the date that shouldn't have been

It's been almost six months since I met somebody online. And after my date Friday night, I wish I were still headed for seven.

CAVEAT: I hesitate to write about this date because, well, there were a number of signs that came barreling down the tracks at me like a freight train full of shit, and, being out of practice, I willfully neglected to see them. For my part in the ensuing tragedy, I sincerely apologize, and hope that your opinions of me are not (too terribly) diminished.

Sign number one: my date, who we'll call Frank, admitted to playing Dungeons and Dragons over email with his friends. (He's 35, not 14.)

Sign number two: Frank has a Yoda collection. A very LARGE Yoda collection.

Sign number three: Frank has videos on youtube where he's dancing with a light saber.

On my first date with Frank, he started out very overwhelming -- loud, garrulous, inconfident; I could tell that I was making him nervous. By the end of our date, though, he calmed down and really talked from the heart about something, and it seemed like there was someone on the inside who was worth meeting. So I took a second date with him. (And, for the record, he was cute. Tall, nice eyes, slim build, I can't argue.)

Our second date started off well. He was calmer, more reassured, and quoting fewer movies. We ate dinner, and he told me about the sci-fi books he was reading, the Twilight Zone marathon he watched on New Year's Eve and the distinctions between different ways of playing D&D. (Didn't know there were any, did you? Well, there are. LOTS.)

My dinner, however, didn't sit terribly well with me, and after we were finished, I turned down his (now second) offer to go back to his place to get high and play videogames, and instead we walked around the block. When I realized that the only way I was apt to feel better was by getting horizontal (alone, thank you very much), he offered to walk me home. Twelve blocks later, we were both freezing and it would have been inhumane to send him back in the other direction without at least letting him thaw out a bit.

"I'm letting you come into my apartment to warm up, but I have to warn you, it's not clean, and it's not that kind of invitation," I said, as we headed up the stairs. "I wasn't expecting company tonight."

I gave him a brief tour. (My house is so small, any tour is brief.) He plopped down on the couch.

"It's kind of gritty on the couch."

"I know," I said, "I was eating popcorn there last night and it had sugar on it, so that's probably sugar on the couch."

"And this is a pretty picture," he said, leaning towards a shot of me in my graduation gown. "But it's kinda dusty."

"I told you, my house isn't clean. You're not really here."

I sat down on the couch and he rubbed my back. Yes, yes, I'm a whoooore... I let him. Then there was a little bit of smooching. When he tried to cop a feel, I deftly maneuvered his hand out of the way with my forearm.

"Did you notice that?" he asked.

"Um, what?"

"That I felt your boob."

"Yeah, I noticed that. Did you notice that I pushed your hand away?"

"Yeah, but it's only fair. Second date; second base."

Seriously?

Do guys actually think this kind of thing? And, of the percentage who think it (over age 14) how many of them say it out loud?

He got up to go home, and I followed him to the door. Watch out, Kate! Sneak Attack!

Now, you should know that there are women in the world who, if you pull the right maneuver, something in their neural pathways snaps and they're no longer able to think above the waist. I am, sadly, one of those women. Of the myriad things that will do this, one of them is backing me up against a wall. So when that happened, all bets were off.

After a shocking (and, I'll admit, surprisingly good make out session), Frank said, "You know, dinner, and getting to know you, and walking around and talking to you have all been really good, but the last five minutes, where I had kind of a hard on and was rubbing up against you? Those were the best five minutes yet! Just say the word and I'll take my profile down."

"Oh, and did you see my Star Trek belt buckle?"

Dear god, whatever the word is, please please PLEASE don't let it slip from my lips. My mind was racing. End this. Save yourself. No matter how good the smooching, there is no way you can continue to see this guy. Ever!

As bad as it was, he somehow managed to continue to sink even lower. "You know, it's sad that I have to go home alone, but the good thing is, those last five minutes? At least they've given me something to jerk off to."

"NO." I said firmly, now thoroughly disgusted with myself for getting anywhere near a wall with my back. "That will not be your parting thought. Try again."

He laughed. "When we're married and have grandkids, we'll look back on this and smile."

"Really? You jump from jerking off to marriage in one step? That's impossible!"

He left, I locked my door behind him, and made myself a solemn vow.

I would never, ever, ignore a freight train full of shit steaming down the tracks at me at a million miles an hour.

In fact, I'm seriously considering giving up dating (if not living) all together.