Yannick

Not every dating story is a funny one.  I generally try to keep it light but unfortunately for me the funniest thing about this story is that the guy’s name sounds like Yuck. Reliving this date is uncomfortable and honestly, embarrassing. I have come so far since this date and would never allow someone to treat me this way today. But I also think that it’s worth telling because every woman I know has been there.  So buckle up, because it’s about to get bumpy.

A while back, I went through a hard breakup. I don’t really subscribe to the belief that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, so I took a few months off of dating. And I liked it that way. Because you can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in, right? Soon enough my friends were really pushing me to get back out there, so naturally they reactivated my Tinder profile. Hooray. I matched with a French guy named Yannick right away. He was handsome but didn’t say much in his profile. He asked me for my number very quickly and asked me out. Initially, he proposed that I come to his apartment complex and play some tennis and then have a soak in his hot tub. That seemed a little aggressive for a first date so I declined that offer and proposed we meet for drinks at a bar.  We decided on a bar about halfway between us and made a date.  

The day of the date, I was not excited. I had that dreadful feeling in my belly and was texting my friends for reassurance. They had me send his picture. They said he looked short. That did not help. I went anyway. He said he had trouble finding a parking spot so I ended up waiting for him for twenty minutes; the perfect amount of time for me to go back into a psychological tailspin while standing on a curb in Hollywood. He finally arrived and I was relieved to see that he was pretty cute and not short after all. Phew. He definitely let me know that he thought I was cute. He looked me up and down for so long I had to clear my throat and get his attention. It was slightly unnerving but also, it felt nice to be desired after being so painfully rejected by my breakup.

We walked inside and Yannick picked out a dark corner booth for us to sit in. The waitress came over and we both ordered Moscow Mules.  She asked if we wanted to make it a double for $2 more and while every fiber of my being wanted to, I didn’t want to be that girl five minutes into the date so I politely declined the offer and so did he. I should have gotten the double. I drank mine at what I consider to be a normal pace, and when I looked over, he had barely touched his. Apparently he was not a big drinker. I applaud that, fine, but on a first date, especially a first date after a big breakup, I need a fucking drink to take the edge off. But he was nursing his so slowly that every time the waitress came and offered me another drink I would politely decline and chug more water. 

He started getting handsy with me real quick; brushing his hand on my thigh, putting his arm around my back. He went in for a kiss within fifteen minutes. Come on, man.I had to give him my cheek about four times before I finally gave in and let him kiss me. Shouldn’t have done that though because then he just kept kissing me. One kiss was fine, but I don’t need five. We just met.  We’re in a bar on a first date. Sober. Calm the fuck down. But in his mind, I had given him permission to touch me even more. 

As we were talking, he would just find ways to touch me. He hugged me and dragged his hand back across my lap, pretty much touching my crotch as he grazed past me. I flinched. Did he do that on purpose? Then he started asking me very forward and personal questions about sex. I told him that I was uncomfortable talking about it so naturally he followed that up by asking me what my favorite position was, telling me that he likes “the foreplay, you know, giving it” and asking me if I did too. I just stared at him, not sure how to react. “Are you not a sexual person?” NOT ON A FIRST DATE WITH A STRANGER! I wanted to yell at him. I should have left, but I didn’t. Instead I just tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

He got tired of the bar and wanted to go get food. I’m one of those people who’s always hungry so that was fine with me. As soon as I stood up, he was grabbing my ass. The first one I let slide because I thought it would be the only one. It wasn’t. He grabbed it a few more times despite me commenting on it and moving away from his grasp. “You have a nice ass” he said. I know. Stop touching it. I should have left, again. Recounting this date is painful and disappointing, and if it happened today I would have been out of there after the first drink. But I was just getting back into dating and it caught me off guard. Maybe this is normal? I couldn’t remember, honestly. I was just trying to go with the flow. Women do this a lot to our own peril. We try to diffuse the situation instead of causing a scene. That’s the only thing I can say to explain why I went along with this guy for so long.

We walked to a burger place and he held my hand all the way. I allowed it but was not enjoying it. We sat at a table and ordered our burgers. No drinks, even though I desperately wanted a glass of red wine. I’m not sure why I cared what he thought of me when he clearly didn’t care about what I thought or how I felt, but I didn’t want to be that drunk girl on a date. So no wine. We waited for our food, and somehow things got even more awkward. 

