Bad (First) Date Stories: You Know You've Got 'Em

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
61

Oh, buttonjockey, that reminds me.

It wasn’t a first date, but a second date. On the first date she seemed not ony amorous but relatively non-psycho. It was a good date. On the second date, I was beginning to see though the cracks, but I was a little blinded by optimism. Fool that I was, I invited her up to my place. I should have gotten a clue when she insisted, rather strongly, that I not turn on any lights. When we started fooling around she gave me some stimulation. No much, mind you. In fact, so little that I was barely certain that she was touching me at all. And this “stimulation” went on for maybe 30 seconds. I think not even that long.

She was so upset that she didn’t bring me to orgasm that she ended up crying into my pillow for like an hour, complaining about what an ugly loser she was.

Anyone that thinks that there is no such thing as bad sex needs to read that three times.

62

So is this where I tell the story about “my first time” and how after much awkwardness he whispered to me “can i come inside you?” and I looked up in surprise and said “you’re inside me?” :eek:

63

Doh!

64

Ouch. Or maybe, the exact opposite of ouch.

65

Yeah, he didn’t hang around long after that. That’s why I often say that my first time didn’t count. Because, y’know, if a virgin can’t feel it . . .

66

You can call this one The Night I Didn’t Get AIDS.

These are all horrible and amazing. I am practically orgasmic with schadenfreude.

67

To say the least.

68

I’m not sure this is a contest I want to win. :wink:

69

I think I did this one in the ‘worst blind dates’ thread from awhile back. It was actually a double-date, my friend and his fiancee and this woman friend of his. She showed up with literally TONS of makeup spackled to her face (I had previously made it clear to my friend that I prefer light makeup at worst, tho perhaps my mistake was not making my preference clear in this instance). She made a pass at me in the backseat on the way back from the movie-I tried to be polite as I could, but no. If she wasn’t pushy and didn’t have this white death mask thing she might have actually been a bit cute. The friendship didn’t survive much longer (his wife, who browbeat him at every turn, was a fanatical fundie).

70

I know I’ve told this story before, but…

Back in July or so I met a bunch of women at a singles event. So many that I forgot half of them by the time I left. But there were several that made enough of an impression on me that I decided I wanted to see them again. One in particular was especially intriguing to me. I think her name was Kate.

Kate was a hottie. Jet black hair and totally adorable.

A few days later I checked to see if I had any matches. Indeed, Kate was a match. Woo hoo! The total hottie with the jet black hair wanted to date me!

We ended up e-mailing each other a few times, but it was several weeks before we could actually get together. Two or three weeks, in fact. So the night of our first date, I was walking to our meeting place, and I saw this really cute blonde. I smiled at her, she smiled at me. I should have tried talking to her, but I didn’t want to be late for Kate. And this girl was cute, but was no Kate.

So I get to the place, go inside, and have a look around. Kate’s not there yet. I decided to wait outside for her. She was running late, this Kate, for our date. As I was standing there, I saw the cute blonde. She smailed, walked up to me, and said “Hi, tdn, right?” Uh… Wha… Er… Yeah, I guess so. She asked me if I wanted to go into the place. Uh, yeah, why not?

So we’re sitting at a table, drinking lemonade, and having this great conversation, and I thinking “Who the hell is this girl?” I was tempted to say that there must be some mistake, I was there to meet Kate, and I have no recollection of who she is. About 45 minutes into it, she mentioned something that triggered a memory. I had met her! Right after I met Kate.

Laura, I mean. I met Kate right after I met Laura.

There were a million ways things could have gone much worse with that.

71

I don’t know what this means, the Handily bit.

72

I’m assuming he means that manual/digital/using fingers foreplay on his part tore her hymen, painfully.

73

My worst first date actually seemed like your typical garden-variety no-chemistry internet date.

We met up at a funky martini lounge that was my default first-date place (good drinks, good food, lively crowd, music just loud enough to fill those awkward conversational gaps, and with a layout that could allow one to make a quick exit under the cover of a “bathroom trip” if things got too weird).

It started off rather well - he looked like his pictures, wasn’t emitting any noxious smells, and was doing a great job of talking to my face rather than my boobs.

Things got a bit uncomfortable as we continued talking. Apparently, he’d mistaken our date for an interview, because he went on and on and on about his fabulous job, his big paycheque, his giant house in the 'burbs, his expensive car, his big career aspirations, blah blah blah. I couldn’t really get much of a word in edgewise, so I just nodded and made the occasional interested sound.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, as this whole monologue was unfolding, he decided to up the ante by clasping one of my hands while gazing intently into my eyes. In my books, that’s just not a first date kind of move, especially since I’m rarely touchy-feely with anyone but very close friends or significant others… so I’d gently extract my hand from his ardent clasp, only to have him grab it again a second or two later. Eventually, I just kept one hand on my martini glass and the other under the table where he wouldn’t be able to reach it.

At some point, he’d run out of ways to tell me what an awesome person he was, so he decided to start telling me all about his terrible breakup with his ex instead. That’s when I drained my glass, called for the bill, and told him I’d need to call it a night becuase I had an early shift the next day. We exchanged the usual pleasantries once we got outside, and then I quickly hailed a cab before he could work up the nerve for a kiss.

