour.  During that time, I had given him my number.  A couple of days later, he asked me out on a proper date.

He brought flowers, which was a magnanimous gesture.  To drive home the point, he said, "I brought flowers.  That was nice of me, right?"

Red flag.  Or maybe he was nervous.  I thanked him for the flowers.

These thoughts were fleeting, as I looked over his shoulder to see his car.  The rear passenger seat door was... well, it wasn't there.  A tangled mess of stretched-over garbage bags and duct tape covered the area where a door would be.

"It was taken out after a collision with a motorcyclist," he explained, "It was hysterical."

I asked, "Was the motorcyclist all right?"

He said, "Nope.  Ready to go?"

I had a grilled chicken salad for dinner and he had steak tips.  He said, "My Aunt Rose could make better steak tips, and her steak tips are shitty."

I suggested that he order something else, and he replied, "My Aunt Rose has huge tits.  Ever wonder what that would be like?"

I wasn't sure if he was trying to be insulting or trying to make conversation.  I assumed the best of him and replied, "Yes.  Probably a terrible nuisance."

"Not for me," he said.

"You'd like large breasts?"

"In my mouth, yeah," he said, scarfing down a colossal mouthful of steak tips.  "Speaking of, I have an idea for something fun we could do after dinner."

My tension must've been obvious, because he followed up with, "Don't worry.  Nothing physical.  Just something I discovered recently on another date.  Not with you."

You don't say?  Very well.

After dinner, he took me to a small park with a big weeping willow tree.  We ducked under it and sat down.  It was pretty neat, but dark and a little too far away from other people for my liking.

I didn't have to worry about my safety, as it turned out.  He sat down next to me, then jumped up and said, "Brilliant!"  He grabbed at some of the dangling branches and asked me to help him collect them.  I asked him why, but he said simply that I'd love the idea.

We gathered up a whole bunch, and he led me to his car, where he tore off the garbage bags and duct tape over his door-hole.  He then took out some tape and began taping willow branches down the length of the door.

He said, "I can't believe that I never thought of this before."

About a half-hour later, we were done, and his door looked about as insane as you can imagine, but I had never seen anything like it before, so maybe it was a good idea.  He stepped back and evaluated it.

"Damn it," he said, cradling his head, "It's not strong enough.  I want to rebuild it, but it's getting late.  Want to get home?"

I did.  He drove me home and said, "Let me know if you'd want to hang out again.  I promise to get it fixed before the next time.  Probably with an actual door."

I will certainly call him if I ever feel the need to hang out again.

I Would Do Handstands for You

Submitted by Stanley:

Nell was a girl I had wanted to ask out for over six years.  We went through elementary, junior high, and senior high school together, but I never developed the nerve to ask her out until 11th grade.

I'll never forget how it happened.  She was sitting all alone at the bleachers, reading.  I was coming from the gym and was about to head home when I spotted her.  "Now or never" zipped through my mind, and I went for it.

I approached her and said her name.  She looked up and gave me such a sweet smile that all of my confidence turned to quivering jelly.  I wanted her so badly.

And she said yes.  That was the awesome part.

I had hoped that the awesome part would continue into the date itself, but I noticed early on that things weren't right when she didn't once make eye contact with me.  Not once.  When she spoke or replied to me, it was always directed towards an inanimate object.  In retrospect, I suppose she could have been nervous.  Or maybe I'm unspeakably ugly.  Either way, it was off-putting.

We did a light dinner at a cafe followed by a walk by a lake.  It was a warm spring night, and she suggested dipping our feet in the lake off of a dock.  Having seen countless romantic postcards depicting such a practice, I jumped at the chance.  We removed our shoes and socks and did just that.

I edged closer to her, trembling, arguing with myself whether or not I should go for a kiss.

Then, she turned and actually looked at me for the first time.  She said, "Check it out."

She drew herself out of the water, stood, bent herself forward, and did a handstand, right on the edge of the dock.

Her dress flopped over her head.  She yelled something, lost her balance, and before I could stop her, she fell into the shallow water.

