First Date

By Kimberly Wolf

Copyright ©2025

I met him on OkCupid just a few days after leaving an abusive relationship that had left me spiraling. The feeling of relief that I was told I should be experiencing was completely overwhelmed by the debilitating loneliness that was my day to day reality. Nights were spent drinking myself into oblivion and talking myself out of texting my ex. My days devoted to the monotonous grind of my full time mall job, earning just enough to eat but not enough to move out of my mother’s home with my daughter.

OkCupid became the first dating site I would ever use due to it being free. I couldn’t afford to spend money on finding love, and the dating world was completely unfamiliar to me after my last relationship. As soon as I finished setting up my profile with what I hoped to be sexy but tasteful pics attached, the messages started pouring in. Singles in my area were very interested in me. Messages ranging from the very boring hey to the overly familiar what are you wearing right now clogged my inbox and left me overwhelmed. When you spend years being told by someone you love that no one other than him will ever want you, anything proving that to be false comes as a shock.

The site very quickly became time consuming. No one was really capturing my attention, but the sheer enormity of my options were fascinating to me. I scrolled past hundreds, thousands of men. I read about their interests, their favorite movies, their turn-ons and offs. I became very adverse to men with pictures of themselves holding large fish that they caught several years ago, as if this should be a warning, you’re next. Until one night, one man stopped my unforgiving finger from swiping him into oblivion. Part of it was that, according to the site, he wasn’t that far from where I was living. Another part was there was something strange about his responses to the questions the site had generated in his profile. He had written seemingly endless lists of his favorite films and books, many with notes on what drew him to them. There were paragraphs of his thoughts on social justice and art. I was hypnotized. For the first time, I reached out first. With a trembling hand, I messaged him: hey.

To my surprise and delight, he messaged me back quickly. We had similar senses of humor and decided to meet up at a local bar that was known for outdoor seating and beers around fire pits. It was February, and the weather was freezing. We met up in a public place, and he drove us to the bar where we were going to have our first date. We were bundled up head to toe, and I was already thinking of the warmth of the fire when we stepped out of his car. I had settled into a determined walk towards the glow when he called my name from behind me. I turned to see that he was still standing at the driver’s side door of his car. He had a large grin on his face, and as my eyes adjusted back to the darkness of the unlit street, I noticed what he was smiling about. Protruding from the void of his black winter coat was his erect penis.

This is where I run into conflict with this story. What does the me I am in that street do? She should be disgusted, and I think that not a small part of her is. Maybe she should scream. That would get the attention of the other people by the fire, all of them warm and ready to come to her aid. Or she can just turn around and keep walking as fast as she can, pull her phone out once she gets closer to other people and call the police. Perhaps she can walk up to him and karate chop him right in his cock and follow that with an uppercut to the chin. After she’s thoroughly beaten his ass, the people from the bar will carry her on their shoulders to the warmth she’s worked so hard to deserve, and the beer will be free all night. Yes, maybe that’s what she’ll do. But look. Look at her now, what’s she doing? I think she’s laughing. Yes, she’s laughing, and she’s smiling at him. He’s put his penis away now, and he’s walking toward her. Why isn’t she screaming yet? Now they’re holding hands. Disgusting.

By the fire, he took off his coat and wrapped me in it when he saw that I was shivering. We had struck up a conversation with some strangers, and they asked us how long we had been together. This is our first date, he replied, then leaned in and put his lips on mine. And that was our first kiss.

I understand that the above makes me a bad feminist in many people’s eyes, potentially even a bad woman. If it makes anyone feel better, the relationship was short lived and generally easy to end. Within about two months from our first date, we would never see each other again. I know that what he did was wrong, and I know that men commit these small violences every day. What I don’t know is why it didn’t feel wrong to me. In a way I felt in control, something that I have struggled to say about most of my life. Maybe by seeing him exposed, I held a power over him that no one in the world could say they had in that moment. In that street, I dictated how his life would continue from that point on. I don’t know, though. I think the truth is something that no one wants to hear. I think the truth is that I liked it.

About Kimberly Wolf:

Kimberly Wolf is a poet living in the South. If you need a road trip partner, she’s your man. You can read more of her work at www.kimberlywolfpoet.com.