Valentine’s Day was probably not the best night for a first date, but we were both single and I figured it might make a good story if things actually worked out. We met at a restaurant, though I didn’t learn until we met up that she didn’t have a car and conned a friend of hers into driving her over to the restaurant at the last minute. Things started off on a decidedly low point when she asked me right off the bat if my parents were divorced because she was also looking to set up her mother, and wouldn’t it be fun for us to go out on a double-date: me and my dad with her and her mom. (My parents just celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary this past August.)
Over dinner, she began to tell me about her prior boyfriends, most of whom had been abusive in various ways. I also heard of her parents’ messy divorce, her father’s alcoholism, her repressed memories that are starting to surface (some of which involved more abuse) and about a thousand other details about her life – mostly because I couldn’t get in a word edgewise.
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This is the week for Valentine’s Stories, and the first post of our contest is coming up! If you have a Valentine’s story and haven’t submitted yet, you can still do so (click for details). Remember though, the sooner you submit, the sooner your story gets posted, the longer time you have to rack up lots of high votes and tell your friends. Reminder: Judging: honor’s system: rate each story once, and whichever story has the highest rating come Valentine’s Eve is our winner (with more than 10 votes minimum).
So now, without further ado, I bid you enjoy the stories of HNTGL’s first ever Valentine’s Contest!
— Stewart
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I was spending my summer on Cape Cod, and I’d managed to start dating this local girl (we’ll call her Kate) who was on the verge of being out of my league. Young, beautiful, taut, frequently in shorts, you get the picture. And she was a good girl too, not the sort who was gonna sleep with any old guy who blew into town. And I liked that. But my point is: I knew I had to pay my dues if I wanted things to get as physical as you better believe I wanted them to get. I had to be the good boyfriend.
She had a little brother. Cute kid, maybe eight years old. I’d met him once and we’d hit it off. “I love that my brother has so much fun with you,” she’d said. Later that day, Kate’s bra came off for the first time. My simian male brain made the following connection: nice to Kate’s brother = hot love with Kate. This would be my undoing.
Couple weeks later. Big party at her parents house. Real WASPy New Englandy fancy backyard affair. I wore my best slacks, my best shirt, and my only blazer. Kate was fancy too. And deadly gorgeous. I was in lust, but had to control it until later. I had a feeling it might be my lucky night.
But first, I’d lay the groundwork. Play with the little brother. And so I did. I made him laugh. I used funny voices. Stupid voices. Probably-not-so-attractive-to-the-opposite-sex voices. I was silly. Too silly. I played pretend. WAY too well. I really had a blast with this little kid. Too much of a blast. Throughout the afternoon, I could see Kate slowly losing her interest in me, but I used all the wrong tactics to get it back. I doubled my efforts. I played tag with this kid. Football. Badminton. I got sweaty. And not just sweaty. I got arm-pit stained funky smelling unkempt hobo-at-the-tea-party sweaty. Really not a turn-on. And by the time I realized exactly how royally I’d screwed myself, it was too late to do anything about it.
Would I see her that night? No, on second thought, she really ought to help her parents clean up. And the next day? Well, maybe she had enough time for a movie, but not much else. You get the idea. A slow fadeout. To this day, I’m still kicking myself…
Submitted by D. White, Age 33, Philadelphia, PA
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(30 votes, average: 3.83 out of 5)