I am good at securing first dates. I never really want the second date to come. First dates are awkward, but wonderful. Second dates are obligatory.
I have lots of techniques of ruining the chances of a second date. I find that carrying a wedding dress in the trunk of my car usually works. I have the poor bastard walk me out to the car. After I stick my tongue down his throat and thank him for a wonderful evening, I tell him that I have something to show him. Usually, that works.
Sometimes, men need a little more persuasion. I have found that faking terminal illness is ineffectual. People will want to spend your last few weeks on this planet with you. Claiming an STD is no good either because you have to know his medical history. Telling a man with genital herpes that you are also afflicted is like saying, "We are perfect for one another. I accept you, oozing pustules and all. Let's spend the rest of our lives together, except during particularly painful outbreaks." Announcing that you have three sets of triplets at home is not a turn off either. It simply states that you are not opposed to sex.
First dating is hard. It has to be exciting and perfect and then end abruptly, shortly after the bar tab is paid. I am running out of excuses.
I take pity on my next first date. After witty conversation and drinks, I will take him home to watch The Crying Game. I will make a comment about how I simply must get to bed because I have my last pre-op appointment with the doctor who is finally going to give me the chance to get out of the body that I have been trapped in since birth. I should never admit this, but I have the same hair as the tranny in the movie. If I sit at just the right angle, this should really freak him out.