I was eighteen and had recently lost ten pounds and gotten breast implants. The implants were still settling in, as they say, and felt as awkward and foreign on my body as I felt at the party I was at, with a crowd of people I had known for years yet had failed to ever get to know. He was new to the crowd, a friend of a friend. Older, good looking, well dressed, the lead singer of some band I’d never heard, but he seemed to garner respect from the others, so I nodded politely as I sipped my warm beer. I don’t know why he took an interest in me. Maybe it was my insecurity that set me apart from my other prettier, skinnier friends. He must have mistaken it for nonchalance. We exchanged numbers, and I felt a swelling of pride as my friends gawked in jealousy.
A week later he invited me up to the city for dinner. As a proud San Franciscan he didn’t have a car and in my suburban stupidity I gladly accepted, even though I had found out a week earlier through extensive Facebook stalking that he had a girlfriend. I imitated his style, wearing some ridiculous outfit I wouldn’t usually wear. I painted my lips red and put vintage accessories in my hair and an old jazz CD in my car and drove excitedly up to the city, steadily smoking cigarettes along the way and imagining what our night would be like. Ten minutes outside the city I received a text from him saying he was actually at his mom’s place in Oakland helping watch his nephew and would have to reschedule unless I could drive there and pick him up. I was annoyed but thought it was sweet that he was helping his mom and I had already driven up there so I agreed and asked for the address. He gave me a street name and told me to call him when I was close.
When I got to the neighborhood I gave him a call to let him know I was nearby. No answer. I texted, no answer. I called and called and called, no answer. At this point I should have just said fuck it and gone home, but of course I drove around the neighborhood for another ten minutes hoping he would eventually charge his phone, and sure enough he did. He got in the car and we exchanged pleasantries. He flattered me. I eagerly devoured his compliments. When we got to the bridge and they asked for the toll, he took out his wallet and feigned surprise that there was no cash in it. I paid the toll and mentally rolled my eyes. I told myself it would get better once we got to a restaurant.
We pull into the parking lot of the Elephant Bar and go inside. As we sit down he informs me that he has already eaten, but I can order anything on the menu. What the fuck? Why would you ask someone out to dinner and then not EAT dinner? Do you not understand the concept of a date? But he looked so good. All tan skin and perfect teeth, impeccable shoes and one funny story after another so I ordered some stupid appetizer and pretended I wasn’t that hungry anyway. I silently devoured my Vietnamese fresh spring rolls which are the lowest calorie thing on the menu, when really all I wanted was a steak or some lamb chops.
After our very quick dinner he invited me back to his place for some wine and a movie? I don’t even remember if he offered for us to watch a movie. We both knew what it was going to be. I was sure I didn’t like this person, but I was at a point in my life where any experience seemed better than none. I would get this hate fuck out of the way and then move on to a real, loving relationship. I didn’t want this to turn into anything. I didn’t even want to talk to him again, but he was hot and I wanted him to want me. The night so far had been one rejection after another but I thought that if we slept together I would feel some sense of acceptance. We got back to his place and started drinking the wine. I was tipsy after two glasses and excused myself to use the restroom. I peed and then used the last of the toilet paper. I went back out into the living room but he was already in the bedroom. He was sweet and gave me a t-shirt to sleep in and we got under the covers and pretended we weren’t going to do anything more.
I laid there in nervous anticipation until he rolled me over and began kissing me harshly and battling my teeth with his tongue. I don’t remember much about the sex. I remember he had a huge dick and he talked too dirty and I didn’t come. We fell asleep right after, no cuddling. I woke up in the morning before him and quietly changed, hoping to make a quick exit. I went to the bathroom to scrub my teeth with toothpaste and wash my face before I made my escape. I noticed that the bathroom smelled like shit. I was sure I would never talk to this guy again. I filled my mouth with dollar store toothpaste, spat, and splashed my face with water. With eyes closed I turned to grab the nearest towel and scrub last night’s mascara and shame off my face. The minute my face touched the towel I doubled back in disgusted surprise. The shit smell filling up the bathroom was coming from that towel. I suddenly remembered that I had used the last of the toilet paper the night before, and this pig must have wiped his ass with a towel. The towel that I had just used to wipe my face with. I washed my face again and got the fuck out of there. The next morning I received a text, “Hey beautiful, I had a great time the other night, when can I see you again?” Some guys have all the moves.