Frustrated with the single life in New York I had decided to go on Match.com to find a nice guy. I also had decided that I would be totally open-minded about who contacted me. MVWD messaged me, we wrote back and forth a few times and then graduated to instant message conversations. According to his profile, he lived in Staten Island, worked in security and seemed nice enough. He asked me out for drinks and I said yes. He was extremely interested in the fact that I worked in the fashion industry and was also somehow involved in the “club” industry (a couple of red flags), but I figured what harm could drinks do? I met him at the restaurant, we ordered drinks and started chatting. He kept bringing up that I worked in fashion and mentioned that he had a cousin who worked at the Nordstrom in Maryland. I just let it slide. He asked me if I could get him into fashion shows (no), if I knew any models (no again) and why I wanted to move to NYC since I could have just gotten a job at Nordstrom like his cousin?

Obviously I was not feeling a match, but he was harmless and I had a time I had to leave by so I persevered. Then I started asking him questions. It turned out that by security he meant that he worked as a night watchman at a medical building, but that he was more into the club scene. He was going to go into the NYPD like all of his family but he failed the test four times. He also told me that through the club scene he had developed a keen interest in fashion. For instance he “could distinguish between many coat designers like DKNY, Liz Claiborne, etc.” “What exactly do you do in the club scene?” I asked. He said he works in coat check. As our date wound down I excused myself to go to the restroom. As I waited in line I saw him breeze past me to go to the men’s room. He was carrying his own coat and mine was now obviously left at the bar unattended.

When I returned to our seats he lectured me on how irresponsible it was for me to leave my coat there. He said that after working in coat check he has seen firsthand how coats can go missing. I didn’t have the energy to point out that I had left my coat with him.

After breaking up with an ass of an ex, my best friend persuaded me to give Match.com a try as she’d had success on it and thought I would too. I met a few really nice people off the site and managed to filter most of the booty call-type messages, but it seems one slipped through the net. His photo was good, his profile was well written and although I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to go out with someone who was separated with three kids, I thought it wouldn’t be fair to be picky and he may just be right for me. We messaged a couple of times over the site and as I favour meeting up for a drink rather than spending months chatting online only to be disappointed scenario, we swapped numbers and arranged an after work drink and meal in town.

He rolled up late, which was fine as I knew he had a 30 minute journey in rush hour, so I’d bought a book loosely relative to the degree I am studying (criminology). He ordered a coffee, asked me if I was okay with him smoking (I smoke too, but usually make a rule of not smoking on a date) and lit up. He noticed the book I was reading and asked the normal, utterly unfunny questions about whether I was studying to be a criminal, etc. After about 40 minutes, with his coffee gone and my wine pretty much on the dredges, he asked me what I was up to that evening. I said that I thought we had arranged to have dinner, to which he remarked that he’d spent most his money today buying an XBox. He said he wasn’t really hungry but could we go back to mine?

I have a general rule that I never ever get into a car with someone on the first date, much less show them where I live, so I declined. He then spent 10 minutes assuring me he wasn’t a murderer like I read in my books, that he just wanted to drop me home. I still declined. Then he came out with an utter bombshell:

“I was hoping to get a blow job and stick my cock up your arse,” he said.

WTF? He started nervously laughing and I laughed so hard I nearly cried. When he realised I wasn’t laughing with him, but at him, he stood up to pay the drinks bill. Me, being polite, felt it was only fair to “thank” him for the date and drink so I waited for him. Five minutes turned into 10, and then into 15, and I figured he’d made a run for it, so I collected my stuff ready to leave when he appeared at the doorway. He said he’d paid for the drinks and asked me once more if I’d like a lift home.

I discovered why he had been gone so long.

“I just had a wank in the toilets, thinking about your tits,” he explained.

I thanked him, then laughed the entire way home. He rang me a few times, and texted me once to ask, “Was I a bit full on?” I never gave him the grace of replying – I’ll let him mull that one over.