I went out with this guy that I was on friendly terms with at work. It was a downtown restaurant/pub with a live band playing. The evening was very young; the sun had not even set yet. Crowds of people were sitting at tables eating and drinking; and, there we were, standing in line for some drinks in this yuppie hang out. The band of four overweight balding guys about fifty years old were playing some classic rock tune. While I stood in line with my date, I was groovin' a little. He then started to groove a little with me. We were the only folks in this crowded joint even close to dancing. That was fine with me, right? But he didn't stop at that. He started dancing full on with pelvic thrusts like Elvis and unbuttoned his shirt (a professional long-sleeve starch with no undershirt). I was thinking, "Okay, he's having a good time, but people are starting to stare." Then, he just completely took his shirt off, threw it, and was dancing harder than ever. It was his very serious attempt for a good time, but he was really just getting ready to have us thrown out. I darted straight to the restroom. We remained friends at work for a short while before he was transferred to another facility in a different state. He continued to call and started to write romantic letters about the chemistry we had on that night out we shared. I knew he would probably lay off of me once he settled in to his new life and, thank goodness, that is exactly what happened.
— Caitlyn, 29