Double Dose of Disaster
I have two MVWDs from a very short time span in my life.
Five years ago, I was freshly out of a relationship. My friend had just met her semi-normal boyfriend by posting an ad on Craigslist, so I figured what the hell? I posted a personals ad. In the ad, I mentioned that I lived in Brooklyn and liked biking. I was 22 at the time, so I also posted that I was only interested in guys aged 20-30. I filtered through the numerous responses, and settled on meeting “Ben” and “Mike.”
My first date with Ben was neither good or bad. He wasn’t as tall as I would have liked, but was a seemingly decent, normal guy.
Shortly after that date, I accepted a date with Mike. He told me that he was also into biking, and that he would bike to my neighborhood for dinner. I told him my corner, not my address, to avoid him knowing exactly where I lived. He arrived wearing full bike-riding spandex, and when he took off his helmet, I saw that he was at least 45 years old. He informed me that he had ridden all the way from uptown Manhattan (at least a 40 minute ride), and that he would have to take a shower and change before dinner. Against every grain of judgment, I walked him down the block and let him up to my apartment to use the bathroom, figuring at least one of my two roommates would be home to protect me. Mike was already in the shower with the water running when, to my horror, I realized no one else was home. When he emerged, in a panic I rushed us to dinner to get us out of the apartment, feeling too weird and guilty to send him home despite his obvious age lie and rude shower request.
During dinner he talked nonstop about how he’s “in the record industry,” and his “last girlfriend was also much younger” but she was “into the marijuana” too much and he “couldn’t imagine having children with her.” I gave off every signal of disinterest to no avail. When we finally left, he said “Hey, I feel like ice cream, do you?” I said no and sent him home.
I was so traumatized, I called Ben to accept his invite to hang out at his apartment that night. We kissed for about two minutes, during which time he managed to get undressed down to his underpants. I looked down to see a wet stain on his underwear. Incredulous, I asked, “Did you just finish?” to which he replied nonchalantly, “Yeah” — like, no big deal. I would like to say I was flattered that two minutes of kissing me had produced an orgasm, but I just felt totally weirded out. I told him I had to leave, and he proceeded to beg me to stay the night. He was still protesting, almost in tears, as I left his apartment and walked home.
