If you thought your date was bad: Married With ChildrenNovember 20, 2009 at 8:13 am | Posted in Dating Stories | Leave a comment
Tags: Bad dates, clubbing, don't do this on a date, single city guy
Single City Guy is a dating blogger who lives in New York City (Brooklyn to be exact.) He shares his dating stories, experiences, advice and the male prospective of dating thru his blog at singlecityguy.com Single City Guy will frequently post his dating stories (the good, the bad and the ugly) on the Thread Blog. This story was originally posted here.
From the title alone, you should gather this dating story ends in a ball of flames and despair. There were plenty of red flags, warnings and hints that maybe this person isn’t suited for dating. I should have stopped and cut what ever losses short. Had I done that I would not have this wonderful story to share with you. Consider yourself the beneficiary of my misery!
This horrific tale begins at a night club in mid-town Manhattan called “Pacha” and occured few years ago. At this time I have grasped the most important rule to dating; you rarely find anyone of quality at the club. Tonight I was going to learn this very important rule. If you’ve never been to Pacha, it’s primarily a house club where booze mixes with cute women in scantily clothed outfits mixed in with your general crowd of pill poppers, nose sniffers, V.I.P. attendants, and party photographers. Your average NYC club.
Throughout the night of dancing, drinking, and partying with friends, I met this woman in her mid-thirties, we’ll call her “Mother”. Mother was partying with her friend (to be discovered later as her Cabana Boy) and when introduced we hit it off smashingly. By smashingly, I mean I was spanking her and grinding against her on the dance floor, with the cabana boy close by. Was I being an asshole? Yes. Did I care? No. Sometime during the evening, past drinking time (when Pacha places fruits and water for the clubbers to remain upright), Mother and I snuck away to talk, if was obvious she liked me and I was interested. I couldn’t tell you why I was interested, I just was. During this conversation I also find out that she’s married. Married with her Cabana Boy at the club. Not only is this red flag number 2 but at this point there’s red flashing lights preventing me from continuing forward. The story should stop here. It doesn’t.
A recap for those keeping score at home, a mid-thirties married woman with her cabana boy is grinding against me and letting me spank her in plain-sight. I’m sure we can blame the alcohol or the fact that I was horny for the continued lack of judgement, such as giving her my phone number, getting her phone number, and continuing to dance with her. In most cases a story like this would have ended without any additional details or embarrassment. I will remind you this is for your amusement.
I don’t remember when I found out that she had three kids. I know it was before our date which was quickly approaching on Tuesday, some three days after meeting this woman (hence the name “Mother”.) Clearly I had enough time to retreat, there was a huge “WRONG WAY” sign in my path, but I kept driving forward to see where this road ends. I will note there’s a slight tinge of fantasy in having a conversation with a thirty-something married mother of three about her cabana boy and his jealously of you. The story should stop here. Clearly I’m a glutton for punishment.
Tuesday night rolls around and what was supposed to be a date at 7:30pm turned into a date at 10pm 11pm 11:30pm at a swanky hookah place. During this 4 hour wait I had plenty of opportunity to walk away, thus saving myself from driving past the “Bridge Is Out” sign clearly in my path. I keep my foot pressed on the gas pedal on this road of horrific endings as 11:30pm arrives. The date begins and involves general date like activities, talking, smoking (and teaching how to smoke) hookahs, drinking (as if I haven’t drank enough), dancing and frisking. Two hookahs later, and several drinks in me, I excuse myself to use the rest-room, it’s roughly 1:30 am. Upon my return to my seat, I find my date (mother-of-three, married with a cabana boy) chatting and frisking a 40-something guy whose now replacement me in my seat. Not only have I driven off the bridge, but on the way down into the water the car explodes and it’s burning metal husk is sinking quickly in the waters below. The story should stop here.
$50 later, I’m walking out of the place, leaving Mother with her new found toy. For months I may have bumped into Mother quickly at a party but don’t spend any significant time talking or interacting with her. It isn’t until one summer during a party in Long Island that Mother redeems herself. This is during another tragic turn of events capped up with the fact that Mother becomes my life raft to arriving home safely. In an ironic twist of fate, the horrible epic date that should have never happened becomes my only ticket home. This is cruel and unusual punishment.