The Bad Date Chronicles – Mr. SportsCenter Edition

Stop smirking Neil. It’s not funny.
Last winter, I met a gentleman on a popular dating website.  Let’s call it …  On paper, everything seemed great.  Tall, dark, and handsome with a job, a car and his own place.  We exchanged a few witty emails back and forth and quickly progressed to a few light-hearted and flirty phone conversations.
The day of the big meeting was right out of one of those dreadful Katherine Heigl rom-coms, and I just ate it up.  Imagine, if you will a gorgeously chilly, crisp winter day in San Francisco.  The location – Union Square.  Christmas shopping was in full swing and the square was full of shoppers clutching their packages, tourists lined up at the Powell Street cable care turnaround, festive music wafting from the department stores.  We walked towards each other from opposite ends of Powell Street, on our cell phones when we saw each other across a crowded city block.  Eyes locked, shy smiles of recognition and relief lit up our faces as we walked towards each other, closer and closer until, as if drawn together by magnets, we half-jogged into a warm embrace.
He was more handsome than his online pictures, incredibly tall with mesmerizing green eyes that I just wanted to hibernate in for the winter.  Equally stunned by my appearance as I was with his, we ducked into a charming little dive bar and took a seat in a booth near the back.  The waitress came to take our order, and we blurted out the exact same drink order in unison.  Laughing, we looked at each other in astonishment and I was convinced right then and there that he was THE ONE.  The next few hours passed like moments as we sat in the cozy booth, kissing, my legs draped over his, talking about our lives and how neither of us could believe that this was actually happening!
Sadly, the time came for me to return home, and hand-in-hand we walked the few blocks to the train station.  Embracing tightly and sharing just one last kiss, we made plans to see each other the next week.  We kept in touch with a few brief calls that week, and my excitement mounted and the anticipation of spending the night with this man kept me alternately blissed-out and irritated at how long the week was taking.
The big night had finally arived.  Decked out in my black knock-off Herve Leger, hair and makeup perfect, I headed over to his house for what I believed was going to be an absurdly romantic evening.  He however greeted me at the door with a look of supreme annoyance, a ripped up white t-shirt, and ill-fitting boxer shorts.  He ordered me to sit on the couch while he finished writing an email in the other room and when I didn’t immediately comply, he raised his voice and repeated himself.  Stunned, I plopped down on the couch waited.  After a few minutes he came out and sat next to me.  “Are those fake eyelashes you’re wearing?  Take those off they freak me out.  And while you’re at it, take off all that makeup .  I hate that.”
Who the hell was this guy? He looked like the same man that I had met last week, but with a completely different personality.  A super fucking shitty personality.  At this point it was really late, and I was really tired. I figured he might warm up if we took things upstairs to the bedroom and got naked.  After all, I had never seen a man in a bad mood when he was on the business end of awesome blow job.  I was wrong.  I was so, so wrong.
For the next half hour, hour, hell – eternity for all I knew, I had the worst sex of my life.  The kind where you mentally check out and run through your grocery list, think about when your library books are due, how much you need to get out of the ATM to pick up the dry cleaning, etc.  Not only did he keep losing his erection, he was completely selfish in bed.  The perfunctory “Oh does that feel good baby” he threw my way every once in a while were really for his benefit and not mine.  Not once did he stop to try and get me off or even ask if there was anything he could do differently.  Thank god it was dark, otherwise he would have seen my roll my eyes at him with every disgusting grunt and moan. Finally, FINALLY he finished.  Less than 30 seconds after he was done, he rolled off of me onto his side, grabbed the remote control and turned on SportsCenter.  Not a word spoken.  Not even a “Hey, thanks that was nice.”  Nada.
I got up and used the restroom.  When I got back, not 2 minutes later he was already asleep.  Thank God I thought to myself as I reached for the remote in his hand to turn off the television.  He jerked awake and told me to leave the TV on, then promptly fell back asleep.  I waited a few more minutes and tried for the remote again.  Same thing happened.  This cycle repeated itself several more times until I gave up and just resigned myself to sleeping with the TV on.
The next morning, I wake up to his erection pressed against my back.  Lovely.  Where the hell was that thing last night when I needed it?  Being the nice person I am, I figured I’d give him another chance.  Maybe it would be better?  I was wrong.  So very wrong.  Only now, I got to experience Mr. SportCenter in the light of day.  I didn’t even bother acting like I was having a good time.  Oddly enough, this seemed to help him finish much faster.  I ran into the bathroom and dressed with lightning speed and said my goodbyes.  I was gone so fast, I didn’t even hear what he said to me as I practically sprinted down the sidewalk.
Days went by, and then weeks.  To my utter relief he didn’t contact me.  Not only was he terrible in bed, he was the type that didn’t call back after sex.  I had nearly forgotten about him when, 2 months later, I get a voicemail.  It’s Mr. SportsCenter, sounding sheepish.  Apologizing that he hadn’t called me, but that I had never contacted him after the last time we were together and he had wanted to see how I was doing.  The temptation to call him and let him know that he was the WORST lover was almost overwhelming.  I ignored the call and can only hope that he got the message that I wasn’t interested.
So ladies…if you come across a tall, dark and handsome lawyer with green eyes that claims he is the funniest man on earth, run.  For the love of God run and don’t look back!  Unless you like really horrible sex.

One response to “The Bad Date Chronicles – Mr. SportsCenter Edition

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