6. – 8. Tales of International Failure


Three vignettes about men who didn’t make it all the way around the bases.

6. The Musician
In hindsight, I feel bad about this one. Start to finish, I wasn’t that into him, and I’m ashamed to admit that I used him for dinner, kissed him chastely, then sent him on his way, visibly frustrated. I don’t blame him for having expectations. I was on vacation. Vacation matches are a nearly guaranteed score. Unfortunately for this doctoral music student from Colombia, no such guarantees were in play that night. The dinner and conversation were both pleasant enough, but when it came to imagining how things would play out romantically, I couldn’t see The Musician making a move, couldn’t even visualize him as a lover. Even knowing that he had to take several trains back to his place didn’t entice me to offer a pity fuck. The irony is that I met three matches on that trip, and The Musician was the only one who struck out.

7. The Knight
The story of meeting The Knight, a tall professional scholar from Cameroon, should be a post of its own, but here are the basics: I went to a dance club alone and all was going well until a man who I’d rebuffed several times that night reached a point of drunkenness that prompted him to grope me and scream racial slurs at me and my current dance partner (The Knight). I was shaken and pulled The Knight along with me as I hurried off the dance floor. I didn’t see where drunk guy went, so I asked if The Knight would walk me to my car (a bit of a gamble as I didn’t know him either). Upon arriving safely where I’d parked, I agreed to give him my number even though I wasn’t that attracted to him, and I even threw in a quick kiss of gratitude. I believe that sense of gratitude, paired with his persistence,  led me to eventually agree to a lunch date. Within the first 10 minutes of our date, he invited me to join him on some of his upcoming international travel for work. Red flag. I deflected and played it coy, but that was the nail in the coffin for me. At the conclusion of the date, I allowed him to kiss me, which I promptly regretted, as it turned into a pretty handsy, tongue-laden affair. Sigh. The Knight taught me that obligation is a sorry basis for romance.

8. The Trainer
Scenes From Our Only Date:

  • Meeting him and realizing that he had a thick South African accent. He hadn’t mentioned that he wasn’t American. Total bonus.
  • His apparent disappointment in my lack of curves (you don’t know me, so you’ll have to trust me when I say that literally no one has ever accused me of having a lack of curves. His observation left me speechless with confusion).
  • His telling me that he can’t have guests at his apartment because his roommate has rules, then offering to get a hotel room for us. The amused incredulity on his face when I counter with the offer to just make out in my backseat (he eventually accepts and surprises me with some moves that were almost tempting enough for me to take him up on the hotel).
  • Driving away after a steamy backseat grope-fest, with the knowledge that I would likely hear from him soon, but that I wouldn’t be going out with him again.

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