What a First Date Should Look Like (2024)

A first date isn’t supposed to look like a man insinuating that he would like to sleep with the woman he’s with and to insisting that he wants to through his implications.

He’s not supposed to not show any interest in who she is as a person.

He’s supposed to ask her any questions about her work, family and educational background.

All of my first dates have been of a man who thought that it was a waste of time answering my questions about him. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to know what I liked to read, what I liked to do, who didn’t make any assumptions about my possibly messaging a ton of men and sleeping with them. No man I’ve ever met on a ‘first date’ (I’m reluctant to call such a meeting a ‘date’; such meetings are what I would like to call ‘time-waste’) ever sees any human in me.

One such incident on Saturday has compelled me to write this piece.

A well-meaning friend has written an email to me to ask me if I could possibly meet a male friend of hers whom she said was very lonely and she thought that I could help by talking to him. I agreed since I never turned down an opportunity to help people. I strictly only wanted to be friends as I thought that was the best way to start any possible relationship.

She told me that he had bad relationships and that his last relationship broke him up a lot. She also said that he still felt bad about losing his brother only two summers ago (he was now an only child). He still hasn’t adjusted to not having siblings yet, she said.

Okay, I thought, why not show someone of that background a little kindness?

I gave her my permission to give him my number and I immediately got messages from him the day I gave my friend my number.

I didn’t expect to get a message so soon. I reminded myself, though, of what my friend told me and I kept an open mind.

I politely messaged back to tell him that he was welcome to write to me any time.

That was on a Sunday.

On Monday, I was a bit taken aback when I received many messages. All day, he wrote messages when he was at home, at work and back home. I’m not the type of person who constantly messaged people. I can say that I use my Smartphone for a total of an hour (or less) a day (I only use it a minute or so, or a few minutes at a time to respond to important notifications mostly. I don’t always have my face before a screen unless I’m writing because I like to keep in touch with what’s tangibly out in the world). As a result, I was overwhelmed by the flood of messages I got from the guy my friend referred me to.

I even wondered if my friend really knew that guy but she’s known that guy for two years or so and she’s always mentioned how helpful he has been to her and I believed her.

This particular friend is an older American woman in her sixties with beautiful, always vibrant red hair and I believe, now, because of her age, the man was nothing but hospitable and kind to her.

It was a different story for me.

I’m the kind of person who gives people chances. I give people the benefit of the doubt until I really get to know them well enough.

I thought that that guy’s constant messaging was suspicious and a bit out of the ordinary but I kept telling myself to give people a chance. I offered to him in one message that I was willing to meet him on Saturday. Keeping in mind what my friend told me about him, everything I did for him was strictly because I felt bad for him. I gave him two photos of me when he kept insisting because I was only being sensitive to his feelings (though, I didn’t know him and only knew of him from what my friend, whose judgment I trusted and whom I respect greatly, said of him). He liked my WhatsApp profile photo and said it made his day to see it and it would cheer him up if I gave him another photo which I declined a few times but eventually gave him because he explained that his brother was a breech baby and that his brother was the world to him and that if I sent him another photo of me, then he would feel better. Besides sending my photo (and another one days later because he was begging me for another one), I asked him questions only because I wanted to show him that he meant something in the world, that his existence was significant and what good way to show someone that they existed and mattered other than showing curiosity about the person?

I was willing to show my compassion.

As I did, so, though, I had the slightest doubt about how my friend depicted her male friend, whom I’ll call “H”, as a sad person who needed a friend. I found his obsessive messaging to be a bit much and it wasn’t only because I wasn’t used to getting so many messages from one person in an entire day but I also found it unusual that I had never met him before so why was he seemingly excited to message, message, message me? I mentioned right away not to have high expectations, that my intention was to be his friend and I thought that he understood (messages are often hard to interpret, really). I wasn’t sure what he meant when he said that to this effect, “It would be good to be friends” since he was still good friends with one of his exes. I couldn’t understand his meaning and I still don’t.

I would like to explain that I don’t like being reduced to nothing but a mindless creature that lives for sex.

I don’t want to relive what happened on Saturday when I met H because the memory and pain are still fresh.

