The Creep Crusader

Jul 9, 2015
9 min read

No, no. That was not an anatomically correct Batsuit. It was body paint.

This one was promising. He was a sports writer, I’m into sports and writing. He had a puppy, I like puppies. He wanted to meet for margaritas, I love tequila! Despite the immediate initial attraction, it took us forever to find a time that worked. Sometimes the universe has a way of saying, “No, Mick. Don’t do it. Don’t go out with this guy.” Of course, my response is, “Oh shush, Universe. Didn’t you hear me say writing, puppies, and tequila?! I’m making plans!”

But, there I was on date night, with absolutely no desire to get off the couch, squeeze into my skinny jeans, and only slightly curl my hair so it looked like I woke up like that. Nope. I was leaning hard towards sweats, my DVR, and maybe some of my own tequila. Who am I kidding. Definitely some of my own tequila. The universe was telling me no again.

So, I did the respectable thing. I pulled Girl Code. (That’s right, bros, we have one too.) I told him that some asshole, who I never liked anyway, just broke up with one of my girlfriends. She was upset and I had to go over there. I have to. It’s Girl Code. He completely understood and I was off the hook.

Here’s the part where you’ll say, why did you have to lie, Michele? Couldn’t you just tell him the truth? Or couldn’t you have just sucked it up and put on your skinnies and gone out? And the truth is, yeah, I could have. I could have foregone the curling iron, jumped into my jeans, and gone out for margaritas with a nice guy. Tough life, right? But it’s hard to make a good first impression while visions of pajama pants dance in your head. And as for telling him the truth, well, I’m sure that would have gone over great. “Hey, man. I’m going to have to cancel tonight. I’d rather just fall asleep to a RomCom with my hand in a bag of chips.” So there you have it. Girl Code.

Then, I got the text.

“So, what are you going to be for Halloween this year?” (This wasn’t totally random. It was only a month away.)

“I’m not sure yet,” I lied (again). My costume idea was awesome and I wasn’t sharing. “I’ve got a few ideas though. You?” “I think I’m going to be Superman.” “Oh? You like comics or just being a hero?” Smooth, right? “Ha both. I was Batman last year.”

And there it was. The picture. It was him in a Batman costume. With all the crazy rubber muscly arms and 12 pack abs and… wait a second. That’s not… Holy shit, no way.

“Is that a rubber suit?” “Ha nope! My friend’s an artist. Did a good job, right?”

No, no. That is not an anatomically correct Batsuit. That’s body paint. Excuse me while I wipe the drool and chip crumbs off my chin. It’s a good thing I didn’t go out and meet this demi-god in my less-than-alluring mood. I needed time to prepare. Well done, Batman. You’ve got my attention.

Margaritas were scheduled for the following week and damn, I went for it. The universe was still saying, “Michele, you should really trust me on this one.” But, I defiantly wiped the mascara off the bridge of my nose, tried on yet another outfit hoping it wasn’t ripped or stained, like the last three had been, and headed out to meet Batman. And there was Bruce Wayne at the bar like the perfect gentleman with two margaritas and his coat over the chair next to him, making sure to save me a seat.

I’m not going to lie, it was a good date and was going WAY better than the date with The Wife Hunter. The margaritas were strong and their chips and salsa game was on point. There was witty banter, a few quick literary jokes, and a level of flirting appropriate for a first date. At last call, he walked me to my car. I thanked him for the lovely evening, and then… he leaned in. Suddenly, I found myself in a very familiar situation. He was about to kiss me and I didn’t know what to do! I hadn’t kissed another guy in over three years and it had been several months since I left! Don’t get me wrong, I like kissing just as much as anyone with a pulse, but oh God, Michele. Don’t be awkward. Please don’t be awkward.

I wasn’t. I took it like a champ. I made middle-school-never-been-kissed-me proud. It was a little weird getting used to someone else’s kissing style and it took me a second to recognize the different shape of his lips, but it didn’t take long. Standing in the parking lot, next to my car, kissing Batman. Still kissing Batman. Ok, Batman. Are you shaking Batman? He was. I asked him if he was cold.

“No. I’m like a furnace. Just a little nervous I guess. You’re a good kisser.” Good? I’m a mother fucking kissing champion! But I also know when to stop. We were in a parking lot, after all, so when he leaned back in I did a subtle look down and said goodnight, slid into my car, and drove away. A solid first date.

Batman and I tried again to make plans, and again that darn universe had to intervene. “I know, Michele, I know, you’re a champ. But please just listen to me.” We had no availability for the next few weeks, but having to show the universe who’s boss, we booked date #2 three weeks out. Batman came up with the brilliant plan to send each other one selfie each day just for fun and to pass the time between dates. I sent one of me in my office at work, he sent one in the bathroom mirror in his glasses. I sent one of me after a run, he sent one in the bathroom mirror without glasses. Then, I sent one in a shirt that said #Selfie (see what I did there?) and he sent one in the bathroom mirror wearing no shirt.

I’m not really one to complain. And so I won’t. Let’s not forget the Batman suit that wasn’t a suit. However, I most certainly was not going to reciprocate. I sent one of me and the kitties, he sent one in the bathroom mirror in a blue towel. I sent one of me at a red light, he sent one in the bathroom mirror in a red towel. I sent one of me with a cup of coffee, and he sent one, yup you guessed it, in the bathroom mirror… no towel. Conveniently cropped of course.

Now I am going to complain. We went on one date. ONE date. I thought multiple shirtless pictures in front of the bathroom mirror was a bit much. I get it. You have a nice body. But you apparently also spend a lot of time in a towel and in the bathroom. Are shirtless bathroom mirror selfies a hobby? The universe smirked.

