When I was eighteen, I managed the front desk of a yoga studio. As the studio catered primarily to women, I was pleasantly surprised to see a man begin to attend the classes. When he scanned into class, his personal information popped up on the screen, so I could see that he was eight years older than I was at the time. One day, he came out of class and asked how old I was. When I told him that I was eighteen, he said, “Oh my god!” and asked for my number so that we could “go on a date some time”. I was flattered, and I gave him my cell phone number.
A few days later, we attended a 6:15 AM yoga class together, and I wore leggings and a workout shirt. He told me, “Next time, you should probably wear shorter shorts”. When I told him that I wore what I was comfortable in, he rolled his eyes at me. I was reluctant to go out with him again, but it was a particularly hot day in summer, and he invited me to a “pool party” that ended up just being him and me. He kept pressuring me to take my top off. When I told him I had to stay out of the water because my mom was ill (ALS) and I had to make sure I heard the phone if it rung, he called me a priss and asked me to leave.