Doctor Date Rape
This blog is about the first online date I went on. That was before I started carrying pepper spray and a tactical pen with me on first dates. If the phrase "tactical pen" doesn't mean anything to you, click this link and stay protected.
I was freshly single after a relationship that had lasted a few years and I wanted to try something new, so I joined a site called Plenty of Fish. Back then, it was pretty much the best free dating site out there because it was user-friendly and had some neat options. Now it's kind of just a meat market.
I posted a few pictures I thought were good and checked that box beside "a little extra" when asked about my body type, and typed up a nice self-summary to see if I could lure in a man worth dating.
I had a few hits that for whatever reason just never panned out before I was approached by a man in his early 40's. You read that correctly. I was 23 and he was 43.
His pictures were unimpressive. He kind of looked like this guy. Not too bad, right? So I thought that I'd go out with him because he was persistent and he had some impressive credentials when the observer is a young woman, essentially bereft of education or accomplishment.
He said that he was a professor at a local liberal arts college and had some letters surrounding his name. He lived in the historical district of town and he seemed interesting.
I'm not closed-minded or ageist, so I thought that if was really incredible and seemed to genuinely like me, I'd go out with him a time or two if for no other reason than good company and good conversation. Besides, it's good for the ego when a learned man wants to take you out.
Before you think too hard about it, of course I was hesitant. He was 20 years my senior. I told him no way at first because that's what you do with an old creeper asks you out as a 23-year-old young woman with a newly discovered wild streak. That wild streak is what convinced me to go out with him in the first place. I was in that place that I thought I could do something crazy like date an older professor. It made me feel mature and together and much more intelligent than I actually was. And then there was that whole aspect of being down on my luck (and potentially down on myself), just getting ready to start back to school after earning that impressive associate's degree in Journalism.
Therefore, despite the niggling little voice in the back of my head telling me to stay away from this old guy, I consented to meet him.
So, this vibrant young redhead put on her best emerald green blouse and the perfect shade of eyeshadow and a light coat of lipstick. I met him at a local chain restaurant and he looked more like this guy. Okay, well maybe not exactly. He wore really bad glasses and had these thick, red lips that always looked damp and wormlike. He was very tall and had started to get that middle aged paunch that some men get from not taking care of themselves. But I sat through the date and poked my food around my plate while he talked about how he was a doctor of Philosophy or something equally useless, but of course I didn't really think that at the time. The idea of a philosophy professor was romantic and idealistic to my younger self and so as weirded out as I was, I let the date go on.
He drank a Heineken and I drank water. I knew better than to imbibe during a date like this at the risk of making bad decisions. Even at 23 I had better sense than that. And there was of course that random fear that he actually was Ted Bundy or the Green River Rapist or something. He did kind of look like the person you would expect to be a serial killing multiple rapist. Come to think of it, he did sort of resemble BTK without the facial hair... Sad that I'm just now drawing that parallel.
Anyway, the awkward dinner finally wrapped up and I allowed him to walk me to my car, parked right out front in the busy parking lot. Rather, he kind of just did it and I didn't tell him to go away. So, we're standing there between this sedan and my little Corolla. I say standing, but there was really not room for two people to stand there and maintain any semblance of personal space. I'm no prude, quite the contrary, I'm kind of a hippie, so if I like you, touch me! Stand close to me, hold my hand, touch my arm, my hair, my knee, just keep it off the bits you put underthings over and we're all good. But I felt uncomfortable just standing near this guy. Like his very presence was threatening. He was tall, as I'd mentioned, so he loomed over my 5 feet and 9 inches. That really is a statement considering that not only am I tall, but I did a bit of modeling in my earlier years and my posture is trained into perfection. Some people actually tell me that I'm intimidating because I'm tall and confident and sometimes boisterous. So, to tower over me and intimidate me is a feat in itself. And his looming meant that I was pinned between his body and my car. Not so close that I couldn't move out of his way, but too close to make me comfortable.
Then the worst possible thing happened. He leaned in and reached out with his right hand for my waist. I knew what was coming before it happened, but pinned as I was between this large man and my small car, there was nowhere to go. To my left was his arm and to my right was my own side mirror. I was trapped and I certainly felt that way. I could see those lips like fat earthworms coming toward me under the beady eyes closed in preparation for a kiss. Too fast for me to deflect politely, he kissed me. Worst kiss ever. His lips felt just as you would imagine they would, warm and wet (which one might anticipate were a good thing) but too soft and too wet and smothery. And I stood there dumbfounded and didn't kick him in the balls. Go me.
It was over soon enough, thank goodness. I'm sure the stiffness in my body was something of an indicator. So, I was thinking the entire awkward ordeal was over and I was finally safe. I was mistaken. He asked me if I wanted to come back to his place for a drink and that, THAT is when I stopped being nice.
I politely declined and when pressed told him exactly why. I very delicately told him that he was too mature for me and that I felt intimidated. He attempted to put my poor, stupid young mind at ease by telling me how bright and pretty I was before attempting to swoop back in for another kiss and god only knows what else. He telegraphed that one and I slipped to my left in time to avoid being trapped again. Then I told him that the babysitter was waiting for me and that I wasn't interested in seeing him again. He reached out to take my arm and I very flatly told him that if he didn't take his hands off me, I'd take his hands off him.
From that day forward, I've always carried at least one weapon of self defense on first dates. This story has moral. No matter how confident and statuesque and "not the victim type" you think you are, there are always going to be people who feel that they can take advantage of your manners. There is a point when it's no longer manners and it becomes sexual assault. Don't be a victim. Be proactive and take care of yourself. I've learned a valuable lesson with this one. No more Doctor Date Rape for this girl.
