My Thursday night was looking suspiciously empty, so I decided to hit a singles event at a local club. It was advertised as “all ages” and, crucially, within walking distance. I threw on some jeans and a lacy top—casual, but with a whisper of “I might actuallyown a vibrator or two.”
Stepping inside, I was greeted by a scene that can only be described as a gender-ratio anomaly: about three men for every two dozen women. Now, as a proudly bisexual individual (leaning towards men, but always open), this ratio actually felt… manageable? Theoretically. Except, everyone had blue “single and available” stickers, with precisely zero indication of sexual orientation. So, unless I missed the “secret bi handshake” memo, it was pretty clear this was a heterosexual Hunger Games situation. I snagged a Venmo-paid red wine (because even flirtation requires hydration) and found one of the last seats available, tucked away in the back. The crowd skewed younger, mostly women in their 20s and early 30s, with only a few who looked to be my age.
PowerPoints for All
The first eligible guy was introduced by a friend, complete with a PowerPoint presentation (because nothing screams romance like a slide deck, right?). He was tall, 30, and seemed decent enough, but he didn’t smile much and lacked a discernible sense of humor. Like a human spreadsheet.
Nothing screams romance like a slide deck, right?
Then came a break, and the man in front of me—fit, mid-40s, attractive, and friendly—turned around to chat. Let’s call him Toby. I immediately told him I was 53 and poly, and to his credit, neither seemed to be an issue. He was fresh out of a friends-with-benefits arrangement, he said, and looking for love or at least some enjoyable company.
The intros continued, including an adorable moment where a woman introduced her mother as available. During another break, I chatted more with Toby. The 30-year-old PowerPoint enthusiast even said hi to me, and I flirted back for a fleeting second, flattered but uninterested. Toby and I stepped outside for some fresh air. He seemed interesting: successful, handsome, perhaps a smidge egotistical. He mentioned he lived just a couple of blocks away from the club as well, which in LA is practically destiny.
After the last couple of introductions—including a gorgeous lesbian, alas looking for a long-term partner—the event wrapped up. Toby asked if I wanted to get another drink. The wine had already gone to my head, and I wasn’t sure more was a great idea, but it was a warm summer night by the beach. And honestly, I was feeling pretty good about snagging one of the few attractive specimens in the room.
A Quick Exit
At a dive bar a few blocks away, our conversation flowed. A few alarm bells went off when he revealed he was a libertarian who made a bunch of money with a tech startup. But he promised he didn’t vote for Trump, so how bad could it be? A libertarian tech bro, totally fine. He was pretty cute, by the way. I agreed to see his house. I also, being upfront, let him know there was a good chance I was just using him for sex. He laughed; he had been warned.
Things progressed pretty well at his place. We got naked, started fooling around. That’s when I asked, “Do you have condoms?”
“Nope,” he replied.
Okay, what responsible single guy doesn’t? Toby then informed me he didn’t like them and couldn’t get hard with them on. Then came the kicker: “I’m clean,” he said. I absolutely detest that phrase; it’s the linguistic equivalent of a shrug emoji when discussing sexual health. And then, he doubled down: “I usually date much younger women without much sexual experience. They’re safe because they’re practically virgins.”
He was trying to tell me that a 20-something who flatters him into ditching condoms is the safer bet?
I nearly fell off the bed laughing. I mean, here I am, someone who had been thoroughly tested two weeks prior and was insisting on safe sex with a stranger. And he was trying to tell me that a 20-something who flatters him into ditching condoms (hello, 18 years of child support!) is the safer bet? This man, clearly, has a doctorate in delusion, not sexual health.
“Condoms are a must,” I stated. I pulled out my own small stash from my purse—because of course I always bring my own.
He responded that we weren’t “sexually compatible.”
“Okay,” I said, “clearly not.” I starting to put my clothes back on. There was no point in explaining that there’s plenty of pleasure to be found without penetration. This was clearly not someone who cared about my health or enjoyment, if he didn’t know there were options.
Learning, Laughing, and Heading Home
The walk home was short, filled not with anger, but with quiet chuckles. What an experience, to say the least. I should have known when he referred to women as “girls.” There were other subtle clues. My own ego had briefly gotten the best of me—look, Toby picked me out of all those other women!
But honestly, I’m not sorry I went home with him. Dating, for me, is now about learning to spot the people worth seeing again. In the past, I might have tried to overlook his shortcomings, even been one of the women who agreed to unprotected sex just to keep him interested. But I’m well past that now. And that feels really good.
I’m learning. And sometimes, the lessons come with a side of small penises, alarming sexual health theories, and a reminder to always carry your own condoms.
What’s the funniest or most unexpected lesson you’ve learned from a recent dating experience?