A Disappointing Lady Date

A Disappointing Lady Date

The other weekend I had a disappointing lady date. It wasn’t just a bit shit, it eclipsed every disappointing date I have ever been on (even worse than this embarrassing catastrophe).

No Game with Girls

As I’ve previously discussed, I have no game with girls. I’ve known for some time that I’m terrible at being bisexual and that I should probably just give up on the idea of lady love altogether. Nevertheless, I’m persevering on my quest for romance with the ‘fairer’ sex, and a couple of weeks ago my patience finally paid off: I landed a date with a beautiful Mexican girl. Obviously, I met her on Tinder (where else would it have been), and for our first date we arranged to go to her favourite mezcaleria for an evening of drinking and flirting.

In the run-up to the date we chatted lots on WhatsApp and she seemed smart and funny, so I was excited to finally meet her. And until the very end of the date, we had a bloody brilliant evening together.

At first, we were shy with each other as we navigated the language barrier and the standard first-date nervous excitement. But she recommended a great mezcal to me and by my second shot we were chatting and giggling like old friends but with added eyelash-fluttering and hair-twirling. The date was going so well, in fact, that towards the end of the night she kissed me. As we made out in our dark corner of the bar the thought crossed my mind that I was already excited about seeing her next. I made a mental note to ask about her plans for the weekend just as soon as we’d finished snogging each other’s lipstick off.

Turns out, I’m Sexist

But that’s where the good times ended and, at the very same time, my own deep-rooted sexism came to light.

See, this broad was pushy AF. She told me she wanted to go home with me and I told her I wasn’t down for that because we’d only just met and how was I to know whether or not she was a murderer. There began a dialogue that I’m so, so familiar with, but I never expected to hear from a woman (told you I was sexist):

  • Come on, we’ll do it eventually so why not tonight?
  • You can’t just make out with me and leave me hanging like this.
  • Ok, I’ll come to yours and we’ll just sleep.
  • Well, you’re kind of drunk, let me get an Uber back with you just to check you’re ok.
  • Are you some kind of tease?
  • I thought you liked me? If you liked me that much you’d show me.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. When one of my earrings came loose and fell on the ground she reached down to get it. I said thank you and held my hand out to retrieve it but she pulled her hand away and said the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard on a date:

“Go home with me and I’ll give you your earring back.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

With that, I asked for the bill and told her I was tired and was going home. Alone.

A Disappointing Lady Date (and a Wake-up Call)

As I sat in my Uber the shock of what had just happened hit me. I was so surprised that a woman had pressured me in such a way. As a bisexual female herself (and with her having grown up in a pretty machismo country), I couldn’t believe that she’d tried to push me into something that I 100% didn’t want to do. My first thought was, “shouldn’t she know better, considering that she’s surely been there herself?”

I told this story to some female friends and more than one of them asked whether she was drunk, before suggesting that if she was maybe I should give her another chance. And, I actually considered it. I was so sure that I must have overreacted or misinterpreted the situation somehow. Surely a smart and beautiful woman couldn’t have tried to push me into having sex with her when I’d clearly said no?

I bet nobody would have suggested I give her a second chance if she was a man and had acted that way. I certainly wouldn’t have given a guy the benefit of the doubt like I did with her.

But instead of a second chance, I chose to give her an education instead. I carefully explained to her why her behaviour had made me uncomfortable, and why I was choosing not to see her again. She was devastated to have caused me so much distress and thanked me for being honest with her, which made me realise that if this situation ever arises again (with a man or a woman) it’s important to respond in the same way. If I keep quiet and don’t speak up when something is clearly wrong, how will we ever get better at respecting one another’s wishes?

I got a sharp wake-up call that weekend: not all women fully understand how consent works. Contrary to popular belief (and my own, up until recently) it ain’t just men that sometimes struggle with the concept.

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