She screamed and thrashed and I pulled her out.  Any humor or goodwill was banished with her following sentence: "You pushed me!"

I had done nothing of the sort, nor would I have ever.  I denied her accusation, but she was adamant, soaking wet, and furious.  She demanded that I take her home.  I did, and she never spoke another word to me since.  I still wonder whatever became of her.

Action at the Old Folks' Home

Submitted by Sierra:

Ken and I worked together at a retirement complex.  We were good friends, teasing and talking, for a while.  His overtures became flirtatious, and despite having a bad experience with a workplace tryst (elsewhere) once before, I liked the way I felt around him, and flirting back felt right.

Once, when I was in a supply closet, he came up from behind me, impersonated an eldery man, and said, "Now I'll have my way with you, you young'in!" and kissed down my neck.  I spun around and we made out.  It was our first kiss, and it was really hot.

We spent time together outside of work, too.  We did dinner a few times, took a couple of day trips, and, for all intents and purposes, were dating.  Ken told me that he really liked me, felt that we had something special, and that he was glad to have met me.  Everything was great.

Unfortunately, my supervisor, Ellen, was a year older than I was, liked Ken herself, and was the jealous type.  This also made workplace indiscretions a little harder to avoid, as Ken and I both knew this and found it even hotter to hook up right under her nose at work.

About a month after Ken and I had begun our supply room "chats," Ellen caught us.

She fired me on the spot (which, to be fair, I would've done, too) and she told me to leave the supply closet so that she could talk to Ken alone.  I did as she asked.

Ken came by my place after his shift was over.  I gave him a big kiss and asked him what had happened.  Ellen had apparently confessed her feelings to him and asked him to go down on her.

Half of me was shocked, the other half in hysterics.  Ellen and I had never meshed well, but I certainly didn't wish her humiliated.

Jokingly, I asked Ken, "So, did you?"

"Yes."

I laughed.  He was joking.  He had to be.

He went on, "It was just a one-time thing."

My first thought: I just kissed him.  My smile vanished.  I said, "You're kidding.  Right?"  I wouldn't have put it past him to be joking about it.  Ken could be pretty deadpan sometimes.

He said, "I need this job.  I don't like her or anything.  It's not a big deal."

I screamed, "What?  It's a huge deal!  You went down on Ellen and you come in here as if it was nothing at all?"

He backed away.  "I thought you'd want honesty."

I couldn't believe that he couldn't see what was wrong with the situation.  "Forget honesty!  You went down on another woman!  Get the hell out!"

He apologized over and over, but I was done.  Nothing was more unattractive in the world at that moment than he.

He called, texted, e-mailed, and even showed up at my place once since then, but I was done with him.  I found a new job in another nearby town, and forgot all about him.  Well, until I wrote this.

Her Little Secret

Submitted by Ethan:

I had a profile up on a site that I hadn't checked in a long time. When I was notified that someone had actually found my profile and messaged me, I wasn't too excited.

Then I saw the picture of the girl who had written to me. Deborah. She was stupid cute, with big brown eyes and a petite body. Her profile was well-written, and I was a little impressed with myself for attracting someone like her, assuming that her profile was at all accurate.

We e-mailed each other for a little less than a week before agreeing to set up a date. Her messages were so friendly and kind that I thought I had fallen into some other dimension, a
magical place where women like this existed.

I took especially long to prepare for the date, and I arrived early at the restaurant. In the lounge, my stomach felt heavy as a rock. I honestly, at one point, wondered to myself, "Holy crap. What if this is the girl?"

A six-foot guy walked in and approached me. "Ethan?" He extended his hand.

I shook it and asked, "Do I know you?"

He nodded sheepishly. "I'm Jeff."

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Jeff went on, "I'm sorry. I thought you were adorable, and I know your profile said you were straight, but..."

Oh no.

I stepped back, feeling dizzy. I said, "Jeff, I have to go." I pushed past him and made for the door.

"Wait," I thought I heard him say, but nothing could stop me.

The first thing I did upon returning home was to delete my profile.

That was five years ago and since then, I've found a great woman. Be careful out there.

