http://www.knowable.com/a/mortified-people-share-the-dumbest-thing-theyve-said-on-a-date/p-1

“Okay, okay, okay, wait, wait, wait!” Kurt takes a deep breath, trying to calm down long enough to speak, but he snorts instead, and Blaine nearly spits soda across the table. “So, you dressed up as a tap dancing purple dinosaur at Six Flags for how many years?”

“Five,” Blaine replies, not sure he should expand any further since Kurt looks on the verge of exploding, his face beet red from laughing. “And … and … I had to lie about my age for the first three years because I wasn’t sixteen yet!”

“Jesus Christmas!” Kurt guffaws so loudly, diners at other tables start turning their heads. “You really wanted to be a purple dinosaur, didn’t you?”

“I really wanted to have something other than Show Choir Captain to put on my resume,” Blaine admits. “I mean, Speech and Debate and Model U.N. are great, but if you want to be a Music Performance Major, they don’t help out so much.”

“No, I get that.” Kurt calms down enough to take a sip of water, clearing his throat before he accidentally chokes. “My senior year of high school, I was so desperate for ways to pad my college applications, I almost joined some Superhero Club at my school.”

Blaine stops laughing. His eyes go wide. “Your high school had a Superhero Club? That’s so cool.”

Kurt snickers, his eyes lighting up as he reaches across the table to take Blaine’s hand. Blaine flips his hand over so he can grab hold.

That touch, which seems to engulf Blaine’s whole body from that single point of contact, is everything.

It’s been three weeks since that day Blaine introduced himself to Kurt on the street, out of the blue, thinking he was someone else, and for as awkward as that moment was, as positively humiliating, Blaine is happy every day that he did. Because these past three weeks, which sped along through the stages from coffee dates to movie dates to dinner dates to official boyfriends, are worth ten times more than every conversation he’d had with that catfishing loser from who knows where.

Dating Kurt is like breathing. He makes everything so easy. They clicked immediately after that first awkward conversation. Kurt bought Blaine lunch, and they spent a good two hours monopolizing a table at the Manhattan Diner, talking about their lives over potato skins and hummus. They didn’t get along simply because they were both from Ohio. Westerville (where Blaine is from) and Lima (where Kurt is from) aren’t just two hours away; they’re almost worlds apart. But regardless of that rift, they discovered that they like so much of the same things - the same books, the same movies, the same music, the same designers.

Kurt is an amazing person, so much more than Blaine thought he’d be.

It’s in the details, really – Kurt’s smile when he sees Blaine, his laugh when Blaine tells a corny joke, or how excited he gets when they spend time together.

Kurt leaves Blaine the most phenomenal voicemail messages. He’ll call to tell Blaine he misses him; call to tell him something that happened that day, something that would be too long to text. He’s been known to leave Blaine messages that include the hottest, juiciest gossip from Vogue, things that only employees would be privy to. And sometimes (and these are Blaine’s favorites) he sings Blaine a song he heard on the radio, or something more Broadway that he hopes to perform at school.

Blaine has made two of those his ringtone – one for general calls, and the other, his personal ringtone for Kurt.

It may seem like such a little thing, but for Blaine, it means so much.

Kurt just gets him, as cliché and as greeting card as that is. Kurt seems to know how Blaine is feeling before he opens his mouth, knows what Blaine’s thinking without Blaine having to explain, which is a bonus because Blaine rambles when he’s nervous.

Like he is now, hence the Six Flags story, which he swore to himself after he graduated that he’d take to his grave.

They’ve spent the last three weeks talking and laughing, getting to know one another and spending time together, but also kissing and touching, never stripping farther than down to their underwear, hands traveling below the equator but always with cotton in between. They had decided early on to take things slow. Blaine still felt burned by his catfishing experience, and Kurt had just gotten over some jerk who’d cheated on him.

But Blaine has a feeling, and he hopes he’s right, that tonight’s the night.

Because here they are, out for dinner as usual, only this time, Kurt had asked to stay the night at Blaine’s place.

The night wears on, music playing in the background as comfortable conversation flows. Appetizer platters get cleared away for the main course, then those empty plates stacked to the side to make space for after-dinner drinks. Kurt has Blaine enraptured with a comically tragic tale of one summer spent working at his father’s auto shop (quid pro quo for Blaine’s painful story), but even so, Blaine can’t help imagining the possibility of making love to Kurt. It was a passing whimsy when they arrived there, but it’s driving him to distractions. By the time they finish their drinks and ask for the check, Blaine isn’t sure that it’s safe for him to stand up, his tight jeans traitors to his cause.

Blaine reaches for the check the second it hits the table, but Kurt beats him to it.

“I’ve got this,” Kurt says, pulling it out of Blaine’s reach when Blaine tries to snatch it. “You’ve paid for almost every other dinner so far.”

“I’m a trust fund baby. I can afford it.”

“I may not have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Blaine Fancy-pants Anderson, but I can cover one bill. Besides, you’re giving me a place to sleep for the night,” Kurt reminds him, subtly suggestive. “The least I can do is pay for dinner.”

“All right,” Blaine agrees, trying to act smooth, but Kurt’s mention of Blaine’s pants had gone straight to his dick, and his mind was working seven ways from Sunday to keep himself flaccid. Somewhere along the line, messages get tangled, wires crossed, and he says, “But at least let me pay for the sex.”

Kurt stalls, the credit card he’d been pulling from his wallet pinched between his fingers. He stares at Blaine, his boyfriend standing to check his pockets, nonchalantly, as if he’d just ask Kurt for the time.

“Uh, Blaine?” Kurt shoots an amused look at their waiter, who had returned for Kurt’s card and stopped short when he heard. “Do you realize what you just said?”

“Yeah. I said at least let me pay for the tip.” Blaine drops a ten dollar bill on the table.

“No, you didn’t,” Kurt says.

“No, you didn’t,” the waiter confirms.

Blaine looks at Kurt, a single corner of his mouth lifted but otherwise bemused, and the waiter, slightly impatient, but enjoying himself immensely.

“Wh-what … what did I say?” Blaine asks, suddenly petrified.

“You asked him to let you pay for the sex,” the waiter informs him. Then he grabs Kurt’s credit card and walks off to let Blaine suffer the consequences alone.

Blaine’s mouth drops open, his Adam’s apple disappearing when he swallows hard. “Uh, oh G-god,” he sputters. Kurt bites his lips, the smile behind them barely contained. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I am so so sorry. I didn’t mean it …” Kurt’s smile plummets like a stone and Blaine goes pale, shuddering like he’s about to faint. “Except, I did, sort of … I mean, not about paying for it, but … I didn’t want to assume, and I … oh God.” Blaine puts his hands over his face, wanting to die from mind-melting embarrassment. “I-if you want to go home, I completely understand. I’ll even pay for your cab fare. I …”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere but your place.” Kurt steps up to his boyfriend, ready to put the poor man out of his misery. “And don’t worry,” he whispers close to Blaine’s ear. “The sex is free.”