Last night I think I possibly went on the worst date I have ever been on and even as I write this, I already know that statement isn't true as it didn't end up in vomit, shame and/or regret but this time yesterday it felt pretty crappy.
It was a second-ish date, we met for drinks about a month or so. We meet at a local pub, equidistant from our respective households. After one drink he suggested going back to his which was on the cards anyway - the plan was meet for drinks and then share a bottle of wine at his. I got us another drink each at the bar, and explained that I wouldn't automatically be sleeping with him, he didn't ask for my reasons (which were a) I wasn't sure that my sensitive tummy was back to full strength b) I wanted to let him know I wasn't 'that' easy c) I felt he was already taking me for granted). He finished his pint in double time and then called it a night. At 20:15. By 20:30 I was at home, tucked up in my sofa with a hot-toddy.
Ironically, if he had said no problem, plied me with wine, let me be comfortable, made me laugh (which he was very good at) and kissed me (also very good at), I would have probably slept with him.
My apologies if I need to be wined and dined before being sixty-nined but woo the girl at least!