Please Don’t Kiss Me

By Sara Sebastian

To complete a profile on one of the dating apps, one must answer three prompts. I selected, “Try to guess this about me” as the first and put, “My bedtime and how many dates I’d like before you attempt a kiss.” 

Of the men who liked that specific part of my profile and messaged me their best guesses, only one came close. Raleigh wrote, “Going to guess 9 all the way across the board here.” The correct answer is 9:30 and 10. Everyone else guessed between one and three. I’m 30, and the age range I’d inputted was 28-35.

One man made a comment about the kiss situation without inputting a guess. He simply wanted to know. I told him ten, and then said, “Maybe five”, discounting my values immediately. We went on a short tea date. He walked me home, and I thought it went well. But one of his parting comments was how we’d have to go on a million dates before we kiss. 

John commented on my photo and wrote that he knew it was taken in Mexico City and that I have great style. We sent voice notes on the app for a few days and then he asked me to get drinks at the West Coast’s first no-proof bar once he heard I was taking a break from alcohol. The reservations were fully booked, so we planned a casual dinner instead. He waited at my apartment building’s door and was standing terribly close to it, but I was pleasantly surprised upon seeing him. Oh, a handsome man is at my apartment door—and I get to go enjoy a meal with him.

We walked a few blocks to a low-lit, mahogany bar and ordered kale salads. 

An hour into the conversation, as we polished off our food, (he couldn’t finish his because he didn’t like the goat cheese), he leaned closer to me and then backed off.

“Oh, I meant to ask you about the kiss thing,” he said. He had tousled, thick brown hair, a built and tall lean figure, and a mole on his left cheek. His bright blue eyes stared at me, expectant.

“Like how many dates I’d like first?” I asked. I wondered why he hadn’t brought it up before our date and if there would be an issue now…as we were facing each other, our knees almost touching. 

“Yeah…” he said, his elbows crossed on the counter, “Please don’t say three!” 

I tried not to look aghast, not making my eyes look as big as they wanted to be. 

I asked, “Is three a lot…?” Was I asking for too much? Am I too much? Can I make my desires known? Am I being too vulnerable too soon?

“Yeah, I usually like to kiss on the first or second. And I almost kissed you just now, because we were holding eye contact and smiling for more than thirty seconds. That’s a good indicator.” 

I tried not to laugh. I wanted to say, “So, I should make out with my family and friends?” Instead I said, “Well, it’s ten. Ten dates.”

“That’s psychotic.” He then asked me if I am a golddigger. 

“It’s a new rule! Okay! I thought of it a month ago.” Why did I continue to defend myself? Or was it really me I was defending? What about the future women he’ll go on dates with? This was beyond personal. “I don’t feel like I really know anyone before ten dates. Kissing someone is intimate!” I was playing with my fingers, stretching them out and looking somewhere past him. He still called me crazy. And I didn’t even get to mention how kissing connects one’s microbiome with another. I later thought, I want to have time to dream about the first kiss. 

I wasn’t deterred. I continued, “Do you know how many kisses I’ve received that I didn’t actually want? And not just anyone can kiss me.” And to think I was excited about dating in the U.S. again. I temporarily moved back stateside after-two-and-a-half years in Mexico. 

That last remark seemed to work. “Okay, yeah, I like a woman who knows what she wants.” Minutes later, wanting to impress me, he said, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I gazed off in front of me, took a sip of water, and said, “I get that a lot.” 

He was trying to make me feel special and not only did I not want that from him, but I did not want to make him feel special. I wanted this to just be another flop date and go home and take a bath, feeling like I accomplished something. But then something kicked in and I thought I’d make the most of the night. Perhaps it was that I still wanted to be desirable, even if I was not doing the desiring. Or maybe, at the very least, I wanted to be agreeable. 

Thinking I was getting in the way of myself, I offered to hold his hand. Why was I trying to compromise with him? It felt unnatural, strange, sweaty, forced. I pulled my hand back, then apologized. “See, even this feels really intimate for a first date.” After all, we’d met barely an hour prior.

We continued talking and I continued trying to feel comfortable enough to sometimes put my hand just above his knee as we sat at the bar stools.

For the next part of our date, he had brought a surprise and said, “Close your eyes.” I was worried he was going to kiss me. He relieved that worry by adding, “Hold out your hands.”

He put a light item in them and said, “Keep them closed and guess!” 

By now, I was having fun, even if I knew I would never see him again. Maybe that was part of it. I (still) was not interested in him kissing me or even holding my hand. I had stopped the touching-his-knee business. He gave me hints and said it was related to one of our senses. I got close but gave up, opened my eyes and looked at my hands.

A bag of small, circular, plastic…GOOGLY EYES!

Amping up the surprise, John said, “We can walk around and put them on windows or signs!”

We used the bathroom (separately) before we left the restaurant. Alone for the first time since I met him, it became clearer that I was far from having a good time. I could have left then, but I wanted to stick some stickers on stuff. And…okay, maybe I did feel special that he made an effort to surprise me.

On the sidewalk, John put a colorful googly eye sticker on a parking sign after fumbling with removing the adhesive.

It was very cold, and I had only worn a denim jacket. I asked if I could put my arm around him because I was freezing. He welcomed this.

Moments later, he asked me to say something in Spanish.

“Umm…like what?” I was drawing a blank in both languages.

“How do you say, ‘I want to kiss you’?”

“Quiero besarte.” 

I slowed it down for him, “Key. Air. Oh. Bay. Sar. Tay.”

I went into teacher mode, completely oblivious to what was on his mind. 

“And if you want to say, ‘I want you to kiss me’ you’d say, ‘Quiero que me beses.’”

He said, “I can’t tell if you want me to kiss you or not.” It was nice he gave me a chance to clarify.

I said, “I haven’t changed my mind. Please do not kiss me.”

We stuck a few more googly eyes on objects like a trash can, and then he asked where we should go next. 

“Well, I’m pretty tired and cold. And your car is parked over here,” I said, as we were within a block of my building. I added, “Because it is our first date, I am not going to invite you in, ok?”

“Oh, what would happen? We’d hold hands?” He was several paces ahead of me.

I sighed and said, “You have never been a woman before.”

He told me about how he had to write some paper for some class from the perspective of a woman and that the women in his life were impressed by it. 

At the door, I hugged him, thanked him for dinner, and went safely inside.

The next morning, I was on my way to see a friend for brunch. I woke up ready for a clean start, but then I received a voice message from John. “Hey Sara, I had such a great time last night. Let me know when you’re free. I’d love to see you soon.”

I put it out of my mind for most of brunch but ended up telling my friend the story. She was appalled. “You mean, he not only made fun of your boundaries, but he then disrespected them?”

Later that day, I replied. I said in the voice message that I tried my best to have a good time, and I tried my best to like him. But unfortunately, I had felt uncomfortable when he made those comments.

He said he felt bad about it after the date and that he was sorry.

I thought if he sincerely felt bad about it, he would have preemptively apologized. It didn’t matter romantically, because I was not interested. But it did matter.