Y’all, I went on a date last weekend and I’m still recovering. And not recovering because it was crazy good and I’m in a lust induced high. No, I’m recovering from all the bad and awkward moments.
A little background. I started talking to Midget Man a couple of months ago. He was funny and intelligent. He also said he was six inches higher than he really was. Now, I’m not that shallow. I’ve dated men shorter than me. The problem was he was tiny. Petite. Small.
He looked like a nine year old boy.
A girl needs a little warning. Especially when said girl is close to six feet tall. And wearing heels on the date.
Anyway, after I got over the initial shock and came to terms with the fact that I looked like I was babysitting, the date went ok. We ate, we watched a movie. It was fun. He made me laugh.
Then we went to the bar and I had mai tais. That’s when everything took a turn for the worse. He kissed me and I didn’t push him away. We went to the hotel across from the bar and one thing lead to another…
I had sex with Midget Man. And almost smothered him to death with my boobs.
It was terrifying. Would I have went to jail for that? How would I have explained that to the 911 operator? “Hello, yes, the man I was having sex with quit breathing because I was riding his semi-small dick and was trying to make it feel good. I didn’t realize his noises were actually screams until he quit moving.”
I mean…no. That wouldn’t have worked at all. I’m far too young to end up in jail.
Anyway. It happened. It was over. I went home the next morning and decided I would chalk it up to a one-night stand and that be that.
He had different ideas. Like a relationship. And incessant texting and calling. And video chatting.
He asked me to move in.
TO. MOVE. IN.
Two months of talking, one date, and not very good sex and the boy is ready to have me be his girlfriend.
I told him he reeks of desperation and good luck finding someone who would date his crazy ass. Cause it definitely wouldn’t be me.