He started asking me questions that felt like a job interview. “Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”  Um, we’re on a first date. You don’t know anything about me.But I humored him and told him that I had gone scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef the summer before; something I had wanted to do since I was a kid. He just looked at me, unimpressed. What? Was that not personal enough?He clearly wanted me to tell him something sexual but I wasn’t going to do it. I told him that my front teeth are fake because of when I launched myself over the handlebars of my bicycle and landed on my face when I was nine. He reluctantly accepted my answer. Then it was his turn. He told me, with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster, that he had never had a Valentine. “Liiiike, ever?” I asked him incredulously. He shook his head at me piteously, as if he thought I was just going to reach under the table and give him a hand job to cheer him up. Don’t look at me like I’m going to be your fucking Valentine. It’s JUNE. I looked around for the waitress, in need of either wine or the check.

Next contrived question: “Tell me three things you’d like to do with me.” Then he gave me his most seductive look. Nope. Sorry bud. I’m not gonna play this game with you. I made some shit up about going for a hike, having him cook me dinner (he had bragged about his skills in the kitchen), and something else completely non-sexual like going to a museum. He looked disappointed, but he did not desist. “I want to go to the gym with you, I want to have sex with you, and…” I don’t remember what he said after that because I think I blacked out from how uncomfortable I was. I should have left.

Our burgers finally arrived and they looked amazing, until… He ate his with a knife and fork. The entire thing. I thought he was just cutting it in half at first, so I did the same in a weak attempt to be dainty. But no, he was cutting his burger into bite sized pieces and eating them off his fork. I hesitated to pick up my burger, then decided, fuck that, I am not eating my burger with a knife and fork. So I smiled daintily and said, “I’m still gonna pick mine up. Hope that’s okay.” I honestly hoped it would turn him off. It didn’t. When we finally left the restaurant, he stared directly at my breasts for a solid five seconds before reaching his hand out towards my chest. I thought he was going to pluck some food off my shirt but no, he actually pointed his finger down my cleavage and said, “Are you wearing pink and black? That’s my favorite combination.” I laughed uncomfortably as I pushed his hand away, covering myself. It was one of those moments where I didn’t even have time to react because I couldn’t believe he actually did that.  “Your breasts look soft. Are they soft to rub your face into?” “Um, I don’t know. I’ve never rubbed my face in my own breasts before.” I joked, again trying to diffuse the situation. But he kept going. “Can I do it?” He leans in. I jumped away from him. “No, you can’t!” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???

We begin the walk back to my car. He puts his arm around me. I try to move out of it but he pulls me tighter. We’re almost to my car so I just stick it out. Honestly it seemed easier to just let him have his arm around me than to push him away and risk getting into an altercation of some sort. I’m walking stiffly with my arms crossed, hiding my breasts and digging my elbow into his ribs. He still holds on. 

“Do you have laundry?” He asks me, completely out of the blue. “What?” I thought I misheard him because of his French accent and penchant for mumbling. “Do you have laundry?” I hear again. So I reply, slightly confused by the question, “Not in my unit but I have it in my building.” He laughs. Like, really laughs, for the first time on our whole date. I realize that in this moment. Holy shit. He hasn’t made me laugh once.I look at him, “What?” “Not laundry, silly. Lingerie!” he says. Ooohhhh, MY bad. I didn’t realize you were such a creep. I was no longer amused or humoring this guy. “That’s none of your business.” I say and shrug him off of me for good.

Or so I thought. Clearly oblivious to my apprehension, he decided to pick me up. Not sure why. This – not surprisingly- caught me off-guard and I resisted, which made it pretty difficult for him. Not to mention I have a very athletic build and I’m heavier than I look. He seemed surprised by this so he ASKED ME HOW MUCH I WEIGH. I didn’t tell him. He guessed. I ignored him. He asked me if I could pick him up. I said I didn’t want to and power walked the rest of the way to my car. I couldn’t get into my car before he kissed me and grabbed my ass. I backed away. 

 “So I’ll see you Sunday?” he asked. 

 “I can’t Sunday.” 

 “Monday?”

“I can’t Monday.”

“Tuesday?”

“I told you I don’t have time before I leave town on Wednesday. I’m sorry.” 

“How about Sunday AND Tuesday?” 

In what fucking world does that make sense?!

“You know what, if something changes I’ll let you know” I said as I jumped into my car and locked the doors. I sped off, feeling icky and objectified and awful. So much for getting back out there. I returned to my apartment, defeated. I think I even cried a little bit. Yannick kept texting me for days and I had to just tell him that he made me uncomfortable and that I did not want to see him again. He actually apologized and asked me how he had made me uncomfortable. Oh, Yannick, let me count the ways…