|Photo by Open Clipart Library.|
I was full of glee after the first date and couldn't wait to see him again. I didn't though, until that next Friday, where we had dinner at Stout– a burger joint that I will vouch for until the day I die. He had ridden on the metro this time, from Koreatown (or K-town) because Hollywood traffic is so notoriously bad.
The date had started off pretty interesting because my new roommate had just surprised me that night by bringing an abandoned puppy off the streets. "I just couldn't leave it," she said pleadingly, and I understood why. I had never seen a more starving dog: it's ribs were protruding out, he got cold too easily and could barely walk he was so weak. We had tried feeding him some wet food, which he gobbled down eagerly, but then quickly had terrible diarrhea all over our living room floor. The stench was overwhelming godawful. My roommate and I held our breath as we cleaned the mess up with saran-wrapped hands since we didn't have gloves. I had started gagging by the time I got a text from Clint that he had just gotten off the metro and was waiting for me at the cross-street.
So needless to say, I for the first time was not very hungry for Stout after that smelly ordeal. I relayed the story to him, which he found funny, and I finally regained my appetite halfway during the meal. I decided to show him Piano Bar, which was right around the corner and consequently one of my favorite bars that played live music. After, we tried to do something new for both of us and people watched at the W Hotel, which provided plenty of content for our commentary.
I was having a fabulous time, and enjoyed being goofy and flirty with Clint. His sarcastic sense of humor I realized even succeeded mine– which was saying a lot, and he also liked to use strange words for someone that was born in Wisconsin. He would only refer to the bathroom as "the loo," for example, even though to the best of my knowledge he did not have any family in Great Britain. He also called every man including the valet "mate," which was a bit uncomfortable to witness. He was an odd one for sure, but I liked that he was different. It made him more interesting if not socially awkward at times. He pulled it off with such confidence, however, that I had to at least admire him for committing to his behavior.
Afterwards, as we were walking back to the metro, Clint asked me if I wanted to come back with him to his apartment for the night. I told him that I would answer him once we got closer to the stop and I had time to think on it. I traditionally don't go back with guys on the second date, but then again– I don't usually go on dates! Oh why not, I asked myself? Just make it clear that we were not going to have sex. And that's what I did. He playfully responded with, "We can kiss still though, right?"
Turns out that the last train on the Purple Line had already left to K-town, so we had to walk a few blocks further than he anticipated. He finally had to hail a cab to take us the rest of the way since I was loudly complaining about my heels, but of course refused when he offered to carry me. It wasn't until we eventually got to his apartment that things started to go south. And I don't mean in a sexual way. There were too many strange things and red flags that consecutively occurred that the best way to explain them is by this chart:
I'm serious. I am not nearly that creative enough to make this shit up. I chose to ignore the smaller red flags like the fact that he was an ultra clean freak and even had floss on his bedside table, or even the weird Asian trinkets that were a bit feminine. But by the time he took off his pants to showcase his shorter than short briefs which, I might add had different colored stripes on them, I was frantically running through an escape plan in my head. I sat awkwardly at the foot of the bed and avoided eye contact until he was under the covers and thereby hiding his male lingerie.
"Well, are you going to get under here or just sit there?" he asked me.
I just wanted to sit there. But I had already taken off my clothes and was wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts, so I decided to take one for the team and tough it up until morning. The team being myself and I. I quickly made it clear I did want to do anything by turning my back to him.
When I woke up we were cuddling, which was nice until I remembered what underwear or lack there of he was wearing. He tried to make some moves but I pretended like I had to get back to the starving puppy, which turned out to be a pretty legitimate excuse. He drove me home but not before taking with him a tote bag with flowers on it to go grocery shopping with.
I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. After blurting out a quick and awkward goodbye to Clint, I finally raced back to my sanctuary apartment. I was convinced that I would never go on a date with him ever again by that point. How did things turn so completely creepy, I thought? What just happened? Is he gay and he doesn't even realize? Should I have a come to Jesus conversation with him? The sequence of the night's events were all so embarrassing that I didn't even want to tell my friends let alone know exactly how to explain what had happened. After a week of talking it over to a lot of gay friends and girl friends, however, I thought that I would give him a second chance. After all it's not like he collected action figures and turned out to be some divorcee with two kids in Canada. He was so nice and charming and normal before. Maybe he is just a little quirky and weird in his own right? But that doesn't mean he is gay, I reasoned with myself.
What a stupid decision.
To read Part 1, go here.