How I Cured a Date's Erectile Dysfunction

#MyWorstDate A cute guy struck up a conversation with me while we were climbing the bouldering routes at the gym. Good beginning, right? Yeah, that’s where the story peaks.

A day later, as we sat across from each other at an Indian restaurant, I got to know him very well — too well.

The conversation was going just fine, with discussions of his programming boot camp, my latest articles, climbing, the normal stuff — until he decided it was “relevant” to tell me about an affair with a married woman he was still “getting over,” if he could even say that. (By the end of the night, it was clear to me that he couldn’t.)

Over the next half hour, he narrated the trajectory of their relationship, ending with him alone and heartbroken when she decided to stop talking to him and try to make things work with her husband. She even blocked him on Facebook, he lamented in disbelief. And to make matters worse, some students in his program weren’t talking to him either because they were sick of hearing about her. (I could already see why.)

Was this even a date? I wondered. I tried to offer some platonic advice. I told him that though we like to think we can control situations, her disappearance may not have been his fault, and that his only chance of getting her back would probably be to pick up the pieces and move on.

But this platonic spirit was shattered by his next statement: When he first saw me, I reminded him of her, he said, because I too seemed “uncomfortable in my body” — as if this were the highest compliment for charming a woman.

And his story was not over; it went far deeper and darker than I could have imagined. Pornography addiction and consequent erectile dysfunction had long been a struggle for him, and after this recent “breakup,” he slumped back into his addiction. But the other day, he saw the light: “When I saw you at the gym, I got a boner.” Once again, the highest of compliments. I had the honor of being the antidote to his erectile dysfunction.

As we left the restaurant, he reached down and grabbed my hand. When I didn’t hold his back, he asked if I was uncomfortable, and I nicely explained that we had not known each other for very long.

“My ex used to say that too,” he responded.

We sat down at a park (why was I still there? Perhaps for the same reason people hold up traffic by staring out their car windows as they pass accidents on the highway), where he repeatedly tried to kiss me and I repeatedly told him it didn’t feel right, to which he responded, “Maybe that’s because I’m not over my ex.”

After I suggested we part ways, he told me he enjoyed our conversation, but his ex is an amazing programmer and speaks three languages, so we should probably just be friends. He said goodbye while brushing my hair off my face.

A day later, after I had showered off the whole debacle, I received a text from him that read, “Hey, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I don’t want to date you. I’m sorry if I led you on. I’m sure you’ll meet someone great. I could imagine you meeting someone in a bookstore.”

I told myself to take the high road and ignore him, but I was too furious that he had just rewritten that whole story to give himself the power. I couldn’t let him have the last word. So, I responded, “Wait, you thought I wanted to date you? Like, you thought last night went well? Dear lord. Face palm.”

Then, I promptly blocked his number so that I could consider my words the last ones, whether they were or not.

It was the only time in my life I was glad I’d forgone the high road.