The Hoover® Maneuver

Buzz. Text message:

Camera guy: What apartment?

I buzzed him in, and met him at the door. With a grin, he held up a large bottle of red wine to accompany the pizza and salad I was preparing. We chatted about our days as I slid the pizza into the oven, and suddenly he was in my face, wanting a kiss. Awkward.

We sat down at my coffee table with our dinner, and he poured us each a large glass of wine. Conversation was easy and comfortable as we ate (that is, until I discovered that he does a lot of filming for a fanatically religious tv show, which developed into a rather uncomfortable conversation about religion), and he gathered up our dishes when we were finished.

Camera Guy poured me another glass of wine, and asked me how work was going. I talked about how miserable I'd been lately, and that the job hunt continued. He cut me off mid-sentence, leaned in and said, "You worry too much. Shut up and kiss me," and planted his lips on mine.

I really expected him to be a good kisser, since the last kiss had been decent. WRONG. I'm not sure if he was trying to be passionate, but he began by pressing his mouth softly against mine, without tongue, and then proceeded to suck on my lips really hard. It was as if I applied a Hoover® vacuum extension to my bottom lip, and turned the machine on. To make matters worse, it HURT, and I could feel my lips beginning to swell.

I pushed him back gently, giving him the cue that I needed a break.

"You're so cute," he said, leaning in again. Fuck. My. Life.

This time, Camera Guy grew a little bolder, sliding his hand deftly up the back of my shirt, attempting to get my bra undone.

"Hey, whoa," I said, releasing the vacuum suction and pushing his hand away.

Camera Guy chuckled, then leaned across me and turned on the television. He found a classic rock music channel and turned the volume up. I made an attempt to discuss the song with him, but he was moving in for the kill again, and my poor, terribly swollen lips were aching in protest. He once again applied suction (this time with biting action!) as he groped insistently at my boobs. Then he tried to get his hand down my pants, and I grabbed his wrist.

"No. Not ready," I said, firmly.

He smiled and kissed me in return, and it was mere minutes before he was forcefully rubbing his hand against my crotch.

"Hey, NO. Camera Guy, look, I'm not ready to jump into anything with you," I said.

He evil grinned and said, "I have busy hands."

"Yeah, I noticed," I said and rolled over, so my poor lips could get a break. I grabbed the remote and began flipping channels, then yawned, in an effort to get him to leave.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Long day."

"I should go soon."

"Yeah, I have to get up really early tomorrow," I said. Hint, HINT.

"I want to kiss you again," he mumbled, pulling me toward him and pressing his open mouth to my horrified lips.

I'm being punished for something, right?

It wasn't long before I pushed him away again, yawning emphatically. Finally, he said he should get going, but needed to use my washroom first. While he was gone, I checked my appearance in a mirror; my lips were so swollen I looked like I'd had some bad collagen injections, and they hurt at the slightest touch.

Camera Guy came out of the bathroom and wrapped his arms around me. "I hope we can get together again before I leave for the shoot in Haiti," he said.

What I thought? No fucking way. What I said? "Work is so crazy. I'll see what I can do." I ducked my head and managed to avoid another Hoover®  session before closing the door behind him, with a sigh of relief. I would have been willing to bet very good money that he had a condom in his pocket, and expected to use it.

Over the next few days I received a bunch of text messages, all of which I ignored.

Camera Guy: Want to go to a concert at the Horseshoe tomorrow?

Camera Guy: What are you doing Sunday?

Camera Guy: Hey stranger, where are you hiding these days?

Thanks to Facebook, I knew exactly when he left for Haiti (and that his long hair was hiding a very large pair of ears), and I wouldn't have to worry about him for a while. I assumed by this point, he MUST have realized that I wasn't interested. Apparently, I assumed wrong, as I received a rather lengthy e-mail from him while he was in Haiti. He asked me how I was doing since he didn't get a chance to talk to me before he left, and where had I been hiding? Then he went on about how hot it was, and that he had crap on his boots, and the power kept going out, and he had to get up early…

You cannot imagine the immensity of the fuck I did not give.

Weeks went by and I did not hear another word from him, until this weekend when he commented on my Facebook status. Idiot. It's obviously time to delete him from my friends list, which I hope will send a very. clear. message.

I do have a question for the guys who read my blog: do guys always assume they will get laid on the third date?


  1. Anonymous10:36 AM

    If it's at the girl's apartment I sure do.

  2. Well no wonder he kept pushing to hang out at my place. What a douche. No more playdates at my apartment!

  3. Anonymous8:15 PM

    I always wait until the, "watch a movie and cuddle dates," to make a sexual move, or I will if we're both drunk. The only thing I will ever do before that are simple kisses. Also, dang what is camera guy a vampire or something!