Not So Pretty In Pink
I had met “Dave” on a dating website and we spent about a month chatting online. He was pretty entertaining to talk to, but I didn’t see us registering for an 8-piece china setting at Williams-Sonoma in the future or anything.
One day while we were chatting, Dave mentioned how beautiful it was outside and asked if I wanted to go get a beer with him. It sounded like fun; we got along fairly well and it was my first summer in this city, so while I knew my way around I wasn’t acquainted with the outdoor patio scene yet.
When I asked him where we were going, he responded, “I don’t know, where would you like to go?”
Now, Dave knew I was fairly new to the city and hadn’t been out to many bars yet, but I guess I didn’t really expect Random Guy From The Internet to remember every detail about my life. So I reminded him I had no idea where to go.
“Well, I don’t have any ideas. Where do you want to go?” Sigh. This went back and forth for a while until I just told him to pick out his favorite place, and we agreed to meet a few blocks from my house.
We had decided to meet in front of an old church because it was an easy landmark for both of us to find. I got there on time and… waited. This particular area of town had tourists wandering around, so I circulated through everyone to make sure he saw me. There were people sitting on the church stairs and one guy standing by some parked cars, but no one acknowledged me and no one really resembled Dave’s picture, so I kept waiting.
About twenty minutes later I noticed the guy near the parked cars was watching me. As I started to walk over to him he waved and yelled “You found me!” Dave was about a foot taller than my 5-foot-5 and he was maybe 130 pounds after Thanksgiving dinner. He had curly brown hair and big blue eyes- and was about 20% cuter than his profile picture was, really, which was why I didn’t recognize him.
“How long have you been over here?” I asked, pleased that he had turned out to be better than expected.
“A while. I wanted to see what you’d do.”
Huh? Dave saw that I was getting skeeved out, so he changed the subject and said he was going to take me to an awesome place for beer. Since the weather was gorgeous and I love beer, I just shrugged off his weirdness and got in his little Hyundai, happy to be going out for a pub adventure.
The “awesome place for beer” turned out to be a nature park about 10 minutes away. At first I thought he just wanted to show me around this particular park because it had a spectacular view of the city, but then he sat down on a bench and pulled a warm Red Stripe out of his backpack. “Want one?” he asked.
“Isn’t that kind of… illegal to drink in public?” I asked. I declined and let him enjoy the two beers he brought along, hobo-style, on the park bench.
When he was done we got back in the car. Dave asked if I was hungry, because there was a good sandwich place on the way back. I was a little hungry, and since apparently we weren’t going to a bar we could at least get some food.
Twenty minutes later we were hopelessly lost because Dave forgot where this sandwich place was. Worse, we couldn’t even call for directions because he couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant. “The last time I went there was when I was a kid,” he finally admitted. “I was hoping I’d remember it when we drove by.”
I told Dave that I wanted to go home, right now. Miraculously, we found our way back to my neighborhood quickly. As Dave pulled up in front of my apartment building he asked if he could use my bathroom before he drove home, because he lived a few towns away. As I mentioned before, the area of town I lived in had a lot of tourists so there weren’t a lot of public bathrooms around. I agreed, but I told him that he had to leave immediately after he was done… I didn’t want him to think that I was inviting him up to sleep with him.
So Dave went to the bathroom and about two minutes later I heard him pounding on the bathroom door. I had forgotten that the knob on the bathroom door was broken; when you closed it it would get stuck unless you pried it open with a screwdriver. Since I lived by myself I almost never bothered to close the door, and unfortunately I didn’t even think about it when Dave went to use the bathroom. I yelled at him that the door was busted but that it was no big deal; I could get him out soon.
I got my screwdriver and popped the door open in about a minute. And in that time Dave had managed to strip naked, pull one of my dirty blouses out of my hamper, put it on, and start masturbating furiously while facing the door.
I stood there for a second, screwdriver in hand, watching him in my wrinkled pink shirt and his white tube socks, frantically beating off. “Just put my shirt back when you’re done,” I said and closed the door.
He came out about thirty seconds later, fully dressed, and let himself out the front door.
I threw out the pink shirt.