Please don’t date men you don’t find attractive.

They’ll only disappoint you further.

Please don’t date men you don’t find attractive. They’ll only disappoint you further.

I preface this story by saying that I was definitely in the wrong in parts. 

Shock. Horror. I did a boo boo.

I'm pretty sure the lesson out of this guy was that I needed to work on my communication skills. 

In my defence, he was 4 years older than me and had a Master's degree, so really he shouldn't have been trying to spar with a girl fresh out of a relationship in the trenches at university.

Anyway.

I met this guy, let's call him Joe, at the birthday party of my best friend's boyfriend (now ex, thank fuck). 

I didn't like her boyfriend, so, I'm not really sure what possessed me to date his friend.

*cough cough* it was desperation, delusion and daddy issues. 

The party itself was a hilarious event, some guy tried to tell us about his sexual conquests, nobody paid him any attention, I insulted him (deserved) he drank a whole bottle of red wine and then threw a table.

Lightweight.

So, while this guy was being thrown out. I decided I had to make my own fun. 

Joe was tall and clearly liked me.

Yes, these were his only two qualifying features. I’ve matured, I promise.

I decided to entertain his conversation, even though I didn’t really find him that interesting to look at or chat to. I didn't really intend for it to go anywhere, but again, I was bad at communicating and I liked attention.

So obviously, I blinked and suddenly I was sat on the kitchen counter, having an aggressive make out session with Joe.

I don't really remember that much from how it started, only that the party came to an end, Joe invited me back to his, I said no.

See, I told you he wasn’t interesting to look at, it’s quite impressive that my sexual incontinence didn’t get the better of me.

I expected nothing more to happen from that.

But again, Little Miss Desperate had the wheel and when I got a text from him to arrange a date – I thought, fuck it, why not. 

There were plenty of fucking reasons, chief among them was he really wasn't my type at all – but in that season of my life, that never really seemed to stop me. 

Anyway, we went out for drinks, it was nice. I enjoyed parading him around a bar I visited regularly because I had a personal issue with the bartender and I enjoyed watching him squirm. 

Again, I've matured, I promise.

We both bonded over being from a seemingly similar background and he had a pretty impressive – that’s debatable – business acumen. So, I entertained his questions and enjoyed his flattery and tried to tell myself that I could force the attraction if I tried hard enough.

Because you know, it's totally unfair to rule someone out based on lack of initial attraction.

– It's not, I'm never doing that again.

We chatted for ages, it was actually a very enjoyable first date, apart from the fact he was rude to a receptionist, but I blamed that on the eight cocktails we'd drank.

Surprise guys, he was just an asshole.

After our first date, we chatted and I saw him another two times in the next few weeks. 

He was nice and clearly enomoured with me for whatever reason, so I continued to see him in the hopes that maybe I could force the attraction.

On the third date, we slept together, and it was awful. 

Like, really bad. like, horrendously bad. 

I can't tell what felt the longest, whether it was the five minutes he lasted initially or when he tried to give me head and then asked after two minutes if I'd came. 

Both felt like an eternity and I considered that perhaps I had died and this was my personal circle of Hell.

Anyway, due to that absolute car crash, my clitoris was scared and didn't want to see him again (fair enough). As much as I tried to explain to her that maybe it would get better and we should endure it and try again, she was not up for it. 

So, naturally, I lied that I was very ill and very busy so I wouldn't have to see him and I texted a guy I used to hook up with (very hot, very charasmatic) and explained that I really needed his help (ew).

Seriously, I thought I'd lost all feeling down there, which was incredibly concerning because sex was my main form of dopamine and I really didn't want to have to confront my hypersexuality and start (continue) doing class A drugs as supplement.

So, the very hot, very charismatic guy took pity—

it was not pity, we just had good sexual chemistry

—on my situation and I very quickly realised that I had not lost all feeling.

I told him briefly about how awful it was and he reassured me that I definitely wasn't the problem.

I absolutely was, but I was not the problem sexually.

Now, I absolutely could have had a conversation with Joe about our incompatibility. There were plenty of ways I could have said it nicely. 

“Hi Joe, the sex was so bad it made me reconsider whether another circle of Hell had been created specifically for me, you’re really boring, rude to staff and have this air of audacity that I can’t really explain yet, can you, kindly, fuck off and never contact me again?”

