Tyler and I met at a friend’s party. A friend who assured me that Tyler was a great guy and I should “totally go for it.” So I did, and after about thirty minutes of my flirtatious charms, he asked me out.
A couple days later, we met at a bar. He showed up early, and by the time I arrived, he was halfway through his beer. He introduced me to the bartender, apparently a friend of his, and I ordered a drink. We talked about our relationship with our friend in common, then simultaneously ran out of things to say. His glass was empty, so Bartender came back, a welcome addition to our party.
“Can I get you another?” said Bartender to Tyler. Tyler eyed my half-empty beer warily.
“Sure,” he said. Then he must have given Bartender some kind of oh-my-god-please-help-me-out-here-man secret signal, because Bartender stuck around. “So Tyler is literally the best beer pong player in the world,” he said. Excellent wingmanning.
“Really?” I said, “because I could have sworn I was the best beer pong player in the world.”
As we discussed our multiple drinking game victories, Bartender got Tyler his beer. That conversation exhausted itself pretty quickly.
When this second uncomfortable silence had lasted a good two minutes, Tyler said, “Actually, my roommates are having a beer pong tournament right now if you want to check it out. I live right down the street.”
Maybe this date could be salvaged after all. I do love me some beer pong. I agreed and we headed over. But when we arrived, there was no tournament in sight. Instead, his three roommates were on the couch in pajamas watching “How I Met Your Mother.”
“Hey guys, what happened to the tournament?” asked Tyler.
“What tournament?” asked Roommate #1.
“You know, the beer pong tournament….”
“What beer pong tournament?” asked Roommate #2.
Apparently, Roommate #3 was the only one who could pick up on social cues. “The beer pong tournament!” he said, jumping off the couch. “We were just about to get started.”
He introduced himself, then quickly started setting up cups. #1 and #2 slowly caught on and made their way to the table. Initially a little disturbed by his inventing a tournament just to entertain me, we started actually having a good time, so all was forgotten.
Nothing like chugging beer really fast to loosen a guy up. Suddenly Tyler was great, telling stories and chatting me up.
I was starting to really like him… then Hot Friend arrived. After brief introductions, I could tell he was interested, and we had no trouble making small talk despite his lack of previous beer chugging.
I was having fun, flirting with both boys and kicking ass at beer pong. Then, Tyler made a joke that had something to do with genitalia (the actual joke is escaping me now.)
“Woah, that’s a little much for a first date,” said Roommate #1.
“Wait, you guys are on a date?” asked Hot Guy, slowly backing away from me.
“A first date,” I clarified. I wanted him to know I wasn’t too attached.
Tyler didn’t like that.
“Hey Rebecca,” he said. “Can I show you something in my room?”
I saw through his ruse, but followed him anyway. Once inside, he kissed me, and it was nice.
Then he pulled me onto the bed. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep with him on the first date, but he was a good kisser, so I went along for the ride. When he put his hands up my dress and went to pull down my tights, I stopped him. He smiled as if this were a fun game and went for them again. When I stopped him this time, he let my tights snap so they landed with a loud noise and some serious pain right in the middle of my thigh. “Ow!” I said. He laughed, but seemed to have given up on the pulling down of the tights, so we kept kissing. My tights were still uncomfortably and awkwardly bunched down around my thighs. I pulled them back up. But then, he did it again, letting those tights snap painfully on my hip. “Ow!” I pulled back, got off the bed, and pulled my tights back all the way up.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I should go,” I said. “It’s getting late, and I have an early day tomorrow.” My thigh was still stinging from where my tights had landed the first time.
“Wait, you’re not going to spend the night?” He looked genuinely shocked and disappointed.
“No,” I said. “It’s our first date.” I picked up my purse and headed for the door, suddenly feeling very trapped in his room.
“Who cares about that,” he said, jumping up to block my way. “I really like you, and I want you to spend the night.”
“Goodnight Tyler,” I walked out, but not before he grabbed me for a passionate kiss. His hands crept up my dress again. Did he never get the “No Means No” lecture in school?
After our uncomfortable bar conversations, make-believe beer pong tournament and painful hook up, I’d learned my lesson: Sober social awkwardness does not translate well to the drunken bedroom. I walked out, feeling relieved that I’d escaped, and with no intentions of making a second date.
But as soon as I got outside, I couldn’t help but wonder, Would it be so wrong to hang out with him again in hopes that Hot Guy would be there? Then at least this long date wouldn’t have been a total bust.
Rebecca is a frequent contributor! Here are three more stories about her: