That awkward moment when you start banging a guy right before Valentine’s Day

It’s almost Valentine’s Day, one of the most annoying holidays for anyone who is generally single, like me, or anyone who doesn’t like to feel like they are being obligated to go to a fancy dinner and act like it’s really special for no reason. Or any kid who wasn’t the cool kid in class, you know, back before they made all the kids give everyone a valentine in their decorated shoebox at school. I hear that nowadays, there are rules about that to prevent little kids from being assholes to each other, much like the rules about not playing dodgeball in school. News flash, now kids have so many ways to be assholes to each other on social media that making mandates about Valentine-card non-exclusion won’t help. Anyway, I digress.

This is a story about an awkward Valentine’s Day. A few years back, I was in this personal development class about how to change your life and make it better and whatnot. It did make my life better, but the guy I met because of it did not. I actually did not meet this guy in class, I met him because his stepmother was in my class. I was talking in this class about how I am trying to meet my soulmate and blah blah blah and this nice older lady who was talking with me about it suggested that she set me up with her stepson. He’s around my age, he’s tall like me, he likes volleyball, he’s single… Sure, I say, sign me up.

So we go on a few dates, three, to be exact, because I like to make myself feel not slutty by employing the “three-date rule” and not sleeping with anyone before the third date. All of the dates have been fine, we get along fine, we do indeed have some things in common, etc. On the third date, this guy has a plan. He meets me in my neighborhood, we both get drunk, we go to my house, and you know the rest…

When we get down to doing the deed, there are a few amusing things that happen. One, this guy, who will hereafter be known as Volleyball Tattoo Guy, has a fucking tattoo of a volleyball on his bicep! Not to be all gender-role-y, but the only other person I have ever known to have a volleyball tattoo was a female volleyball coach in high school. She had it on her ankle, and she had it because she was a big time college player in her day. This guy thought he was a big deal with the local volleyball clique in town at the Island… more on that later. Although things were already not going that smoothly in these sexcapades, nothing makes this girl lose wood faster than a dumb tattoo.

Also, the other funny thing about this guy is that on some of our dates, he had talked about how he is very interested in the mechanics of sex, how to help people have better sex, be comfortable with their bodies, etc. He said maybe one day he would want to be a sex therapist (his current job was installing windows). I kind of thought that seemed cool and progressive of him, you know, I am a feminist and sex positive and all that… Also, it made me expect good sex. What actually happened was the opposite of good. Super awkward, really. He did try hard, tried lots of different ideas and positions, but he basically just had no rhythm, white boy and all, I guess… Or maybe the reason he was so into sex was because he secretly knew he was bad at it? Of course, like all nice girls, I did a good job of pretend-orgasming, and of course, like all guys, it didn’t take much for him to get what he needed…

So, I think, we should give it another shot, it was the first time, maybe he was nervous, maybe I could come if I thought of something else or avoided looking at the volleyball tattoo. This whole situation happened maybe a week or two before Valentine’s Day. But whatever, I think, I can just see what happens. So the day after we do the deed, he takes me to this clique-ish indoor volleyball club in town called the Island and starts letting me know how he can “get me in” for league play because this place is notorious for being a club that you have to earn your way into by politics and knowing people and spending a lot of time and money there. Oh, thank you, Volleyball Tattoo Guy, for your generous offer of using your imagined volleyball celebrity status to get me into your friend posse so that when I can no longer deal with terrible sex and break up with you, I can be awkward around you all the time with my new volleyball mean girl BFFs at the Island…. But whatever, we play a few games that day, it’s fine, etc.

We also discuss the impending Valentine’s Day. I foolishly invite him out with a bunch of my friends from my neighborhood who are going to see St. Vincent at the Bluebird. The first problem about this is the shirt this guy chooses to wear to go OUT WITH MY FRIENDS ON VALENTINE’S DAY – one of those novelty Spring Break shirts (I got it in Cancun, he tells me.. of course you did…) that has an arrow pointing to his face that says “The Man” and an arrow pointing to his pants that says “The Legend.” Hmmm… who exactly considers your penis to be a “Legend” except you? Not me… Probably not whichever sorority girls you may or may not have gotten lucky with in Cancun by wearing your cool new shirt…. Ugh. My friends are all looking at me funny.. Shit, I am looking at myself funny for having had sex with this… situation and seen fit to invite him out with my friends ever, let alone on Valentine’s Day! Whatever, I say, I still want to go see St. Vincent so I will just have to deal with all the hipsters looking disdainfully at me and Volleyball Tattoo/Penis Shirt Guy… Maybe that should be his nickname now.

So I make it through the show, great show, of course, by trying to minimize the level of groping that Volleyball Tattoo/Penis Shirt Guy is doing by periodically squirming out of his grasp…. We are at a St. Vincent show, not the Rockbar, ok! Sidenote: I miss the Rockbar. If you don’t know what that is, I’m sorry, and welcome to Denver! Anyway, back to the story…. We get done with the show, he walks me back to my place and starts making out with me at the door. Luckily, my friends have not caught up with us yet (some of them live next door to me and some live in my building!) During this whole making-out situation, all I can do is see visions of penis arrow shirts and volleyball tattoos. Very unsettling. I can’t even bring myself to let him come upstairs for that whole second try I keep trying to talk myself into giving him. Luckily, it’s a weekday and I can use that excuse of being tired and having work in the morning. So I extricate myself from him and tell him goodnight and that I have to get some sleep, what with the weeknight and all…

At this point, it’s just awkward and I can’t even imagine myself having sex with him, being seen with him in public, etc. I call him to break up with him over the phone a few days later. He is nice about it, he probably could tell from the facial expressions of EVERYONE who saw his shirt that wearing that was a mistake. Or maybe he just knew something that I think many people (not me, apparently) have learned from experience. Don’t hook up with people right before Valentine’s Day! Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!