Welcome readers, I like to imagine you’re on the edge of your seats, eagerly anticipating the climax of my efficient dating experience with a man who kindly fulfilled my last-minute request for a date, then came with me to a Travelodge to make out on one of the beds. Quite a few people replied excitedly to part one expecting porn in part two, thus falling into my cunning and evil trap. I wanted to raise your hopes nice and high because that’s the energy I brought with me on this date – it’s the energy I bring on every date. I wasn’t expecting anything, but naturally it would have been a welcome joy to have a sexy dude put it nice and hard inside me. The resulting disappointment will give you a true taste of my dating life because brace yourselves: this man well and truly talked himself out of a fuck.
As you’ll recall, we were making out on the bed. He was rushing things with a speed that said ‘panic’ rather than ‘passion’. A common problem, and a mistake I’ve been guilty of myself in the past – being so keen to arrive in Fucksville that you forget to enjoy the journey. So I asked him to slow down, got us both some water (sex is better when you’re suitably hydrated!), and settled back in to snogging this guy I had only just met.
Sloooowly.
“You’re my…”
We touch each other and roll around, grinding and grabbing and all the good stuff. He lets me set the pace from that point on, never escalating before I do – he allows me to choose when the time is right to take off my top, run my hands under his, then gently slip a finger into the waistband of his jeans to check whether he wants me to remove them. He has fabulous prominent hip bones which remind me of a particular ex, one whose sexual intensity still resonates in primal parts of my memory. He gives some enthusiastic noises when I tentatively start to undo his jeans, and I love that so I go for it. Take his deliciously hard cock in my hand and start to explore which touches make him utter more of those sexy little moans until…
“Aren’t you my very good girl?” he whispers. And every fibre of my being cries out in unison: ‘NOPE!’
I love being called a ‘good girl’ – it’s precious. The satisfaction of knowing that I’ve pleased someone who cares about me… there’s no high quite like it. But much like being someone’s sub or their fucktoy or their precious, precious princess, ‘good girl’ is an epithet that I only want to hear from a man that I know.
It’s fine though, not the end of the world, just a bump in the road. I pull away from the kiss and say gently:
“Ohhh no I’m sorry, not sure about that. You don’t know me well enough for me to be your ‘good girl’.”
“OK then,” he says, “in that case you’re my naughty girl.”
I think on this for a second and see if I can make it work for me, but sadly no. I don’t want to be his ‘girl’ at all, not yet. It’s not just that the phrasing sounds overfamiliar – I’ve got his dick in my hand, after all, we’re already pretty well acquainted. It’s more that it doesn’t feel real. Deserved. ‘Naughty’ isn’t a title I’ve earned, not with this guy. I’ve not yet done anything debauched, and he knows nothing about my experience because he hasn’t asked. He can’t know I’m naughty, he’s just making a horny assumption. Like he’s reading off a script.
I ask for another break. This bump in the road requires a bigger reset.
He agrees to pause. As I said in the last post, it’s important for me to make clear that this man won’t do me harm. One of the dangers of talking about bad dates is that there’ll be some who worry where things could be heading. When straight guys I know tell me ‘bad’ dating stories, most often those involve no-shows or general rudeness. Women, on the other hand, will talk about men who are at best pushy and at worst outright rapists. So. This man is not a rapist. I will end this story safe, you have my word.
Something about the things he’s just said feel oddly formulaic, though. Distant. Discordant. This guy isn’t eager for me, he just wants to get laid full stop. So we chat for a bit and I do my best to locate a little connection. Some mutual interest in a particular kink, or maybe a way we can relate over past experiences. All I need is for him to respond to me as me, not me as ‘woman he must unlock to reach the next level of sex’. Over the course of this brief but telling conversation, he proceeds to regale me with increasingly fantastical stories of sexual prowess, ignoring all my questions and follow-ups and never asking anything of me.
That is how he talks himself out of a fuck.
Keep talking or no one will get laid
Some people, when nervous, have a tendency to waffle. I am guilty of it myself, usually if I’m telling a story in front of a group. I worry that silence means I should just keep talking, so rather than stopping to check in and make sure people understand and aren’t bored to tears, I just throw more words at the problem. On dates, especially because I have a penchant for shy, nerdy men, I often end up sitting across pub tables from guys who are nervous in this way. Ones who’ll tell long-winded multi-anecdotes that run without any breaks: one after the other, like he’s the world’s most boring stand-up doing an Edinburgh show just for me. It’s not sexy, and if you’re someone who’s prone to doing this allow me to give you the simplest conversational trick you’ll ever have (frequent) cause to use: ask questions! Ask your date what they think and how they feel. Go for open questions, not yes/no ones. Listen to the answers, then ask a couple more! If you’re nervous, don’t attempt to perform a one-man show, recognise that a good date should establish a double-act.
