Dating a 23 Year Old…Not Just For 23 Year Olds Anymore (Part Two)

Hand Holding

 

It was 8:00pm.  The date had been going well? 

I had suggested, if you want, we could go catch a movie?

Seeking a friend for the end of the world.  (Sidebar: Spoiler alert…this is NOT the comedy fest the trailer had suggested but instead a die hard romance flick with all the first date negatives of an independent film–numerous parts of total silence and nobody wants to make out while the rest of the theatre groans at the slobbering lip smacking of two newbs in the back row).

He was all over it.  I, of course, had come prepared with show times.  Just because I’m not into the whole being the boss thing doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept and given that when someone offers me a choice of three restaurants I’ll likely spend the evening debating the merits of each while we all die of starvation, I figured I should probably be prepared for the date should it take a turn for the movies.  Which it did.  Nailed it! 

Unfortunately, we only had 15 minutes till it started so the rest was a bit of a blur in rushed movements and flustered breath…and zooming cars.  His was fancy.  It was like he was a real grown up and everything.  Maybe 23 ain’t so bad after all.  (by the way, this statement is funnier because I, of course, was driving my parent’s car…given that I’m living with them for the few weeks before I book it to Montreal…and am a writer/grad student…so I’m basically just shy of homeless but well below the poverty line…but I digress…this is supposed to be about our date).

We arrive at the theatre and go in.  The place is packed, the line is lengthy.  If our skin tone was the same I might be worried people would think I was out with my son on a Friday night.  That was obviously a joke, my son wouldn’t be beige ralph lauren sweater.  We get to the counter.  I’m flustered because he doesn’t step up first.  Does he think I’m fucking paying?  I’m all for this whole cougar thing but fuck that noise, son!  Like I said, I’m a writer/grad student…so I’m basically living on hopes and dreams, I don’t even want to pay for myself.  I lean back and ask What movie are we seeing??  I fucking know what movie we’re seeing.  This is his moment to step up.  To use those long skinny 23 year old legs and bust his way to the front and order up two tickets to blah blah blah please but he doesn’t.  And there are like 500 people in line behind us.  Ugh.  Paying for my own coffee AND movie on a first date!?!?  Is this what dating a 23 year old is like because I’m not down with that.  1 for blah blah blah please I say, mortified that my date has left me to foot the bill.  And yes, I did feel the cashier judging me.  The upside…I had enough points saved up from back in the day when I had time to see and could afford movies.  So hurrah.  I got my ticket turned around and bam…he was gone…to another teller.  Which I guess is the normal thing to do but honestly it seemed weird to me, why would he just stay with me and get his ticket right after mine.  Whatever.  Best not think too deeply on it.

I ask if he wants to get any snacks.  He says that he’s fine.  He asks if I’m getting anything.  I say no, I was probably afraid he’d stand there and let me pay and then not only would I be the chubby chick with the super skinny dude looking so odd-couple, but would also be the chick whose date didn’t deem her worthy of being a gentleman.  Awesome.  No thanks.  *hunger grumble*

We get seats.  He wants to sit in the very last row.  I think this is amazing (I get nauseous if I sit too close).  We’ve been rushing around trying to get here in time to see this movie.  I’m hot, I’m mildy sweaty, I’m trying not to breathe heavily.  And then the lights dim.  Sweet, I think, now the music will drown out my breathing until I relax and cool down.  But not so, my friend (reference earlier reference to said negatives of independent-esque films).  The movie is about as fucking quiet as it gets.  No such luck.

Sidebar:  I do this moronic thing before first dates.  I barely eat.  Like somehow the not eating will make me 50 lbs. lighter and when I show up they’ll be confused and like hey…what’s this super model doing here?  And while it’s always possible my beauty blows them away upon first arrival, I think it’s safe to say not having a sandwich really doesn’t make that big of a difference to the first impression I make.  Nonetheless.  It’s a thing I do.  [Note: a thing I plan to stop fucking doing and let me tell you why].  The biggest downfall to this plan isn’t what you might think.  I don’t get light headed, there’s no cranky pants happening, and my body hasn’t given up on me quite yet.  The real problem, the real betrayer, is my stomach.  Because of course, after not eating for awhile, you’re mother fucking hungry and while I can control my brain sometimes like a wizard, my stomach is not on board with the game plan.  She has an attitude and likes to grumble till the cows come home.  And so you can just imagine me sitting there, during this borderline silent movie, terrified of the stomach grumbles that I can only imagine must be audible from Mars.  Worst.

