He messaged me first because he saw a photo of me with one of my favorite musicians.
He wanted to tell me he had met her, too, once, in a café.
I didn’t really care, but he was attractive—like, “why are you talking to me? don’t you know you could do better?” attractive—so I went with it.
We chatted for a bit before he hit a speed bump.
“Woah,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re 20.”
And he was 27. I was slightly too young for him, and he was slightly too old for me, but I was bored and it was Easter break; all of my friends had gone home for the holiday, and I was alone in my dorm room watching American Graffiti on demand. I desperately wanted something to do that night.
I suggested we hang out—not go on a date, as our having accounts on a dating website might suggest. He said that was cool and asked if I wanted to go see Dune at the Logan Theater. I’m not into sci-fi, but I desperately wanted something to do that night.
He told me to meet him at his place.
A train, a bus ride, and a walk through a muddy park in my favorite shoes later and I had arrived. He opened the door before I could even ring the bell. I asked him how he was doing.
“My grandmother just passed away.”
Seriously? I thought. What do I even say back to that? Yeah, I’m sorry to hear that, but that’s not how to start a conversation with a random stranger. I should have left then.
So he started telling me how he’s part of a group of men who talk to fraternities to prevent date rape, and I thought, cool, someone who gets it. Maybe I’ll stay.
He brought me inside and sat me down on the couch and poured me a glass of wine and asked me if I was hungry because he had made tacos. I couldn’t resist making the obvious sexual joke. I was only 20, after all.
“You know, I have a cousin who’s 13; maybe the two of you would get along,” he said.
I should have fucking left then.
I mean, I was pissed, so of course I started acting cold and distant. He had the nerve to tell me he thought my “sass” was “charming.” Yeah, look at what an adorable attitude problem I have! Who could ever think that maybe I wasn’t okay with someone talking down to me, and that that feeling was valid?
Picking at my food, I didn’t say much. He asked if he could take my plate back to the kitchen. I obliged.
He ran his hand up my leg. “I’ll be right back.”
No. This isn’t a date. I made it so clear that this wasn’t a date, so why is he doing that?—and even if it were a date, what the fuck? I’ve been here for thirty minutes and I never consented to that.
“This isn’t a petting zoo. Don’t touch me.”
He looked at me as if that were the most appalling thing he had ever heard.
Coming on to me sexually when I made it extremely clear that I didn’t want that is pretty appalling to me, actually.
He got up and took my half-empty plate to the kitchen. He was in there for an excessive amount of time; I assumed he was recounting the incident to his roommates. I should have left then.
I could feel my face flushing, my blood boiling, my ears fuming.
I waited around another minute. I didn’t want to upset him.
No, fuck that. He upset me. He didn’t deserve my consideration anymore.
I should leave.
I was leaving.
My limbs were on autopilot, scooping up my belongings as quickly as they could. Do I have time to put my shoes on before he comes back and catches me walking out? No, probably not. I picked up my oxfords and made a run for the door in my socks.
The door had at least four locks.
I scrambled to figure out which ones I had to unlock to get out. I was running out of time.
“Are you leaving?”
I was out of time. I froze.
“Um,” was all that came out of my mouth.
He stared.
“I mean, you seemed kind of mad at me, so…”
“Yeah, it was kind of a rude thing to say,” he said.
You jackass. I don’t owe you politeness; I don’t owe you anything after what you just pulled.
“Well—”
“—You know what? Why don’t you just head out?” He shut off the porch light before I was even out the door.
I sat on his dark front steps, fumbling with my shoelaces and trying to figure out how I was going to get home.
A bus pulled up, paused, and drove past me.
There wouldn’t be another for at least half an hour, and it was so cold.
He tells you his grandmother died and you think to yourself “that’s not how to start a conversation?”
You sound pretty self centered and immature. I’m glad he kicked you out.
You sound like a real charmer. I’m glad you missed the entire point of the story xoxo.