Be You Man or Octopus?
I'm still scratching my head over this one. We'll call him Olgun. He was handsome in that way that I appreciate, a ton of dark hair and dark skin and dark eyes. He looked eerily like John Cusack and had that kind of wily look in his eyes.
He was a professor at a reputable local university, so that gave him more credibility. I'm still such a recent college graduate that despite reading and hearing horror stories (and having at least one of my own: Doctor Date Rape) I still can't quite process that there are some really not nice college professors out there.
We chatted briefly on the site and then we texted and flirted some. He apparently was drawn to my lips (more and more common these days) and clearly stated that he wanted to kiss them. That's sweet and innocent enough, isn't it? In fact, it's just suggestive enough. I've had more overt propositions before, certainly and been sent what are commonly called "dick pics" on more than one occasion.
He didn't do that, so right after the nasty snow we had recently, that resulted in the shutdown of the entire city, we agreed to meet at a Starbucks ( in his neighborhood, of course). You can always tell who the really nice guys are because they immediately want to come to your neighborhood.
The snow had caused all manner of trouble and for whatever reason, when I got there, the Starbuck's was closed. So, I texted and we agreed to meet down the street at a Dunkin' Donuts. Less classy, but still safe enough.
I arrived and he was sitting in the corner, sipping something in one of those little paper cups with the lids and he looked up when I came in. He was handsome. Handsome like this. As he stood, I noticed that his sweater may have been marginally distended over his middle, which is kind of an instant turn-off to a gym rat, but it's nothing that can't be remedied by a little cardio (if you known what I mean, wink wink). He was well-dressed in dark colors and good shoes, so that's another point. He stood and hugged me, which has become the protocol for meeting a stranger from the internet. He was big! He wasn't tall, but barrel-chested and strong. Very nice.
Then he spoke. He offered me a cup of coffee and at first I could not identify his accent. I adore accents, so I was curious. The more he spoke, the more I realized without prompt or hesitation that he was most certainly Middle Eastern. (JACKPOT!)
So, we sat and had coffee and talked about our families and our backgrounds. He began talking about how he knew a little Russian and had spent time in the UK before coming here. He identified himself as European. I was not fooled. Then he told me that English was not his first language (duh) and I figured now was the time to find out what his first language was. He was Turkish! (JACKPOT!)
That's when I realized that he kept saying "European" because he somewhat feared the stigma of being Middle Eastern. He had multiple opportunities over the past two weeks to mention his origin and hadn't. He had the opportunity to tell me he was Turkish from the outset and hadn't. Just for scope, here is a map of the Middle East. See Turkey up there in the far left corner, right next to Syria? Definitely Middle East (if only barely).
I'm sure that my face lit up when I heard where he was from because I don't know if I've disclosed this yet, but the lips on Middle Eastern men are incomparable. I swear, they may look soft and supple, but their lips almost have edges. Firm, powerful, mobile mouths. I cannot resist.
Interestingly, he asked me if I had ever date a foreign man before and I casually mentioned that I had, and that one my more recent dates was Syrian. (I quote a friend when I say "God makes a good man, but Allah makes them better.") And he was once again surprised that I had. It was becoming very clear that he was a hair uncomfortable with his own origin. That must be an awful way to exist.
We wrapped up our coffee and he asked me if I wanted to come back to his place. I immediately said no. That's not first date appropriate, after all. He said that his roommate and her boyfriend would be there so it would be more like a party. I said okay. I am marginally retarded sometimes.
He walks me out and his Mercedes is parked down from me and he stops me and rather forcibly kisses me. Hm, I thought, good thing I have that pepper spray handy. He withdraws and makes some comment to the effect of "I told you I was going to kiss those lips when we met." I was kind turned off by that. I can already tell at this point that we are not destined for love.
I followed him home and parked down on the street, making a brave attempt not to break my neck on the ice. He did reach out and cup my elbow to give me some stability. That was oddly comforting and greatly appreciated. It's one of those comfortable, borderline intimate, caring gestures that I've always adored.
We get inside and the whole house is silent. No one else was there. (ALARM BELLS!) His space is limited to one very large bedroom and a tiny living room and kitchen. He has his home office set up in his bedroom and offers me a seat on the bed. (MORE ALARM BELLS!) I sat.
