That Time I...Made Out With A Guy Who Looked Like Christian Bale

My dating life in Portland started with Discount Christian Bale, a fellow from OKCupid who was a wine nerd and fellow Wisconsin ex-pat.  So we had quite a bit in common on the surface and we already kinda sorta not really knew each other. His brother was well known to me as The Mocha Douche from back in my days working a fancy Madison coffee shop/wine bar.  He came in every day with his spiked blonde hair seconds after the morning rush, never ever tipped and ordered a large, skim (“I’m watching my girlish figure”) mocha, extra hot, with whip (“To even out the skim”), he’ll put the lid on himself thank you very much so he can spill half of the sticky drink on the counter.  Every week day!

But Discount Christian Bale assured me he was the nice brother who only ordered drip coffee and always tossed in a few quarters to the tip jar.  He also knew positively everything about wine in Portland so when our schedules finally lined up I took him up on his offer to show me a great wine bar.

Discount Christian Bale lived up to his name, looking a bit like Christian Bale during his recovery from playing a skeleton in The Machinist.  He didn’t stand up or smile as greeting but he did make sure the waiter swooped in with giant glasses of Shiraz as soon as I got there. Cheers to you Discount Christian Bale and your great taste in wine but questionable manners!

I wasn’t really feeling it so I didn’t really want to take him up on his offer of a ride home knowing that in dude land buying wine and gas means I owe him ass but it started pouring aggressively as it only does in the Pacific Northwest so I jumped in his fuel efficient Batmobile.  When we got to my place I’d negotiate the reality of my not owing him shit.

Outside my place he worked in his favor the creepy/hot equation of is it okay to grab a girl by the chin and surprise kiss her without her explicit permission.  He made it hot because wine + Christian Bale + horny + good kisser = “Okay you can come in but not for long, I have a dog friend who needs a walk and I haven’t told my boyfriend about you yet so kissing is all my poly rules allow for.”

Of course he wasn’t hearing any of this, he just knew I’d talked about being a nude model and that I was into crazy, kinky sex so he was probably figuring his chances of getting laid as being super high since I was obviously such a super slut.  Inside he just barely said hello to the love of my life, Cleo, the moo dog which was another strike against him.

He tackled me onto the couch, and proceeded to try to get my dress off in under 10 seconds.  In his hurry he couldn’t get through the twelve million buttons on it.  I soothed it back around my waist and sat back up only to be pushed back down again.  This time he went up my dress and tried to snake a finger down my tights.

What I thought was, “Whoa dude, calm the fuck down!  What’s the hurry?  Even if I was going to sleep with you, which I already told you I wasn’t, but you weren’t listening to that were you? Of course not!  But if I was going to I wouldn’t now. Any man who has to grab and go without asking me what’s what is obviously not interested in my pleasure which you wouldn’t be able to give me anyway. Also you wouldn’t be happy with what you found in there fella because I knew I wasn’t going to boink you so it’s an untrimmed forest contained by granny panties in there.  So just back the fuck off.”

What I said was, “Not gonna happen.”  I sat up, crossed my legs and pulled away from him on the couch starting the awkward dance of how-do-I-get-this man-out-of-my-house-without-getting-murdered-or-called-a-bitch?  Cleo tried to help by sitting in my lap; 90 pounds of furry chaperone.  But he just lured her away and grabbed at me again, this time having remembered the ways of buttons. 

He got half way down my chest before I could stop him.  I sighed. Pulling open my dress exposed a giant red R I had Sharpied on my chest from shenanigans the evening before.  Now he pulled back.

“What’s that?”

“Oh I like to get drawn on sometimes.  I find it hot, that’s left over from yesterday.”

“Weird.”

What I thought was “Yeah I’m the weirdo Mr. Handsy Can’t Take a Hint. Girls tend to not get hot and bothered by being insulted.”

What I said was, “Be right back, need to use the little girl’s room.”

I didn’t really, but leaving the room for an extended period is usually a good indication that she’s just not that into you.  Hopefully it would tamp down his libido. If not I could use the coat tree to knock him out long enough to run out the door with Cleo, right? 

This is of course where I should have been able to go back into the living room and say, “Hey sorry Discount Christian Bale, I’m just not feeling it.  Thanks for a lovely evening of conversation and I so appreciate your generosity in covering the check since you’re a high paid executive that asked me out and I’m an unemployed artist that just moved to Portland. So we’re cool right? Hope to see you around.”

As pushy as he was being I didn’t see that going well.  He was already holding my hands down while trying to remove my clothing, and not in a sexy dominant way.  This was in the creepy I-own-you-kinda way.  So I feared rejecting him and having an adult conversation wouldn’t go well.  There was something in his eyes since he got in my house that was skeeving me out.  The patriarchy sucked and I’d made a mistake letting him inside but I’d handle those issues later.

I walked back out to sit as far away from him as possible on the couch doing my best I’m-sooooo-tired act. “Listen, I’m wiped.  Mind if we call it a night?”

He tried to leap on me again.  And I moved away so that he was making out with my back.  What I thought was, “Jesus Christ dude, get out of here! I want nothing to do with your sneaky fingers.”

What I said was, “I mean look at that face.”  I gestured at the pouting dog who wanted to ambulate around a couple blocks. “She really needs her time before I pass out.” Cleo helped by jumping on me again as I closed all my buttons and wrapped a sweater around me.  “We’ll have to continue this another time.”

He was the most put upon person in the universe as he got up and smoothed out his wool turtle neck and pressed black jeans.  Sighing all the way to door and out it he barely said good bye.  That didn’t stop him from writing me a million messages demanding that we go out again.

I ignored him until his messages got got scary then broke the silence since he knew where I lived, “Sorry, I just don’t think we’re a good match.  Thanks for the wine and the company but I don’t have the time or the interest.  It was nice meeting you though.”  I lied.

He wrote back the typical butt hurt dude message complete with, “I know if we go out again I could change your mind.”

Did this dude have no other prospects or hobbies?  I mean I’m cute and great in the sack and all but this was ridiculous.

So I wrote and told him the truth, “Listen part of the reason I haven’t been able to write you back is my dog died the morning after our date and I’m heartbroken like whoa right now. Going out with you would only remind me of ignoring her during her final hours to make out with you.  So I can’t do it, I can’t ever see you again.”

I didn’t add, “Also you’re gross.  A great kisser but what the fuck with the not taking no for an answer and moving so damn fast?  Just fuck the fuck off!”

He never wrote back. 

So the lesson I learned from that was OMG safe calls are apparently a requirement when dating in Portland. Also when the choice is between dog and dude, pick the dog, pick the dog every damn time because you never know when it’s the last walk you’ll ever take with Miss Fluff before she goes to the big dog park in the sky.

Also Discount Christian Bale is as big of an asshole as the real Christian Bale apparently is.  So fuck that business.  Or don’t fuck it as the case maybe.