I sat next to you because there was no other fucking seat open. It wasn’t because you were uniquely stimulating, I promise. You smiled at me; I smiled back. You asked me if my nose ring hurt, I said not particularly. Your eyes were red and speech was slurred, but your friends vouched for you saying you weren’t really that drunk. You asked what other piercings I have, I said I have two more. You assumed they were genital piercings (wrong!) and told me I should show them to you. All your friends laughed nervously; I was unsure of how to proceed, so I laughed too. +20 degrees.
You got to talking more and you offered me drugs. “I got 2 eight-balls last night, real good quality. You’re welcome to join if you like.” I declined politely. One of your friends left to go home to his wife, the other turned to the person next to them; I never knew what stuck meant until that moment. You insisted on showing me your full back tattoo even though I told you I didn’t want to see. +20 degrees.
You drank 3 (more) beers while I tried to eat silently, your random words and questions clinging like napalm to my skin, burning and burning from the fire of your lust until I forced out an answer. I didn’t ask for this, I thought. I didn’t want this. I just wanted a nice dinner alone. You commented on how delicious my dinner looked. I said thank you. You said I was clearly after your heart, doing that, and clearly we should have sex. I wrinkled my nose and said no thank you. You said “Oh honey, it’s ok. We could just do oral or whatever. We wouldn’t have to go all the way.” I said no thank you. “But really, girl. All you gotta do is come home with me. We’d hang out on the couch, smoke a few joints, and have a real good time.” I said no thank you. You let it go; I thought I was done. I was getting ready to pay the nice server and go—you touched me.
God. Ew. You had to go and do that, didn't you? I had just put up with your invasiveness and all around general disgusting-ness until this point, but your hand on my thigh finally hit my limit; the frog jumped out of the pot.
I pushed you away and told you not to touch me; I hadn't told you that you could touch me, why did you think you could? Your answer made me want to die: "It wasn't like I touched your pussy or nothin'." OH SO THAT MAKES IT OKAY?! I said it didn't matter, that you never touch people without consent. You called me crazy, a psycho bitch, you told me you had a million dollars in the bank (ha!) and that I had just lost one of the best opportunities of my life to be with you. You told me no one would ever hire me with a nose ring (they have and still do), that no one would ever date me (they have and still do), that no one actually finds me fuckable and they're all lying to me if they say they do (they have and still do. i'm noticing a pattern). Even writing this has me in stitches; I honestly don't understand how someone can be so goddamn full of themselves.
You got loud. You got belligerent. Your friend escorted you outside to the car; hopefully you went home. Or tried and got stuck in a ditch somewhere, I don't care. The person next to me saw it all happen and had signaled to the bartender to grab a manager to forcibly remove the man harrassing me; the person next to me bought me a beer after the offending party left the building. Nobody said anything to me except I should have known better than to talk to him. They all said "well honey he's just like that," whatever the hell that means. It wasn't my fault. I didn't ask for any of that.
I never went back to that place ever again.
You got to talking more and you offered me drugs. “I got 2 eight-balls last night, real good quality. You’re welcome to join if you like.” I declined politely. One of your friends left to go home to his wife, the other turned to the person next to them; I never knew what stuck meant until that moment. You insisted on showing me your full back tattoo even though I told you I didn’t want to see. +20 degrees.
You drank 3 (more) beers while I tried to eat silently, your random words and questions clinging like napalm to my skin, burning and burning from the fire of your lust until I forced out an answer. I didn’t ask for this, I thought. I didn’t want this. I just wanted a nice dinner alone. You commented on how delicious my dinner looked. I said thank you. You said I was clearly after your heart, doing that, and clearly we should have sex. I wrinkled my nose and said no thank you. You said “Oh honey, it’s ok. We could just do oral or whatever. We wouldn’t have to go all the way.” I said no thank you. “But really, girl. All you gotta do is come home with me. We’d hang out on the couch, smoke a few joints, and have a real good time.” I said no thank you. You let it go; I thought I was done. I was getting ready to pay the nice server and go—you touched me.
God. Ew. You had to go and do that, didn't you? I had just put up with your invasiveness and all around general disgusting-ness until this point, but your hand on my thigh finally hit my limit; the frog jumped out of the pot.
I pushed you away and told you not to touch me; I hadn't told you that you could touch me, why did you think you could? Your answer made me want to die: "It wasn't like I touched your pussy or nothin'." OH SO THAT MAKES IT OKAY?! I said it didn't matter, that you never touch people without consent. You called me crazy, a psycho bitch, you told me you had a million dollars in the bank (ha!) and that I had just lost one of the best opportunities of my life to be with you. You told me no one would ever hire me with a nose ring (they have and still do), that no one would ever date me (they have and still do), that no one actually finds me fuckable and they're all lying to me if they say they do (they have and still do. i'm noticing a pattern). Even writing this has me in stitches; I honestly don't understand how someone can be so goddamn full of themselves.
You got loud. You got belligerent. Your friend escorted you outside to the car; hopefully you went home. Or tried and got stuck in a ditch somewhere, I don't care. The person next to me saw it all happen and had signaled to the bartender to grab a manager to forcibly remove the man harrassing me; the person next to me bought me a beer after the offending party left the building. Nobody said anything to me except I should have known better than to talk to him. They all said "well honey he's just like that," whatever the hell that means. It wasn't my fault. I didn't ask for any of that.
I never went back to that place ever again.