He offered me a beverage and I declined because it was late and one of us really needs to start watching the carbs. I accepted a glass of water. I got up and perused his book shelf. Most of his books were research books in his field of study and some of them were even in Russian and maybe Turkish. I don't know what Turkish looks like in print, so it's hard to say for sure.
He grabbed a beer (Bud Lite, who drinks that shit?) and it didn't take him long to pounce. I swear to all things holy that his hands multiplied before my eyes, rather behind my ass. An otherwise fun, handsome man transformed into an octopus. I was severely uncomfortable and repeatedly said so. I kept that pepper spray in arm's reach the whole time. I was that uncomfortable.
Then he dropped the bomb. He told me that I looked familiar, like a movie star. Aww, how nice is that? Then he said "European movie star" then he added "porn" to the front of that. He told me I looked like a European porn star. I didn't know to say thank you, or be offended or smack his (beautiful, hard-edged, luscious) mouth. I refrained from anything other than an expression. A not flattered expression.
That wasn't even the worst that came out of his mouth. He uttered this phrase: "You look pretty good to be a mom, especially in the south." That's supposed to be some kind of compliment, I think. Anyone out there who is a mom knows it doesn't feel that way. It feels like you're discounting my hard work and giving me an excuse because I've had a child. Just for reference, I run 4-5 times a week and I do resistance training 5-6 times a week as well as hiking and staying otherwise active. So, no I don't "look good to be a mom" I just look pretty good. I work hard for this and to have it cheapened that way made me mad. I don't stuff my face full of fried crap and sit on my ass all the time. Mother or not, that's not good for anyone.
Then he immediately begins exploring my hard work with his (at least) eight hands. I at one point very sternly told him that if he did not remove his had from my ass, I would have to remove his hand from his arm. He fucking laughed! I grabbed his arm and removed it. That was the point that I knew it was time to go. When a woman says "don't do that" and a man does anyway, that's called sexual assault. I won't stand for that shit from anyone.
His excuse was that he's European and therefore touchy feely. I didn't make the obvious parallel between sexual assault being the fault of the woman where he's from, but I was so close. I wanted to get away from him. So I did. I haven't spoken to him since. Not a situation I want to be in.
Next week, I'm going to tell a good story. He still got away, but damn, he was awesome.
He was a professor at a reputable local university, so that gave him more credibility. I'm still such a recent college graduate that despite reading and hearing horror stories (and having at least one of my own: Doctor Date Rape) I still can't quite process that there are some really not nice college professors out there.
We chatted briefly on the site and then we texted and flirted some. He apparently was drawn to my lips (more and more common these days) and clearly stated that he wanted to kiss them. That's sweet and innocent enough, isn't it? In fact, it's just suggestive enough. I've had more overt propositions before, certainly and been sent what are commonly called "dick pics" on more than one occasion.
He didn't do that, so right after the nasty snow we had recently, that resulted in the shutdown of the entire city, we agreed to meet at a Starbucks ( in his neighborhood, of course). You can always tell who the really nice guys are because they immediately want to come to your neighborhood.
The snow had caused all manner of trouble and for whatever reason, when I got there, the Starbuck's was closed. So, I texted and we agreed to meet down the street at a Dunkin' Donuts. Less classy, but still safe enough.
I arrived and he was sitting in the corner, sipping something in one of those little paper cups with the lids and he looked up when I came in. He was handsome. Handsome like this. As he stood, I noticed that his sweater may have been marginally distended over his middle, which is kind of an instant turn-off to a gym rat, but it's nothing that can't be remedied by a little cardio (if you known what I mean, wink wink). He was well-dressed in dark colors and good shoes, so that's another point. He stood and hugged me, which has become the protocol for meeting a stranger from the internet. He was big! He wasn't tall, but barrel-chested and strong. Very nice.
Then he spoke. He offered me a cup of coffee and at first I could not identify his accent. I adore accents, so I was curious. The more he spoke, the more I realized without prompt or hesitation that he was most certainly Middle Eastern. (JACKPOT!)
So, we sat and had coffee and talked about our families and our backgrounds. He began talking about how he knew a little Russian and had spent time in the UK before coming here. He identified himself as European. I was not fooled. Then he told me that English was not his first language (duh) and I figured now was the time to find out what his first language was. He was Turkish! (JACKPOT!)
