Don’t Drink and Date

The best way to start a new life single is to date lots of people. And the best way to meet them is to do it online. The algorithms so far haven’t lead me astray, so if someone is a match to me I at least know there will be some interesting conversation.

I was messaging with a guy who showed potential and who looked kind of cute in his photos. After some joking and flirtation he popped the question that every first date initiator seems to ask:

“Would you like to get a drink.”

And yes, I did.

My first impression upon meeting him was that he wasn’t as cute as his photos. Not really a surprise there. But on this particular night I was more disappointed than usual. I was hoping to walk into the bar and an feel an immediate attraction with him, or with anyone for that matter. But it just wasn’t the case.

So I started drinking.

Whiskey.

Not the best choice for a lightweight like me, but it was a whisky bar after all. Sure, I could have ordered something other than alcohol, but whiskey is much more effective at turning frogs into princes. At the point during our conversation when I knew I wouldn’t be interested I should have resolved to end the date. But instead I ordered another drink. I wasn’t finished turning him into a prince.

During drink number two he kissed me. The euphoric warmth of alcohol washed over me like a wave. He put his hand up my skirt and down my panties. And it felt good. Really good.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“To your place.” He shoved his phone in front of my face with the Lyft app cursor blinking. I didn’t want him to come over, but I didn’t want the euphoria to end more. So I ignored the voice in the back of my head and typed my address in the rectangle. On the ride there it still didn’t sit well. I knew I could have stopped it at any time, but I didn’t. I just sat there thinking “this probably wouldn’t be happening if I was sober.”

He came inside and we made out on my bed. Before I knew it we were both naked. He told me that I was gorgeous and I had a hot body. And I realize now that’s really what I really wanted.

He was rough with me too. In the morning I had bite marks on my thighs that turned into deep purple bruises. He bit me on my neck so hard I had a huge welt for days. He was like a vampire trying to draw my blood. And I didn’t feel any of it.

He wanted to have sex without a condom. And I said no. Definitely not. That is a hard stop for me. But he kept positioning his genitals toward mine and I didn’t necessarily stop him. I was enraptured in my own dream. Caught up in the warmth of intoxication. Thrilled with the presence of his live flesh against mine.

Then he put his fingers in my pussy. But when I looked down, I saw that it wasn’t his fingers after all. It was his penis…without a condom.

I put an end to it…fast. And luckily he didn’t push further.

In the morning I rehashed the events of the evening trying to think of where I went wrong—I shouldn’t have typed in my address. I shouldn’t have let him come over. But the common denominator was—I shouldn’t have drunk so much.

And that was true.

I used alcohol to mask my insecurities. To make me feel sexy and desirable. To heighten attraction that just wasn’t there. And I used it to receive attention that I interpreted as love. In the end he didn’t cross my boundaries—I did. I had been an accomplice all along.

Take away the alcohol, and you are left stone cold sober. But I realize now that I don’t need it. Dating is better without it and sex is better too. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable and honest in the presence of another human being is a gift. To be able to sit in your own truth and to strip away every mask and illusion is better. Because if he is a worthy candidate, he won’t care anyways.

How about you? Have you ever used alcohol to cross your own boundaries?

Author: Eden Lighthipe

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