By Beth Cormack

“Hey, I’m Mark.*” He extended his hand out to shake mine, and there was an immediate attraction. Besides his crystal blue eyes and cute face, he was over 6’5”, which was, like, amazing.

We chatted, he told me about grad school and future plans. And eventually, he said, “Let’s get pizza.” Never turn down a guy that offers free pizza.

“Let’s go back and eat these at your place, it’s right around the corner isn’t it?” he said. Um, okay. I kind of wanted to go to sleep. but fine.

He bought me tortellini pesto pizza, so the least I could do was offer him a plate and some napkins at my place, right? His friend joined and we headed back to my house.

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Forty-five minutes passed, and I was ready for bed (and also ready for him to leave). I stood up, cleared the plates and headed to the kitchen, repeatedly expressing how tired I was and clearly showing no interest in their company anymore.

His friend eventually got the hint, but as I thought he was about to follow his friend out the door, Mark says, “Can I talk to you?” Oh boy.

“Yeah, sure.”

He took my hand and led me into the living room. “Sorry I’m just really tired and honestly just want to go to bed, I’m sorry,” I said to him.

“No c'mon, just 5 minutes. I just want to talk to you.” Please leave my house.

“I really like you,” he started, “I think you’re a great girl and you’re insanely hot.” I had no idea how to respond, so I just sat there in silence, yawning and attempting to make it obvious that I clearly wasn’t interested in him being there anymore.

Seriously, is there anything worse than not being able to go to bed after devouring a massive slice of pizza and having one too many vodka sodas?

“Well, thank you,” I replied, “But I really should get to bed, it was nice meeting you.” So in other words, please leave my house.

His hand reached over and grabbed the back of my neck and immediately started making out with me. The kiss lasted maybe 3 seconds when he decided to kick it up a notch and take it to second base.

I instantly turned away, expressing how tired I was... again.

“Okay, let’s go to bed then.” Um, what? Let’s? As in, we? I don’t remember inviting you.

“I don’t know,” I explained. “I’m really tired and I’m not really interested in doing anything with you so maybe you should just go home.” I can’t explain why I absolutely suck at just being like, “Get the f*** out.”

But, I mean, sometimes it’s just easier to beat around the bush. In this case, however, he didn’t seem to be catching on, nor really cared to.

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“Well, uh, I don’t have keys to my apartment and my roommate isn’t home, so I’d be sleeping outside tonight if I can’t stay here.” Um, what? I felt inclined to allow it; however, I’m not sure why. I didn’t owe him anything.

“Okay,” I said, “But I’m really not having sex with you.” He seemed nice enough; I just had to share my full size bed with him for the night, it wouldn’t be that bad.

I didn’t have the heart to kick him out and leave him “homeless” (although I’m sure he could’ve found somewhere else to sleep), but it was 3 a.m. and at this point I just wanted to go to bed, simply too tired to deal with failed attempts of kicking him out.

We get into bed, and I say, “I have to go get dressed.”

“Clothes are overrated, you don’t need them,” he says. Um, okay.

I go to the bathroom and put my pajamas on, and as soon as I walk in my bedroom he says, “Damn girl, you look hot in pajamas.” Please stop talking and leave my house.

Naturally, he continually tries to make out with me when I tell him time and time again that I don’t want to kiss you.

He was continuing to try and put his hands down my pants and up my shirt and I continually swatted his hand away.

But, I didn’t have it in me to kick him out. I can’t say that he was “forcing” me to do anything, but his continued attempts made it feel some level of forced, despite my obvious rejections.

“C’mon, you’re so hot and you’re teasing me.”

I don’t want to kiss you. So please stop kissing me. I don’t want to cuddle, or even touch you. I’m not teasing you, I’m just not interested.

I woke up the next morning, and despite his desperate attempts to stay longer and “score,” I eventually drove him home.

On the ride home I thought to myself, “Who’s to blame here?” Was I teasing him by letting him sleep in my bed? Why didn’t have the balls to tell him, “I’m not interested, get the hell out of my house”?

I didn’t owe him anything, but for some reason at the time I felt like I did.

I didn’t invite him over to my house nor did I invite him to sleep in my bed. I didn’t say it was “OK” for him to kiss me, or continually put his hand up my shirt, but he did anyway.

We often define “consent” as a gray area, but I’d have to disagree.

Why should I feel like I have to say, “No, stop f***ing touching me,” for him to get the hint? I was uncomfortable, and I was tired, and I thought I had made that obvious to him. If I wanted to sleep with him, I would have immediately.

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If I told you that “I’m not having sex with you,” that means that I don’t want to have sex with you.

Am I partly to blame? I’m not sure. I should have felt like I had the right to say, “Get out,” because I do. Swatting his hand away and telling him, “I don’t want to kiss you,” clearly wasn’t enough, so maybe I should’ve done more.

There are so many things that I should have done, but at the time, I felt like what I was doing was enough. What I was doing should have been enough.

I don’t blame him for hoping he’d get laid by allowing him to sleep in my bed; that’s essentially what “going home with someone” often entails.

Call me “weak” or tell me I have “low self-esteem” for not just kicking him out. However, being upfront and confrontational with your feelings with a seemingly innocent stranger is intimidating.

Maybe it was stupid, and I certainly should have the courage to just kick him out. But are we always outwardly honest in a situation where we feel vulnerable? I am strong, and I am confident, but he made me question if I actually was.

Is it fair to myself to blame this situation on the hook up culture of the 21st century? I’m not sure.

I told you I wasn’t going to have sex with you, I told you I didn’t want to kiss you, so please stop trying.

I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend if we have a good conversation at the bar, and I don’t blame you for wanting to have sex on the first night.

If you stay the night, I don’t expect you to pick up the breakfast bill in the morning, and I don’t even expect you to text me again. It may feel s****y, but I don’t expect anything.

I don’t lose respect for men or women who want to maintain a strictly sexual relationship, because sex is enjoyable, and it doesn’t always have to turn into something serious.

However, if I’m not interested, don’t try to make me interested.

I don’t know if it was this guy’s intention to make me feel uncomfortable, or if he even caught on to the social cues that I was giving off. But if I don’t want to kiss you, please stop kissing me.

Please just go home.

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Beth Cormack is a writer and co-founder of Your City Is Blind. Her work has been featured in the Washingtonian, Washington Post, The New York Times, and other publications. Visit her website for more.

This article was originally published at Unwritten. Reprinted with permission from the author.