Fuck dating is a recurring column written by an anonymous and fabulous 20 something
When I was thrust into the dating world (again) at the mere age of 20, I accepted a date with a rather leather-clad, metal bassist, long-haired dude I met somewhere and through someone I no longer remember.
Our first date is irrelevant. Drinks, chat, looking at his band equipment. Forgettable at best. Our second date however, went a little something like this:
It was a cold, wintry night. Warm, cheap booze was flowing indoors with roommates and friends. The long-haired boy, complete with a leather jacket and jean vest accent, arrived fashionably late-ish with a handle of some other equally shitty booze that was more embarrassing for him because he was not 20 and had a job.
Drinks were drank, conversations were had and kissing had commenced. We stumbled our way back to my bedroom to continue drunk kissing. Since it was the second date, I KNEW we weren’t going to be getting naked. Partly because I just didn’t want to and partly because I didn’t know him very well. That didn’t stop him from stripping down to his underwear and climbing into my bed.
Drunk, yet coherent and confused, I changed into head-to-toe pajamas. I’m talking neck high, down to my wrist and all the way down to my ankles. And then socks. Covered.
We kissed a little more, but he started getting really hyper and annoying so I asked him if we could just hang out. He turned around in bed and starting pouting like a child because I didn’t want to kiss anymore. As he turned around, he exposed a big tattoo of a star on his back. Not knowing what else to say, I asked him when he got his tattoo. He grumpily snapped that he didn’t want to talk about it, then tried to start drunk kissing me again.
At this point I had had about enough of this jerk kissing me terribly and I got out of bed and started to walk out the door to go talk shit about him to my roommates. He then pounced forward, out of bed. Standing there in his dingy underwear, he tried kissing me one more time when I finally smacked him back so he’d get the picture. He recoiled, then looked at me with a fierce sparkle in his eye. His lip curled up, his hands formed into cat claws and then he hissed and clawed at me.
I stood there amazed at what had just happened. Did this guy really just hiss at me? I shook my head in disappointment that another human being would actually do this in public, not to mention on a date, and walked out of the room to tell my roommates through laughing tears that a dude had just hissed and clawed at me in his underwear.
A couple days/weeks later as I was retelling the story to a mutual friend (you can’t just hiss at someone in your underwear and not expect it to be retold,) the part about the tattoo caught his attention. I finally learned that my lovely date had gotten his star tattoo in jail after stealing a bunch of band equipment from a church. If the hissing wasn’t bad enough, this guy actually tried to get equipment for his shitty metal band from stolen church equipment.
An amazing, yet frightening tale.
Lesson learned: This is why you wait a couple of dates to sleep with someone. You never know if that tattoo they got was from jail after stealing sound equipment from a church. Also, you never know if that cute guy from Tuesday night is going to hiss at you in their underwear after one too many mojitos. Unless you’re into that sort of thing. Freak!