Match me if you can

“Dan” messages me. He is an executive chef and helps open new restaurants. We exchange a few messages and he seems nice, but I ammore impressed by his impeccable spelling and grammar and the fact that he loves giving massages. I give him my phone number and it goes downhill from there.

I receive LONG text messages describing his chivalrous ways, his ideal dates, the way he likes to pleasure women, etc. It’s like reading a cringy erotic novel. GAG. (I really want to share the whole exchange, so you can be disgusted too.)

We start talking on Wednesday and Dan immediately plans an elaborate date for Friday. He tells me he is going to give me flowers and an orgasm. He makes a reservation at an upscale Italian restaurant and wants to plan a Broadway show or couples massage after dinner. I tell him that really isn’t necessary because I broke my foot and I don’t want to hobble around town. But truthfully, I want to be able to GTFO and cut the date short if need be.

On Thursday, I go on a date with this incredibly adorable guy, Kevin. We go to a bar a block from my apartment. We get one drink each and go dutch (awkward). He wants to walk me back to my apartment and I ask him if he wants to come up for a drink. WAIT… can I finish this story later… I want to do a play-by-play and get your opinion on why he ghosted me. I think he saw the crazy peek out.

Long story, short–I am a little tipsy and need male attention, so I text Dan to see if he wants to come over. We have a few exchanges and the whole time I am thinking this is a bad idea. Too late, I send him my address. Dammit.

He tells me he is coming from the gym and needs to shower at my apartment. Okay, sure. I open the door to a short, stubby balding man in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, all of which I am OK with, BUT he has crazy eyes. Yes, I am referencing that episode from How I Met Your Mother. I didn’t know that was a real thing until I meet Dan.

He showers and then sprays a whole fucking can of AXE deodorant on himself. GAG. You are not in middle school anymore, buddy.

I am in bed. He joins and then plugs in his charger on the other side of my bed. OH SHIT, I thought. This guy is expecting to stay over. FUCK.

I immediately ask for a massage. I am looking forward to getting the knots out of my neck and shoulders. Dan starts and I know this is not going to go well. I ask him to massage me harder, but he is focused on a sensual massage and I am not having it. I HATE being caressed–either manhandle me or don’t fucking touch me.

I turn onto my back and tell him to finger me, but it’s like a small limp dick. “Faster,” I ask. No change. “More fingers.” Nothing.

I want to get this over with, so I tell him to fuck me. Dan warns me that he hasn’t had sex or touched himself in 6 years. Wtf. Shit. God dammit. I don’t want to be the person taking away his second virginity. I look at his sub-par dick and whip out a magnum condom and say, “sorry this is all I have.” It lasts for 2 minutes. I feel nothing.

We are laying in bed and he keeps caressing me as I am trying to sleep. I finally tell him to stop touching me.

We wake up at 7am and I tell him I need to get ready for work and will see him later for our date. He tells me all the errands he needs to run beforehand–get a haircut, pick up dry cleaning, etc. Oh boy, but I still intend to go on this date.

Then I receive this:

Are you serious, bro? Who the fuck asks to color coordinate for a date? I can’t deal with this shit and I have to cancel on him.

Below is the is the end of our exchange. I try to be cordial, but his big ego and small penis couldn’t handle it.