Date night arrived. Despite the onslaught of topless pics, I was still interested. Like I said, our first date was a good date. This time he was coming to pick me up and was taking me somewhere that he thought I’d like. He pulled up and brought a huge bouquet of flowers. Except I didn’t greet him. My dad did. I was finishing getting ready and there was a knock on my bedroom door.

“Hey, Mick?” “Yeah Dad? You can come in.” “Um. There’s a guy here. He says he’s here for you. He brought you these.” I looked up. My dad, in his dirty yard work clothes, stood in the doorway of my room completely baffled, hands full of flowers. He’s one of those guys who gets really awkward about anything mushy or emotional but will cry uncontrollably during The Lion King. Oh no, I thought. What had been said between Dad and Batman? How awkward was it? You better chill out, Universe!

“Ok thanks, Dad. I’m heading down now.” I relieved my father of the flowers, kissed him on the cheek, and headed out the door. Batman was pacing outside his car.

“Hey, I heard you met my dad.” “That was your dad? I thought he was your landscaper!”

Dad! Seriously?! The man didn’t even introduce himself. Sigh.

I had no idea where we were going. All I knew was that Batman thought I’d think it was cool. An hour later we were still in the car. We chatted, it was fine. An hour and a half in the car and we were there, at the biggest indoor flea market in the state.

“I thought you could use some inspiration for Halloween.” Nicely done, Batman. See, Universe? This is going great, right?

Wrong. Every time I turned around in the store, Batman was behind me, his face uncomfortably close to mine, his eyes staring deeply into mine, like a weird attempt at a smoldering glance, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to try to kiss me or eat my face. I mean, are you hungry? Do you need a snack?

Every time I said something that made him laugh, that look. Whenever I picked up something that was cool, that look. Soon, it was every time we made eye contact, that look! And it was followed by a deep kiss- not just like a cute quick peck appropriate for budding romances, no, it was hand on the side of my face, slow lean in, deep stare, kiss. In a flea market. With other people. And children. INAPPROPRIATE! No doubt the universe was laughing its ass off at me while I was running around the store, desperately trying to avoid Batman, and true to character, he was hiding around every vintage vase and popping up behind each bargained price. No wonder these villains can’t catch him. He’s a sneaky bastard, that Batman.

Of course, our date didn’t end at the store. He had made reservations at one place for dinner and at another place for dessert. I was glad to have a table between us at both places. What was comfortable conversation and easy banter on our first date, was now forced jokes and nervous laughter. It was too much and we still had an hour and a half drive to get home. I was sufficiently stuffed since we already know how I react when I’m uncomfortable and there’s food around, let’s not forget about my nervous carbo-loading, and I was in no mood for feigned amusement. We listened to music most of the way. A little bit of peace.

But what was that strange little voice I heard? Is that laughter? Is that you, Universe? Are you laughing? Are you shaking your finger at me? Oh, yes. Of course you are. Jerk. I’ll admit it. You were right. You’ve had your day, Universe, but I’m almost safely home. The car pulled in. But I wasn’t home. Where are we?

“So, my roommate invited some friends over for a movie and cards. I thought we could join them. Come on up!” He was already out of the car and halfway up his steps before I could even decline. I hate you sometimes, Universe. And oh, what do you know, nobody is there.

“I guess they didn’t get here yet. But here,” he hands me a new pair of soft slipper socks. “I got these for you so that you would be comfortable. Our floors get cold sometimes.” I do love a good pair of soft socks, but… really?

“Thanks,” I smiled, and just as I was about to say I should really get going, there it was. That look.

I swear, if he came near my face one more time, I was going to live up to my inevitable feline filled future and go Catwoman on his ass.

I interrupted mid-lean, “I really should get going. This was a nice day, but I’ve got to be getting home.” Nice day? We had been on a ten hour date. TEN HOURS.

“Sure.” He looked disappointed. “Let me just change my shirt.” And right there, in the middle of his kitchen, he pulled his shirt up over his head, held it in one hand at his side, and looked at me. “…Are you going to get changed or just wear that?” He laughed, “Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

Ok, judge me all you want but I wasn’t impressed. Don’t forget, I had already seen countless pictures of him with no shirt on. I’d seen the goods! I get it! You’re pecs are bigger than my boobs. I’m sure the guys at the gym are very impressed. Put your shirt on and let’s get a move on.

In the car he asks, “Did you have a nice time?” “Yeah, it was fun. I’m just really tired.” He paused and let out a deep sigh. “Was it too much?” Lie, Michele. It’s time to lie. “No! I’m just really tired.” Damn it, you said that already. Now he knows you’re lying. “I’m sorry. It was too much wasn’t it. I’ve been told I come on too strong.”

I laughed and smiled hoping it would come off as charming and we could end this conversation. Thankfully, it didn’t take us another ten hours to get back to my house. He put the car in park and looked at me with the eyes of a puppy who just peed on the floor.

“I feel like I really messed this up, huh?” Oh for fuck’s sake. We went on a ten hour date! It’s got to end sometime! Now I’m starting to feel bad. So, again, I did the respectable thing. I took a quick breath, looked at him with my best attempt at a smoldering glare, and kissed him. Quickly kissed him. Let’s not fool anyone, I was in no mood to prolong this date. He looked at me and didn’t say anything. Perfect. I smiled and slipped right out of the car, walked up the steps, and got myself ready for RomCom and bag of chips o’clock. Oh, with the addition of some seriously comfy socks.

But just as I was snuggling into the corner chair, I hear my text message alert. WHAT NOW?! “I’m sorry I messed things up. I’m sorry that was too much.” Biiiiiiig sigh. “Let yourself off the hook, dude. It was only a date.”