I went through a brief phase a while ago where I thought I was ready to stop having casual hookups and start trying to date people who could be potential life partners. In hindsight, this was a laughable conclusion on my part and clearly a result of all my friends (who are a few years older than me) starting to settle down. Don’t worry, this phase lasted all of one date. Who, you ask, is the memorable gentleman holding the distinct honor of being so horrible and horrifying that he scared me back into my old wicked ways after just one date? I call him The Face Biter.
I met him on an app, as one does, and we agreed to meet at a wine bar near my house. I walked in and spotted him at the bar, a basket of truffle popcorn already in front of him and a coat draped across a chair. He had blonde curly hair, a ruddy complexion, and a few less inches and a few more pounds than his profile had implied. However, I always try to thwart my baser shallow instincts and give people a chance, so I greeted him with a hug and sat down beside him.
He turned out to be a pleasant drinking companion who was interesting to talk to and had a sense of humor, but I wasn’t really feeling a sexy vibe at first. However, it turned out that he also loved wine pairings and charcuterie boards. Pro tip: if you want to take me home with you, ply me with wine pairings and charcuterie. Works 90% of the time every time. By the end of glass #3 I was starting to warm up to him and he was getting more attractive.
As we closed our tab, he offered to drive me home. Job, wine pairings, AND a car? In D.C., having a car adds at least two points to your dating desirability, so I accepted his offer, dreaming of all the wineries he could drive me to in the future. We pulled up to my apartment building and began the awkward dance of “will we won’t we” that is only made more difficult in the front seat of a car. Remembering my new adult resolution to not sleep with people I liked on the first date, I told him that I had a wonderful time but had to work early the following morning.
He accepted this nonverbal signal that I was a classy lady (stop laughing) and leaned in for a kiss instead. We happily made out in the front of his car for a bit and then he suddenly stopped and moved to kiss my cheek… at least that’s what I thought. I was confused when I felt a light but unmistakable bite on my cheek.
“WTF?” I thought to myself as he moved back to a regular make out. “Did he mean to just bite my cheek? No, surely not. He probably was going for like a light ear nibble or lip bite and just missed because the car is a weird angle… yeah…” I convinced myself.
I finally extricated myself and thanked him again, heading into my building. We agreed on a second date two nights later for a Saturday dinner at a trendy well known oven-fired pizza restaurant. However, between that Thursday night and Saturday night was Friday night, which meant I was going out to rage with Betty and make some great life choices.
When Friday night rolled around, we pulled out our shortest sweater dresses and our cutest suede knee high boots, and headed to what had recently been named one of “The 27 Best Bad Decision Bars In America.” The fact that this bar serves cocktails in literal buckets and that they’re half off if you’re in college should tell you that Betty and I had no business being there. However, we had decided to attempt to briefly relive our grad school days in hopes of regaining some semblance of our lost youth.
We were one or two buckets in when I was bumped at the bar and to my surprise, I turned around and saw my date from the previous night. DC is not a small town and we love our alcohol, so running into someone you know at the literal hundreds and hundreds of bars at your disposal is a pretty slim chance. However, I had not been in communication with my date at all since our make out the previous evening, so there was no way he could have known where I was or vice versa.
We were both pretty drunk and decided to dance it out on the packed, sweaty dance floor. Somewhere in the midst of our frenzied drunken grinding, we decided to start making out again. He was a little sloppy and moved around to kiss my neck (as adults do in public places), and then suddenly I felt what I can only describe as a “nom” on my cheek.
This time, there were several… bites? Nibbles? Nips? … on my cheek in a row that left no doubt as to his intentions. He was not aiming for my ear or my lips or anywhere other than my cheek with his bites. After each session of biting, he would then return to making out as if nothing had happened.
If you have never had someone bite your face repeatedly, I would not recommend it. Due to the flat plane of the face and general lack of loose skin, it is difficult for teeth to get a proper “bite” onto a cheek, which results in a lot of tongue being mashed against your face in the process. A LOT of tongue. The whole thing is very slobbery and unpleasant.
I began to panic and looked frantically around for Betty, who was standing not far off at the bar, staring at us, mouth open in horror at the display in front of her. I reached out to her behind his back, my eyes telegraphing a clear “HELP ME” signal, and like the true bestie she is she came to my rescue. She dragged me away and we made our escape as I threw apologetic shrugs back in my date’s general direction.
I couldn’t imagine allowing this man to nom my face another second, so the following day I texted him early that I had to cancel our pizza date. He made several attempts to reschedule and I eventually just had to tell him I wasn’t interested. I don’t know if this guy was a Hannibal Lecter fan or just weird, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out. Luckily, I have not heard from him again and my cheek bones remain intact. I would like to say that I managed to extrapolate a broader more helpful dating lesson for you from this nightmare, but let’s just keep this one simple: don’t bite people’s faces on a first date..