First Date Whussy

Lots of guys have problems meeting women. Many men blame the city or think that women in the Northeast are bitches. And, let’s face facts, they’re right on both counts. But what are they gonna do? They’re not going to move. So, these guys get fixed up on blind dates or meet someone at work or wherever else and it comes down to one shining moment—the first date.

Dating brings out the worst in many men. It turns them into cowards and liars. How is it that some men can act normally in most social situations, like work or hanging with the guys, and then turn into complete nimrods when on a date? It’s truly a mystery.

That’s right. I’m talking about Mr. Pussy. Not the good Mr. Pussy, the one whose tongue works the vagina like Mozart’s digits worked the keys. No, no. I’m talking about the sad, pathetic first date Mr. Pussy¾the guy that turns into a bumbling little boy whenever he encounters a woman.

Oh, come on now Mr. Pussy. You know who you are. Your friends have been telling you for years that you turn into a yutz when you meet a chick for drinks after work. You become that fake bastard we all loathe. You become a “nice guy.”

Tuesday nights are big for first dates at my bar. It’s like Friday Night Fights on ESPN, only guys get their asses kicked differently in this social bout. I figure I get about five or six first-daters every week, and the story is the same with each one of them. For those of you who don’t know, here’s how Mr. Pussy operates.

Mr. Pussy Enters

He is usually the first to arrive. He limps around the bar like a wounded yak, helplessly surveying the area for somewhere to hide. Sometimes he has the nerve to ask me if anyone is waiting for him, but usually he slumps into the corner of the bar inconspicuously. He’s weary of strangers and will spook easily. I must approach with caution.

I walk up, say hello, and ask what kind of drink he’d like. He looks at me as if he’s never seen another human. He’s confused. His fight-or-flight response begins to kick in. He’s not prepared for social interaction with me; he’s been practicing all day at the office for what he’s going to say to her. My being there has completely thrown him off his game. He panics. He asks for water. “Yes, water. Water is good,” he thinks to himself. He remembers water. It’s basic. It gives life. “Me like water. Ugh. Grunt. Snort.”

As he begins to calm down, I wait for the inevitable pain that is the first date.

“I’m Just Waiting for a Friend” 

Mr. Pussy is always afraid of being himself. And that means he’s afraid of alcohol. Mr. Pussy cannot afford to have his date think he enjoys booze. To have her think he drinks? No, no. This will not happen.

I can always tell a Mr. Pussy when I see one. He’ll tell me he’s “just waiting for a friend” as I hand him his water.  I want to tell him, “It’s ok, buddy. You can have a beer before she gets here. It’s cool.”  But, I can’t. I’ll scare him.

For all you Mr. Pussy’s out there, stop pretending you don’t have an alcohol dependency. Christ knows you can’t live in this city without one. So have a damned drink… pussy.

She Arrives

Finally, she shows. Mr. Pussy reacts in a cool, yet nervous tone. It’s especially sad on a blind date, when they both call out their names at the same time. “Bob?” “Carol?” “Nice to meet you,” they say simultaneously with cracked voices and fake smiles. Mr. Pussy, in a painful example of how fake he’s being, pulls out the chair for her so she may sit. Oh, the horror. Mr. Pussy wouldn’t pull the chair out for his one-legged grandmother with gout, but he’ll do it for this broad. Good lord, what a pussy.

Let the Small Talk Begin!

Here it comes. The meaningless conversation. “Where do you work? Where are you from? Why did you move to Boston?” Yada, yada, yada. The conversations are always the same, and Mr. Pussy hangs on every dull moment as if the cure for cancer is being discussed. I can faintly hear an old lady calling his name off her back porch holding a saucer of milk. “Here, pussy. Puss… puss… pussy!”

Listening to Her Bullshit, Pretending to Care

Mr. Pussy tries. He really tries. But the more she drones on about how she never got along with her mother… to how her first boyfriend hurt her… to how her last boyfriend broke up with her by email… to how her boss sucks… to how all her friends tell her she should be an actress… to how her cousin made her play doctor when they were young. On… and on… and on….Mr. Pussy wants to scream to the heavens “Good, sweet Jesus, make her shut the fuck up! I just want to get my dick wet and she keeps talking! I don’t care! I don’t care! Just have her touch my Johnson and let me go watch Sportscenter in peace!!” But, instead, Mr. Pussy just sits there. He endures the mental anguish because there’s a faint glimmer of hope that she’ll touch his pee-pee. So he pretends to care. I’ll bet it was his mother who made him such a pussy.

