Dating The High Society
It must have been because I came from a middle-class family and I have spent a good majority of my life with relatives who were a lot more unfortunate than us. Both of my parents came from big families who were so poor, when they were young, they often walked miles just to be able to go to school. My dad’s father was a farmer and my mom’s was a jail warden. My mother attended college on a scholarship while my dad worked his way throughout college. They were both brought up from difficult lives where every penny mattered, every cent a product of their own sweat.
And they never made us forget it.
I spent a good majority of my youth feeling intimated by my rich classmates. I skipped lunch to avoid them from seeing what measly viand my mother had come up with. I cried buckets of tears on my birthday to force my mother to scrape up enough money just so I can treat my friends. I barraged my mother with phone calls in college asking for more money for books I never got to browse that often. I wanted people to see that not only was I smart but I was not to be pitied as well.
I was proud, but not in the good way.
Hence, it made me uncomfortable being in the company of those with money. I wasn’t particularly close with the rich kids in our class. I preferred hanging out with those who were in the same plight as I was – provincial, barely surviving on the allowance sent regularly, coming from low- to middle-class families. This reflected on my dating choices as well. Although some did come from families with money, they lived so frugally that it was easier to believe that they weren’t as well-off as they really were.
And then I met TheBusinessman, who wore his wealth on his sleeve for all to see.
We were on our first date and he brought TWO of his bodyguards.
This was turning out to be one very high-profile date, indeed. And I felt like shrinking lower in my seat.
How are you supposed to get to know someone better if there are two other guys with you? I can’t flirt with him, knowing there are witnesses to every appropriate or inappropriate word that comes from my mouth? How can I bring out the big guns when I know that there are two other parties who will be watching my every move or listening in to every conversation?
Why the hell did he have to bring his bodyguards anyway? And why the hell two, when one should already be embarrassing enough?
We ended up at this restaurant away from town. His bodyguards sat at a distant table while TheBusinessman and I had our dinner alone at a separate table. The conversation was okay – he was extremely worldly and well-travelled than most guys I’ve dated – but the chemistry just wasn’t there. Maybe it was the way he reprimanded me for joining him when he asked to smoke. I’m not sure. I just knew that I wasn’t really feeling it with him.
I didn’t kiss him goodbye. Neither did I make him think that I wanted him to.
We continued texting after that, saw each other at the gym and decided to give him another chance. We went out on another date, this time a night-out with his friends at a local club. He had a table reserved for his posse and he left me once to chat with the owner. I figured, TheBusinessman must be part-owner of the club as well. He drank Vodka, and he reprimanded me for drinking light beer. Apparently it was not a good choice for people who work-out since beer, however light, still has more calories. We sat close and I was introduced repeatedly to his friends as [mistress], the doctor. Everybody else in the club looked at me like I was part of high society. I, on the other hand, felt like a stupid trophy.
When he brought me home, his bodyguards stepped out of the car without being told. I thought I was supposed to step down as well so I tried to open the door.
“Hey, wait. Stay for a while.”
“Huh?… Ah,okay…”
“Did you have fun today?’
“Yes, thank you so much.”
“I had fun too.”
I kissed him on the cheek.
“Okay, then I should thank you as well.”
I smiled, was about to offer my cheek for him to kiss, when he captured my lips in his. It was a quick kiss, lips parted, no tongue, the faint taste of nicotine tinging his breath. It was not the worst kiss I’ve ever had, but I’ve had better.
I grinned at him mischgievously. “How incredibly fresh of you.”
He laughed.
“Thanks for a great night again.”
“ You’re welcome.”
We still continued texting each other but he was not the most engaging person as a textmate. We had limited topics to talk about – my diet, our work-outs, school. He has routines he followed to the letter: a forwarded religious message first thing in the morning, one text message telling me to enjoy my lunch and an occasional text message or two during evenings. It was predictable and I was bored. He reprimanded me for not having enough control with my food intake. He couldn’t take a joke and showed no sense of humor, despite the fact that he bragged how he was frequently not taken too seriously by the other guys in the gym. He never told me what his surname was, nor did he tell what line of work he was in. It felt as if he feared I would change the way I acted around him and started worshipping the ground he walked on once I find out.
When he didn’t ask me out the next weekend, I knew it had ended. He still continued texting me once in a while but I didn’t reply back anymore except for the occasional forwarded messages. Thankfully, my membership was up at the gym so there weren’t any more chances that I’d be bumping into him anymore.
I found out the whole truth about TheBusinessman through a former gradeschool classmate whose sister used to date him for three years. He was apparently a college drop-out and a player who dated only the best – the beauty pageant winners, the daughters of high government officials, the dentists, the Chinese elite – and he had trophy girlfriends in every city he owned business establishments in.
No wonder I felt like he was always trying to mold me into something that I clearly wasn’t. Or how weird it was that he was already discussing my future specialization and how it might interfere with the plans of raising children with him when we haven’t even gotten past getting to know his surname. Or how I felt like he was shoving my profession to all of his friends’ faces.
It was my title that fit perfectly in his future, not me.
Loser.
