February 20, 2026
He was tall, nerdy, overeager.
We met online, and he quickly asked me out to an upscale bar near my apartment. From the start, he seemed overeager to get to know me. He even brought up kids on the first date. Some women might have been scared off by that kind of forwardness. I found it refreshing. I teased him about strip poker after he casually mentioned liking to play poker in his free time. He was successful, the COO of some startup in the city. Money came easily to him. On paper, he seemed perfect.
His eyes lit up when I playfully brought up strip poker. He seemed almost too eager to play. I was just teasing, offering an empty fantasy I had no intention of following through on. We went to two different bars before going home with him started to feel like a good idea. The next thing I knew, I was in his bed and he was opening a deck of cards.
“Take something off, you lost,” he said gleefully.
I internally rolled my eyes. He had such beta energy. Something didn’t feel right. Why was I uncomfortable around him? When I didn’t move, he pressed a little more before finally giving up when I changed the subject. I slept there for a few hours. He cuddled up to me like a baby koala clinging to its mother. It felt suffocating.
Women can sense it almost immediately when a man feels inferior to the woman he’s courting. It gave me the strongest ick. I’d let him finger me under my clothes before we drifted off to sleep. I felt them hesitate as he moved inside me. Hesitation born from a lack of confidence. Another immediate ick. I needed a man who didn’t just pretend to be in command. I needed a man who embodied it. Deep down, this man felt like a nerd playing dress-up. A beta pretending to be an alpha. I woke up at 5 a.m. and made up an excuse about needing an early start at work while he called me a Waymo to whisk me away.
I should have ended it there. But on paper, he could give me everything I was searching for. He oozed stability. He invited me to his product launch party the following week, and I was excited. I’d never been to one before. Did I fantasize about him? Absolutely not. Did I ever say no to new experiences? Also no.
He graciously let me bring two friends, and he was the perfect host. I gave him space as he moved through the room greeting guests, laughing on cue. At one point, his parents walked in and I hid in the corner. Was he planning for me to meet them? I’d known him for barely two weeks. I was relieved when they left without an introduction.
Ten minutes to midnight, I decided to call it a night. He looked disappointed. He was so eager to introduce me to coworkers and friends. It felt strange. We barely knew each other.
The next day was Valentine’s Day. We met at a lively bar in the city. He ordered a charcuterie board and wine. I felt tired. Like I didn’t want to be there. Like his presence exhausted me. We sat side by side while he talked about living in China, sprinkling in Chinese phrases as he spoke. Was it just me, or did it feel off-putting to be spoken to in Chinese by a white man?
He wrapped one arm around my lower back and stroked my abs with the other.
Smothered. That was the word.
He smothered me in every sense. Like he believed I was the best he’d ever get and that if he loosened his grip for even a second, I’d disappear. It made me want to hyperventilate. I’d never been on a date with someone so clingy.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sensing my shift in energy.
“Just tired,” I replied.
After he paid, we went to a salsa bar. He knew I loved to dance, and I hoped it would clear the strained energy between us. He pulled me in, gripping the small of my waist with both hands.
Can this man stop grabbing me for five seconds? I thought.
I moved his hands into mine and tried to follow the steps I’d learned the week before in a salsa class. One spin later, his hands were back on my waist. I moved them again and again. They always returned.
Is he one of those creeps who uses dancing as an excuse to touch women? I wondered bitterly, when it became clear he wasn’t taking the hint. His knees flapped awkwardly as he danced; his movements felt jerky and performative. Like someone had described dancing to him and he was mimicking it instead of feeling the music.
By the time we left, I had never been more over a man in my life. I was thinking longingly about my bed when he suddenly burst into beatboxing beside me.
I cringed.
Why am I cringing? I’ve never cringed on a date before.
I found him nerdy, cringey, embarrassing. If I truly liked him, his quirks would have felt endearing. But they didn’t.
This wasn’t my guy.
I’d rather be alone than force myself into something that felt so wrong. I could never willingly sleep with this man. What a shame.
I felt nothing when we texted later to officially end it.
On to the next, I suppose.
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Honey to Bear 