6 weeks after my breakup with The One I tried to get back out there and perhaps find someone to hangout with. I wasn’t ready for a relationship and was admittedly still very sad over the end of my last relationship. But I felt I had to at least try to move on a bit.
Meet Frederic. He is super smart (I love smart men). He’s got his PHD and he’s from France ( keep that in mind) Frederic lives in Danbury and works at a pharmaceutical company. Add to that he was on the cute side. So after messaging back and forth for a couple of weeks I gave him my home number. Now to show you how monumental this is there are only 3 people have this number which includes my ex! No one calls my house unless shit is on fire or my mom.
So Frederic suggested we have dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in a expensive little town half way between us. And it was lovely. The conversation was lively and interesting. We spoke of his hometown in France and my longing to visit and do all the things tourists don’t do. We moved to politics and art and living in America. He was a gentleman in every way. At the end of the evening we shared a brief peck on the lips and parted ways. He even texted me to make sure I got home ok.
So when he suggested sushi in Danbury the next week I agree. He was a nice guy and it was casual enough where I was comfortable. I arrived early as usual ( you’ll notice that theme throughout my posts) and grabbed a table since I knew he worked in the area. He was a little late but no biggie. Again, good conversations about hobbies and the like. And then, stupid happened.
We stood by our cars to say goodnight and he asked if I wanted to come back to his for a drink or a coffee. I politely declined citing work the next day and us not knowing each other well. We chatted a bit more and then he asked again since he only lived 5 mins away. Huh, well that’s fucking conveinent. I again declined.
But I did kiss him. I wanted to see, to know if there would be a reaction to someone other then The One. There wasn’t. I knew there wouldn’t be. I just kept think how much I missed him and wanted it to be him kissing me. As this was all going through my head I felt something rub against me. Specifically against my boob.
Now let me get a little..personal. I don’t have huge boobs but they’re kind of big. Which means I need a good bra. The bras that I buy have some padding. Why they make them with padding I’ll never know. I have more than enough to fill in the cups just fine. So for me to feel something rubbing against my boob it wouldn’t be accidental.
I stepped back from him and gave him the look. You ladies know the look. The “What the fuck just happened?” look complete with one squinted eye and nostrils flared. I flat out told him I didn’t appreciate what he did. He tried to play it off as if it was an accident. I know damn well it wasn’t due to the paragraph above. And then it got worse. When he tried to kiss me again he rubbed his junk on me!! What the actual fuck is going on I thought to myself! It’s like I’m in high school again. Only the boys were better behaved back then.
As I stepped back I gave him a look of revulsion. I couldn’t believe what just happened. He again apologized and informed me that’s how things are done in France. HUH? So in France they just act like animals? I reminded Frenchie that this was America and it’s not acceptable to act like a horny little teenager.
With that I slipped into my car and drove off. The tears slipped down my face rapidly. I had never been treated like that in my life. I felt dirty and that I needed to scrub my body. I managed to get lost on my way home because my head was done in. I cried for the loss of my ex. I sobbed over the fact that he would have never treated me that way. All of those feelings drove me to shower when I finally found my way home.
When I was dried off and in clean pajamas I found a text from Frenchie. He apologized and basically said that we weren’t teenagers. WHAT? What what what?!!! So that gives you the leeway to treat me like a whore? You think that your actions are ok because we’re older and single? Or perhaps because briefly touched upon an adult topic that gave you the right to treat me like that?
With my strength back in place after my crying jag and soothing shower I said the only words that came to mind. I told that piece of shite to fuck right off back to France and to never contact me again. I was a lady and not some whore that he must be used to dating.
I was a little sad for a couple of weeks after. If this is what dating is like in your 40s I fear that I’ll be single for the rest of my life. This date didn’t give birth to this blog per say but boy did it help start the seed to be planted.