He twisted every sentence I said to mean that I wanted sex. I mentioned that I had a stuffed koala that was dear to me (I don’t mind opening up to people about these details; if people are willing to know me, it’s okay for them to know) and I brought up how she was a trans koala because when I was a child, I felt a connection to trans individuals as they are often scorned by society (as I felt at the time, particularly in my first year in middle school). I explained to him that I felt different and I imagined my koala to be as different as me in order to feel some sort of company and I described how Barry had a deep voice perceived as male but that she was a proud female and H asked if I were trans because there had to be a reason why I wasn’t interested in sex. He asked me this question before a myriad of other things he interpreted my words ‘to really mean’. He did manage to speak elaborately about himself when I focused the attention on him asking him questions about his hometown, whether he liked tea or coffee, what London was like (because he spent nearly a year there to improve his English) and why he didn’t like certain jobs he mentioned in one of his messages. I kept the topic away from sex as long as I could (I incredibly spent four hours with him at two cafes with the intention of giving him a chance of showing himself as kind and thoughtful as my American friend portrayed him as. I unfortunately didn’t see any positive qualities in him at all). He looked frustrated throughout the whole time he was with me. He mentioned a few times if I could possibly take him to my apartment and I mentioned that I had a roommate who had psychological difficulties mentioning that her dog died after the long holiday at the beginning of September and he said that I could simply tell her that he was a friend of mine.

Actually, it wasn’t until after I walked him to his bus that I realized that his sole intention was only to have sex with me. I was struck dumb throughout my outing with him because of what my friend told me (I wanted to value her opinion so much that I did all I could to see some truth in it; and I also considered that perhaps he had social issues because of his apparent depression from acute loneliness) but he clearly implied that he wanted to have sex only as he asked if I liked girls or boys or both. When I told him about certain students and a male friend of mine, he would ask how exactly I spent my time with them. When I told him about one student whom I didn’t recognize at my workplace canteen (I was using my phone and I happened to look up and saw his face and recognition didn’t register and I looked down at my phone again and the student whose face I did see came up to me and said, “I’m K — , your student. We met before” of which I jumped up immediately and said, “Of course, follow me.”) mentioning, for some reason, that at least I recognized his face. At that point, there was a reason why he prompted me to say such a thing because his eyes were watery and I took his watery eyes to mean that he was displeased about something and also, he kept inquiring about my male students. When I casually mentioned that another student whose name also began with ‘K’ asked if he could join us for more English-speaking practice, H was unusually curious about who K was and I eventually moved away from the subject of K.

H fidgeted a lot in the two cafes we sat in supposedly enjoying our beverages and he complained a couple of times about not feeling comfortable because it was hard for him to know how he could position his legs properly. I figured that he meant it was because we sat at the first cafe for quite a while and he also kept mentioning how he was used to being in a much bigger space, sitting in a much bigger seat and I reassured him that the discomfort he was feeling would go away soon, that sometimes my foot would go dead and that I understood.

It was bizarre, too, that he kept asking me about what I exactly did with my time and if my private students were really students and that comment still didn’t register to me as I nonchalantly took out a two copies of handouts with phrasal verbs in conversational questions that I did with one student that day and said, “Look at this. Aren’t these questions great?”

“I can read these on the bus,” he said.

The reason why we left the first cafe was because he wrote a message on his phone and showed it to me, “I don’t feel comfortable in this cafe. The people don’t make me comfortable. They know why we are here together.”

I stared and stared at the message and I asked (in my stupid and innocent way), “What people?” and I looked at the staff who looked like they were minding their own business (I also didn’t care if they weren’t minding their own business; I was so confused).

I told H that there was no need to be concerned because the staff didn’t know English, or at least very little and we weren’t talking about anything top-secret. H looked annoyed and said, “Why did you say that out loud? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I think your message means that you want to go somewhere else.” (which was true but he didn’t mean going to a different cafe; as I previously said, he wanted me to take him to where I was living without stating directly why he wanted to come to my apartment in particular).

H sighed and shook his head a little.

Going back to the second cafe. As with the first cafe, he didn’t ask me anything about me. There were silences in and those silences were there, as I realized after the date, because he wanted to meet his intended goal that day and was able to get that across to me.

I wrote earlier that I knew that he was implying that he had other intentions but at the time when we were conversing, nothing clicked.

