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.