That's when I realized that he kept saying "European" because he somewhat feared the stigma of being Middle Eastern. He had multiple opportunities over the past two weeks to mention his origin and hadn't. He had the opportunity to tell me he was Turkish from the outset and hadn't. Just for scope, here is a map of the Middle East. See Turkey up there in the far left corner, right next to Syria? Definitely Middle East (if only barely).
I'm sure that my face lit up when I heard where he was from because I don't know if I've disclosed this yet, but the lips on Middle Eastern men are incomparable. I swear, they may look soft and supple, but their lips almost have edges. Firm, powerful, mobile mouths. I cannot resist.
Interestingly, he asked me if I had ever date a foreign man before and I casually mentioned that I had, and that one my more recent dates was Syrian. (I quote a friend when I say "God makes a good man, but Allah makes them better.") And he was once again surprised that I had. It was becoming very clear that he was a hair uncomfortable with his own origin. That must be an awful way to exist.
We wrapped up our coffee and he asked me if I wanted to come back to his place. I immediately said no. That's not first date appropriate, after all. He said that his roommate and her boyfriend would be there so it would be more like a party. I said okay. I am marginally retarded sometimes.
He walks me out and his Mercedes is parked down from me and he stops me and rather forcibly kisses me. Hm, I thought, good thing I have that pepper spray handy. He withdraws and makes some comment to the effect of "I told you I was going to kiss those lips when we met." I was kind turned off by that. I can already tell at this point that we are not destined for love.
I followed him home and parked down on the street, making a brave attempt not to break my neck on the ice. He did reach out and cup my elbow to give me some stability. That was oddly comforting and greatly appreciated. It's one of those comfortable, borderline intimate, caring gestures that I've always adored.
We get inside and the whole house is silent. No one else was there. (ALARM BELLS!) His space is limited to one very large bedroom and a tiny living room and kitchen. He has his home office set up in his bedroom and offers me a seat on the bed. (MORE ALARM BELLS!) I sat.
He offered me a beverage and I declined because it was late and one of us really needs to start watching the carbs. I accepted a glass of water. I got up and perused his book shelf. Most of his books were research books in his field of study and some of them were even in Russian and maybe Turkish. I don't know what Turkish looks like in print, so it's hard to say for sure.
He grabbed a beer (Bud Lite, who drinks that shit?) and it didn't take him long to pounce. I swear to all things holy that his hands multiplied before my eyes, rather behind my ass. An otherwise fun, handsome man transformed into an octopus. I was severely uncomfortable and repeatedly said so. I kept that pepper spray in arm's reach the whole time. I was that uncomfortable.
Then he dropped the bomb. He told me that I looked familiar, like a movie star. Aww, how nice is that? Then he said "European movie star" then he added "porn" to the front of that. He told me I looked like a European porn star. I didn't know to say thank you, or be offended or smack his (beautiful, hard-edged, luscious) mouth. I refrained from anything other than an expression. A not flattered expression.
That wasn't even the worst that came out of his mouth. He uttered this phrase: "You look pretty good to be a mom, especially in the south." That's supposed to be some kind of compliment, I think. Anyone out there who is a mom knows it doesn't feel that way. It feels like you're discounting my hard work and giving me an excuse because I've had a child. Just for reference, I run 4-5 times a week and I do resistance training 5-6 times a week as well as hiking and staying otherwise active. So, no I don't "look good to be a mom" I just look pretty good. I work hard for this and to have it cheapened that way made me mad. I don't stuff my face full of fried crap and sit on my ass all the time. Mother or not, that's not good for anyone.
Then he immediately begins exploring my hard work with his (at least) eight hands. I at one point very sternly told him that if he did not remove his had from my ass, I would have to remove his hand from his arm. He fucking laughed! I grabbed his arm and removed it. That was the point that I knew it was time to go. When a woman says "don't do that" and a man does anyway, that's called sexual assault. I won't stand for that shit from anyone.
His excuse was that he's European and therefore touchy feely. I didn't make the obvious parallel between sexual assault being the fault of the woman where he's from, but I was so close. I wanted to get away from him. So I did. I haven't spoken to him since. Not a situation I want to be in.
Next week, I'm going to tell a good story. He still got away, but damn, he was awesome.
Comments
Post a Comment