Anyone can understand that when we analyze gestures, posture, body movements and words after a conversation is over, we know much more about the conversation than when it’s in progress.

This is what happened to me.

H reduced my time with him into wondering about my sex life and hoping to be a part of it. And because I only wanted to see the best in him at the time (thinking that positive thinking was going to help a bit), I didn’t feel my subconscious hurt by how he spoke to me until I saw him off at the bus stop and I became fully conscious. When he messaged a banana to me after I messaged him to tell him he was kind for coming out to meet me and, because it was raining, I added an umbrella to my message (just to sound less serious), I I was sitting in a boutique hotel where I knew the staff and I almost dropped my phone in shock with a sudden nauseous feeling. I felt like throwing up.

A flood of messages from him appeared detailing how brutal he would like to really show me he was in bed. I paused and thought back deeply to what transpired earlier that day and couldn’t believe how I chose to be blind just to be nice.

It was no wonder I shouted at him a few times at the first cafe. I felt that his words meant something deeper than he made them out to be which got me shouting loudly enough for a police officer to comment on what was happening; I looked to my right and saw the officer in his car with another officer looking at me and saying using the form of address for unfamiliar women, “Abla” but I looked back at H instead with anger rising in me and then decreasing. In my periphery, the police car went away. The staff most likely thought I was another crazy, incomprehensible foreigner.

I kept telling myself that maybe I was paranoid but his messages after the outing confirmed my instinct.

I even shouted at him to leave raising my hand to signal him to get out of the first cafe but he said, “Please, I want to be with you” and the look of alarm on his face calmed me down that moment and that was when we left together to walk to another cafe.

I felt manipulated.

Sitting in the boutique hotel as a sort of sanctuary, I was still. I wondered why I let him speak to me the way he did. I felt something in those pauses between sentences. There was this energy that I got from him that had me raise my voice uncontrollably a couple of times. People don’t normally have me raising my voice at them in public during a conversation. Every other time, I always enjoyed my time at cafes, speaking animatedly and quite happily even. I should have known that he was slowly damaging me (and, up to this point, tears have spilled down my cheek three times already).

I love to read, walk long distances for hours (and not get tired that easily), notice new snacks at the supermarket, volunteer, write, learning about new places and cultures and so much in between all of this and none of who I am mattered to him. He simplified me as someone to just get laid with.

I felt insulted. I was in disbelief.

I don’t think my friend misled me but only wanted to do a H favor and she thought I could fulfill the favor.

After talking to my friend on Wednesday night, before the Saturday outing, I emailed my friend seeking reassurance that her friend, H, was okay. She responded on Friday and told me that H had a really good heart and that messaging all day was something he just did and that it was not a big deal.

I should keep in mind that there are people out there who treat different people differently. I’ve always known this and it’s now official. I shouldn’t have taken my friend’s word that H was worth being friends with. I won’t take anyone’s word again.

A first date should have good energy. A first date is supposed to be an exchange of biographical information of both parties. A first date should be the beginning of many dates where value in the other person is discovered more and more. A first date is supposed to be the start of appreciating the other person’s heart, mind and soul.

I have never had such a first date. All of my first dates have consisted of men wanting to touch me, not even hoping to value my body but intending to selfishly use it.

I’m not saying that anyone should seek others’ appreciation in order to appreciate themselves. I’m saying that nobody should be treated like a simple, mindless, inanimate object to be toyed with.

A healthy first date is of both individuals seeing each other as human as themselves. One person shouldn’t see the other as a mere plaything. I’ve come to the conclusion that for someone to see the other as that way is abusive.

A healthy first date contains eagerness in hearing the other’s stories. A healthy first date doesn’t look like a shouting pair of people. A healthy first date is of two people being excited to discover each other’s ideas and opinions and how both of them can work together to mesh their ideas and opinions well together. A healthy first date consists of respect.

I don’t ask to hopefully finally have a first date that I can consider to be any good. I write this because I want anyone who reads this to please not tolerate even the slightest feeling of unhappiness that anyone inflicts on you. Don’t stand for it for a second. Don’t.

A healthy first date leaves you feeling refreshed afterward not with a face sodden from your tears.

Thank you for reading. I sincerely wish you peace.