I should have taken the opportunity to lie and use the line "it's not you, it's me" – I've always wanted to say that.

But it absolutely wasn't me, and I felt bad about sleeping with him and then immediately saying I wasn't interested. I felt as if I was committing a very man-slut category of crime by trying to bin someone off as soon as we slept together.

But, I didn't want to bin him off because I 'got what I wanted', I wanted to bin him off because I most definitely hadn't 'got what I wanted' and I believed I was owed reparations.

Anyway, eventually, I begrudgingly agreed to meet him for another date.

–or whatever. I was so pissed off about having to admit to my hookup buddy that I missed him (how embarrassing). I was even more pissed off that Joe seemed to be completely unaware that I didn't want to see him again. I’d given him all the signs, as I had been replying very slowly and lying about how busy I was (how man-slut of me).

I felt very anxious about the date, because I hadn't really come up with an action plan of how I was going to tell this twenty-four-year-old, masters-degree, seemingly-intelligent man that his head was so bad it made me consider whether my nerve endings had taken their long overdue vacation days.

We agreed to meet at this popular pub (The Old Firehouse for any Exetah veterans) on a Friday night at 7.30pm. 

He was fifteen minutes late, and by the time he arrived, I’d already scanned the interior and found that there were no tables. 

Obviously, it was Friday at peak time and this place sold pizzas that were the size of  small tables.

But of course, he couldn’t just take my word for it. So, he dragged me and my knee-high high-heeled boots (hot) up two flights of stairs (not hot) to ‘check’. Alas, my woman eyes hadn’t deceived me, there were in fact, no tables.

We stood outside the pub and he asked me if I had any suggestions on where to go next.

Note: I’d been dragged up two flights of stairs by a man I was barely interested in, (yes I know I should have been more confrontational – I get it okay). I was pissed I had to confront him and even more pissed he’d condecended me by not believing me when I said that the place was full.

I had come to the conclusion by that point that as I wasn’t invested and I had still made the effort to meet him in high-heeled boots and I’d washed my hair, it was his responsibility to think of a bar. He was pretty useless at this very simple task, he said he couldn’t think of any and threw the question back at me.

I should have taken this rare display of disinterest as a clear sign that I could tell him (nicely) to fuck off, but alas, I did not.

I found it strange because he didn’t seem to be as besotted with me as usual, but I blamed that on my slow replies and shitty tone and I thought it would make it easier for me to end it.

What I’ve conveniently forgotten to mention at this point, is that I had a well-concealed hickey on my neck.

It was from the guy I was casually seeing, the same guy I’d texted after the really bad sex with Joe. I don’t think Joe could give a hickey even if investment in his business relied on it.

The night before this date, I basically got so anxious over the date with Joe that I accidentally fell on this hot, charismatic and really strong man’s dick, oops. 

The hickey was towards the back of my neck, sort of behind my ear. On this date, I wore my hair down just past my shoulders and the hickey was behind lots of concealer and powder and I had concealed it very well. 

Or so I thought. But we’ll get into that later.

Anyway, I asked Joe to choose a bar and he point-blank refused, rude. So I asked him if he liked ale, he said ‘of course’ he did, as if I had threatened his manhood by insinuating he didn’t like fermented yeast juice.

Surprise guys, I found out later that he did not like beer. 

I took us to this small independent taproom, it was very cute and I’d been introduced to it by this absolute sociopath (in a very cool way) I had slept with a few months prior (he was way cooler and way hotter than this guy).

Maybe I thought that if I took Joe to this taproom that he would turn into the cool indie guy who took me there and who also managed to get me to orgasm, but alas, Joe was still Joe when we arrived. 

We ordered at the bar, and as much as I tried to protest that I would pay for my own drink (never doing that again), Joe insisted. He seemed to be in a better mood and we went to sit outside. 

I had ordered a chocolate-coffee stout (so good), and Joe had ordered a rose perry (fermented pear cider, instead of apples). Not to shame anyone’s drink choice, but he was a twat so I will be shaming, rose perry is wonderful but it is not the drink of choice for anyone who appreciates ale or lager in an independent taproom. Therefore, I was already skeptical at Joe’s ‘love’ for beer, but I chose to let it slide. 

That was until he turned into a cunt.

