After my first experience with an older man in college I went crazy. I felt invincible in a way, and I wanted to experience everything I could while I felt I was still worthy of attention, so, I went on whiskey dates. I didn’t go on regular college girl dates. I didn’t get all dressed up in a pretty summer dress and flats and I didn’t find my most revealing club dress and heels. I prepared for these dates by drinking way too much whiskey, and I look back on it now and realize how fucked up it all was.
My goal wasn’t to take a shot to ease my nerves. My goal was to get to the point where I would say whatever was on my mind and to be so tipsy that I wouldn’t care if the man was interested in a second date or not. I already knew he wouldn’t be. I already knew that the conversation would be sub-par and tinged with moments of disappointment and quick glances at other women more attractive than myself.
But see, on these whiskey dates, I would be prepared. My binge drinking beforehand would ensure that I wouldn’t be hurt by those moments. I would see them and laugh inside, because I was having fun toying with this boy, watching him squirm while he checked his phone for any text that could be used as an excuse to leave. But me, I was getting what I wanted. I wanted attention. I wanted a man to look at me, even if it wasn’t his total interest. I wanted someone new. I wanted to be free with my thoughts and say whatever was on my mind.
See, the thing about these whiskey dates was that, along with being pretty drunk, I knew the guy would never call me again. He wouldn’t make any effort to get in contact after this. I knew that going into it. So, I could say whatever was on my mind and it wouldn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to impress him. But sometimes, the little girl inside of me gave in. I thought that maybe this time, the man might possibly actually be attracted to me.
Maybe this time he would see past the hideous mask I had been born with and see the real face that was underneath it. Now of course, there was no actual face underneath my real one. This face, the true me, did not involve seeing so much as listening. He had to actively listen to what I was saying. He had to not only listen, but also understand and process what I was saying.
I guess I was just really looking for someone to listen to me. Listen to my soul as it poured out of my lips. It was right there, everything you needed to know about me. My past, my present, my future, my desires, my fears. Everything. It was all there for the taking. You could absorb it in if you just tried a little harder. Listen to me. Please.
Of course, this never happened. But, the whiskey tasted great and it made me forget about my petty little girl issues for a little while. Whiskey dates were fun back then, no matter how pointless and damaging they proved to be. But, I sure have had a bad hangover for the last few years.