That being said, maybe he can’t hear it because as soon as the lights dim, he’s reaching for my hand.  Which in theory, is adorable.  It’s cute.  It’s something you usually want.  But given that I still haven’t caught my breath from our hustle, you can imagine that it might get a bit clammy or at the very least that I would be terrified it would.  We continue to hold hands for awhile.  We hold hands till I spend more time thinking about the hand holding than the movie.  We hold hands till I’ve worked out 5 different disengagement scenarios.  We hold hands till I can’t fucking take it anymore.

Only I’ve left something out.

Sometime in there I can feel him looking at me.  When it comes to peripheral vision I’m basically Batman.  Or spiderman? My spidey senses are tingling.  Plus he’s only like 10 inches away from me.  It feels like he’s been looking at me for half an hour.  I would guess it’s actually about 10 or 20 seconds.  I know what’s coming.  I’m trying to decide if I want it to.  I decide you only live once and just a few weeks to Montreal and well we did have a good conversation with laughs.  I turn my head.  He kisses me.  It is not great.

In his defense, we are in the most awkward position for a first kiss.  First kisses should not happen in movie theatres.  With arm rests that don’t move.  And when you’re still kind of sweaty.  And you’re nervous.  And awkward.  That you’re on a date with a 23 year old.  Who is like 1/4 of your size.  Even if he does obviously think you’re a babe.  This is not the first kisses you want.  I kiss long enough to let him know that this was an okay thing to do, but I soon pull away.  I did after all, just pay to see this movie and dammit I’m going to see it.

The movie sucks.  My stomach grumbles.  And then it ends.  We talk about the movie.  We thought the same thing.  Almost exactly.  So that was cool.  We walk outside.  It’s dark now and pouring rain.  Neither of us have jackets, it is summer after all.  And I don’t mean a Vancouver sprinkle.  This is not casual Vancouver rain.  This is the rain of movies.  This rain is begging to be made out in.

We walk back to our cars, parked side by side, away from all the others.  We dawdle.  I sense he wants to still hang out.  But given that we’re both students living with our parents (he made a comment earlier about having to park his car on the street given that the 3 car garage in their kerrisdale home was already housing 3 of the 5 cars in his family…but no matter how big his house may be or the length of the hallway separating his parents from us there is no way I would be taking an adventure to see it and like I said I’m at home for a few weeks till I move), there was really no where to go.  Had it been warm and dry, we could’ve gone for a walk on the beach or something, but it was not.  I knew he was likely thinking we could just sit in the car and get it on talk but to be honest, I didn’t really want to.  I’d had enough talk for the first date and if he wanted more chatter, well that’s what second dates are for.  And as for the rest of it…we all know I like my stages and that shit someone always gets skipped through way too quick in a car and since I’m no longer 22 and into power sex (the sex you have simply because it’s fun and exciting and validates that you’re hot)…doing it in a car is not for me.

I want privacy, and freedom…and I really do my best work when I’m not hindered.

That being said, I wasn’t above trying it one more time, to see if his nerves had calmed down and a new position was all he needed.  I stood closer to him.  In the rain.  Said something about well maybe we should call it a night… leaned in and that was really all it took.  And this time, it was much better.  And with every moment of my gentle coaching improved even more.  Unfortunately, as sexy as making out in the rain was, I started to become all too aware of how thin he was (image…his chest was like the width of one boob, and the other one was left out there all on its own), and I could hear cars driving and even people walking and talking.  And so after a little while I pulled away.  We said our goodbyes.  Planned to do it again sometime soon.  Got in our respective cars and drove away.

And by the time I got home I had a text message that read:  Hey!  Had a great time this evening.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

The following two tabs change content below.

Victoria Young

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Don't worry my parents don't think I'm funny either. Grad Student. My breasts aren't ashamed of me either. You and me kid, we're going to change this world.

1 Comment

  1. Laura Alfonsin

    July 17, 2012 at 11:33 am

    I laughed a lot with your story (I’m sorry if that wasn’t the original goal…) but I know a friend who dated someone much younger than her and something similar to happened, so you’re not alone on this one!
    Btw, she’s still dating this Kinder Surprise Guy (that’s how I named him).

    Laura