The Inevitable Nothing

It’s been four hours and, as the night draws to its merciful conclusion, I look to the end of bar. There Mr. Pussy sits, exhausted. Defeat has now overshadowed his once hopeful demeanor. He’s painfully aware that there’ll be no sex on this night. Just a handshake. Maybe a kiss on the cheek if he’s lucky. He’ll dole out all the cash for the tab and crawl home, holding on to nothing more than his blue balls and empty wallet as memoirs of the evening. Vaya con dios, Señor Pussy.

Avoiding First Date Catastrophes

So, how does your average Mr. Pussy evade such a dilemma? By avoiding the pitfalls of the first date. The secret is to cut your losses early and get the hell out while you still have your dignity and a few dollars left in your pocket.

Not drinking

No drinky means no boom-boom. Nada. Nothing. No sex. Sadly, I’ve seen too many Mr. Pussys order a beer and hardly touch it. One guy set the one-beer-record at three and a half hours. The dude just sat there listening, taking the smallest piss-warm sip imaginable every five minutes. Fuck, I’ve seen babies take more from a dry tit.

We all know that alcohol lowers inhibitions (and, in some cases, expectations). So have a God damned drink and loosen up. Have 10. And don’t ask her “Are you having another?” You guys love to pull that wimpy shit. Be a man and have another. You don’t need her permission. If she’s not drinking along with you she’s uptight and is probably a colossal pain in the ass. Run, Mr. Pussy, run.

The Day of the Week

Don’t take a girl out for drinks on a Tuesday, you dolt. There’s nothing good that can come of that. The likelihood of having sex on the first date dramatically increases as the workweek progresses. For instance, a blind date on a Monday doesn’t stand a chance. But on a Friday… now we’re talking. No work the next day in combination with the aforementioned alcohol means sex is a high probability, though no guarantee. Some women actually want to see if you’ve got shared interests.

Nothing in Common

You guys can never figure this one out. If you got nothing to say, you’ve got nothing to say. That’s it. End of story. So start drinking. If you’re both equally horny, you might still be able to salvage the evening. If you don’t feel like it’s worth the effort then don’t waste another dime. Get the hell out of there.

She’s Ugly

All Mr. Pussies are hard up. That’s a given. But just how hard up does one have to be to sleep with a real woofer? Well, that depends on the individual. If it’s been a month, he can forego the sex, and the emotional pain and social embarrassment that would soon follow. But after six months, he’ll take whatever. It’s especially difficult to determine if he’s on a blind date. If the guy has met the girl beforehand, he can psych himself up for it. You know, pretend it’s all worth it. But if he first encounters the beast at the bar, he’s got to do some real quick mental work. “Okay. Calm down. You can do this. Stay the course. We’re gonna get laid. We gonna get laid. She wants it, too.”

You’re Ugly

Look around you. All you see is good-looking guys and say to yourself “Christ, how can I compete with these dudes?” Well, you can my friend. All you need is a personality. I’ve seen ugly little troll dudes pull some really hot chicks all because they can talk about anything. But that’s just not you, is it Mr. Pussy?

There’s Only One Hope

You’re Both Ugly

She’s thinking, “Jesus. This guy’s been beaten by someone repeatedly.” You’re thinking, “Jesus, she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.” 

Eureka! You’re about to have sex! You see the only way you can have sex on the first date is to stay within your “social attraction” class. There’s no way you can pull a hot chick on the first date… you’re as hot as a hunchback and there’s not enough time.

So just accept your fate and move on. Have a few drinks on a Friday. Talk about whatever and then down a few shots. After a while, lean into her. Whisper into her hairy, wax-laden ear, “Listen. You obviously haven’t had it in a while… and I know I’m horny as fuck. So whadaya say we get out of here, go back to your place and bang?” And don’t cop out; don’t try to be smooth and soften the blow. Use those exact words.

What’s the worst that can happen, pussy?