So, I had a date on Friday night. It was a lovely date. The gentleman's conversation was fairly interesting, his company pleasant, his manner easygoing.
But here's the thing. I know not many people share this particular preference, but what I really hate about getting to know a stranger in a dating context is the expectation of physical contact -- holding hands, kissing, cuddling. Now don't get me wrong; I love touch as much as the next person. But I hate the push for it. I don't like to touch people I don't know, and I certainly don't like to climb the steps toward intimacy with someone I've met twice.
Call it dignity, self-respect, anal retentiveness, mistrust of humanity, whatever you like. With the last guy who took me out, back in May, I allowed a little too much too quickly, and the result was extremely uncomfortable -- he expected right away what I am not willing to give (and we never went out again). Ever since, I've been sort of gunshy when a new guy inclines himself more toward the physical, because without knowing me well, it's an expression only of desire, not of trust, knowledge of one another, mutual admiration, and affection, built on the basis of the necessary chemical attraction.
And I prefer touch to come from the latter. Call me crazy, but what I want when I meet a guy is to get to know him, and to be known by him, for who he is and for who I am -- as a full person, not just a body. I'm sorry, but spending three or four nice hours in conversation with me does not give a man the right to expect a make-out session. That reduces the whole thing to a very short-term exchange of dating capitalism: You want conversation, so I'll give it to you, with the expectation that it's purchased with physical interaction at the end, so that I get mine too.
No thanks.
Now, I'm saying all this incredibly reactively; George was exceedingly nice and non-pushy. But the expectation was still there. And when I talked to him last night on the phone and explained my reservations, he was still willing to hang out with me in group settings as friends while we got to know each other...until he found out my voluntary and unbending limitations on sex. Then he politely told me he would leave the ball entirely in my court. Respectful, certainly; but it also revealed, however interesting and cool he found me, what he really wanted.
And I'm sorry, that exchange isn't good enough for me. I'm not satisfied with dinner, a movie, and three or four months of dating, before I yield up the greatest physical, spiritual, and symbolic intimacy one human being can have with another. To me it's not recreational, or a mere expression of warm feelings, or even an expression of real love with intent to marry; it is the thing itself, it's part of the heart of marriage and human companionship and love, and something infinitely worth the wait.
I know that I probably sound like a raging psychopath to a lot of people. I don't really discuss this very often, but for some reason I'm upset about it, and I have a fairly receptive audience here.
It all comes down to: This is what makes dating people who don't share the faith so difficult. At least you can expect a Christian guy to anticipate your principles, even if he'd be willing not to share them. Men who hold differing perspectives might go along with me (and this is one of the highest forms of respect), but I still feel like they're thinking I'm weird, some walking museum display of Victorian womanhood who, they can only hope, can be coaxed one of these days into the twenty-first century.
And with, as Jennifer has noted, the glaring lack of actively dating men in the Christian church, our options are sharply limited. But there's just not much we can do about it. I struggle with feelings of frustration and hopelessness quite often -- my standards tend to doom me to my single status. But ultimately I don't regret it. The message in church yesterday was, essentially, that it's easy, sometimes, to be a Christian. But at other times it's hard. And that's when you have to stick it out. It builds perseverance, and eventually reaps the harvest we were looking for. But you can't plant corn and pick it the next day; you have to work, and, hardest of all, wait.
I still maintain that it will be better in the end never to have the companionship or the physical joy that I want so badly, rather than sell out cheaply for quick and momentary happiness.
Next week you may find me weeping and gnashing my teeth at still being single, absolutely and without abate, at the verge of twenty-five. You may pity my old-fashioned scruples. And please don't think I scorn or disrespect those whose viewpoints in this arena differ slightly or greatly from mine. But this is my choice; I've made and continue to maintain it. I have a string of pearls, and I'm keeping it firmly away from the pigsty, because I'm looking for more than just the fun of wrestling in the mud.