This guy talks of his sexual experience, without asking anything of me, and I’ll be honest… quite a few of his tales don’t even ring true. He lists acts like we’re browsing porn categories: anal, spanking, group sex. When I ask follow-ups about how those things felt or came about, he changes the subject and moves on to the next Big Brag.
He tells me he once had a spitroast. When I say “ooh hot – was that someone you were dating, or did you join a couple as their third?”, I’m hoping to kick off a conversation about the relative merits of inviting a friend or being the guest in a threesome yourself. But he doesn’t want to elaborate, or can’t, so next he tells me he’s also tried DP. Again, my follow-ups (“That’s cool – how did it feel? DP is a challenge, how did you do it?”) fall on barren ground and he changes the subject again, telling me he even attempted triple penetration once (“How… how did that work?”). With each tale I become increasingly doubtful that any of the others happened, he’s just listing things he’s been told are sexy, hoping that mention of the right one might cause me to tear off my pants. We clearly have differing views on the point of telling stories: I tell them (and want to hear them) as a means to relate. He’s telling them as a means to impress: performing aggressive hypersexuality, and taking no note of how I respond.
As I’m sure regular readers will know, I’m bursting to tell a few stories of my own, but he doesn’t throw the conversation back to me. For a while I wonder if my earlier revelation that I’m a sex writer has been forgotten in the excitement of our snogs, until partway through one of his monologues he changes the subject and makes a casual comment about ‘the little erotic stories you write…’
Record-scratch.
“What do you mean my ‘little erotic stories’?”
“You told me you were a sex writer.”
“Yes. But you didn’t ask me anything else about it, so please don’t make assumptions.”
I can’t fuck a character, I have to fuck a person
At this point, shameful though it is to admit, I am still just about up for a fuck. Although he’s shown no interest in me, despite him having openly belittled the work I love so much, even as he’s rapidly morphing into an unfunny version of Jay from The Inbetweeners… I still really wanted to get laid! I was willing to overlook these things if it meant I could tell my friends in the morning that I ordered a man off the internet and later that day we had fucked. I just needed a tiny spark of connection. To hear him say something real, and treat me as real in return.
Someone who doesn’t listen to me when we have our clothes on is unlikely to listen any better when we’re naked. More importantly, I can’t get hot for an imaginary man! Sorry. How can I be horny for a guy who’s playing a character? I know that sex with strangers is interesting for some, but I doubt many people have a kink for actual bullshit. At the next revelation of a tickbox-list act (“I had this girlfriend who loved getting throatfucked!”), I put a hand gently on his knee and said:
“No judgement either way, I only just met you and I don’t care whether you’ve had five people or five hundred but… is this story actually true? If so, can you tell me more about how you felt rather than just what you did? If this story’s not true, that’s OK, but if we’re going to shag I need to understand you a little, so can you tell me something true about your sexual experience and give some insight into why you found it hot?”
At this point he changed the subject, and told me he once had a brilliant reverse gang bang.
And that’s when my cunt turned to dust.
Am I the arsehole?
In the past, I’ve tried not to write too much about bad dates. I am worried that the men with whom I’ve had them might read and be upset. There’s significant danger for me in a guy who’s upset, especially if he knows my identity. Besides, I genuinely don’t want to be reckless with anyone’s feelings. That’s why in the past I’ve tried to swallow the low-key bellendery. Occasionally bury these silly ‘bad date’ stories in the middle of much longer posts – offering general advice rather than spotlighting individuals.
After a bit of soul-searching, though, I’m changing my rules of engagement. I am older now, and wiser, and definitely far more tired. Tired of experiencing the same old shit time and time again, and miserable about diving into a dating scene that’s peppered with dudes who can’t do the very basics: ask questions, show interest, establish connection. My tolerance has worn a little thin. I hope my empathy and care has increased, especially since I first started blogging, so I figure nowadays I can tackle this in a measured way that might be helpful. I trust you as readers not to go tearing this guy a new one just because he couldn’t connect in the moment, as I trust you to understand that I’m not saying this man is a terrible person, just that I am weary of being treated this way by so many.
I don’t expect men to change their behaviour necessarily either – that would be lovely, of course, but I’m not the boss of you. I do think, though, that if I’d read more tales like this when younger, not only would I have felt less alone when the same things happened to me, I’d also have had the confidence to say ‘no’ a bit more often.
