Last week I had a new OK Cupid date, this time with someone who fit my type. You see, I have a type that I wish were my type: guys in plaid, guys who are sensitive, guys who look like they’d be friends with Ryan Gosling, guys who are over 5’9″. And then I have my real type: the guy who I’m inexplicably drawn to and drawn to me, too. This type of guy is dark-haired, under 5’9″, and extremely confident.
This latest guy (let’s call him the Sneakerhead) fit my type to a T, but he had some bonus features: a cool sneaker collection (you can tell a lot about a guy by his shoes), a good tan (a product of his half-Argentinian ancestry), he was a hip-hop fan, and he wears glasses. Oh, and he has a tattoo. And he doesn’t have a doughboy body. He’s my real type, plus perfection.
I had a few goals for the evening we met for drinks. They were:
- Do not get super drunk.
- Do not tell him you were engaged (yet).
- Do not reach for your wallet, as an experiment.
- Do not take off your clothes.
I achieved all but the third one, but I am happy to report that I finally, finally did not end up splitting the check. I did reach for my wallet, but the Sneakerhead was true to my type – gentlemanly, not cheap.
Back at my apartment, we sat on the couch and talked, but he got up to leave after about half an hour. Wait! Was he so gentlemanly that he wasn’t going to put the moves on me? Had he decided he wasn’t interested in me because on my book collection or something?
My confusion didn’t last long. By the door, we started to make out. When I asked him what took him so long, he responded, “You were hard to read.” Say what? You mean I didn’t have a blinking sign on my forehead that was screaming: “Kiss Me!”? How surprising.
Which brings me to number four. After an hour or two, Sneakerhead had disrobed to his boxers, and I was fully clothed. Every guy friend I have told this story has stared at me, stupefied. Here’s the thing: guys like the Sneakerhead love to be in control. What turns me on so much about this type is the challenge of trying to take the control away. This time, I was successful. Of course, the problem with dating a fellow control freak is that there’s always that battle for control, which, while extremely hot, can drive me incredibly crazy. Part of liking to be in control is knowing where I stand. When I don’t know where I stand, I turn into Gigi from “He’s Just Not That into You.”
After so many ups and downs with Chicken Parm, and the confusing nonsense with the Doodler, I have learned not to be excited by a great date. But the next day, first thing in the morning, the Sneakerhead was already IMing me. Then, we texted all weekend, although I must note, we didn’t actually see each other. A guy friend — and I didn’t tell him about my control freak theory — said, “Maybe he gets off on the notion of turning you on but retaining control” — in other words, knowing that I’m interested and responsive is the thrill the Sneakerhead wanted. Whatever the case may be, things with him are definitely to be continued.