The Researcher

Cindy Ash
Cindy Ash
Jul 23, 2017 · 5 min read

Do you remember that I said, in my first story, that Connecticut would be relevant as you read more of my entries? Well, here’s another CT guy…so you know this story will be good.

I met The Researcher (I’ll call him Wayne) on Match. He emailed me first (I’m not big on sending a first email to men…that approach doesn’t usually work for me.) Wayne was older than the men I usually dated and worked as a professor at a local college. His emails were well-written and I soon discovered that he was indeed a published author of historical fiction. (Not my personal favorite genre, but that’s irrelevant.)

After a few emails and a nice, if rather benign, first phone call, we decide to meet the following week.

We agree to meet in Port Jefferson…he can take the ferry from CT and I can drive there…about 45 minutes travel time for both of us.

The night of our date arrives, and it’s pouring. My ex comes to the house to pick up my son and I leave, heading east. I totally misjudged how much time it would take me to get to Port Jeff in a deluge, (this was long before Waze) and realized I was going to be late…very late. So, I called him from my car.

Me: Hi Wayne, It’s Cindy.

Wayne: Hi Cindy. How are you?

Me: I’m fine, thanks. Listen, this is very unusual for me…I pride myself on always being on time…but I misjudged the distance, the traffic and the weather. I’m going to be late, very late. Like 45 minutes to an hour late. And, since you have to catch a ferry back, I would understand if you want to cancel the date.

Wayne: No, no. Don’t be silly. I’m here already. I’ll just wait for you, but you’ll have to catch up to me…I’m already on my second glass of scotch.

Me: Oh great! Thanks. I’ll get there as soon as I can.

Wayne: Wait, hold on. There’s one more thing you have to do for me when you get here, since you’re late.

Now I’m wondering…is this guy into punishment or something?

Me: What?

Wayne: Well, I do have a fetish.

Oh boy. Here we go.

Wayne: When you get here, I would like to smell your hair.

Me: Umm, did I hear you correctly? Did you say you want to smell my hair?

Wayne: Yes.

Me: I never heard that one before. I can assure you it smells good…like shampoo. (Why am I responding to this…I should just turn around and go home.)

Wayne: Well, I’ll be the judge of that. See you soon.

And, he hung up.

I’m now driving in the pouring rain towards a date with this older guy who has a hair-smelling fetish. (Is that even a thing?) What am I doing?? Can this possibly go well? And yet, I keep driving east.

I finally arrive at the restaurant and head upstairs to the bar area. I find Wayne sitting in an easy chair in a little alcove off the main bar, drinking what is probably his 3rd scotch by now. I sit down across from him and order my requisite glass of wine.

We start talking and I again apologize for being so late. We speak about his books and how I admire people who write well.(I always had this romantic notion of being an author myself…I would be the Meryl Streep character from the movie “As Good As it Gets”…living in that house wouldn’t suck, either.) We talk about my bakery business and my son. And then, he leans in to me.

Wayne: Would you mind if I smelled your hair now?

I had finished my wine and hadn’t eaten anything, so I was a little buzzed and a little less inhibited than usual.

Me: Uh. Ok.

So, he comes closer to me and cups my cheek with his hand, pulling my head towards his face. He nuzzles his nose into my hair and sniffs. (Ok, as I’m writing this I realize how totally bizarre it sounds.)

Wayne: Your hair smells wonderful.

Me (feeling very self-conscious now): Thanks. I just washed it.

Wayne: Well, I like it.

I knew I was blushing because my cheeks felt hot. I just wanted to leave, wanted this weird date to end. Thankfully, the last ferry was leaving in a few minutes so I had an easy out.

Me: Wayne, I think the last ferry leaves very soon.

Wayne: You’re right. It does. I guess we should get going.

It was still pouring out and the ferry parking lot was just across the street. But, Wayne didn’t have an umbrella so I thought the polite thing to do was to offer him a ride.

Me: I know it’s right across the street but it’s pouring, so why don’t I drive you over to the ferry?

Wayne: That would be great, thanks.

We get into my car and I drive to the ferry parking lot.

Me: Ok, Good night. Thanks for the drink.

Wayne: You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.

And, he gets out of the car. He walks around to my window and motions for me to open it. It’s still raining…hard. But, I open it thinking he has something important to tell me.

Wayne: Can you please get out of the car? I didn’t get to say a proper good-bye.

Me: We just said good-bye…and it’s pouring.

Wayne: I know but a little rain never hurt anyone.

And, for some reason I still can’t explain, I get out of the car. I guess he was very persuasive.

I’m standing in front of him and he pulls me toward him to give me a kiss, or so I thought. Instead, he whispers into my ear.

Wayne: So, what kind of underwear are you wearing?

Without even thinking, I respond: A thong. I always wear a thong.

And then, before I even realize what is happening, I feel his hand slip into the back of my jeans…touching my skin.

Me: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??

Wayne: I’m just checking to see if you were telling the truth.

Me: I never lie and GET YOUR HAND OUT OF MY PANTS!!

He removes his hand and looks at me, confused.

Wayne: What was the big deal? I was just checking…

Me: I didn’t give you permission to touch me like that.

I quickly turn around to get back into my car. I immediately lock the doors and watch to make sure he walks toward the ferry, away from me. I am shaking…I am soaked and I am angry. I’m angry at him for taking advantage of my naivete and angry at myself for allowing it to happen.

A few days after our date, I get an email from him saying he had a wonderful time and asking if I want to see him again. I respond. I said that I was taken aback by his forwardness and did not think that we should see each other again. I never heard from him after that.

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