If You Give a Louse a Cookie

Submitted by Katelynn:

I met Steve online and he seemed normal enough through e-mail. I met him at a restaurant near me and started to get a bad feeling about the date when he texted me two minutes before the planned meeting time: "You're late."

I met him at a bring-your-own-beer restaurant and another bad feeling came over me when he brandished a bottle of wine and said, "This cost me $25." Oh, great.

He grilled me on politics and religion, beginning with, "Why the hell are you a Libertarian?" as stated in my profile.  "They've got it all wrong."

I said I didn't really want to talk about this on the first date and tried to change the subject to sports. He persisted. I asked if he would talk about something else.

He talked about sex and asked what positions I liked. I ended the date as quickly as possible and made sure he was not following me home.

He e-mailed me the next day: "You have great boobs."  I ignore him, obviously. He persisted in texting me, and I persisted in ignoring him. 

He finally messaged me that his first text was just a joke.  I responded, "But did you really think that was appropriate, though?" At this point, any rational guy would know that it is game over. If a girl tells you that you have acted inappropriately before the second date, she never wants to see you again.

He continued to text and e-mail me for over a week. I never responded until I finally had enough and texted, "I am not interested. Please stop contacting me."

He responded "Fuck you. Of all the girls I have ever met, you are the biggest bitch of them all."

I didn't reply. He later e-mailed me, "If you ever see me, don't talk to me or acknowledge me. You have no right to even look me in the eye."

The next day, on the dating site where we had first met, he winked at me.

Don't Call Us. We'll Call... Just Don't Call Us

Amy had a profile up on a dating site, and it was just unique enough to make me want to message her.  She liked films, cooking, attending parades, and painting. 

She replied with a message that was about half the length of War & Peace and about as engrossing as Vanya on 42nd Street. The gist of it was that she was just out of a relationship wherein the guy mooched off of her and wouldn't find a job for months.  Therefore, she required that all guys who wanted to take her out on a date forward her their resumes.

"A lot of guys balk at that," she explained, "But it weeds out a lot of losers."

Unusual, but I didn't see any harm in it.  I asked her to forward me hers as well, as a sign of good faith.

"Why?" she asked, "You don't believe me when I say where I've worked?"

I replied, "Sure I do.  But you don't believe me."

Her resume arrived as a five-page document.  She had listed her entire work history, starting at age 10, "Co-managing a tropical fruit stand with co-owner, Terry (6, cousin)."

"We should meet," she said upon reading my work history, "But I'm going to have a lot of questions.  Be ready."

We met at a coffee place and after the exchanging of pleasantries, she sat down and said, "Let's get down to business," and pulled out a copy of my resume.

She went line by line, asking me questions like, "Why did you leave this job?" and "Did you ever manage people?"

It was most definitely more a job interview than a date, but I held out hope that she'd turn slightly more normal once we had established that I had, in fact, been employed.

"You didn't include references," she said, quietly at first, so I thought that I had misheard her.

"References?"

She nodded.  "Is it okay if I call a few?  I mean, you seem to be on the level, but you could just be making all of this up."

"How badly did your ex burn you?" I asked.

"Bad," she said, "He stole $50 from my wallet."

"You caught him in the act?"

She said, "Pretty much.  It was after a party of mostly his friends.  It could've been any of them, I guess, but I hold him responsible.  It was just the last straw."

I gave a sympathetic smile.  "Can I see your references?"

"No.  You could be a stalker."

"So could you."

"I'm not."

I said, "So give me your references.  I'm not giving you mine otherwise."

She said, "Being difficult isn't a good quality in a guy."

"Being bitter enough to implicitly blame all guys for one guy's actions isn't a good quality, either."

She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter.  Now that I know where you worked, I'm going to call these places up and find out who your supervisor was, anyway.  You might as well tell me."

"What if I don't want the job?"

She slammed her hands down on the table and stood up.  She yelled, "You can't fire me!  I quit!"

She crumpled up my resume, threw it in the trash, and stomped off.  Now I'll have to find someone else to manage my fruit stand.