How Not to Get Laid

(It has been some time since my inaugural post, so I thought I’d throw another personal story out there. Do enjoy. — SF)

Submitted by Stewart Fox, Age 28, Los Angeles

I had a big time crush. I was into her and (to a lesser extent) she was into me. So why weren’t we a couple? There were issues. Problems of mismatched geography, mismatched life direction, and that perennial thorn in my side: bad timing. But I had a chance with her. Or so I thought. It was one night only, just the two of us together, not exactly the full-scale long term romance I’d fantasized about, but I knew there was still a chance for something special that night: a chance for one spectacular fling.

First I had to grease the wheels. At dinner, I ordered a bottle of wine. Just the thing to push inhibitions to the point of no return. We both drank. I wanted to encourage her to drink more. So I — very conspicuously — drank more. She sipped responsibly. I sipped frequently. I drank the way people lean to one side during mini golf trying to influence the ball’s trajectory through mental telepathy and body language. I influenced nothing. Except my own good senses.

I began to open up. And it was a gruesome thing to watch. I told her how much I was into her. And then I kept talking. And talking. And telling her things I should have never in a million years told her. And with every word, I could see whatever attraction she once had for me slowly fading away. I’d become this needy guy with feelings, no longer the cool artistic dude she once admired. I was just another guy with a crush that wasn’t going to be returned. I was my own cheap date. And not hers.

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