After Jim and the dog collar, its amazing I still date!

Studded dog collars, coffee and cigarettes, and leather g-strings; my first date had it all.

His name was Jim, and I met him in my favourite coffee shop. My friend and I were playing Scrabble, and he was sitting next to us. After suggesting a few killer letter-combos, we struck up a conversation that ended in the exchange of phone numbers.

The next night he called me, and we decided to meet that Saturday for a nice, unthreatening coffee.

I walked in and looked around; Jim wasn't there yet, so I ordered my coffee. As I headed to a table, he snuck up from behind me and put a black dog collar with metal spikes around my neck. Then he hooked it to one of his many chains and dragged me to a table.

Okay — this should have been the only red flag I needed. For some reason though, I thought I'd give it another 15 minutes.

We sat, drinking coffee and smoking (my) cigarettes. The conversation was essentially one-sided; I learned about political conspiracies, tear gas, protests, Ecstasy, Anti-flag and the, “If you can pinch it you can pierce it” theory. At first I considered it a learning experience. After half an hour I was trying to pay attention. After 45 minutes, I was wondering how many of his safety pins I could jab into his hand (which was inappropriately resting on my thigh) before he stopped talking.

Really, he must have slipped something into my latte, because when the conversation turned to sex shops, I let him convince me that we should go to one.

We headed to Pandora's Box; me being pulled down the busiest street in downtown Windsor by the collar (still so ashamed…) and praying that no one I knew would drive by and see me in such a humiliating situation. By the time we finally got to the sex shop, I was actually glad to be there, just so no one could see me in public with this crazy kid.

I quickly learned that I would actually prefer to be anywhere but looking at dildos and scented massage oil with a guy I met once.


I played along for a few minutes, looked at a few things, but I drew the line when Jim picked out a few black leather cat suits that he thought would look really hot on me. No, I won't try them on, perv.

After the debacle at Pandora's Box, I'd had enough. I walked back to the coffee shop and hoped I wouldn't be hearing from Jim again.

But as weird, twisted fate would have it, he called me the next day and wanted to go out again. Of course, I did what every girl would do; I told Jim I had just reconciled with the boyfriend I had been fighting with when I went out on the date, and that I couldn't see him anymore.

Did he take it like a man? Did he accept my obvious lie as a polite way of telling him to stop calling me? No. Instead, he yelled at me for half an hour, calling me names and telling me that I gave girls everywhere a bad name. Yet, he still called me occasionally to go with him to a goth bar, but I gracefully declined his invitations.

When I think about that doomed afternoon, with all its sick glory and terrible memories, it's amazing that I had the nerve to venture back out onto the dating scene. Luckily for me I did; if I hadn't, I would have never met Jeremy the ex-con, Paul the emotionally unavailable journalist, or James the engaged bartender. How can dating get any better than that?

Ruth Swanson wants to warn daters everywhere; if you find yourself in a similar situation, don't stick around. Her vast experience with dating creepy guys is testament that a girl has to be careful out there!

Think your worst date can top this? Email Ruth at overcaffinated@hotmail.com

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