Then He Whipped Out His Penis
or the worst first date ever
We took shelter from the rain and sat in the back of his car to talk. “It’s really pouring out there,” I said, raising my voice a bit so he could hear me. He was fiddling around with his belt as I spoke. Maybe he’s adjusting himself, I thought. Just keep talking so he doesn’t feel embarrassed you noticed.“But as I was saying, I’ve been working at the salon for about four years now. This is my last summer here because I go away to college in a few — ” He was still messing around with his crotch. I glanced for a second but quickly diverted my eyes, maybe he’s having some sort of guy situation, they have those, right?
“So um, yeah, I’m going away to college in a few months…” He continued rustling around down there. Are you digging for gold or what? Did you find something stimulating about my small talk? “and I am studying English. I’ve always been really — ” he looked at me pointedly and raised an eyebrow. His eyes moved from mine and then darted down to his crotch. He smirked. It was a look that very clearly communicated, “Look down.” I chuckled uncomfortably, slowly looking down to his pants. And there it was. It was out. It was his penis.
He grabbed my hand and started pulling it forcefully, “Come on, I know you want to touch it.”
He was a regular customer at the salon, where I worked as a receptionist. I was 18 and he was somewhere in his mid-20’s. He always seemed shy, passing messages to me through his stylist. I was finally fed up with the juvenile telephone game flirting and stormed back to him, swiveling his chair and saying, “If you want to talk to me, you can come do it yourself.” High on power, I asserted myself more when he asked me to dinner and asked if I was a vegetarian because I looked like one. “What is that supposed to mean? How does a vegetarian look?” I was being needlessly bitchy — my favorite state to be — and having fun watching him fumble for words. I laughed, “I’m just kidding.” He seemed sweet and nervous, taking my moodiness in stride. It couldn’t hurt to go on a date with this perfectly harmless guy.
I had second thoughts when I rang him up later.
“So what do you do for a living?” I asked.
“I’m a model. I mostly do underwear modeling, especially overseas.”
“Oh, really?” I said, feigning interest.
“Yes, but, above all, I am a collector of beautiful women.”
After delving into that strange bit of dialogue, I decided he was just talking big to try and impress me. Look, I am beautiful and women want me. You should want me too. He didn’t seem like my type and I wasn’t sure I could actually prolong a conversation with him but the next day at work, everyone seemed so invested in our little budding romance. They were anxious to ‘ship us and insisted I at least give him a chance.
“I don’t know… he seems kind of superficial,” I said.
“You are such a pessimist, Kayt. You never know until you give it a try.”
So I begrudgingly agreed to hang out with him on a one-time-trial-basis.
In a honest attempt to just get it over with, I agreed to meet him at a public park not far from my house. I decided to walk over and save money on gas. He was already there, leaning against his car. When he saw me walking up, he ran over to me and picked me up and put me over his shoulder like a ragdoll.
“Oh my god,” he gushed. “You are so light.”
“Ummm… thanks?” I hung there, wondering if this was real life. “Put me down.”
He carefully put me down, his hands sliding to my waist. “Oh my god, you are just so little.” His fingers pressed into my hips and he looked at me like a creepy uncle, sizing up his little niece. Red flags everywhere. I was uncomfortable. He used my hips to turn me side to side, he spun me around, watching me closely, leering.
“Oh, sorry, was that weird?” he asked.
“Yeah, that was really weird.” I said, never one to mince words.
He seemed vaguely apologetic and we somehow got into a decent conversation about non-creepy things. Thirty minutes passed. This is not so bad, I thought. Weird start, sure, but maybe he is just awkward and has no boundaries. Just then, there was a thunderclap in the distance, foreshadowing I had yet to grasp. In true South Florida fashion, it started pouring rain within minutes. Already completely drenched, we ran to his car and jumped in the back. We each took opposite sides, as far apart as possible, and I tried to continue our conversation… He took out his penis.
I tried to pull my hand back, appalled. “No! No I don’t.”
He just tugged harder on my arm. “But there’s so much chemistry between us. I know you want me. I know I want you. It feels so right. Can’t you just feel the chemistry and desire? It’s just radiating off of us.”
My lip turned up in disgust and I threw all my weight into trying to reclaim my body. I was a portrait of desire, squirming away in revulsion. But I was overpowered; he was much stronger than me.
“I don’t want you. Let go of me!” I kicked at him, watching his penis bounce with the impact. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. I screamed louder this time, “Let go of me!”
He released my wrist and I quickly fumbled with the door handle, cursing.
“Don’t go! I know you want this. You can’t deny what is happening between us. It’s magnetic. It’s a force of nature.”
The door opened and I fell out, landing hard on my butt, scrambling to my feet, embarrassed and afraid. “If I wanted you, you wouldn’t have had to take out your own penis,” I yelled, slamming the car door hard in his face.
My house was a good ten minute walk and he drove beside me much of the time, his window down, in turns cajoling and apologizing. I couldn’t go home, I didn’t want him to know where I lived, so I just kept walking in the general direction, hoping I would come up with a better plan. When I spotted a neighbor drive by, I quickly flagged them down and told them that this guy was following me, motioning to his car. His face grew pale and he quickly sped away. I ignored his calls.
Later that night, I was frustrated thinking about the event. He was so confident. He was so sure of himself. He whipped out his penis like it was a block of gold when, in reality, he should have been embarrassed to be exposed and rejected. My rejection didn’t phase him at all. He made it seem like I was missing out on God’s greatest gift to humanity. If I didn’t want him, there was actually a problem with me. For some reason, that’s all I could think about: his confidence. He knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had done it before. Like he had done it a million times to lots of girls and would do it again. How could the same guy who nervously asked me to dinner be the same guy who turned into a monster?
At the salon the next day, everyone crowded around me.
“Well, how was your date?” they asked.
“Let me just start with this: never go out with someone whose name rhymes with ‘molester’….”