When we talk about pressure and sex, often we’re focused on the pressure other people put us under – the ‘me toos’ and the horror stories and the ways bad people run rampage through our consent. But there are other kinds of pressure too, like the type we put on ourselves. The pressure to fuck because they’ve come all this way and the buses have stopped running, or because they’ve got their round in and told us we look fantastic. The pressure to escalate to boning just because their dick’s in our hand, even if we realise we’re not feeling it. As I launch myself back into dating, I want to flick a switch in my head that takes the pressure off me to try and hunt for reasons to fuck a man who belittles my work or shows no interest, and instead puts the pressure on him to expend more effort. Ask questions. Listen to the answers. Lift me up and make me feel good rather than like a video game he’ll complete if only he can find the right button combo.
All this to say, I’m going to allow myself to write occasionally about bad dates – anonymised and with care, of course. Swallowing these stories causes me harm, and it certainly skews the picture I’m painting here on the blog. If I just write up the best ones, I give a false impression that life is all roses and dildo orgies, and I don’t want others to wonder what could possibly be wrong with them because they’re running into one button-pusher after another who appears to show no interest.
I am not the arsehole
More importantly… remember that saying?
Men are afraid that women will laugh at them, women are afraid that men will kill them.
In both of the blog posts about this date I’ve taken pains to let you know that this man did not rape me. I messaged my friends for safety before I took him to my hotel, and later that evening I checked back in to tell them:
“We had fun! He turned out to be annoying but wasn’t a rapist so I’m chalking it up as a win!”
And the fact that I am chalking a bad date up as a ‘win’ just because I didn’t get raped (or coerced/assaulted in general) makes me wonder… hmm. Is it really so bad if men are afraid that we might talk about their disappointing behaviour? Should I refrain from posting true experiences that could help other people just because a date leapt over the very low bar of not forcing sex upon me? When men behave in ways that are obviously rubbish, would it be so bad if I did, in fact, allow myself to have a little laugh? Or at the very least share the truth without shame, instead of compelling myself to process and swallow it in silence.
Perhaps if people want me to write well of them, they should endeavour to treat me well enough to earn it. If a less-than-glowing but truthful, anonymous blog post is the greatest harm I can inflict, maybe it’s OK for someone to be nervous of that. It’s possible that my current mental state is making me reckless, or perhaps I’m just sick of being belittled and treated poorly, then expected to suck it up and hold my tongue (or pen) out of care for men who couldn’t bring themselves to extend any care to me. Maybe it’s both of those things. Whatever the reason, I’ll add that although this particular man is far from an out-and-out villain, I hope that talking about him (and people like him) will give the outright villains pause for thought before they crash into my life. Maybe they’ll take note that GOTN won’t always swallow the bad stories: if you piss her off enough she’ll tell the truth. This man is just low-key annoying, but given how badly the worst men have treated me, perhaps a little fear might do some good.
The grubby end
When I finally realised we weren’t going to fuck, I offered to get this guy a cab. He kissed me again. I nudged him off and told him ‘sorry, but no’ and he leant in once more. Again, I told him: ‘no, sorry.’ Eventually, after three gentle pushbacks with a firm but careful, ‘no’ he told me:
“You don’t need to keep being sorry!” … before once again attempting to shove his tongue down my throat.
At that point, I admit, I abandoned gentleness and instead gave a sigh of frustration:
“I KNOW I don’t need to be sorry. I’m trying to get you off me, and I didn’t want to seem rude. I’m done with politeness now, though: I don’t want to shag. I’m sorry to disappoint, and I had a great evening. But I’ve offered to get you a cab and you’re still trying to kiss me. Please leave.”
And fair play to him. He heard me. He left.
I met a man on the internet and within 12 hours we’d had a fun date. A gig, some drinks, a few snogs, and nobody ended up raped. It didn’t go exactly how I wanted, but that’s true of most things in life, and at least this time I allowed myself to tell the story properly.
So I may say this through gritted teeth, but I’ll say it:
I’m chalking this up as a win.
13 Comments
Thank you for telling the whole story! it matters.
also as a person who’s been in similar situations but hasn’t dated straight guys in ages, i am a little shook that both times it took three “no’s” for him to hear it. that feels at least like one too many.
I’m wishing you even more successful dates in the future.
Thank you H, and yes you’re right – three is too many. It wasn’t troubling or frightening in the moment, but it was *deeply* frustrating, and it’s not OK.
Three times seems like way too many to me, too.
I feel like there’s a popular idea that assertiveness is opposed to listening, and that idea needs to die in a fire.
