Date file NY Edition: The Professor

March 2019

So the St. Patrick’s parade was meh.  The lawyer was nice, but the sex was meh…. And so on actual St. Patrick’s day (a Sunday) I was just kinda feeling meh.

I actually don’t remember much of what we did that day, but given that it was a Sunday, sister was not interested in going out for the evening.  She told me, “you do you, boo” and so I chatted up a guy from Ireland. He suggested an Irish bar (how appropriate). It was pretty early in the evening, so I figured it wouldn’t be too crowded.  I thought there had to be something lucky in kissing an Irish guy in an Irish bar on St. Patrick’s Day.

Now, I don’t know if you can tell or not, but I give zero fucks about doing things alone.  I went to the bar, grabbed a seat that had an empty one on either side of it, and ordered a beer.  As I was drinking and scrolling through the various dating apps, I realize he’s at least 10 minutes late.  He makes an excuse but insists that he’s coming. Whatever, I’m from out of town, and I’m still talking to other dudes on these apps.

I get hungry and order a burger and another beer.  Continue talking to other dudes. Realize 30 minutes have gone by.  But he’s still texting me saying he’s coming.  

Hmmm.  Fine, I’ll stuff my face while you do or don’t come.

Finally after I finish my food, I think, “fuck you, man” and unmatch from him.

All the while I’ve been talking to this guy who’s a professor at a local university.  He finally asks me what I’m doing tonight.

“Well, I was going to grab a drink with someone, but I believe I’ve been stood up”

“What?!  On St. Patrick’s Day?  You’re alone in a bar on St. Patrick’s day.”

“It appears so, yeah.  So I’m gonna go back to my sister’s”

“Wait!  Where are you?”

I give him the deets.

“I can be there in 15 minutes.”

“Dude, I’ve already been here for over an hour by myself”

“No, I promise, I’ll be there soon.”

“Ugh… ok fine.”

He shows up.  He’s wearing a crisp, black suit with a black tie and freshly shined shoes. He’s got on a thick wool pea coat and scarf that looks like it’s made of cashmere.  He’s bald (not usually my type), but the intentional bald and he pulls it off.  

“Well, I feel like a schmuck.  Where did you just come from?”

“I had a donor’s dinner I had to attend”

“Oh well aren’t you fancy?!”

And he gives me some sort of exaggerated eye roll and I can already tell we’re going to have fun banter.

As I get to know him more, I find out just how fucking brilliant he is.  Two PhDs. We have a lot of common interests in psychology and higher education.  He’s one of the few men I’ve been on a date with who I can tell is clearly smarter than me.  I ask more about him and his education, bc he’s truly fascinating to me, and he gives me shit, asking if he’s on some type of interview and if he should have prepped his CV before coming over.

Smartass.

I give him my whole backstory of the cheating husband and being fired from my job and just enjoying being single.  He doesn’t want to hear about the husband. He doesn’t want to hear about the job. He just wants to talk about fun things.  Not in a “fuck off, I don’t want to hear your sad story” kind of way, but in a “let’s enjoy this moment here” way. I can tell he wants to just be flirty and fun, but also takes himself quite seriously, so I keep drinking and become more playful.  I lean in to kiss him and he stiffens up.

“Not here. That looks sloppy”

“OH!?  Well you’re the one talking about anal sex in a bar!”

“SHHHHH What is wrong with you?!”

“Just saying, I think it’s interesting you’re willing to ask me about pegging in a bar, but I can’t give you a kiss.”

“I want to take you back to my place.”

“K.”

He orders us an uber and takes me to his apartment.  I can tell how irritated PDA makes him, so I do it as much as possible just to give him shit.  It’s a new building, and there’s still a lot of construction. He quietly says hello to the concierge, and I say in my thickest Southern accent, “well, HEY THERE!  How’s your evening goin’??”

The professor shoots me a dirty look and pulls me into the elevator as I giggle.

When we get to his apartment, he immediately starts to take off my clothes.  I’m still trying to get oriented to the space. New York is so weird. He clearly is pretty successful, and he has basically an efficiency apartment.  All one large room. Kinda like an extended stay hotel room. Apparently I say some comment to myself in a snarky manner and he again gets offended by my observation of having an efficiency apartment.  I tell him not to get his panties in a twist and chill TF out.

The sex is pretty great.  Our banter has made good foreplay and apparently he loves to eat some pussy, so he sits me on his face.  As I grind down on him we both moan and when he comes up for air he says, “What is wrong with your husband?? I cannot believe that fool left you!”

And suddenly it’s like someone threw me into a frozen lake.

I’m trying hard to not let the words shake me or prevent me from having my fun.  I can’t even remember if we finish. The next thing I remember is getting dressed, trying hard to push back tears.  Him asking me what was wrong. Me trying to lie, badly. 

He knows he hit a nerve.  I’m sure he was just trying to be complimentary.  To tell me how great I am in the sack, and that my husband doesn’t know what good he threw away.  But it just stings. Because it just makes me feel like no matter how good I could have been (at anything, not just sex), it wasn’t ever going to be good enough for him.

When I’m done getting dressed, he asks me how long I’m going to be in town for.  One more night. He tells me he wants to see me again tomorrow if I’m free. I think I’m free?  I’m not sure.

He calls me an Uber and I go home.  The next day, we chat a little bit, but we can’t make our schedules coalesce.  So I never see him again.