What to do with the men who don't kiss you?

I ran into The Doctor, a guy I'd gone on four dates with, and just recently stopped hearing from, on Friday night. He was with a really pretty woman with long brown hair. We exchanged smiles and hellos.

The Doctor never kissed me, so while he started out as The Doctor, he sort of morphed into Mr. 4-Date No Kiss. This distinguishes him from Mr. 3-Date No Kiss, who I went out with earlier this year.

But now that I think about it, they had a lot of behavior in common. Except that on top of the no-kissing, The Doctor never touched me. Not a brush on the arm, hand on the back, nothing.

In fact, on our last date, I started pushing boundaries, just to see if he'd twitch. At the bar I scooted my stool close to his to make our knees touch. I grabbed his wrist when I was making a point about something. And the closest he came to touching me back was reaching over and putting two fingers on the charm of a necklace I was wearing. Not skin to skin, but close.

I've dated a lot of take-charge men, and they're so familiar. So if someone doesn't want to kiss me, I get into this loop of doesn't he like me? But if he doesn't like me, why is he asking me out? If he wants to take me out, why doesn't he want to kiss me? Is he just not attracted to me? And so on. Very unhelpful.

I got set up with Mr. 3DNK through friends. The wife is a friend of mine, the husband a friend of his. The wife said she couldn't exactly vouch for him, but he seemed very nice.

Our first two dates were fun. I wouldn't say we totally connected, but he was smart and cute and nice, and very polite, and those are a good place to start.

Because I had been told that he might be kind of shy and was very polite, I wasn't surprised when he walked me to the door and didn't try to kiss me on the first or second date.

We all agreed he wasn't my typical type. But I'd begun to deal with the fact that my type - super Type A take-charge kind of guys - weren't necessarily making me happy. Or rather, as my friends pointed out, they were making me abjectly miserable. I needed to try different types of guys. And just chill out and see.

So maybe the nice, reserved guy would be the way to go? Unless he didn't like me. Which I was pretty sure was the case by the end of date three. Because he also barely contacted me, and when he did, it was by email rather than calling. And mostly just to set up a date.

But he asked me out again, and I said yes again. And then, on date number four, he did in fact kiss me. He didn't grab me and kiss me like a porn star, but still. Very solid, fun kissing. This seemed possibly promising.

And then a week of barely any contact, but another date invitation.

I think, all told, we went out maybe seven or eight times over the course of a couple months.

I didn't know what to think, but I was like, well, I have a nice time while I'm on the date. And so why not? I always decide things too fast. Maybe it needs to grow. I just don't know how to let things go slowly and grow.

Even though there was clearly no growth. It didn't progress at all. Each of these dates was like its own island. Totally isolated.

But anyway. The last time we saw each other, I wound up at his place. And so there we were, and I was thinking, "Well, I guess I could probably sleep with him and then see..."

So silly, right?

And then it occurred to me that I didn't have any particular desire to sleep with him. That the whole thing was devoid of passion. And that, in fact, he provoked no emotion whatsoever. And did he even like me? Maybe he just wanted someone to take out for dinner.

Seriously. Picture being this poor guy. You're kissing this woman, and it seems like you're having fun, and she's in your bed, which might even mean you'll have some sex. You have no idea that she's stewing in her head. You probably think things are fine. Until...

I suddenly blurt out, "Do you even particularly like me?"

His jerks back. "What?"

"What are five things you like about me?"

"What? Whatever." He thinks I'm kidding.

"No, really. I'd like to hear five things you like about me."

"Five things..."

I prod. "Yes, five. They can be anything. Like, for example, some people think I'm intelligent. Some people think I'm funny. Some men like my ass. Or my eyes. You could even pick any of those, if you wanted. You wouldn't have to be original."

He looks at me like a deer in headlights.

"Surely, if you keep asking me out, there must be five things you like about me. Or, OK, three. How about we start with three?"

"Do we have to do this?" He's not liking this very much. In fact, I'm irritating him with this line of conversation. He's irritating me with the non-production of one thing he likes about me.

I do realize it's unfair. Because he's not effusive. Even if he liked five things about me, it's just not in his nature to say them. We are so different. And I'm annoyed with all of it.

So I say, "You keep asking me out, so I assume you like me. But then I don't get any sense of what you might like about me. So I'd like to know."

He is silent.

"Because I just don't see the point anymore. We have a perfectly nice time, but after every date I think, huh, well, I'm probably not going to hear from him again. And then you ask me out again. And since I have a perfectly nice time with you, I say yes. And it starts over. Why do you keep asking me out?"

He agrees that we have fun when we go out. But he doesn't have a lot to say. He is so obviously uncomfortable.

"And the truth is, I don't feel any emotion around this. Me! I'm all emotion all the time! Do you feel any?"

I am more emotional than he's ever seen me. He is not an emotional person. I might even be alarming him more than a bit.

And so he admits that he just doesn't know. He's been waiting to see where this will go. That I'm not his typical type, and so he thought he'd see if this would grow into something.

I feel for him. In fact, in this moment, I feel more for him than I have the whole time. Because of course it resonates with me; we are doing the same thing. And we are just so different.

So I gently suggested that by now we'd probably know if it were going to grow into something, and there really didn't seem to be any point in continuing to go out. He agreed. We hugged goodbye, and I wished him well with genuine affection. It was all very pleasant and cordial and lacking in emotion.

And that. Was that.