I’m Angry I Had A Great First Date

Get out your tiny, sad violins.

I’m here at my desk in my bedroom-turned-WFH-office. I’m inhaling the only food I can find (chips) while still mildly buzzed from two glasses of wine. I’m a lightweight.

It’s almost midnight and I just got home from a date that went amazingly well. Like, too well.

Dammit.

The last time I felt this way, I was 19. Dancing in a club shortly after my birthday (legal drinking age where I’m from), I saw a guy who became a D-list celebrity years later. I went up to him and told him he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen and then walked away. Hot Guy later came up to me and said no one had ever told him that before. He wanted to dance. We danced and made out. Hot Guy was an awful kisser but damn, he was so pretty.

“Please don’t ask for my number. Please don’t ask for my number.” I repeated in my head. My 19-year-old logic said that he was just too good-looking to say no to if he asked for it. I didn’t want to; I wanted to leave it at a fun night and nothing more.

What did he do? He asked for my number. Ugh. I gave it, he memorized it, and we had a few boring phone calls shortly before we ghosted each other simultaneously.

That’s how I felt this evening leading up to my date with Marc. I’m on Cloud 9 with Sean but it’s so early, I know I need to keep my options open. Marc is the only other person I met online that I wanted to date before I disabled my dating profile; it’s way too overwhelming. Two at a time is my max to juggle.

I didn’t want to go on this date. I was too head over heels for Sean. But I committed to going and without a good excuse, it would just be easier to go and get it over with.

I didn’t wear a sultry dress or anything fancy; skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and a cropped grey top. I had a good face day (women know what this means; your face isn’t puffy and makeup glides on perfectly). My flat-ironed hair is the longest it’s been in a decade courtesy of Covid; not my ideal length but guys have a thing for long hair so I’m not overly stressed. Glad I grabbed my jacket, I was covered all night freezing.

While driving there, I kept thinking, “Please don’t be a fun date. Please don’t be a fun date.” The universe laughed.

Marc suggested a new place that opened during the pandemic. It’s a bar in a business area, which meant that after hours the courtyard could be used as an extension to the pub as well as a concert spot. I loathe hearing live singers in bars because they’re usually a lone dude wanting a quarter for singing Pink Floyd with speakers blaring so loud I can’t hear anyone I’m with.

I have to admit, the two bands that played were fucking amazing. Both featured kids (not really kids) in their late teens to early twenties playing all nineties music. Why yes, I will take your cover version of Foo Fighters and Nirvana. By far, the best I-didn’t-choose-to-listen-to-this group I’ve ever heard. Score one for Marc.

He got a patio table but we had to get up to get our drinks and food. Marc tells me to sit at the table, he’ll grab our drinks. I’m pleasantly surprised because he is quite good-looking. I knew he would be in good shape but his eyes were piercing blue and his hair looked like he could model hair gel. I let his crooked teeth slide. It seems the norm that I only attract men who haven’t had braces.

I can’t remember laughing and having this much fun just talking with someone. Marc was ultra chatty and we had massive smiles on our faces the entire night. I realize that having a change in the typical venue for a first date was refreshing, despite how curled up I was in my coat. It made for a good excuse for him to touch me and keep me warm.

We talk about everything. Everything. Marc tells me about a trip to Sweden he took and said he wondered why he felt an urge to go back where he was born. Was it innate or taught? I reply, “A monkey held you up to the sky when you were born and Circle of Life played. Of course you wanted to return to your Pride Land. Disney gave you the urge.” He practically falls on the floor in hysterics. Making him laugh is so easy.

As is my rule of authenticity, I tell him my living situation with the quasi-ex-husband. Marc doesn’t care. To add, he has fantastic insight into the housing market because his company does titles and escrow stuff. Since I’m desperate to get the fuck out of living with my soon-to-be ex-husband, it’s great to learn more about the buying power of different demographics right now.

A nervous young security guard tells us in a high-pitched voice that we have to leave because the pub is closed. Walking to the parking lot, Marc takes my hand. Interesting move. I knew he liked me and would want a second date, I just didn’t think he’d show his cards before even getting to my car for our goodbyes.

We get to my car and keep yapping away. “Why isn’t he making the move to kiss?” I wonder to myself. I like guys who are aggressive and make the first move, but he clearly wasn’t.

I give Marc the “look” and pull him towards me by his shirt. He immediately goes in for the kiss and gets slightly more aggressive. I walk backward so that we’re kissing against my car. The passion heats up and I can feel his cock get hard against me.

Suddenly, a car near us beeps from an owner with a remote. We giggle and I tell him to just get in my car. I think he hoped the backseat but yeah no dude, we’re not boning and I’ve got two child carseats back there. Passenger side only.

We keep making out and he makes his way to play with my boobs. “Enjoy them while you can,” I tell him. “I’m getting them fixed on Monday.” Marc is confused, not realizing that they’re fake. I tease him that living in Southern California his whole life, he should know the difference. “Well, they look fantastic,” he eagerly tells me.

I didn’t intend on going this far but at this point, fuck it. I needed to know what was going on between his legs. Aside that I didn’t want to put him in mental competition with Sean unnecessarily, I didn’t want to deal with the microdick situation I experienced in January with Cory.

Unzipping his jeans, I pull his cock out. More on the smaller size but still good. I get down and start using my mouth. Except something isn’t quite right. I couldn’t get a good groove on with my sucking motion. I take my mouth off and realize: he’s uncircumcised.

I’ve never seen one in the wild before. Maybe I did once in university, but it was with a would-be rapist and my Stranger Danger sense kicked in so I gave him a quick blowjob (easy when the guy is only 20) and bailed out.

Not that I’m a pro, but I know my way around a blowjob. This was a whole new ballgame. It was extra fleshy. I couldn’t quite go up and down the shaft because a blob of skin went with it. Imagine a thin tube and a large tube around it. You want to rub the thin tube up and down, but all you have is the large tube which isn’t doing anything with friction for the thinner tube inside. It was both mushy and hard at the same time.

I’m not criticizing man parts. Many women prefer it this way. I’m just saying for me, with my lack of experience in that area, I would much rather not have the extra skin to deal with.

We make out some more and I’m determined to get this guy off because if there’s anything I know when the guy is finished then the evening ends quicker. Marc’s hands in my pants aren’t doing all the things they should be doing. I try guiding him a bit but it really isn’t getting anywhere so I fake it to end the whole thing.

Zipping up his pants, Marc chats away some more. Conversation flows so easily with him. He’s excited to see me again. Eventually, I kick him out of my car and drive home, exhausted. It was a 5-hour first date.

I quietly walk upstairs as Marc texts me to say he got home and had an amazing time. Checking my phone again, I see Sean messaged me with a post-workout picture of his vein-laden arm and biceps. Damn, homeboy knows what I like.

I reiterate: dammit. Dammit. Now I have to see Marc again because I had the most amazing time. But I don’t want to sleep with him.

Can I Friend-Zone someone from a first date?

I wonder how many times guys have thought, “well, she was great except for this one thing.”

I want Marc’s head on Sean’s body.

I want to keep Sean’s sexual skills with his hands and his dick.

I want Marc’s good looks but with Sean’s sexiness.

I want Sean’s assertiveness and take-charge executive mindset but with Marc’s sense of humor.

I want Marc’s chattiness but with Sean’s calm state of zen.

And so, get out the little, tiny violins for my sad song. Along with some other folks on the sideline, I’ve got too many guys to juggle.

It’s a first-world problem. Thankfully, with an upcoming surgery to fix a wonky breast implant, at least I’ll have time to think about it without any pressure to see anyone.

I need a break.