I was freshly single after a relationship that had lasted a few years and I wanted to try something new, so I joined a site called Plenty of Fish. Back then, it was pretty much the best free dating site out there because it was user-friendly and had some neat options. Now it's kind of just a meat market.
I posted a few pictures I thought were good and checked that box beside "a little extra" when asked about my body type, and typed up a nice self-summary to see if I could lure in a man worth dating.
I had a few hits that for whatever reason just never panned out before I was approached by a man in his early 40's. You read that correctly. I was 23 and he was 43.
His pictures were unimpressive. He kind of looked like this guy. Not too bad, right? So I thought that I'd go out with him because he was persistent and he had some impressive credentials when the observer is a young woman, essentially bereft of education or accomplishment.
He said that he was a professor at a local liberal arts college and had some letters surrounding his name. He lived in the historical district of town and he seemed interesting.
I'm not closed-minded or ageist, so I thought that if was really incredible and seemed to genuinely like me, I'd go out with him a time or two if for no other reason than good company and good conversation. Besides, it's good for the ego when a learned man wants to take you out.
Before you think too hard about it, of course I was hesitant. He was 20 years my senior. I told him no way at first because that's what you do with an old creeper asks you out as a 23-year-old young woman with a newly discovered wild streak. That wild streak is what convinced me to go out with him in the first place. I was in that place that I thought I could do something crazy like date an older professor. It made me feel mature and together and much more intelligent than I actually was. And then there was that whole aspect of being down on my luck (and potentially down on myself), just getting ready to start back to school after earning that impressive associate's degree in Journalism.
Therefore, despite the niggling little voice in the back of my head telling me to stay away from this old guy, I consented to meet him.
So, this vibrant young redhead put on her best emerald green blouse and the perfect shade of eyeshadow and a light coat of lipstick. I met him at a local chain restaurant and he looked more like this guy. Okay, well maybe not exactly. He wore really bad glasses and had these thick, red lips that always looked damp and wormlike. He was very tall and had started to get that middle aged paunch that some men get from not taking care of themselves. But I sat through the date and poked my food around my plate while he talked about how he was a doctor of Philosophy or something equally useless, but of course I didn't really think that at the time. The idea of a philosophy professor was romantic and idealistic to my younger self and so as weirded out as I was, I let the date go on.
He drank a Heineken and I drank water. I knew better than to imbibe during a date like this at the risk of making bad decisions. Even at 23 I had better sense than that. And there was of course that random fear that he actually was Ted Bundy or the Green River Rapist or something. He did kind of look like the person you would expect to be a serial killing multiple rapist. Come to think of it, he did sort of resemble BTK without the facial hair... Sad that I'm just now drawing that parallel.
Anyway, the awkward dinner finally wrapped up and I allowed him to walk me to my car, parked right out front in the busy parking lot. Rather, he kind of just did it and I didn't tell him to go away. So, we're standing there between this sedan and my little Corolla. I say standing, but there was really not room for two people to stand there and maintain any semblance of personal space. I'm no prude, quite the contrary, I'm kind of a hippie, so if I like you, touch me! Stand close to me, hold my hand, touch my arm, my hair, my knee, just keep it off the bits you put underthings over and we're all good. But I felt uncomfortable just standing near this guy. Like his very presence was threatening. He was tall, as I'd mentioned, so he loomed over my 5 feet and 9 inches. That really is a statement considering that not only am I tall, but I did a bit of modeling in my earlier years and my posture is trained into perfection. Some people actually tell me that I'm intimidating because I'm tall and confident and sometimes boisterous. So, to tower over me and intimidate me is a feat in itself. And his looming meant that I was pinned between his body and my car. Not so close that I couldn't move out of his way, but too close to make me comfortable.
Then the worst possible thing happened. He leaned in and reached out with his right hand for my waist. I knew what was coming before it happened, but pinned as I was between this large man and my small car, there was nowhere to go. To my left was his arm and to my right was my own side mirror. I was trapped and I certainly felt that way. I could see those lips like fat earthworms coming toward me under the beady eyes closed in preparation for a kiss. Too fast for me to deflect politely, he kissed me. Worst kiss ever. His lips felt just as you would imagine they would, warm and wet (which one might anticipate were a good thing) but too soft and too wet and smothery. And I stood there dumbfounded and didn't kick him in the balls. Go me.
It was over soon enough, thank goodness. I'm sure the stiffness in my body was something of an indicator. So, I was thinking the entire awkward ordeal was over and I was finally safe. I was mistaken. He asked me if I wanted to come back to his place for a drink and that, THAT is when I stopped being nice.
I politely declined and when pressed told him exactly why. I very delicately told him that he was too mature for me and that I felt intimidated. He attempted to put my poor, stupid young mind at ease by telling me how bright and pretty I was before attempting to swoop back in for another kiss and god only knows what else. He telegraphed that one and I slipped to my left in time to avoid being trapped again. Then I told him that the babysitter was waiting for me and that I wasn't interested in seeing him again. He reached out to take my arm and I very flatly told him that if he didn't take his hands off me, I'd take his hands off him.
From that day forward, I've always carried at least one weapon of self defense on first dates. This story has moral. No matter how confident and statuesque and "not the victim type" you think you are, there are always going to be people who feel that they can take advantage of your manners. There is a point when it's no longer manners and it becomes sexual assault. Don't be a victim. Be proactive and take care of yourself. I've learned a valuable lesson with this one. No more Doctor Date Rape for this girl.
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