We met late afternoon in a well-populated public area.
He looked older than I had anticipated (he was graying around his temples), though I knew he was 39 when I agreed to meeting up, and it through me off for a moment. I was completely out of my comfort zone, but to be honest—DATING is out of my comfort zone—so I just went with it.
He smiled and moved in for a hug when he met me, said it had been a day…and since I’m a hugging-kinda girl, I obliged, though awkwardly before we walked into the restaurant to grab a drink. Drink in hand, we headed back outside towards the benches to sit and get to know each other.
We sat. His arm wrapped across the back on the bench and his hand landed directly on my back… right around the bra mark, open-palmed… and stayed. Not only did it stay there but it made circles, it rubbed… IT STAYED.
It was creepy. I was shocked. I said nothing but my inner voice was screaming—GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!! So instead of saying anything, I moved. I twisted my body, I moved further up on the seat, I leaned forward…..I moved back. I thought my look would get him. Nope. I did everything but say, “Keep your hands to yourself creeper!!” (Which I SHOULD have and in the future WILL DO). Instead, I was uncomfortable and eventually I was able to maneuver myself around so that his hand was forced to drop off.
When his hands weren’t on me, he seemed normal. We talked. He’s had a cool life…lived in a lot of places, seemed to have a lot of things in common with me. He asked a lot about my job… apparently my profession is a favorite of his to date (an opinion I’m learning that is shared by many) and we seemed to be getting a long well. I could almost forgive the handsy beginning we had… almost.
We walked around the area for a bit, stopping in one of my favorite home décor stores with the pretense of him getting some tea for his mom. And here’s where we go completely downhill.
I’ll give you the quick and dirty, play by play.
At the end of the tea aisle—throws an arm around me and hugs me close, “How tall are you again?” (Imagine a creepy whispering voice) “5’10” (I’m staring down at his shoulder, weirded out) “I love tall girls.”. “I like tall me too” I maneuver out from under his arm.
Walking up the condiment aisle— I’m talking about mustard…he grabs me and kisses me. Not just a peck but the beginning of a full-out make-out kiss…which is CREEPY so I back off and go down another aisle.
Things that register in my brain: I’m in a store. Its 5:30 and Creeper McCreepson has now kissed me.
We leave the store. I’m done. Crossing him off my list of future dates and mentally writing this blog when he grabs my hand as we’re walking. He’s talking… I’m focused on the hands and on the second upswing; I swing my hand out of his.
I’m chatting politely, no idea on the topic, and he insists on walking me to my car. My inner voice is laughing and reminding me how grateful I am that my good friend lives around the corner from here (Escape plans are going to be KEY for all future dates!).
At the car- “So it was nice to meet you…” I say as he sweeps into a Sporto move and twists around me so that I’m now pinned against my car and he is leaning down for the make-out. My hands are up on his chest.
He continues to lean in, I continue to lean away, and twist from the car.
He wants to see me again. Says I need to “Help him out and tell him another time to see him”. I smile as I get in my car and say, “Ok” as my inner voice screams, “NO WAY CREEPER!!” and I drive away.
“With great hotness comes great power” one of my dear friends told me upon relation of this story, “The power to say NO and take your fucking hands off me”.