I Gave My Consent. He Gave Me Bruises.
My meet-cute went wrong: Was it misaligned expectations or old-fashioned lying?
(Content warning: consent violations. This story originally appeared in YourTango and is shared here with permission.)
I’m straddling a man on his sofa, on our second date in a week, our third if you include the night we met at a neighborhood karaoke bar, where we both sang Juice Newton songs: “Queen of Hearts” for me and “Angel of the Morning” for him.
That night, I was dazzled by the meet-cute of this karaoke coincidence. His song choice felt fated and in hindsight, prescient. “For it was I who chose to start,” indeed.
He was tall, confident, and handsy in all the right ways. “You really do it for me,” he said, his fingers tracing the sleeve of my cardigan from my shoulder to my elbow. “Wanna go on a date and make out sometime?”
I blushed as I gave my most enthusiastic yes and my number. “Text me,” I told him. I wanted to feel pursued to establish trust with this stone-cold silver fox.
Sure enough, he texted me the next night and asked me for dinner and a show the following Wednesday.
Initial trust, earned.