Bad dates are good material.

Before he asked me out, we only talked briefly (about how I had just graduated from college. He looked like he was in his late 20s, and said he was currently a student after taking some time off). For our date, he took me to a bar to hear his favorite band. It turned out that it was his father’s band. I then met his father (awkward), who made a comment about how he wanted to take us out to get to know his son’s girl (um, this was a first date). Then, we sat down at a table and were ordering drinks, and started comparing driver’s license photos… and I saw that my date was 38! He knew full well that I was 22! Apparently, he was okay with that, but I most definitely was not.

When I picked him up, he’d just gotten a hamburger and chips and proceeded to eat them in my car. (I thought we were going for a meal, so I hadn’t eaten.) Then he asked if we could make a quick stop, so I followed his directions, and we ended up at his pot dealer’s house. I sat there for an hour watching them smoke before I stood up and announced that I was leaving. He asked for a ride home and I said okay. Before he got out of the car, he asked, “Can I touch you ‘down there’?” Needless to say, the answer was no.

We decided to meet up at the pizza place for lunch, which was good because I was starving. When we met there, he informed me that he had already eaten, and insisted we head to a local bookstore, over a mile walk. There, we spent the next two hours reading books. In absolute silence. Every time I tried to ask him a question or start a conversation, he’d give a one-word reply and go back to reading. Not that I could hear him, anyway, because my stomach was growling so loudly.

He spends the entire dinner telling me exactly how much money he makes, obsessing about our age difference (12 years), and then topped it off by saying that he closed his account to our mutual online dating service “as a compliment” to me (a little premature buddy–it’s our first date!). Then he invites me to spend the week with him in Hawaii when he goes for a conference in two days, then tells me about a $1500 bottle of Cognac at his house that “we will drink and then you can go home.” I finally manage to extricate myself without going home with him, but there is an email in my inbox when I arrive reiterating the Hawaii invitation.

He’s twenty minutes late and when he arrives, he insists on dining at one of the outdoor tables, even though I point out that it’s sixty degrees and I’m wearing spaghetti straps. Within moments of sitting down, he asks why I don’t have kids. He then tells me his sperm count and adds, “If you want to be a mother, I can help with that.” I bail early but but the time I get home, I already have an email from him, complete with an attachment containing the results of his latest physical.

After dinner, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and I wait…and wait and wait. He finally comes back, and I ask if he’s ok; he says he’s fine. We head back to my apartment to hang out and he goes to the bathroom again. I wait and wait and wait again. He finally comes out and I ask him if he’s all right. He says he is. After he left, I discovered the wads and wads of toilet paper shoved in the corner, I guess because he was too embarrassed to flush the toilet over and over? Of course I never called him again.

We went to a hockey game, where I had quite a few drinks, and then out to dinner. When we got back to his house, I threw up all over his floor, and then I peed myself. I have never been more mortified, especially because I drink often and I’ve never lost bladder control. So while he kindly cleaned everything up, I swore at him and accused him of drugging me, since that was OBVIOUSLY the only reason I could come up with for embarrassing myself so much.

While driving me to dinner, he took three phone calls back to back and ignored me. He kept bragging about how lucky I was he decided to go out with me that night as everyone was dying to have him show up at their clubs and parties. We got to the quiet bistro, and he couldn’t seem to get the waiter’s attention, so he yelled “YO!”, startling everyone, me included. He told the waiter we were ignored because we were black. He pulled the race card on a black waiter! Then he took three more calls over dinner. At the end of the night, I was dying to escape, and he told me again how lucky I was that he’d toned down his ego to a level 3, as he’s usually a level 10.

We immediately hit it off–he was funny, intelligent, and fairly cute. After dinner, we began kissing in his living room. When he tried to take it further, I made it clear that I wasn’t ready. In response, he immediately unzipped his pants, whipped it out, and began furiously masturbating in front of me.

I had my eye on this guy for a long time, and I was sooo happy when he finally asked me out. He took me to a romantic restaurant, and I thought the date went well. Afterward we were making out in his car outside my apartment when he said that it had been fun, and he knew that I liked him, but he wouldn’t be asking me out again…because he had a big crush on this Chinese guy at his office.