My date went in for a kiss. Afterwards, I brushed my teeth 18 times

There were plenty of photos on Frank’s* profile of nights out and days in nature.  

They weren’t exactly high resolution, some even a little blurry, and I couldn’t tell how old they were, but I wasn’t particularly phased. 

As a naïve newbie to internet dating, doubt never crossed my mind. He claimed to be around six foot and of medium build, and from what I could see, he had mod-ish, dark, glossy hair, sparkling eyes and a magnetic smile.  

Frank and I got chatting online. 

He was funny, interested in what I had to say, and after a few days, when he asked me on a date, I agreed. We had an initial connection and good banter.   

My heart and confidence had taken a knock from a recent long-term relationship breakup. I always knew that I wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for someone, I was perfect and I wasn’t going to give up on finding my other half.  

I hoped Frank could be the one. 

For first dates, I would always take my car and drink soft drinks or tea. There was a nice bar, not far from the centre of town that I liked as a venue: it was spacious, stylish, and felt safe, with plenty of parking spaces, so we arranged to meet there. 

I had the nervous excitement we’ve all experienced on a first date. Would I like him? Would he like me? Would we click in person like we had with the click of a mouse?

Walking in, I saw him standing near the entrance of the bar, in the clothes he said he’d be wearing.

This was a completely different man to the one I’d seen in pictures. If he was the same person, he was certainly worse for wear.

My heart sank, and I immediately felt cheated and deflated – like I had bought a tub of Quality Streets and only found four purple ones amongst a sea of toffee pennies. 

Not my type, I’m afraid.

Why can’t people can’t just be honest? I thought. 

It’s hard enough putting yourself out there and exposing yourself to the vulnerabilities of dating.

I get that we all have confidence issues at times, and I absolutely knew I was far from perfect. But lying to such an obvious extreme – it was frustrating, time-wasting, and a massive let down.

Of course, it didn’t help that it wasn’t in my nature to call someone out for embellishing reality a little, or a lot! 

So, I gritted my teeth and walked towards him. I greeted Frank with a pleasant hello and smile and we walked to the bar together to order a drink.

Reaching the bar area, several people were in front of us and while we waited he asked me general, boring questions: how long it had taken me to get there? How my day had been?  

I looked around the busy bar at people laughing, and having fun. 

I wished I had the jovial energy for my own company. Then I scolded myself. I knew I wouldn’t see Frank again in a romantic way but perhaps we could have a nice couple of hours regardless. 

He had made me laugh online, so maybe we would have some banter

And after all, Frank may not have found me attractive either.  

Seconds later, however, I got a dramatic indication. 

After ordering drinks, I turned to make small talk. Frank glared at me with serious, heavy, black eyes. He grinned and I noticed his teeth (or should I say lack of them) before he lunged at me, grabbing me and kissing me full-on, in front of an audience! 

Eyes of thirsty customers surrounded us. Some clearly noticed the conflicting body language of Frank who was as keen and clumsy as a big dog, and me, whose posture became stiffer than the trunk of a tree. 

Pulling away from the slobbery suction of Frank’s mouth, I felt my face burning. I glanced around and a few people were sniggering, other’s eyes wide, and one woman grimacing. 

I was mortified, and shocked. It felt like a slug had crawled in my mouth. I’m not often speechless, but Frank rendered me mute.

The thought came into my head; had I encouraged such a bold move? Then I realised immediately, that I had absolutely not. We had only met in person less than five minutes before.

There had been no messages in our prior conversation about me wanting to kiss him.

I hadn’t, ever, asked for it. 

Frank had violated my boundaries and it wasn’t acceptable.   

I squirmed out of his slimy embrace and looked at him wanting to say so much, but feeling shocked into silence.

He had the biggest smile on his face as if he had scored the winning penalty in the World Cup, as I stood, aghast, embarrassed, and revolted.

 His own proud grin made me seethe. His first date etiquette was likely one of the reasons he was single. 

‘Wow!’ he said, clapping his hands before reaching to hold my mine. 

Wow indeed – but definitely not for the same reasons.   

I quickly made my excuses to leave, saying (not without truth) that I felt sick. 

I wanted to say so much… but I felt mute. 

Looking back I wonder what was going through his mind before he launched himself at me, and especially afterwards, when I clearly did not reciprocate the contact or enthusiasm. 

Had he done this before? Did he genuinely think it was OK to kiss me with no indication or consent offered from me? 

I would have loved to give Frank my exact thoughts, making it absolutely clear that he should never behave like that again, give him some tips on how to bloody behave, and hope that he was genuinely sorry. 

Over a decade later, with age and experience, and a lot more awareness and support around unsolicited sexual contact, I know I would have said more.

Back home, I quickly messaged Frank saying I didn’t feel a connection (leaving out that rather, I felt repulsion). I couldn’t face telling him how I really felt and just wanted to end the awful date. 

He replied saying he was gutted and liked me but hoped I met my Mr Right. I knew my Mr Right would be absolutely nothing like Frank! 

I put the night down to experience and vowed to make it clear to other men that if I wanted them to kiss me, they would know about it. I knew Frank was out of order.

Even if I had fancied him, it would have still been unacceptable behaviour given I had shown no indication of wanting a full-on snog.

That night I cleaned my teeth 18 times, wondering if I could ever return to my favourite, first date venue. 

Looking back now, I can only hope that his slug tongue never comes out of its shell again for any unsuspecting, uninviting woman!

*Name has been changed

Helen Aitchison is author of The Dinner Club, which can be purchased here

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