Oh, when I saw the profile I knew I should back away but did I listen? No.
“Longest relationship: less than one year.”
Let’s call him “Robot Goldfish,” or R.G. for short.
I started an email conversation with him, which triggered a three week spate of walks, dinners, and phone conversations which seemed pleasant enough, just a bit emotionally stiff. But he was college educated, decent looking, and seemed like a gentleman. I was satisfied.
During all these hours of talks, I found out he had never had a close emotional relationship. With anyone. Ever. That’s rather fucking bizarre. But I decide to take things super slow, there’s no harm in just talking to the guy, right?
After two weeks of dating, he asked if he could kiss me. I said sure. He leaned in with pursed lips and gave me a quick peck on the lips, backing away just as quickly. I looked at him. He looked at me, pleased. I leaned in for more. He met me with another peck-and-pull. Okay, he’s probably nervous, so I won’t push it.
Our next date, he asked me if he could kiss me again. I said sure. Once again, peck-pull. I tried again to get him to loosen his lips and hold still for a real adult kiss. He didn’t seem to understand. Peck-pull, peck-pull, peck-pull. He was kissing like a water-drinking bird on speed. He was kissing like the host of a receiving line of old aunties. I said good night.
The next day, he asked if he could stop by my house. I said sure. He sat down at my couch and beckoned me with a pat. I sat. He pulled me to him and started pecking again. Well hell, let’s try this one more time. I held his head still to quit backing away, then tried gently introducing my tongue. He responded by holding his head still, but pursing and unpursing his lips like a fish. No tongue. Purse, open. Purse, open. Purse, open. I had a big goldfish that did the same thing when he ate pellet food. I tried distracting R.G. from his rhythmic mouthing by grazing the front of his trousers with my hand. Didn’t help, except that he broke away long enough to say blandly, “I like that,” then back to muah muah muah.
I excused myself to the bathroom. WTF, this is insane. He is not getting it. He has apparently never kissed a woman (more than once) before. He’s apparently also never watched a movie with people kissing in it. I steeled myself to improvise a graceful exit from the visit.
When I sit back down, he pulls me closer, then tries to unhook my bra. OK, this shit isn’t working. I tell him I’m uncomfortable and need to stop.
A few minutes later, he tries to muck-muck on my face again, and starts to slip his hand into my pants. I pull his hand away then tell him he needs to go. He turns at the door and says tomorrow night would be a great time for him to come back. I said “no, I have plans.” My plan was to never do that again with him.
The next night, at 9:30, he texts me that he knows something is going on, but he doesn’t know what it is, and I should tell him. I told him I was uncomfortable by his last visit, and I was trying to process it. He replied that if I wasn’t excited by this relationship after three weeks, then there was a problem, and besides that, I should be ditching my other social engagements with my friends to be with him without his asking me to.
He texted, “it’s obvious we have no future together.”
“OK, I’ll mail your books back to you.”
The next 24 hours were punctuated at regular intervals by texts and emails from R.G., “I don’t know what happened? What happened? I like you, what happened? I don’t understand” and “you’re cold and insulting and condescending and capricious.”
I told him I was uncomfortable with the physical encounter, and his response was unacceptable to me. Please don’t contact me again.
His response was basically, “oh yeah, well you touched my penis so that proves you’re a liar.”
Son, if anyone (besides you) had ever touched your penis in the past, you would have known that wasn’t an actual touch of penis. If I had enjoyed kissing you, you would have been given the full ninja treatment. You would have waddled out of there with a stiffie to rival your legs.
I’m really pissed that someone called me a liar though, even though he’s a boundary-crashing schizoid asshole that needs to be avoided at all cost. And he WILL contact me again, I bet you five bucks. I hope I have the intestinal fortitude and brains not to respond.
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