Context: Hey readers! If you’re wondering why I haven’t been bringing you tales from my own dates recently, it’s because I’m kinda sorta seeing someone…? It’s weird, I know. When I told my friend JD, he responded with the following:
I think the thing that really pushed me to delete dating apps from my phone (tbh thought I would still have them when I was married, just for shits and gigs) was when this guy invited me over for our 4th date and cooked me dinner AND breakfast. WHAT?! If a guy cooks me a meal that a) doesn’t kill me, b) he bought the groceries for, and c) involves wine, there is a 100% chance you’ll find me on the phone with my best friend late that night telling her about the mac n’ cheese that made me realize I was ready to get married. And, since my best friend knows me well, she’ll realize that I’m making this call while awkwardly standing in this dude’s kitchen looking for post-coital snacks while wearing nothing but underwear, because if a dude is sweet and attractive enough to get me into his home AND can cook?! Sex. Is. Happening.
Therefore, I’m back with another story from a friend I made at my conference last weekend! And, I think I can say with confidence that none of my date stories have gotten to the level of WACK that this one reached. But, you be the judge! Take it away, JW!
Hi, Tinder District readers! My name is JW, and when J introduced herself as a “dating blogger” at a conference we attended this weekend, I knew I needed to share my stories with her. I’m now happily in a relationship, but I’ve had my fair share of wild experiences! As the well-known saying goes, “crazy is as crazy does.” That might not actually be a well-known saying, but I’m pretty sure I heard it in a movie once. I digress.
I was out having coffee with a girl, “Star,” who I met on Match.com. I know, I know, but this must have been nine or ten years ago – before the Tinder days! We were having a nice conversation, and we started talking about fake IDs for some reason – I think because we saw some teenage kids walking into the package store next door.
JW – How old were you when you got your first fake ID?
S – Oh, I was about 16.
JW – Wow, you really started hitting the bars early!
At this, she cast her eyes down shyly at her hands on the table, and replied “No, that’s not why.” Thinking logically, I asked “Oh, were you a smoker?” She replied no again, and racked my brain for other possible explanations. “Did you gamble?” Once more, she shook her head no.
Puzzled, I inquired further. “If you’re not drinking, smoking, partying, or gambling, then what in the hell did you need a fake ID for?!”
Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
“Well, you remember how I said I was from California…?” I nodded and took a slow sip of my coffee, curious as to where this was going. “A friend and I got this great idea that we could make money by shooting adult videos.”
Have you ever had hot coffee come out of your nose? It is not a pleasant experience. Yet, there I was, coughing and sputtering uncontrollably. Somehow through the pain, I managed to spit out a casual “YOU DID WHAT?!?!”
My date, somehow calm through this pivotal moment in my young life, responded with “Yeah, I tried it. It was awkward at first, but I eventually realized I wasn’t good at it.”
I’m now attempting to blot the coffee that’s dotting my shirt while casually changing the topic to literally ANYTHING else, trying to decide whether this is a fantasy come true or a clue to run, when she continues her monologue. “I mean, I was good at it, and I really enjoyed it, but my vagina is just too shallow!” I must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because she continued on. “By the way, how big are you??”
I was beyond befuddled. This young woman whose life goal is to become a schoolteacher is telling me about how she used to be filled to the brim by old men, and now she’s asking me this?! I was so confused that I muttered something, and before I know it she has reached under the table and grabbed my junk.
“Oh, yeah, you are big!” she exclaimed, in the MIDDLE OF THE COFFEE SHOP.
Cringe, shudder, die inside.
I remember so, SO clearly how she leaned back in her seat, bit her lip in deep contemplation, and then finally said “I’ll blow you, but I won’t fuck you.”
Like a fighter in the corner with the smelling salts, I finally came to my senses and hastily threw a few dollars on the table to cover the coffee that had now taken up residence on my shirt. I awkwardly stumbled out of the coffee shop, past the teenagers who were now leaving the package shop, and drove off. I didn’t care where I was going, I just needed to be anywhere else.
I’ve thought a few times about the experience I turned down that night, but in the end, I think I’m comfortable without the STDs.
Thank you, JW, for sharing your story! I can’t wait to hear the others!