We chatted pretty half-heartedly for a bit, I had lied about how busy I had been and therefore had to substantiate those lies with stories of working overtime and constantly being out with friends, when the truth was, I spent a lot of my time that I wasn’t working getting railed by a man I actually found attractive (and sometimes my ex, oops). 

I know, I should have just told him I wasn’t interested, but I was really, really bad at confrontation and honestly, I couldn’t be arsed for that conversation. I’d only seen him four times in six weeks and I really couldn’t be fucked, I thought it was fair enough I wanted to ghost him and leave it at that. But, I understand that isn’t socially acceptable and I’m much better now at not dating men I don’t actually find attractive.

Anyway, he offered me some of his drink to try it, I agreed and offered him some of mine (how polite). He asked me how my drink tasted, I told him if he liked stout it was really good, but if he wasn’t into stout that he probably wouldn’t appreciate it. 

I didn’t mean appreciate as an insinuation that he was uncultured (he was), I only meant it in the sense of any stout is going to be shit if you don’t like stout. I don’t like coconut rum, so there’s no point giving me expensive coconut rum (niche I know, but I’m a special little snowflake).

He retorted by saying he definitely liked stout.

Sure, Jan.

I tried his perry, it was nice, it tasted like an aromatic cordial – a little too sweet for my palette as I am bitter to my core. He tried my stout and was visably displeased. I
(badly) stiffled a giggle.

I asked him what he thought, and he said he liked it. I asked him if he was sure (I couldn’t help myself) and he told me “yeah, it tastes like Guinness.” 

I asked him what he meant, because although Guinness is a stout, it’s a very generic brand of stout and it’s usually the staple stout served in most pubs. So comparing a staple stout to this independent, craft stout– 

I’m aware I sound like the cunt here, but I promise I’m not.

Well, only slightly.

–was at best uncultured and at worst downright insulting. Anyway, I asked him “what do you mean?” He responded with:

“Guinness is a stout, you know that right?”

At this point I was pretty fucking annoyed, firstly he’d given me an egregious sexual experience, secondly he refused to be ghosted, third I had to be on this date, fourth he’d tried to convince me that my woman eyes had decieved me, fifth I had to choose the fucking bar and sixth he’s trying to explain Guinness to me in the independent taproom that I chose. 

I was incensed. 

I stared at him, gave up on politeness

never did me any good anyway,

and told him that there was a big difference between Guinness and the independent, craft stout that he’d just tried, and explained that it was similar to comparing a staple brand vodka to Ciroc.

He told me non-chalantly that he knew. I refused to make eye contact with him and took my precious stout back. 

He then proceeded to tell me that he could clearly see that I’d been seeing someone else, 

fucking hickey

and that he was “disappointed” in me, because – get this – he had paid for a couple rounds of drinks on our first date. 

To which I told him that the £30 worth of drinks he bought us did not entitle him to exclusive use of my vagina. 

I should have told him that fucking me correctly might have given him exclusive use, but I was too enraged to think that far, and anyway even if he hadn’t spent 2 minutes licking my left labia it absolutely would not have given him exclusive use. 

He told me that he could see the hickey and he couldn’t believe that I was sleeping with someone else because we had been dating. I told him we never talked about exclusivity and he told me he thought it was implied. 

I don’t really think three dates in one month, one of which ended in really bad sex, constitutes exclusivity but, I guess, everyone’s different..

I also highlighted to him that if he wanted to be exclusive there were better ways he could have approached it. I even said that if he thought the way I was conducting myself was so far from his values (even though he tried to take me home, while I was drunk, after that God awful house party) then he could have brought it up in a tactful, respectful way and it wasn’t required that he reduced my value to my sexual purity and objectified me in the process.

But it was clear that neither of us had much tact, nor did we have respect for each other. I had no respect for him because he was a failure to thrive, he was condescending and he thought that £30 at Turtle Bay entitled him to my vulva. I assume he didn’t respect me due to my clear and unashamed deviation from ‘feminine values’.

He told me that he’d “been hurt before” and that he hadn’t objectified me. I told him that everyone living had “been hurt before” and that his wounds didn’t entitle him to be hurtful towards others.

Yes, me arriving to the date with a hickey was probably hurtful, but again I felt I was owed reparations because he was so unstimulating, sexually and intellectually.

I just shouldn’t have dated him.