To you and to H, yes I agree – three times is too many, on both occasions. He wasn’t forceful, but he did push too much even after he knew it was a ‘no’, which is why I ended on that Atwood quote and the final goodbye – I hope that telling this story directly and with the inclusion of all this stuff gives a more accurate picture of how and why these incidents can really wear you down.
And yeah I agree – listening is absolutely key.
Thank you for writing this. Growing up a man, getting to read many more takes like this would have been a great thing.
Thank you Rafu! Really appreciate your comment <3
Thankyou
I’ve been a reader and a fan for easily a decade, and there’s been many such times – I’ll read something really human and insightful from you and just sit there processing for a bit, unable to immediately put into words a suitable comment. So I don’t comment…but what you’ve said stays with me, percolating in the back of my mind. And over time I think some of your words really have changed me, in a way that’s all the more profound for their (sweary, horny, gloriously real) subtlety. How I think about sex, and the standards I’ll accept, and the things I might be open to, and the way I treat other people and the way I treat myself. Human stuff.
You’ve done it time and again, and I just want to tell you I’m so grateful for this side of your writing. It’s only getting stronger, more nuanced and more powerful for that nuance, and I’m so here for it.
‘little erotic stories’ indeed. Fucks sake dude. He could have been a muse to a genius.
Thankyou. You do deserve better, as do we all.
“He could have been a muse to a genius.” MATE holy shit, what a phenomenal thing to read about myself. And naturally I am going to hug this to me closely for a very long time, thank you <3
I am so glad you liked this one - this went through a fair few edits and test reads because I wanted to make sure I got the balance/nuance right. And honestly, am so blown away by your kind words about my writing, thank you. I hope I get to continue doing it for a long long time to come, and I recognise how lucky I am to get the chance to practice this kind of thing over and over as part of my work, so hopefully I can take all the lessons I've learned into new relationships.
yup I agree, how did this failure-dude miss out so hugely on the amazing opportunity of being a muse to a genius indeed! A sadly missed opportunity for him, and for us!
I’m a good bit older than you GOTN, and I’ve been sighing in recognition all the way through this story. How immensely sad that too many men still (yeah I know “not all men”) don’t get it. Go slow, enjoy the journey, TALK to the person you’re with.
It’s sad that things haven’t changed much over the 50+ years I’ve been sexually active. I think, sadly, I’m about done with it now.
“It’s sad that things haven’t changed much over the 50+ years I’ve been sexually active” Oh God, this is profoundly depressing. I was chatting to a friend about this the other day and she basically said ‘yeah, I am actually done with men now. Too much misery adds up over the years’ and I really don’t want to feel this way, but it does grind me the fuck down. I’m sorry you’ve had such shit experiences too. <3
I want to be *seen* by the person I’m doing sex with, even if they are a total anonymous stranger.
So many potential sex partners of mine have come with scripts in their head; it is in essence another form of masturbation for them and their “partner” is a replaceable part in the play. If you deviate too far from their script they won’t want to have sex with you, but they will rationalize and bend and twist and rewrite current history in their brain even as it is happening.
This is one of the ways two people can walk away from a sexual experience with entirely different notions of what happened, including the level of consent. At some point I became alert to the dangers of this (for my own skin) and stopped participating in sexual encounters with someone who couldn’t get off script.
Sex is so much more intimate, and so much better, when you participate in the moment itself instead of a rerun in your head.
Kudos to you!
“it is in essence another form of masturbation for them and their “partner” is a replaceable part in the play.” I had not thought of it like this but YES instinctively this feels like such a good analogy for these kinds of interactions. Thank you fuzzy! <3 And yes agree with all of your post.
Oh, god, that must have been so *incredibly* frustrating. ” ‘Can you tell me something true about your sexual experience and give some insight into why you found it hot?’ – At this point he changed the subject.” (… yet again.) I was right there with you! (And it seems to you tried to ask the question so many times it’s astounding he didn’t catch what wasn’t a hint but in fact was multiple blatant requests) I wanted to find out more about it too! Except that you’re probably right that he was in fact entirely making it up, which I guess would make figuring out his past feelings about it difficult, given his evident story-telling skills, and so wouldn’t have been especially insightful.
It’s like you were a gate agent standing out on a runway with those glowing batons, trying to show the plane exactly how to fucking get where you both presumably wanted it to go, and watching it do a sudden right turn, run over the baggage cart, and crunch into the gangway.
Anyway, I’ve been a reader of yours for, wow, basically a decade at this point, and while I don’t usually have much to say, definitely thanks for all the writing you do. And, while as a date calling your experience a win might be over-selling it, a bad-but-not-traumatising experience does at least give you another slice of life to write about.