Date #2 (A Second Date), Continued

I’m disappointed and a little ashamed to publicly admit I kissed him back.  I could have tolerated some light kissing, but now Bob is putting his tongue in my mouth.  Gross!  I am just not feeling it (i.e., any physical attraction)!  It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience – it was kind of neutral, kind of blah.  I maintain at least an ounce of personal respect and integrity and keep pulling away, but these subtle hints are lost on him.  Maybe he thinks I am trying to play coy.  I feel forsaken by the feminist movement.

 

He starts to touch my body with his hand.  Ugh!  This is so uncalled for.  I tell him I have to go.  He immediately backs off.  Relieved he still understands English, I relax for a moment and decide to go ahead and finish my glass of wine.  In an attempt to keep him at bay (i.e., his tongue out of my mouth), I suddenly find myself being Ms. Chatty.  For the first time on either of our dates, I am actually talking freely.  Not about anything important, but I am so uncomfortable (and determined to finish the glass of wine, because I could use it at this point!) I’m finally talking about whatever I feel like talking about to avoid having to make out with him. 

 

I make a point not to drink the rest of my wine like it’s a shot of liquor.  Once again, I’m trying to be reasonably polite.  I’m fighting my inborn ‘fight or flight’ instinct to run as fast as I possibly can and get the f^@% out of there.  I’m partially disgusted with myself for falling into the ‘polite’ crap because this is the kind of thing that women do.  And it takes a toll on your mental health. 

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