Dating : What a Shower Sex Nightmare Taught Me About Self-Love

The “D” Word

Theo and I agreed to meet at the local bowling alley/casino, The Lucky Strike, the next night. I’d called a ride early, hiding in the far back near the pizza joint so I could prepare myself.

You can do this, I repeated over and over in my mind, hoping each time I’d believe it.

Some may be confused by my anxiousness. But I assure you when you lack the confidence to be yourself, dating is terrifying. Everything is peachy when it’s flirtatious fun. But once the word “date” comes into play, all sense takes a vacay.

Though there’s undeniable chemistry, we start to wonder, “what if they don’t like me?” rather than say, “this person appreciates my charms and wants to know me better.” We don’t see ourselves for who we are, and instead of searching for strength inward, we go on a quest for “the one.”

And this pressure can make us act like someone else altogether.

Bad Choices

I stepped into the bar, adjusting my cleavage, and checking my teeth. Theo waited at a table in the back. With a deep breath and all the fake sex appeal I could muster, I perked my breasts as we waved hello. I let his hand linger on my back after a fumbling hug.

We made small talk for a bit, and then Theo asked, “Do you want a drink?”

And this is when shit started to go south — Tijuana south. Working in a casino has taught me to slam shots like a frat boy. The thing is, drinking makes me far too bold, so I don’t, and I had no alcohol tolerance.

I tried to shake my head and smile in refusal, but the show-off in me blurted, “I’ll do shots. Let’s make a bet.”

You’re about to get wrecked, I’d thought, gazing into the blue eyes willing me to play along.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Theo laughed, signaling for the bartender.

I couldn’t deny how much I wanted to impress him, because I wanted permission to like myself, though no-one needs it. A lot of people carry a warped view of what others will find attractive.

And in these anxiety-fueled fantasies, they’re never any of the qualities we have. So, we compensate by acting as we think we should. The charade continues until our partner is too invested in us to mind our bizarre ways.

Et voilà! Boyfriend.

At least, this was my bullshit plan. But I don’t remember much after the fifth double shot of Krakken. Not much beyond blackjack, bowling, and then scream-rapping in a Lyft on the way to my apartment, anyway.

We gave the driver a fat tip, and once inside, the clothes came off. Then, I’d opened my big mouth to speak some of the most unfortunate words I’ve ever spoken: “Race you to the shower!”

Mortification Central

Theo didn’t so much as step into the water and kiss me before I went down — and not in the way I’d intended. My boozy brain decided it would be fun to keep the lights off without a safety check of the shower first.

I’d grabbed the curtain for leverage while he and I got acquainted, and then — rattattattattat — the sound of gunshots as the curtain rings burst. Stepping in a soapy pool, I’d skidded across the mat-less floor. And, in a spiral of plastic and regret, hit the ground with a wet thump.

Theo stepped out from the stream, gasping, “Fuck! Are you okay?”

Then, he started to dress, leaving me lying in a heap, contemplating my life until this moment.

Everyone wants to be loved and accepted — there’s no question about this. But when we seek it everywhere else except within, problems arise. We forget the importance of authenticity in a relationship with others and with ourselves.

On a more specific note, I also realized how confidence can save us from devastating embarrassment by helping us understand who we are, and aren’t.

Self-love also makes having the strength to say “no,” as I should have to the liquor, far more comfortable. When we love ourselves, we don’t need to impress anyone. I’d acted like someone else hoping to win a genuine connection. And instead, I’d found myself pruning, water-logged at the bottom of a basin. All because I took a hard right instead of left to seem sexy and cool.

Theo didn’t stay long. I don’t blame him one bit. And, the next day, as I shopped for a new curtain at Wal-Mart, he sent me a text.

You’re a great girl, the message said, blah, blah, blah….

I didn’t need to read the rest to understand there wouldn’t be a second date.

Texting back, I totally get it, I shuffled along, surprised I didn’t mind so much. I’d learned one thing from this cringe-fest of a night. The love I sought shouldn’t come from Theo or anyone else, but myself.