The Skirt Chaser
My Very Worst Date happened when I was 16. It was the first (and last) blind date that I’d ever been on and also happened to be my second date ever. A friend of mine set me up with a friend of her older brother’s, said that he was 19, and that he was great. It was arranged for him to pick me up from her house so she could help me get ready. He picked me up and we went to dinner at a local restaurant. The conversation started out normal with typical first date awkward introductory small talk, but it came out that he was actually 24, and didn’t seem to care that I was 16. Things quickly soured when he started asking me some personal questions. Like REALLY personal. He started asking me about my sexual experiences, using graphic detail. To my horror, the line of questioning got even worse when he started asking me about my menstruation cycle and if it was regular enough to ensure a quick pregnancy.
Thankfully we left the restaurant and I began to complain of an imaginary illness to try and extract myself from this hell as soon as possible. He insisted that we get some ice cream and ignored my protests. Once we got there I managed to convince him to get it to go and eat in the car. The second my butt hit the seat, he launched himself on to me and made wild attempts to kiss me. Absolutely stricken with panic, I shoved him away, and demanded that he take me home. In the melee he had knocked my ice cream on to my lap and it had spilled on my skirt. Spying the spill on my lap he put his arm across my chest to prevent me from bending over (soccer mom sudden stop style) and proceeded to lick the ice cream off my skirt. I screamed bloody murder, hit his head as hard as I could and jumped out of the car. I ran into the ice cream shop, locked myself in the bathroom and called my dad to pick me up.
It was, without a doubt, the worst date I have ever been on.



