First Date Stories

No one loves a first date more than me – the delicate tension, heavy gazes, awkward touches – there’s something so innocently romantic about getting to know someone for the first time. Of course, they don’t always turn out as planned, so I’m here to share some of the best (and worst) first dates I’ve had the pleasure of going on.

Montreal – Alexandre

I sat rotting on my bed, waiting for my phone to buzz, as I scrolled for any opportunity to go out that night. It was a snowy evening in Montreal, and my best friend Maya and I were getting desperate for plans. The only men we had managed to meet that weekend were two 50-somethings from Florida who had invited us to a karaoke bar the previous night where Maya immediately requested “Squirrels in My Pants.”

We were about to call it a night before I received a DM from a guy on Hinge named Alexandre, inviting us to celebrate his twenty-first birthday with him and his friends. It was only thirty minutes later when Alex, Charles, and James picked us up to take us to a local pub full of French Canadians. We were the only ones speaking English, and I had no idea what anyone was saying, but I toasted to Alex’s birthday and our final night in Quebec. Dizzy from excitement, we piled back into the car where James took the wheel screaming, “TOKYO DRIFT!!!” as he spun us in circles on the icy roads, leaving Maya and me fearing for our lives in the backseat. We stopped at the boys’ local high school to have a brutal snowball fight, and as Charles pummeled me with ice from his fort behind a tree, I couldn’t help but think that this was going to be a story I told my kids one day.

Eventually, we retreated back to Alex’s place where he fulfilled my request for a homemade gin and tonic and we cuddled on the couch while watching Too Hot to Handle in French.

Amsterdam – Matt

I was on my way to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam when I met two South African brothers at my hostel named Matt and Luca. They were dressed in leather from head to toe and looked like they would’ve bullied me in high school. They had just returned from a rave (it was 9:30am) and told me I should join them later that night, and I knew I wouldn’t.

But that evening, as I was meandering around the Red Light District, the Joburg boys found me on their way to the rave and judging from their mischievous grins I instantly knew I wasn’t going to get out of going. I’m not one for drugs and didn’t feel like drinking, so I spent the night dead sober while Matt was tripping on ecstasy and falling in love with me. The energy of the crowd and the music being loud enough to destroy my eardrums was enough to make me feel intoxicated. I somehow managed to last until 7am to make my 9am walking tour and Matt met up with me for coffee later that afternoon. After opening up to me about his family traumas and bragging about the vape mafia he had in Dublin, he dropped me off at the train station, telling me he wanted to see me again. I was going to a cow town called Kootwijk to stay with friends, and I could have sworn I saw him tearing up when we said our goodbyes.

Although Kootwijk is a place you can only get to by car, two days later, Matt called me on the train he had blindly booked on his way to find me. I didn’t tell him where I was, but that didn’t stop him from spending 6 hours in The Hague trying to hunt me down. He was so heartbroken that he sent me an 18-stanza love poem two months later.

Los Angeles – Stefan

I was a victim of the hot-guy-airport-complex when I met a guy in Denver after my flight to Los Angeles was delayed 2 hours. Stefan was an almost 30 year-old videographer and I was a 20 year-old intern at Red Bull, so I told selective truths about my job, saying I worked in sales so he wouldn’t be suspicious about my age.

We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant when we were back in LA, but I should have noticed the first red flag when he picked me up in his Range Rover that had his name as the license plate tag. I told him that was a great bit, but it was clear that no part of it was a joke to him. Even though his car should’ve been a turn off, when he invited me back to his place, I couldn’t say no. I went to the bathroom and was shocked to find not only Dude Wipes but Off-White hand towels and Aesop bottles everywhere. I said it was weird that he felt the need to invest in $200 hand towels and not a bedspread. He told me I talked too much.

Cape Town – Lucas

I’m no stranger to clichés, and naturally, I did what every other girl did when she studied abroad: I fell in love with a local.

I was coming up on the end of my program, and I had already been on two Hinge dates with no luck, so I was about to give up on the app landing me any real prospects. That is, until Lucas.

Lucas was a student at UCT studying sustainability who grew his own weed and picked his own mushrooms. I took a chance and met up with him at a remote bar by myself and was relieved to find he not only wasn’t an ax murderer but even hotter in person. We skipped the small talk and instantly opened up to each other about our families, the people we hate and our controversial opinions. An hour into the conversation, he invited me back to his place so he could make me “the best pasta I’ve ever had.” Now, I know what you’re thinking: why would you go to the house of a guy you met an hour before in a neighborhood you don’t know in the middle of the night? That’s a great question.

Hand in hand, we skipped to his house, he poured me a glass of his homemade wine and started a fire. He made me a delicious dinner while we slow-danced to Hozier in the kitchen, and I could’ve sworn I was dreaming. He seemed to know everything I was thinking just by looking at me and I couldn’t help but think he was too good to be true.

Unfortunately, the only thing wrong with him was that he lived 7,600 miles away from me, and my program was ending in two days. I somehow managed to find the man of my dreams at the very end of my trip, and all I could do was make the most of those 48 hours.

While I promised him I would return to South Africa one day, a part of me knows it will be years until I do. So, until then, this story will end here.

Strike Out,

Writer: McCall Horton

Editor: Hailey Indigo

Gainesville

McCall Horton is a writer for Strike Magazine GNV. If you need to find her, she’s probably rotting in a cafe and will drive hundreds of miles just to go to a good one. A manic journaler and book snob, you can invite her on pretty much any trip at a moment’s notice and she’ll say yes. You can reach her on instagram at @mccallhrenee or by email at mccallhorton1@gmail.com

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