I rejected someone tonight.
I don’t think I’ve ever done that before, not so bluntly or directly.
It feels kind of good.
He asked me how I was feeling and I said I wasn’t feeling it romantically.
I’d had one drink, yes. Maybe it made me brave. But mostly I just didn’t care.
Or rather… I did care.
I cared about myself.
I cared more about myself than I cared about him.
His feelings. His pride. His ego.
Kind of. Rejection sucks.
But you asked.
Then you said you were surprised. You thought we were “gelling.”
At least, I wasn’t.
On my end, I’d been trying to figure out how to leave for a while.
I’d say I have to get up early.
Tell him I work in the morning.
(This is why I don’t do first dates on weekends.)
Working up the courage, I excused myself to the bathroom and texted my friend.
Ugh- I’m so not feeling it.
Leave then, she replied. Fuck politeness.
Her response to my text was the encouragement I needed.
And the fact he’d asked.
“I guess I’m just not feeling it,” I told him.
After a few-second pause, during which he was gone, inside his head, exploring his ego, conversing with his pride —
he said, “Honestly I’m surprised. Can I ask why?”
And then, as he’d interrupted me so many other times that night, he interrupted me again.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’m not that guy. You don’t have to explain shit to me.”
And he was right, I give him credit for that. I didn’t have to explain shit.
But I was inclined to…
Soothe his scrape. Give it a kiss. A bandaid.
“I’m just not into Dom men,” I said.
That just seemed like the easiest thing to say, because in the kink community, people get it. If you don’t have compatible kinks, you just say so. It’s not personal, and it isn’t generally taken that way.
But maybe he wasn’t in the kink community like he’d implied from our conversation online.
Maybe he just liked dominating women, but had no concept of consent, or the vocabulary necessary for consent.
And men like that aren’t kinky, they’re aggressors, abusers, rapists. They take their power and they use it to get what they want with no concern for their victim.
The truth was, it wasn’t just a kink mismatch.
It was his interrupting me every other sentence.
He’d ask me a question, and then the second I began to respond, he’d add more to his question. The bar was already loud and this was annoying as hell.
To shout above the noise of the music and then to shout above the noise of him.
By the end of the night I was losing my voice, and he’d lean in to hear me better, touching me, despite the fact I’d shoved my purse and my coat between us in the booth. And as he leaned in, his smell…
Sweat. Grime. Greasy hair. Alcohol.
I could have said, “Your smell,” for the reason I wasn’t feeling it, and he’d have understood it the same. Personal insult, not simply The fact of sexual incompatibility, pheromones and such.
I wonder if men have a higher tolerance for incompatible pheromones. Evolutionary theory, right? If women have one chance for a baby every year or so, we have to be picky. Men can provide their semen multiple times per day. They don’t need to care as much.
Just theorizing… I don’t know this stuff really.
(I could add some research here.)
But the point is, neither did he. We didn’t talk about things like that.
We didn’t talk about very much that interested me at all.
He did some computer job. I tried to understand it, but I didn’t. Computers aren’t my thing.
Had I said that, would that have been enough?
Didn’t it bother him? Doesn’t he want a partner that at least kinda understands his job? Who shares his interests?
He referred to how hot I was, multiple times.
I guess that was enough for him.
He implied that men would and should lie to sleep with me. They should say they’re into the same things I am because “well look at you.” (As he gestured to my body.)
He talked about his friends.
Taking drugs with them.
How far he likes to go with taking drugs. The more the better.
He talked about expensive restaurants he’s been to.
Expensive restaurants he’s been to while on drugs.
Expensive restaurants he’s been to and taken drugs at.
Expensive restaurants he’s been to where he’s been kicked out for being too high on drugs.
So yeah… it was all of that.
His dominating nature, his interrupting me, his smell, his drug-steeped lifestyle, his objectifying me.
To put it lightly, we weren’t a fit.
Do I feel bad for hurting his feelings?
I did. And then I didn’t. When I got home, I saw he had written me a message on OkCupid: If you want only subs, put that on your profile.
I never said that’s all I want. He just didn’t listen.
In any case, it felt good to be honest.
To not lie to protect this guy’s feelings, his pride and ego. It felt good to state the truth, to save us all some time and energy and heartache. To not tell myself maybe it’d get better, maybe there’s potential, maybe he’s not so bad.
Because sometimes it just is that bad.