Twenty-Something and Single: The End

By K. C. Morgan

I thought it would be a good idea, for my last column, to write about the worst dating experience I’ve ever had. So, I got to thinking about all those bad dates in my past. Each memory was more horrifying than the next – a virtual visual nightmare of what happens when romance goes bad.
It left me with a conundrum. Should I write about that horrible date with the techno weirdo, the one who took me to a crazy dance club and then proceeded to have an 80s-movie-style dance-off with a gentleman wearing multicolored lights? Should I describe the horror I felt as I watched, helpless, as beat-heavy music without lyrics thrummed around my head?
Or would I write instead about my traumatic experience at the lake? Stranded with a drunk companion and the child-ridden family of a man I barely knew, only to discover after the incredibly long evening was over that I’d actually had money taken right out of my purse?
Perhaps I ought to talk about the night I went to request a song at the bar, only to stumble on my platform shoes as I dismounted? I ended up at the emergency room that night, drunken and in a wheelchair, and at work two days later on crutches – just another dating catastrophe.
This kaleidoscope of bad dates left me with a sour feeling, and I came to long for the end of this experience being single. It’s rough out there, and seemingly normal men can create horrific dating experiences that linger with us long after the few unbearable dating hours are over.
But, does anything really end? Relationships past always come back to haunt us, old lovers appear when we wish they wouldn’t, names get mentioned in casual conversation that make us silently cringe. Some romantic relationships fail, only to evolve into friendships that create new relationships and experiences. Dates end and begin again, and eventually you feel like you’re repeating certain parts of your life endlessly.
Even when you aren’t single anymore, some inner part of you clings to that former independence. Some part of you remembers days when you had to go it alone, when you breathed a sigh of relief just to be back in your own apartment all by yourself. So, in its way, being single is something that sticks.
No matter what else may happen, afterward.
And so I say good-bye – not to dating, not to being single, and not just yet good-bye to my twenties, but at least for now to this column. But perhaps saying good-bye to this column is really saying hello to something new…something unexpected.
In closing, I’d like to quote a line from the movie This is Spinal Tap, not because it’s a fabulous testament to being single, but because it’s a movie that’ll always make you laugh – no matter how bad the date or the relationship. David St. Hubbins: “How far is all the way, and then if it stops, what's stopping it, and what's behind what's stopping it? So, what's the end, you know, is my question to you.”
Indeed.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For… Necks?

By Rochelle Taylor

He seemed nice. He was attractive. He was witty. He seemed… well, normal. Being outside of the typical realm of guys I dated, I thought I might give it a go. We went on a date that involved all of the things that normal people do on dates: coffee, talking, eating, walking. Then it came time to say goodnight.

He went to shake my hand. I made fun of him for it, so he kissed me. And, despite the fact that a couple of times he tried to lick my tonsils, he was not a bad kisser. But then he stopped. He asked if I was mad at him. Being thoroughly confused, I asked him why I would be mad. He said “because I kissed you.” After internally laughing and wondering if I was possibly back in high school, I told him I was indeed not mad at him, and we went back to kissing.

Then he did it. He licked my neck. Not in a soft, sensual way, or even in a rough kinky way. In a licking ice cream way. He did this three times, leaving slobber all over my neck. I wiped it off and told him goodnight.

A few days later he called, and I figured he had not been too psycho, so I gave him a second chance, without incident. Then came the third date. I decided I would invite him back to my place. My roommate was not home, and we would have the place to ourselves. We began kissing. All of a sudden, he stopped and asked “Are we going to have sex now?” I told him I wasn’t planning on it.

Now this statement would’ve normally been a hint to most guys. But not this one. He went on to tell me that because of his injury (he had hurt his knee in a skateboarding accident. Yes, skateboarding.) he did not think that he would be able to have sex. I stopped him by saying “I’m just kissin’ ya”. But, then he became obsessed – grilling me about whether or not I would have an orgasm if we did have sex. I kept pushing off his questions and finally he decided it was time to leave.

Then we went out again. We ended up at his place, where he had roommates that I did not know about. I was told that I had to be very quiet to make sure that I did not wake them, as they would tell his aunt (who he rented the room from) I was there, and that was against the rules. Goodbye, normal. We started kissing again, and I told him that it could not go farther, as I could not be quiet. And, I had not shaved my legs, as our date had been a last-minute thing and I did not have time to shave.

Neither of these things deterred him. He used the line I thought was only an urban myth: “can’t I just put the tip in? Just for a second? I just want to see what you feel like!” He kept pushing and pushing. I was able finally to convince him that when I said no, I meant no. Suddenly, it became too late and he told me that he needed to go to bed, effectively kicking me out. I walked to my car and realized I would never talk to him again. I would not tolerate disrespect. Such a bizarre ending to the saga of The Licker…