I dated this guy who never wanted to go out—he only wanted to stay at my place and watch movies. Ok, fine, but the meals we ate were almost always meals that I cooked, and any movie rental was paid for by me. If I suggested going out to eat, he would say, “We don’t need to spend money, let’s just cook something here.” What did he think, that the grocery fairy came to my house? Cooking “something here” meant I paid for the meal, cooked it and cleaned up after.
The man could eat like he had a hollow leg: He would down a huge bag of chips, or eat a whole package of Chips Ahoy cookies in one sitting. If he came over for dinner, he would hang around the next morning for hours and hours figuring I would eventually have to make some sort of breakfast. He never brought anything to my house, never contributed in any way. He was at my house three or four nights a week freeloading. And to make things worse, his favorite rant was on how all women are gold diggers. Pure. Class.
I met a guy online recently who lived out of town. He was in the area one day, so we met for a drink. The date went well and when it was over, he wanted to come back to my house. I said no (too soon).
The next night we were chatting and suddenly he started asking me some very personal, and inappropriate, questions: What kinds of panties do I wear? What are my favorite sex positions? I’m sorry, but I can’t take a guy seriously after he asks me super personal questions without first getting to know me better.
When he came to town the following night I still met him despite the weird questions and actually had a good time on our second date. As the date was winding down, I knew he wanted me to invite him over to my house, but there was no way that was going to happen. He asked, “What about that backrub we had talked about earlier?” I told him probably not on the second date, and asked if that was okay with him. He said it was fine. But then when I got home, he sent me a text saying that it wasn’t going to work out between us because I didn’t invite him back to my house for him to have his way with me. Can you believe that?!
I started seeing this guy that a friend had introduced me to. We had several dates: He seemed nice, we had fun, and things progressed. One night, while watching a movie at his place, the first kiss happened. Within seconds, he stuck his hand down my jeans and rammed his finger up my butt. I was alarmed, to say the least, and quickly removed his hand. He immediately tried it again. I cut things short and went home.
I figured that he got the hint, and since we got along really well, I went to his house later that week to watch another movie. He kissed me again and the exact same thing happened. I left, deciding that if I was to keep seeing this ass junkie then a frank discussion was in order. I met up with him for coffee somewhere quiet and gently explained to him that I really enjoyed his company, but the butt fingering had to go.
He was outraged, claiming that most women enjoyed that and that he did too. I responded that everyone was different, but anal play wasn’t for me. He seemed to understand and I thought the matter was settled, so I went to his place to watch a movie later that week and we started kissing. He then grabbed my hand and tried to stick it up his ass. I flung my hand away, then he immediately tried to do the same to me, again. I told him to fuck right off, left, and dumped him by phone the next day.
He then proceeded to stalk me for the next eight years, involving the police and getting fired from his job over it. All of this after only a couple of weeks of dating. The red flag here: If someone won’t respect your personal sexual choices and repeatedly ignores them, then he could very well be a freaking psycho.
After talking to this guy who was three years younger than me on an online dating site, he finally asked me for my number. I gave it to him and he sent me a text asking if I wanted to go on a date to see the moon rise at the beach. Corny, I know, but I had never been on a date like that so I agreed.
He called me the day of our date to ask me to meet him in the next town over for a cheap dinner before we headed out to the beach. Dinner was okay (we paid separately), and he was kind enough to make sure we ordered a vegetarian plate on my behalf since I’ve been a vegetarian for over a decade. After dinner, I asked if I could just ride with him to the beach since I wasn’t sure where it was and had never been to this town before. Hesitant, he told me that his car smelled like hot dogs, but he agreed to drive.
We got to the beach right in time, stayed for an hour or so and spent the majority of the time laughing. When I told him that I needed to head back (I had an event the next day, which he knew about), he just sat there starring at me like he was ready to kiss me. Awkward. Then when he dropped me off at my car, he walked me to my door, hugged me and kissed me twice on the lips like it was my forehead.
Later that evening he sent me a text saying that he “actually had a good time” like he was expecting the date to go horribly. I messaged him back to tell him that I had a good time as well but didn’t feel anything when he kissed me. He then informed me that he’s received similar “complaints” for girls in the past, so I asked him if he felt anything when he kissed me. He relied that he didn’t know what “anything” felt like. WTF?
Just finished reading your book, and enjoyed it for its snarky goodness. I found a combination of sections interesting, as I recently separated from my husband of about 14 years, and then poured myself right into a relationship with another man––the day I moved out. Not my brightest moment, but I thankfully recognized warning signs before getting in too deep.
It all started very well. He was a gentleman, took me out to dinner, opened doors for me, and treated me really well in lots of other ways. We played music together and had a lot in common, but I wanted to take things slow because I felt rather gun-shy after a messy marriage. Mostly he respected that, until it seemed like he didn’t. One day we broke into an argument about something completely trivial, and he bombed me with a whole crap load of things he seemed to have been saving up since we’d begun seeing each other. It was as if he had kept tallies of all the little “transgressions” of my character every day in order to sock me with them during a moment of anger. He proceeded to shred my character, and, being upset, I left the room to cool off. We resolved the argument that night, only to have a couple more of similar instances resurface. When he sensed that I was ready to break it off, he told me that I couldn’t handle the truth about myself and had to go off and pout when we had a disagreement.
Several other red flags: At one point he said to me, “I prefer women with small breasts,” as he looked at my well-endowed chest. He talked about how much he enjoyed intimacy, only to regularly act uninterested whenever I wanted to be close. This guy complained about being overweight, then would sit in front of the TV all day eating. Duh. Even worse, he recently had heart surgery and complained about how his legs hurt from the lack of circulation, but couldn’t be bothered to walk for a few minutes every day, according to the doctor’s instructions, to make it better. “It hurts,” he would say. One of the final straws was his constant complaint of how “so many women hurt him,” (ie: he was cheated on by a couple of ladies, as though he was the first to ever experience that) so he was anxious about getting close. Hmm. I’ve had men hurting me my whole life, and still find it possible to be loving and generous with myself. Needless to say, I gave him the boot. Whew. Catastrophe avoided, and I am happily single.
On the second date, a guy asked if he “could keep me,” which was creepy but didn’t deter me from continuing to see him. Eventually we started a serious relationship and I moved in with him. While living together, he thought it was funny to sit on my face and fart, showing his maturity level was equal to that of a fifth grader. He was a huge slob so I was always cleaning up his mess. On one of these cleaning ventures I found pictures and letters from every single ex he’d ever had. When I confronted him, he said I shouldn’t have been looking at his stuff, despite the fact that it was laying all the hell over the place. Other occasions of note included him throwing an hour-long fit because I wouldn’t let him see his Christmas gifts pre-holiday and him pushing me over a bed as a joke right after I’d gotten back surgery.
Over time, we started having sex less and less and arguing more and more. We stopped living together but continued dating. No longer sharing a place, he decided he didn’t have to answer my calls and would make up lame excuses for not picking up his cell. Then came the kicker: I noticed that he was hiding his face during sex so that he wouldn’t have to look at me and that his sheets were always covered in dry semen, which I later found out was because he had a serious porn addiction. I broke up with him but he continued to call me long after the fact.