First Date

Not everyone plays by the same rules

Image by Cottonbro Studio.

Dating is nothing more than a game. You just need to know how to play the game.

First dates are a piece of cake with very simple rules. See, the first date is merely a steppingstone to a second date. The purpose of a first date is to impress the other person to the extent they want to see you again.

If you do a good enough job on the first date, you get rewarded with a second date. Of course, if the other person doesn’t want to see you again, you have failed.

Simple.

Don’t let anyone tell you the first date is an opportunity to see if you like the other person. That’s bullshit. The first date is totally superficial. It’s a game easily mastered if you know the rules. It’s fraud at its finest.

“Oh, yes, I love NASCAR racing.”

“No, I don’t take medication.”

“Married before? Me? Never.”

Getting to the truth is for later. It gives you something to deal with around date seven.

**

I met Ryan on the internet on one of those dating websites where everyone has a profile.

He “waved” at me. From his profile, I could tell that Ryan had paid for his membership on the site, which was a good sign. Paying for a membership was an indicator that he wasn’t cheap and/or he had a credit or debit card with at least $4.99 available on it.

Both were positives.

Anyway, I waved back at him. And then I waited. The game began. I was checking every five seconds for a message from Ryan. No response. Was he ignoring me on purpose? Was he busy doing something else? Had he found another girl to wave at? Had his wife or girlfriend caught him online waving at me? What had happened?

Why wasn’t he answering?

My self-inflicted mental torture and dance of insecurity had begun. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn’t I just learn to enjoy my time alone with my cats? What was wrong with me?

**

After about two weeks of texting and emailing with Ryan, and an occasional phone call, we decided to meet. Instead of the usual date when you go to a restaurant, he invited me to his place.

I knew that probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but he seemed normal. And I had Googled him, and everything he had told me about himself was true—according to Google.

So, I decided to venture out to his place in the suburbs. Dangerous people don’t live in the suburbs—everyone knows that. I put on my standard first date uniform, (black stretchy V-neck shirt, stretchy short skirt, high-heel Mary Janes, and my red patent leather Marc Jacobs power purse), and I was ready to go.

Before heading out the door, I took a piece of paper and wrote a note that read, “I went to Ryan’s house.”

I included his last name, address, phone number, and email address. I also put the date and time I left my house and stuck it on my refrigerator with a magnet from the local pizza place.

I figured if I was never seen again, at least my family and the authorities would know where to start looking for me or for whatever was left of me. See, horniness and the quest for companionship do strange things to your brain and judgment.

My bad judgment was at its peak. And my brain was between my legs.

**

I arrived at Ryan’s house around seven in the evening. We decided to eat order-in Thai food and watch a movie on cable. I just knew it would be a nice evening. I didn’t plan beyond that point—other than the unopened box of condoms in my purse, just in case.

Ryan had a really nice house in a really nice subdivision. Big, tall, solid brick. Hopefully, a precursor of what was to come. His sandy-blond hair was tousled and he was a good height for me. He gave me a welcoming hug when I came in. He was warm and friendly.

As for his really nice house in the really nice subdivision, let’s just say that the decor was minimalistic. A couch, La-Z-Boy recliner, coffee table, giant TV, and a tiny wobbly TV stand were pretty much it. But that’s okay; furniture and personal touches can always be acquired over time.

We chatted and ate our Thai food while sitting on the couch. Some show we weren’t paying attention to was playing on the television. As night came and it grew dark, the TV provided all the light we needed.

Things were going great, and I knew the evening would only get better.

**

The best part about a date, whether the first or the second or beyond, is the first kiss. There is nothing more delicious. And it only happens once with that person. You can never have another first kiss with them.

Ever.

I knew Ryan would kiss me soon, and my heart was racing just thinking about it. I could hardly wait.

We sat on the couch and started watching the movie that was playing. It was an awful movie, one of those action movies I hate, but we kept watching it. Ryan reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of gum, and offered me a piece. Of course, I took a piece.

I wanted to have fresh breath for our first kiss. He took a piece for himself. This was it—our first kiss was getting closer.

No matter how many dates I have, I always like the first kiss part the best. I figured, next, he would put his arm around my shoulder, and then I would turn and look at him, and he would swoop in for the kiss. It was coming. I was ready.

But a little while passed, and he didn’t put his arm around me. And more time passed—still nothing.

My gum was starting to lose its flavor. The movie ended—still no arm around me. This was getting old. It was almost 10:30. I figured I would give him until 11:00 to put his arm around me and then I would call it quits and head home.

**

I leaned back on the couch and looked over at Ryan. He was staring at the TV—just staring with a blank look on his face. He didn’t say anything. He just stared—trance-like.

Before I could ask him if something was wrong, I saw it.

There it was.

He had unzipped his pants. It was just standing there, staring at me ju,st like its owner was staring at the TV.

I tried to act like nothing was wrong. After all, I didn’t want to startle it. I figured this was similar to a bear in the forest situation—black fight back, brown lie down. So, I decided to just slowly back away from the couch and away from it. I grabbed my purse, stumbled around the dimly lit room, and carefully made my way to the front door.

As I finally exited, Ryan and it were still staring at the television.

**

I got home a little before midnight. On my way, I made a quick stop at the 7-11 for two half gallons of cookies and cream ice cream. My evening with Ryan and his special friend called for a serious binge.

When I went into the kitchen to put one of the containers of ice cream in the freezer and get a spoon for the beginning of my frozen feast, I saw the note I left with Ryan’s contact information on the refrigerator. At least I made it home alive, and in one piece, I thought.

**

Ryan didn’t play by the same dating rules as I did. He didn’t see the first date as an opportunity to be on your best behavior so you could impress your date and win a second date. That wasn’t how he operated. Instead, Ryan opted to show his true colors and let it all hang out—literally.

Maybe Ryan was onto something. Maybe it was best to just let your freak flag fly and be your authentic self.

Whatever Ryan was thinking, I would never know. There would be no second date. And I would go on to play my game, my way.

© Linda Kowalchek 2025

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AUTHORS’ NOTE:

The preceding is part of a collection of creative nonfiction inspired by my dating escapades from 1997-2010. Names and some details in this story have been changed. Nothing contained herein is true except that which is.

This specific piece was entered in a writing contest. I summarily received an AI generated rejection letter and critique indicating how it sucked and to what extent. Oh well, life goes on.

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