No Matter What, No Means NO

As a last-ditch effort before my time on Match expired, I threw my number at a guy with whom I’d had a few exchanges. We first met at a bar and had a four-hour date discussing the perils of online dating, the ups and downs of living overseas, and the general get-to-know-you type questions.

Yes, I said four hours – that’s a very long time in first date terms.

I never once looked at my watch or hoped that it would please-just-end. Even without a goodnight kiss before my taxi pulled away, I was certain that date #2 would ensue.

And, I was right. Two days later, Mr. Wonderful asked if I was interested in having dinner… at his place. As a “renowned chef” (his words), he wanted to make a delicious meal before jetting off to Germany for two weeks. Though I’m always cautious about going to a guy’s place so early on, I agreed. He’d been perfectly harmless on date one; like I said, he didn’t even attempt to kiss me. He went all out on a four course extravaganza – it was splendid.

Through the preparation, dinner, and afterwards, we talked about all sorts of things. As most second dates will do, Mr. Wonderful kissed me. I kissed him back. That’s as far as I wanted to take it. Kissing is a good first step. Why give away the cookie before he’s earned it?

I could tell that his hands were hoping to wander, so I gently pushed them away. He tried again and this time I vocalized that I wanted to keep the party PG-13. “This is PG-13,” he said while attempting to lift me onto his lap. I resisted, reminding him again that I’m not going any further. He pouted, but left me alone… for a few minutes.

Another kiss came my way and I fielded it, but not fast enough for him to unzip my dress. Mind you, the zipper was a mere 6 inches (it was one of those pretty pink ones that are simply for looks and getting your head into and out of), but within 30 seconds, he had already unsnapped my bra through the zipper opening.

“I said that we’re keeping it PG-13,” I exclaimed whilst hopping up from the couch. Stalking to the bathroom, I saw that the clock read 10:42 – a perfect excuse to leave. I re-attached my bra, zipped up my dress, and stalked back out to the living room.

Putting on my sweater, socks (yes, he’d somehow managed to slip those puppies off, too), and shoes, I told him that it was my bedtime, so I’d be leaving.

“But why?” he whined a legitimate I’m-three-years-old-and-want-a-new-toy-from-the-grocery-store-aisle whine. “Why stop something if it feels good?”

I continued to collect my things. “But, but…I made you dinner,” he sulked.

So by him making me dinner, he expected that I owed him sex?! What planet were we on? On planet Earth, no means no – always. He walked me downstairs, all the while huffing about the fact that we were having fun and that people always stop themselves from having fun. My arm flew up the second I stepped out of the door, “Taxi!!”

Near to tears, Mr. Wonderful (new name: Mr. Go Fuck Yourself)  tried one last time, “But I’m leaving for two weeks…”

Exactly my point – why have sex or even get busy with a dude that I’m never – and I mean never – going to see again??

In case you didn’t already know this guys reading this blog: no means no – always. And in case you didn’t know this, ladies, just say no when a near stranger asks you over –  who knows what kinda shit you might get yourself into.