A week later, he IMed me. “Nice meeting you. BTW, don’t think it’s going to work out between us.” Duh… really? That was blatantly obvious, based on how our date had ended and the fact that neither of us had emailed or IMed for the past week, but I figured I may as well ask him why he’d gotten that impression.
So here’s where it goes from bad to just laughable:

Apparently, Mr GrabbyHands felt I had been terribly rude by not inviting him home to my place that night.

You see, he’d had two martinis by the time we parted ways at 10pm, and he didn’t feel fit to drive all the way back to the suburbs in his condition… so instead, he’s been forced to go to his downtown office to sleep under his desk, and he’d gotten a terrible backache from sleeping on a hard floor all night.

That, he said, was all my fault because any girl who had any shred of compassion would have taken him back to her place and offered him a place to sleep for the night. Preferably in her bed.

:rolleyes:

74

I’ve read this three times and I’m still lost. Did Kate stand you up? Or was the date actually made with Laura??

75

I am pretty sure that Laura was the raven haired cutie he thought he was meeting, but he had actually set up the date with Kate, who happened to be blonde.

76

Yeah, I didn’t get AIDS, but I was stuck with two cups of coffee I had to drink by myself.

77

Somehow this sums up modern life for me. :slight_smile:

78

I had been answering ads in a free weekly paper to meet women. Most were OK, not much chemistry, so 1 or 2 dates and that’s all.
One date, however, we had talked on the phone and there was enough interest on both our parts to meet. We suggested a poetry night at the local Unitarian Church, I said OK. We went for dinner first, then the poetry night.
Lesbian Poetry Night. I’m open minded enough for that
We sat at a table, she had her back to me the ENTIRE night.
I wondered what kind of a test this was, and never called her again.

On a positive note, in the same paper years later I answered an ad, and next week marks 5 1/2 years together!
I haven’t heard lesbian poetry for a while, though.
David

79

I had been dragged along as a pet-friend for nearly a year by a tall, toothy, flexible dancer during highschool, desparate for any kind of female attention, and happy to embarass myself for what amounted to a decent friendship. I was in with all of her family, called Mrs. Dancer mum - and had gotten to the point where I was invited for a family dinner at an Italian joint.

I don’t know if it was the fundy Christian school, or my docile manner around her family - but for some reason Dancer thought I was just the bestest BFF evar - how I hid my raunchy dance studio day dreams from my gaze I’ll never know. But when she let a pair of snow white low rise jeans tease the creases in the small of her back I just - well I chaffed myself more weeknights than not.

So I insisted we go to a flick before said family dinner, and I had insisted on paying for tickets and what seemed like a five gallon barrel the God’s nectar, rootbeer. The theatre was speckled with a couple pairs per row, and we sat center middle because I liked the acoustics better. I was a little bit nervous for some reason, and my hands had gotten a little twitchy. Sitting through previews we were gossiping about the usual, when I felt the need to ease the dryness in my throat.

We’ll hadn’t the bottom of my canister O’ soda barely cleared the cup holder when my uneasy fingers lost their grip to clip the lid off the drink as it departed my hand. It tipped perfectly to flood her white denim groin with enough rootbeer to drown a sailor. She shot straight up, a quarter turn to me, and with her quivering fists at her side shireked “I HATE YOU!”. And stomped to the end of the row to flop cross legged, trying to warm her now soaked and sweetened girly bits.

One onethousand, two onethousand - and the entire theatre BURST into laughter, as I slumped with my jaw slack, trying to wake up from a dream.

To her credit we were both extroverts, and it was playful punishment on her part which she knew I could handle. And I got even more brownie points with her mother, retelling the story about her brown pants at dinner. Though it turns out maternal brownie points are non-transferable, and worthless to buy Dancer-tail.

That particular friendship ended after I was well and truely done being her warm shoulder some months later in an excursion to a cabin in the mountains. In a big teary charade, she made clear that I couldn’t be the object of her affection. And I was crooked about losing a friend, rejection, and embarrassment.

In other news - she’s now a single mother of two on welfare!

My never-called-back, oops-didn’t-I-mention-I-was-moving-to-BC prom date, broke her back in a car accident not six weeks into summer.

And my first proper girlfriend (who snuck out of our bed in the middle of the night to see her ex), I kicked out. She then moved back in with her family to lose everything in a house fire.

My current girlfriend (soon to be fiance… shush!) has been steadfast by my side nearly three years! And I’ve only tried to kill her in two car accidents, and a sommersault incident!

80

It was no first date, but a friend of mine started seeing a guy six years older when she was fourteen (he didn’t know her age for months, he knew she was “in high school” but not that it wsa 9th grade). Four years later, she missed a period. And another. She’d always been irregular, but this was a bit much; she mentioned it to him, and he went “oh shit, so what does the stick say?”

“What stick?”
“Uh, pregnancy test.”
“But we haven’t done it.”
“Eeeh… yes we have?”
“No we haven’t!”
“Oh Jesus Mary Joseph… remember that day at the beach, we went up first while my parents went to get lunch and we got some action on the sofa?”
“Well, yeah.”
“That was it.”
“What?!”

The stick said positive, by the way. Oops.