OK, I’m gonna commit heresy. Or maybe this is a confession. After another first date that isn’t going to become a second one, I have to be honest about what I’m doing here.

I’m thinking mainly about sex. Yet when the guy starts flirting or calls me babe, I react inside like I’m not interested, or like I’m offended. My socialization is always fighting my true nature. I feign a sweet smile but in truth I want to grab his balls and show him who’s boss.

This is not an easy conundrum, and I have realized that first dates are not just about sex for the guy, but for the woman as well. So here’s how my last one went:

We have several conversations by phone and email and decide to meet up at a nice local restaurant on the waterfront. I get there first; he walks in, not bad looking, shakes my hand and says, “Gee, you’re cute!” I am dressed in tight Abercrombie size 0 jeans, a new purple-pink-gray tweedish Japanese-style short jacket and my de rigueur tight cami top. I dress to be sexually enticing but my strict parental conditioning kicks in and tells me he’s being too forward.

Ignoring that conditioning, I glance quickly below his belt but don’t catch any telltale protuberance.

We move on to the bar for some house Chardonnay (he insists on paying – does that obligate me sexually?). For some reason he wants to look at my hands, my palms. An excuse to touch me? He says he’s heard that a lot of lines means you’re an old soul. I must be an old soul, not just old.

But his hands don’t thrill me; I’m thinking they wouldn’t feel so great caressing my breasts. Do I want rough, uncultured hands stroking my cheeks (any cheeks)? Not really.  He’s getting familiar very fast. I don’t like that – even though I’m thinking about sex. The internal dialogue is having a war.

We move to a more private table, and he asks me why I like rock climbing. That’s not an easy answer. My joke response, which I don’t say because of the aforementioned social conditioning, is because I adore gazing at guys’ bulging packages encased in their harnesses. Why don’t I say that? Because on the first date you’re not supposed to talk about sexual things.

Even though we’re both obviously thinking about sex.

I’m not physically attracted to him. There isn’t a spark. He is talking nonstop about his boy in college, about his camera, about his work. I’m half-listening and the other half is thinking OK, could I fuck this guy? How big is his member? Is he any good in bed? Does he just lay there or is he kinky? Why did his first wife divorce him? He’s boring. Was the sex boring too?

I’m looking at his shoulders. He’s not wearing anything tight or revealing. Does he have hair on his chest? Is he a screamer? Does he talk during sex, ask what the woman wants? How would I look on top?

He keeps talking; the more he does, the more turned off I get. I’m so horny, I could get laid if I wanted, but I don’t want this guy.

And yet I can’t stop thinking about sex.

We end up having dinner at my fave Japanese restaurant. I find myself fading into the woodwork and casting glances at the other guys there, wondering if they are good in bed and if they’re all gonna have oral later on. My date simply cannot keep my attention.

We part and agree to keep in touch, though I have no intention of going out with him again. Is it because I’m not turned on? Yes – but the truth is, the connection just isn’t there. No matter how much I think about sex all during the date, and no matter how easy it would be to just get laid — sex isn’t just sex.
It’s about connecting. And we didn’t.

Why do we hide our interest about sex on the first date? Is this why so many never get to the second date?  It seems that acknowledging the 500-pound elephant in the restaurant could go a long way toward building a relationship that’s based on clarity and honesty.
Maybe next time I’ll just lay it all on the table. That could be fun; talk about a new position!