I have decided that I’d like to try writing out some short stories of things that have happened to me. Mostly, I think, it will be good memories of mine. Right now, I’m thinking about writing out some stories of dates, good moments with friends, and particularly memorable moments in general.
Partly, I’m doing this because I would like to get good at writing stories. Also, I’m doing it because I would like to remember these stories when they are many more years behind me than they are now. Also, at least in the context of dates, romance, and sex, I would like to think that I have generally been reasonably good about consent over the course of my dating life, and I think it might be nice to put out some stories of real-life experiences in navigating consent and dating (and some counterexamples for those who think being careful with consent always ruins moments, or are worried that it may). I think I’m going to call this series of posts “Snippets”.
So, for your reading pleasure (hopefully), here is my first stab at this story-writing thing:
I’m pacing outside the dining hall, having just walked past the girl I’ve decided to ask on a date. She is working the exit. She was busy when I was leaving, so I just kept walking past, down the stairs and out the door.
We’ve never had a conversation outside of the few seconds the few times a week that she ends up being the one to swipe me into the dining hall. Those regular few seconds have given me a distinctly positive impression of her and of our conversational chemistry, though. It’s amazing how strong an impression you can form of someone via a few seconds of sharing a mutual distaste for the weather a few times a week. She’s really cute. If I do ask her out, it’ll be the first time in a very long time that I’ve asked out someone I didn’t really know beforehand.
I pace around the sidewalk some more, trying to get myself to go back in.
“Should I do it? Will it be awkward? What if she says no?”
“I’ll be fine, self. Really. Just go in and ask. Just do it. Go in and ask. Go in. Right now.”
“Okay, going in.”
…the pacing continues…
“Seriously, okay, we decided we were going to do this. We decided it. It’s decided. Let’s go in. Let’s go. Let’s do it. Let’s go. Right now.”
Minutes of this go by before I finally manage to get myself to walk back in the door. She’s still working at the top of the stairs… I climb up… I reach the top of the stairs… now there’s a window of probably about two seconds before it gets strange that I’m just standing at the top of the stairs, so at this point there’s nothing for it but to come right out and ask.
“So, I apologize if this is awkward. I think you’re really cute, and I enjoy talking to you, and if you wanted to, I’d like to go on a date with you.”
Minutes later, I’m walking into my dorm with a scribbled phone number stuffed into my pocket, pleased as fuck with myself. I knock on the door of the friend who lives next to me and show her the number. There is much rejoicing.
A few days later, the girl and I go on our date. We get dinner and walk around campus talking about whatever comes to our minds. I had been nervous, beforehand, about how I was going to manage to bring up the fact that I’m a poly, kinky, atheist heathen if the date went well (the These Are My Possibly Deal-Breaker-Type Things That I Hope Are Not Terrifying to You conversation), but as it turns out, this happens within the first five minutes of the date when she asks me what I do in my free time (honest answer: I hang out with the local poly, kinky, and atheist groups). She is unfazed (thank you, Anthropomorphized Universe). We actually have some good conversations about poly and kink over the course of the evening. I talk about how I do poly, and my thoughts on how sensation play is a lot like improvisational music, and she talks about experiences she’s had and things she’s curious about.
The conversation and the company is good, and we eventually end up back in my dorm room, cuddling. Eventually I screw up my courage again, and tell her I’d like to kiss her and ask if I can. She considers for a moment before replying, “I’m going to be bold and say yes”. Our kissing chemistry isn’t as good as our conversational chemistry is, and the rest of the evening passes mostly in talking and cuddles, occasionally broken by further tentative experiments in kissing, before we decide to call it a night.
Later, as I’m walking her back to her place, and I nudge her excitedly in the shoulder.
“Hey, guess what! You want to know something awesome? ”
“I made out with the cute girl who works in the dining hall!”
“That’s not objectifying, is it?”
“No, don’t overthink it.”