Date from hell

When I came back to Minnesota over Easter weekend, I went to this bar called Cowboy Jacks with a buddy of mine from high school. He told me its where all our fellow graduates hang out. It was ridiculous how many people I saw that I hadn't seen in years! About 90% of the people in the bar were people I had went to high school with (the other 10% were cougars).

I began taking shots like it was nobody's business and having a grand ole time. After I was good and schwaysted, I ran into this guy who was on my high school ski team. He was a year older than I am, and friends with the Swiss exchange student who lived at my house when I was a sophomore, so I knew him quite well. He used to be super chill and kind of cute back in the day, so when I heard the next day that he and I had made out in the middle of the bar at one point, it only kind of bothered me.

I found a text conversation the next morning in which I told him I would go out with him the next time I was in town.

A month later, I was back in town for Mother's day and agreed to let him take me out. We went to this sports bar where we could watch the Twins game, have a couple drinks and, if need be, it was a 10 minute walk from my house, so I didn't have to worry about how much I drank.

We began chatting about outdoors-ey things. He had gone to school on Bozeman, Montana so we bonded over skiing, kayaking, rock climbing, camping and all that fun stuff we both enjoyed. They also had liter-and-a-half Long Islands for five bucks, so we sipped on those and I felt myself get tipsier by the second (especially after round two).

It was going well until about halfway through dinner, he asks, "Do you want to go back to my house and have sex?"

Umm, no, I want to finish my chicken fingers...douchebag.

That's what I wanted to say, but I was so thrown off guard I giggled awkwardly and changed the subject.

I dismissed myself to the bathroom after dinner and on my way back, he scoots over on his side of the booth and pats the seat next to him. "Sit here," he tells me.

"I gotta check my phone," I said, and slid into my side of the booth and fiddled with my phone, hoping I'd missed some urgent call. But nope. Not even a text.

A few minutes later, he got up to go get another round of drinks (the two liter and a half of long islands had already got to me, and it was only 8:30, so I really didn't need another drink).

When he came back, he forced himself into my side of the booth and wrapped his arms around me. "Hey," was all he said before he started groping me and sticking his tongue down my throat.

Being inebriated, I tried to get my hazy mind to focus on finding a way to get out of this situation. For Pete's sake, people were still there just eating dinner, and those pour souls had to watch Mr. Desperate grope the fuck out of my boobs and chew on my face. (Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he was a good kisser, which he was definitely not).

"I don't like PDA," I managed to say.

"Me neither," he said. "PDA isn't really my thing." Then he continued to make out with me.

Uhh...take a HINT.

This is how a rendering of what the situation looked like:

Pretty, isn't it? NOT.

I tend to be very self conscious about PDA, especially before last call. I also despise watching other people do PDA before last call, and I'm no hypocrite.

After several minutes of trying to escape, I finally told him I had to get up early so I needed to go home and go to sleep.

We walked into the parking lot where he began walking towards his car. He'd had 2 jumbo-long islands, plus another cocktail, so there was no way I was going to get in a car with him behind the wheel.

"No, you're walking me," I said, and proceeded to make him walk me back to my house.

At several points in the super short walk, he stopped to grope me again, but I managed to keep the journey going. He also asked me about three times if he could see me again before I left for Denver, which was the next morning (why I was legitimately waking up early).

Roughly a month later when I returned back to Minnesota for summer, I blatantly ignored his texts, phone calls and Facebook IMs, which began like the second I got home from the airport.

He eventually got the point.