Dating is hard, yo. I feel sorry for single people who have to do it on a regular basis.
Wait, let me amend that:
There are people who are single but who don’t want to be. They’re looking for “that special someone” they can “spend the rest of their life with,” and hoping that the dates they go on will lead to that relationship. I feel sorry for those single people. There are other single people who are quite happy being single, who date just for fun (and for sex), and I feel less sorry for them since they’re just having fun and living their lives. Enjoy your dates, single people who aren’t looking for The One!
I’m in neither of those categories, but more closely aligned with the single people who aren’t looking for The One. I’m married so I don’t need to date anybody. In fact, there are people out there – probably the vast majority of people – who would say that I shouldn’t date anybody, but that’s the subject of another post, and I won’t be writing it. (Get your own blogs, people who don’t want me to date.) When I do go on dates there’s no pressure because I’m not looking for The One. If I go on a date and things don’t work out it just means that I won’t date her again. Problem solved.
But just because there’s no pressure it doesn’t mean that all of the stressful aspects of dating go away. I still have to find a place for us to meet – that’s almost always the guy’s job – which adds a bit of stress because I need to clairvoyantly figure out what she’ll like and what she won’t. I need to wear something nice and look good (not as easy for some as it is for others), and I need to be charming and witty (also not as easy for some as it is for others). I need to worry about the logistics of the first kiss, part of those logistics being whether the first kiss will actually happen or if it will wait for a subsequent date. (And, of course, I need to plan my meal out properly just in case that first kiss does happen, because I don’t want my breath to smell.) Oh, and speaking of the first kiss, some girls want to be kissed – practically ravished – on that first date and will think I’m an un-manly pussy if I don’t, and others will think I’m a pervert for even thinking about kissing on the first date, so I need to figure out what kind of girl I’m dating before I try (or don’t try) for it. Well… maybe not even what kind of girl; it might just be what kind of mood she’s in.
And despite there being no pressure, despite the fact that it’s no skin off my ass if things don’t work out, there are still pre-date jitters and nervousness that I need to contend with. The butterflies in my stomach don’t care that I’m telling them about this whole “no pressure” thing, they still want to impress this girl, and they still hope to be impressed by this girl. What if she’s no fun to talk to, or boring? What if she’s a psycho? Crazy chicks are great in bed but every other aspect of dating a psycho is bad. What if she’s amazing but I say something dumb that turns her off? What if I get broccoli in my teeth? (Mental note: In addition to avoiding food that causes bad breath I should also avoid food that will be noticeable if caught in my teeth. Maybe I should research transparent food?)
There’s a certain thrill to dates, especially first dates, that I enjoy, and I love meeting and getting to know different women, so dating is definitely fun. (“Getting to know” women is not a euphemism in this instance, I mean it literally. Fucking someone is only part of getting to know her.) But even though it’s fun, and potentially rewarding, it can still be stressful.
I was on a date recently, the first one in a long time for me, and I was reminded of all of this. I was reminded of it for about, oh, 10 or 15 minutes, as I sat in the restaurant waiting for my date to arrive. (She wasn’t late, she was right on time, I just had to get there early to keep the reservation. Though… I don’t know why I feel the need to defend her to my blog readers.) And sometime during that 10 or 15 minutes I got a strange urge: “You know,” I thought to myself, “I could leave right now. Just call the whole thing off.” I’m not sure why I had that urge, but I did. I didn’t leave, I stayed and had a very nice lunch with her. I will probably see her again, though I’m not planning to chase her. (Very friendly; amazing smile. Cute and mischievous in all the right proportions. I think she’d be a lot of fun in the bedroom.)
But there was still that 10 or 15 minutes of cowardice before the date started, when the idea crossed my mind that I could just bug out. No explanations, just get out and avoid all of the potentially awkward discussions. It’s a common urge that I get before first dates, sometimes even before meeting an escort, but one I never follow. When I set a date with a girl I always go – it’s the least I can do – and when I book an appointment with an escort I always show up.
This urge comes upon me because dating, for all its rewards, is also hard, and it’s stressful. (It wasn’t meant to be a pun when I said “dating is hard,” though yes, I am often hard during the course of a date.) But frankly, for single people (or married people who cheat), dating is also probably the #1 way that we get laid. Women have this strange rule whereby they usually want to get to know you a bit before they take your penis inside of them; I don’t get it, but it’s the way they are, bless ‘em.
Porn, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as stressful. I can find that shit any time of the day or night, at a moment’s notice, and there are no butterflies in my stomach while I’m waiting for it to load. (There is sometimes some semen on top of my stomach after, but a warm washcloth can easily take care of that.)
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