Pity Dating
One of my greatest claims to fame is this article I wrote about Pity Dating. I would even go so far as to say it is an even greater claim to fame than placing in Seventeen Magazine’s Annual Fiction Writing contest two years in a row. Why? Because I still have people coming up to me and telling me how reading this article stopped them from going on a pity date, and probably stopped them from giving pity head!
Here it is, written two years ago:
Perhaps my nickname should have been “The Bleeding Heart of Dating”. It’s a little different than being a “bottom feeder”, as Ian likes to say. Nostalgia has reared its ugly head recently, and my mind has been puking memories of my dating/relationship history. Some of my worst experiences, hands down, involves “pity dating”.
What, exactly, is pity dating? It’s if you go out with someone — not because you like them or are attracted to them — but because you’re too nice or scared to say no.
A sub-genre of the Pity Date is a date you don’t know you’re going on, probably because you are kidding yourself – you think you’re hanging out “as friends”. (That is the most common one for me.) They never asked you if you had a boyfriend, or didn’t call it a “date”. It’s like getting tricked! Another sub-genre of the Pity Date, is “Pity Head”. I talked to two separate friends about pity dating, and that term came up both times. I would just like to say this: DON’T pity date. If you’re worried about hurting someone’s feelings or something, just think: Your bleeding heart could lead to you feeling obligated to put a dick you don’t want in your mouth, voluntarily. Putnam told me about one of his close friends who went out on a pity date, and she kept going on pity dates with this guy, and eventually married him, and now she lives in the woods somewhere with her husband and she is not happy – you know she is giving pity head for the rest of her life!
I went out on a pity date once where he and his mom picked me up in his mom’s station wagon. He took me to a party in a trailer park where there were about five people in the trailer, where we were drinking wine coolers, Kahlua, and Southern Comfort. The cats were named Kinky and Porn Star. The guy was telling me about his former heroin addiction and how he didn’t really like receiving blow jobs. There were other people there who wound up driving me home because they were worried about me. But then one guy who drove me home propositioned me for a threesome and told me he had a really big dick and he saw the way I was “looking at his girlfriend”.
The other guy got really pissed when I kicked his ass at pool. Then he told me, “You know, I’m really good at giving massages.” I looked at him like he was crazy and said, “No, thanks!” Then he got defensive and said, “I wasn’t offering you one!” But later he was telling me how he was a virgin and he didn’t know if his dick was big enough to fuck girls. “I wish I could just pull it out and show it to a girl so she can tell me.” I didn’t respond. Then he told me that he could make a girl cum just by touching her boob. Then he told me he was a psychic healer and touched my arm that had a cyst in it and told me it would be healed.
Sometimes it’s not enough to say you’re busy. Sometimes people really persist on that shit. They will ask your schedule and what you are doing between the time you get out of work and the time you have to go out with your friends and it’s like WTF? This creepy guy who left a Valentine in my mailbox at home used to do this all the time.
I don’t ask people out because I don’t want to be the Pity Date. Pity Head, good god. JUST SAY NO.