Furthermore, I told him that the fact that the only thing that had apparently deterred him from me was my sexual promiscuity and that he had assumed entitlement to my sexual fidelity constituted objectification.

There were PLENTY of other things to deter him from me.

We argued, he continued to talk over me, I warned him (twice), and I finally left while telling him to go fuck himself.

Good luck with that one, mate.

The next evening was my first shift as a shot girl. 

I worked for a short while on commission to sell shots in a club, my job was essentially to look pretty enough and be charasmatic enough to approach randomers in a club and convince them to buy yagerbombs. For a self-proclaimed introvert, I was actually pretty good at it. 

After my first shift, my best friend had agreed to meet me after at 2am to come with me to another club afterwards. I had already told her what had happened with Joe, she pissed herself laughing but was also quite angry for me and we both just wanted a good night out.

Admittedly, that’s pretty difficult in Exeter.

On entering the club, she told me that her boyfriend was out too, but she didn’t know if Joe was with them or not. I told her it was chill, under the condition that if I saw Joe and if he tried to speak to me I would walk out. 

God must really have had it out for me that weekend, because the 6’5” twat was in the middle of the club. I decided it was fine, as long as he didn’t try to speak to me – I was still incensed at being slut-shamed by a man who clearly had never made any woman finish and had the appearance of an over-stretched hamster.

My best friend and I bought drinks and went over to the club floor, where her boyfriend inevietably pulled her into the circle of guys, she pulled me in and Joe ineviteably towered over me and said:

“Hey, I hope we can still be friends?”

He had this dumb, entitled, drunk look on his face, my face was filled with disgust and I felt a visceral reaction at the thought that this man had entered my body (even if it was done poorly). 

I couldn’t even look at him, I looked at my best friend and told her that I was leaving. I wished everyone apart from Joe a good night, and I left. 

It was one of those moments that is phyisically sobering, I had drank a few shots and had a double vodka soda, but walking out of that club I felt completely sober.

A few months later, I was working as a shot girl and saw him in the club at 1am.

I looked so hot and he looked so awful, a win for womankind. 

There was a customer I loved, she had an amazing aesthetic that echoed a sterotypical portrayal of a dominatrix; she was tall with latex boots, long black hair, heavy eyeliner and eyelashes. I loved her because I had an easy night whenever she came in, she would spend about two hours in the club, but for those two hours she would approach different men and get them to buy her (and her equally attractive friend) drinks. 

After a couple of times, I realised that I could work with her, she would flirt with men, I would offer them shots, the men would pay, which meant she got free shots and I got my commission. 

This story is imperative, becuase the time that I saw him a couple of months later at the club happened to be a time that she was there too. 

I bumped into him, 

genuine accident

I said a pleasant hi, made eye contact and fluttered away with my tray of drinks before he could ask me anything. 

But, when I saw him engaged in conversation with my latex-clad co-conspirator, I couldn’t help myself. 

I walked over, said hi and offered drinks. Joe immediately said no, but she brushed her long nails across his chest and asked him if he was sure and I’ve never seen a man’s card come out so quick. 

It was hilarious and I felt as if I’d gotten my reparations. 

I felt as if it was very hypocritical, even if expected, for him to slut-shame me, only to pull out his card immediately for a woman covered in latex who was clearly weaponising her feminity for cash.

As she should. 

But I guess what we’ve learnt, is that some misogynistic men are very happy for you to use your sexuality until it stops benefitting them. 

I must say Joe looked very confused when the latex-clad woman moved on almost instantly after drinking the shot and was spotted later that night kissing the girl she always came in with.

How brilliant.

I think the reason I was so annoyed about the whole situation was because I never found him that attractive in the first place. I think at that point in my life I almost felt like he owed me more than I would expect from a guy I actually wanted to date, because I felt as if I was doing some sort of community service by dating him.

I definitely was doing community service.

Obviously, my line of thinking was ridiculous at best and downright disrespectful at worst. I really shouldn’t have put myself in the position where I was expecting special treatment only because I didn’t find this guy attractive.

Clearly, he was a twat in parts. But I have learned that I really need that initial attraction to date a guy, otherwise I have an ever shorter fuse than I do usually which is obviously awful for me, but is (I guess) even more awful for the guy that’s getting unknowingly penalised for not being hot enough.

Lesson learnt.