Dating Disasters: ‘I didn't know how quickly I had to get dressed to leave’

In Dating Disasters, anonymous readers share their most embarrassing, cringeworthy, and dramatic dates. This week: the One Night Stand from Hell.

When I was 12, I got a boyfriend for the first time. Or rather, a boyfriend... We were dating, and that mainly meant you didn't say anything to each other and occasionally exchanged a note. The only thing that ever happened between us was a shy moment at 1.5 meters apart (we were ahead of our time) to ‘My Boo’ by Usher and Alicia Keys. Now that's nothing more than a cherished memory. You can understand my delight when I ran into him years later in my favorite café. We were quite a bit older by then, but the flutter in my stomach felt exactly the same as when I first felt it as a 12-year-old girl.

We started chatting (thankfully, we dared to do that now) and soon I decided: I'm going home with you. I had been single for a while and thought it was time for an exciting evening again. After a few drinks, I decided to share my plan with him in the form of a kiss. It was the worst kiss I had ever had. At that moment, I could have known that the rest of the evening wouldn't get any better, but the 5 vodka-soda reds in my system had a different idea. Determined, I jumped on the back of his bike. Time for adventure.

Once we arrived at his place, we didn't beat around the bush. We immediately headed to his bedroom, and the moment we landed in bed, my hope for a spectacular evening fell apart. I thought that kiss was bad, but his performance in bed was even more pathetic. After a modest one and a half minutes, he rolled off me contentedly and fell asleep immediately. There I was: wide awake and very disappointed. If my 12-year-old self had heard this, she would have laughed at me hard. What do you expect from someone who hardly talks to you and writes ‘I think you're sweet’ on his notes? Anyway, maybe it was the drinks, I lied to myself, and I also fell asleep.

The next morning, I had lost not only my memory but apparently also my mind. Don't ask me why, but I decided to go for round two. He didn't seem to have any problems with that and completely let loose this time for over two minutes, only to then utter the legendary words: ‘Well, now you won't get any more gifts.’ Gifts? I wasn't even aware that we had started at all.

While he smugly got out of bed, I turned around feeling unsatisfied and incredibly broken. I hadn't even closed my eyes when I heard rustling behind me. I turned towards the sound and shot up in surprise: the best man was busy stripping the bed, with me still in it! Okay then... Hint taken. I didn't know how quickly I needed to get dressed and leave until he asked with fruit and bread in his hands if I wanted to have breakfast. This man had just kicked me out of his bed in the least subtle way ever and now wanted to have breakfast together? Of course not!

I gave him a half-kiss on his cheek and wished him a nice day. As I walked out of his building, I encountered a mirror for the first time that day. My hair was a mess and the mascara was hanging on my chin, but I didn't care much at that moment. With my head held high, I started the walk of shame and sprinted as fast as possible to my apartment to have breakfast in peace, without vague men around. I never saw him again after that.

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