Six-Pack Abs, Leg Raises And A Date
Now, the gym is not the easiest place to meet a guy. I don’t particularly suggest doing so and I have never intended to meet a guy when I enrolled in the gym anyway. For one, I cannot make a great first impression because I do not look my very best working out. My hair is tied haphazardly in a hair clamp and tendrils keep falling off from the knot, obstructing my vision and sticking to my sweaty face. Two, sweat dripping all over my body mixed with the sebaceous secretions plus body odor is not sexy. Three, those jogging pants and rubber shoes just do nothing to flatter my figure. Four, I don’t like making conversations with anyone just as I am struggling to work on my triceps with a 4 lb weight on one arm or trying not to groan loudly as I manage to complete my last set of leg raises. Five, there is no way I can disguise the rolls of cholesterol in my tummy while I make side bends or abdominal crunches and then proceed to flirt with a guy who has six-pack abs and not an ounce of fat in his body. That just doesn’t do it for me.
Suffice to say, I enrolled in the gym with one thing in mind – to lose a few pounds and to maybe find myself a date, outside the gym.
So, imagine my surprise when one fine day, after a particularly grueling class of Aerobics, I fell into conversation with one of the middle-aged female regulars at the gym and after talking about the class and my profession, she asked me if I had a boyfriend.
I laughed. “Uh, no.”
“You see, there’s this guy, one of the male regulars, who likes you and he asked me if I can get him your number.”
I was surprised. She must be joking, I thought.
“Which one?”
“It’s TheBusinessman. He’s right outside working out with the other regulars. I think he’s wearing green shorts today.”
“Which one?”
“The one who’s always accompanied by a bodyguard.”
“Huh?”
Because I have been sure that there is no way I would catch anyone’s eye working out in the gym, I have not really taken inventory of the prime male meat in the area. If you had seen me working out at the gym, I do not particularly look approachable nor do I feign any vibes that I wanted to be approached. The most interaction between me and any male in the gym is the occasional “Excuse Me” or “Are you done?” that I would say if a particular guy was blocking my access to certain exercise equipment that I needed or my polite smile after a chorus of “Bye, docs” from the male regulars as I walked out of the Aerobics class, passing by the weights area to get out of the gym and finally head home. So, suffice to say, I never really knew which one of the guys were checking me out nor did I notice the particular color of their gym shorts.
On that note, I considered it a no-no to look at a guy at a gym anywhere below the waist. Because a great majority of the regulars in the gym wore tight-fitting Spandex that hugged their private parts very intimately, I didn’t want to be mistakenly caught checking their package when all I really wanted was to take note of the color of his little cycling shorts.
“You know,” she chimed in, “He’s actually quite good-looking. I wouldn’t mind it if he was actually interested in me… God, you’re so lucky.”
I just smiled uncomfortably. I didn’t even know who this guy was.
“So, will you give me your number so that I can give it to him?”
I shrugged. Who am I to refuse an old woman? “Okay.”
By the next day, I was cooling down after my work-out by doing a 15-minute cycling session when this 40-something guy approached me and struck conversation. I have been noticing him around the gym but he never uses any of the equipment, just stands there, watching the other guys and talking to them. I found out later that he was, in fact, TheBusinessman’s bodyguard.
We have finished discussing my work-out regimen, my diet, what I do for a living, whether I go out at nights for some drinks, where I live and somewhere along the line, I realized that he seemed to be fishing for information.
“So, what if I told you someone wants to get your number and ask you out?”
Okay… Are we really doing this again? Oh, puh-lease! This is so highschool.
I smiled at him. “Who?”
“Just someone around the gym.”
I laughed. “Oh, come on.” I figured, it’s probably the same person that lady from yesterday was talking about. After all, I don’t think I’d be lucky enough to have two guys fighting over me. In a gym this small, it’s a given that you become somewhat territorial.
“So, doc, what do you think? Can I get your number?”
There must have been a time-lag regarding my number since I have already given it to the woman from yesterday but I suppose she hasn’t been able to give my number to TheBusinessman yet.
I laughed. “Okay.” And then I proceeded to look for a pen to write my number in. “But you better make sure this is just someone from the gym and you guys are not fooling with me.”
By evening, TheBusinessman started texting me. He was okay, somewhat reserved and I really felt like he was older than me (which he was, by about 6 years, I think). By the next day, he finally approached me in person to introduce himself. He was actually quite good-looking (except for the teeth, but then who am I to judge him for that?), average height, clean-looking, and fantastic body. We struck up a short conversation regarding what we were texting about last night, before we separated to do our own work-outs.
The thing with knowing that someone is interested in you while you’re working out in a gym is that it makes you more self-conscious. Like I said before, I’m actually quite shy around strangers. When I’m in an unfamiliar territory, I feign haughtiness as a self-defense for my shyness. Some people who don’t know me that well will actually think I’m stuck-up. Unfortunately, when people want to be your friends or to get closer to you and you’re just not comfortable enough with them, a conflict of interest somehow develops. I wanted him to be interested in me, but I didn’t like making small talk while I’m working out. I kept thinking, Why the hell does he keep trying to approach me? I smell like crap… And how is it that he smells so good despite sweating like a gallon?… Please stop talking to me now. I feel so self-conscious, I keep forgetting how many repetitions have I already done! Is this my 6th or my 7th? God, he’s coming here again. Hmmm… Six-pack abs… Wait! Do I have drool on my face?… Okay, [mistress], do not look below the waist, do not look below the waist, do not look below the waist, do not look below the — Shit, why the hell does he have to wear those itty bitty shorts anyway?… Okay… So he’s smiling at me. God, I really need to finish my work-out now. Change into dry clothes and then, maybe I’ll talk to him… What am I saying? I don’t have any idea what to talk about with him!… Crap, I wanna go home.
A few days later, I finally went out with TheBusinessman.
But that’s another story.
