What Gentlemen Prefer

"I really like the sound of your voice," he informs me during dinner at one of my favorite Hell's Kitchen Mexican restaurants.

I respond in slight disbelief with, "Really?"  The compliment catches me off guard since I sometimes have a complex about my voice.  I smile and avert my eyes down to my plate of food.  This date was two weeks in the making and so far it is proving to be well worth the wait.  The build up to tonight actually gave me butterflies.

"Yeah," my date continues.  "When we spoke on the phone the other night... never mind."

"What?"  I'm expecting to hear something to the effect that he called a friend immediately after to tell him what a great guy I sounded like.

He replies with, "I got a hard-on."

And with that overshare, we move from romantic to awkward.

I quickly try to rebound and get us back on track with lighter getting to know you fare, but my date has other ideas.  As we discuss options of where to go after we leave the restaurant, he lets me know he would be up for anything.  Even going back to my place to mess around.  He quickly follows that up with, "but it doesn't have to be full out sex."  Maybe margaritas with dinner were not such a great idea.  I politely decline his offer, and inform him that I don't operate like that on a first date.  I feel like a bit of a prude for saying this, but also proud that I'm standing my ground.  He says he understands, yet later grabs at my calves underneath the table.  This is what I get for joking around about my willingness to show off my former dancer legs.  By this point, butterflies are turning into moths, and my date is becoming a letch.

He pays the bill.  I thank him for his generosity while wondering if he hopes I will put out because he paid out.  We move back to Barrage, the bar we first met at two weeks ago, as well as our meet up spot before dinner.  As we stand by the bar waiting to order, the Letch grabs me in what I perceive is an effort to start making out.  This is surprising since we spoke about extreme PDA over dinner and we both said we aren't fans of it.  I kiss him back, but my lips are as pursed as a kid's who doesn't want that tablespoon of cod liver oil.  Why the hell am I still here?  We sit down in the front of the bar; however, he is constantly scanning the back to see if a "quieter" section is available.  I'm trying my best to salvage the date and remember that he seemed like such a nice guy before his Jekyll and Hyde transformation.

The Letch is no longer interested in small talk.  Any conversation he does have left in him is spaced out between creepy eyebrow raises and goofy smirks.  When he makes another attempt to kiss me, I grab his hand to hold it.  He allows me to, but doesn't grab my hand in return.  He just leaves it there like a lifeless fish.  I believe this is a good time to call it a night.  He goes in for a final kiss, and as he does this, he brushes his fingers across the left side of my chest.  There is nothing sexy or romantic about his action.  Rather, it seems like a bad attempt at trying too hard.  It reminds me of what I was like as an inexperienced 18-year-old.  The problem is, this clumsy gesture is being initiated by a 42-year-old man.

My frustration is getting the best of me as I stop the motion of his hand and say, "I'm going to have to work on you.  I think you are a little too sexually charged for my taste."  He offers up no response.  We leave Barrage, and say good night.  As he catches a cab, I walk up Ninth Avenue.  I'm pretty sure we won't be seeing each other again.

It's gotten much chillier outside in comparison to when the evening first began.  I pass by other couples as I rush home to the warmth of my apartment.  I glance at them with both admiration and curiosity.  Their companionship seems foreign and unattainable to me after my disappointing outing with the Letch.  For whatever reason, the dating connection I desire eludes me right now.  I don't want to consider myself defeated though.  Bad dates come and go, and it's easy to get worked up over them.  I'm sure there will be more, just as I'm equally sure there will be a great guy who will come along in the near future.  In the meantime, happily single works for me.

I've certainly come a long way from the free-spirited stripper who had no issue with men grabbing his genitalia as long as money was involved.  Does the way I conducted myself on this date mean I've turned into a prude?  Absolutely not.  It makes me a gentleman.  And for those of you who don't know... gentlemen prefer gentlemen.