So I did it again. Yup. I went on a date. And perhaps there’s no way dates will ever go well for me ever again. I don’t know if that’s because I subconsciously crave disaster in order to create more content for you, my dear readers, or if there’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m pretty confident it’s both. Anyway, back to the date. ‘Cause I know you’re dying to hear all about it.
I met this man sorta randomly, even for an online dating situation. I was planning on meeting friends at an event and found myself a little early with some time to kill. I checked out the “Locals” feature on OKCupid and a bare chest emblazoned (okay, Photoshopped) with the Batman logo caught my eye. I pinged him that I’d “like to meet” and he responded almost immediately. “Ha. Do you mean like right now? This might be good timing…” Turns out he was on another OKCupid date that hadn’t gone well. Within a half hour we were laughing over beers at 2A.
I don’t know if it was my mood or the circumstances but it went amazingly well. I thoroughly enjoyed his company and the conversation never flagged. Batman has been to Burning Man, which automatically establishes common ground. Plus we have a mutual friend. He admitted to three different profiles: one semi-kinky, one kinkier and yet another kinkier still. I was intrigued. Because his kink happened to be one with which I’m fairly well acquainted: the splosh fetish.
If you needed to click on the link to find out what that means, you’re definitely in the majority. The fact that this guy wound up on a date with someone who was not only knowledgeable but actually experienced with it is nothing short of a miracle! I appeared in the British magazine Splosh! ages ago, in a spread shot by Porno Jim: a group of girlfriends having a make believe paint fight. And I was hired for a pie sploshing video shoot once upon a time. It took place in a tacky New Jersey no-tell motel. Jamye Waxman came along for moral support and to document the afternoon. I was washing coconut shreds out of my frilly panties for weeks! But I digress…
Anyway, though I wound up blowing off the event I’d planned to attend, we parted after only a few beers. It went so well I expected to hear from him again almost immediately. I mean, given that I was game for indulging his fetish — and the rarity of that situation — I assumed he’d be eager to see me as soon as possible. I was, of course, sorely mistaken. The date took place on March 23. We emailed back and forth a bit that night, post date: a bit of splosh-centric teasing. By April 5 I hadn’t heard a word — no invitation for another date, nothing — so I prompted him. He responded and I inquired about whether he’d be interested in attending a sex party and perhaps engaging in a sploshing scenario. I’d come up with a novel idea that he was initially enthusiastic about but he seemed reluctant to try something new in such a public forum. Another week passed and I asked again about the party. We decided to merely meet and save the sploshing for another time.
All of our communication was very businesslike with little or no passion. I’m not sure if that was my doing, if I set a tone or something, or if his casual manner was just his default setting. Either way, he didn’t seem too terribly excited to see me again. Whatever, we made plans to meet at a bar and venture to the sex party venue together. [Editor’s note: Desire is sexy. When someone really wants me, it’s a turn-on. Thus far, I didn’t exactly feel desired. I was hoping, I guess… Or was I?]
The bar meeting was okay, if a bit awkward. I don’t know if I’ve lost my touch or simply no longer remember how to conduct myself on a date but I was uncomfortable. Not great, given the circumstances. But after a drink a piece, we strolled up Lexington to the space. It was nice to know a good chunk of people upon arrival. But what began as discomfort with my date soon escalated to annoyance. For no real reason. I could feel myself becoming cranky. And rude. Uh-oh. It didn’t help when I wound up chatting with M., who has been regaling me with her peri-menopausal sexual conquests. I told her that I, too, had enjoyed a period of “last hurrah”-like sex but that those days were over. Her earnest reassurances, translated through my fucked up filters, became condescension. Grrr. And when she began asking other people if I was “fuckable,” well, any chance of my remaining pleasant — with anyone — went right out the window.
Perhaps a sex party wasn’t the best idea for a second date. Was it the female equivalent of taking a woman to a strip club, the way Dustin Hoffman’s character did in “The Graduate?” A sort of trial by fire? Or act of aggression? If so, Batman behaved admirably. He was pleasant to everyone he met, conversed with whoever I abandoned him beside when I wandered off to chat up someone else and, apparently, handled my escalating irritation with a sense of humor. In other words, he was a great guy. Ack.
My departure is somewhat fuzzy; I’d been hitting the vodka pretty hard. (Not that that’s an excuse.) I had a feeling it wasn’t pretty so I asked my friend, who was working the door. Our email exchange:
Hey there, that party was pretty great! Kinda wish I hadn’t dragged that guy along. I bailed…was I a mess when I left? I really shouldn’t drink hard liquor…oh my. And I hope he behaved himself after I left him there. I think he was hooking up with M. Happy birthday to her. Sigh.
I didn’t realize you were so crocked!
um you were really kinda mean and rude to him on his way out, if you wanna know the truth
I dunno, maybe he’d done something to deserve it?
m. left long after he did
they didn’t click
to his credit, he seemed to take the stuff you were giving him and just roll with it and headed out with some other folks, went and got coffee…he invited you to come w him
I’m glad to hear that you actually enjoyed the party!
Oh dear. It was worse than I thought. Really? Shit shit shit…What did I say? I totally thought I’d left him with M.!
he came out, you were on the stairs talking w us and he was just talking politely about how it was nice to meet you, thanked you for bringing him to the party and would you like to join him and that other couple for some coffee…and you were all, “JUST. LEAVE. BYE. BYE. GO. AWAY.” and stuff
I’m sure you had your reasons.
Oh I don’t think I did. I’m an ass. I think there’s something wrong with me. Shit. eh like I said, he rolled with it
I have no specific recollection of why I would’ve treated him that way. Aside from my irritation with M. I’d felt a certain edginess with him that I can’t quite put my finger on. Could it be that I was annoyed by his politeness with me? His casual jocularity? I can say that I’m sure the alcohol amplified my feelings. Which, at this point, are obviously those of insecurity and sadness. Aggression is usually a result of those emotions and, for all my bluster, I’m really just scared shitless and sad. This may be obvious to those of you who’ve been reading me here but the casual observer of me live, moving through my day-to-day life, well, I may have them hoodwinked. Anyway, my behavior was indefensible. And embarrassing. The culmination of all the accumulating irritation I’ve felt on every date I’ve been on over the past two years.
Now I’m starting to worry that there actually may be something wrong with me. And that I may be done with dating.