I'm not sure where to begin... We (the PTO and I) had shared texts and were due to meet for a mid-week drink.
The night before: My phone beeped, proudly announcing a new text message. Thinking it would be from my date-to-be confirming details. It wasn't. It was from Quiet Boy - "Thirty, I miss you." Four words I had never thought I would hear from him. Coldly and quickly I responded - "I think it's a case of too little, too late".
That afternoon: I didn't want to do too much pre-date-internet-scrouring, just enough to make sure he wasn't a and that he could spell... The last person he had mentioned in a Facebook post was directed towards an ex-lover of mine - The One That Got Away.
I couldn't breathe.
The signs were obvious, I shouldn't meet this man.
Though with an hour before we were due to meet, I thought it too rude too cancel, but I was shaking. I had a peppermint tea and hid in the staff room for ten minutes until I felt calmer. Two coffees and a G&T, I felt even more calm, to the point of cocky.
The drinks were good, the pub was nice, the conversation flowed. After a couple of drinks though, I started to feel uncomfortable, not with the date but I was completely overwhelmed with both Quiet Boy and The One That Got Away taking up valuable space in the forefront of my mind.
My date said he was enjoying my company and we should perhaps stay for another. I was flattered, and after two more drinks, drunk.
The alcohol was helping, I felt better, I felt more in control, though ironically I was less in control.
I asked PTO if we would see each other again, he said "sure". I needed to see him sober, I felt like I was in a daydream. We'll see each other again, I can finish this drink and leave with some dignity. Although when those two drinks finished, I said I was too tipsy to have anything more to drink. He suggested getting some food. We did, which only encouraged more drinking.
I should have been pushy, all I wanted to do was go home yet I had forgotten how to be demonstratively assertive. At this point, I was completely pissed. I was repeating myself and found it difficult to not have a idiotic gaze on my face, and of course, had to relieve my bladder every fifteen minutes.
We kissed outside the pub, and as he walked me to the station. All I could think was would The One That Got Away be jealous? The deranged thoughts of a drunkard..
Luckily, the next morning, I received a message from PTO, saying that as delightful as my company was (after that much to drink it certainly couldn't have been), he didn't 'feel' it. What a fucking relief. Although I think I was still intoxicated, as I didn't feel slightly rejected for at least another day. Feed me Stalk me Poke me Visit me Subscribe to me
Oh yes, it's time for a self-audit. Eleven months into the year and one month left (although pretty much entirely reserved for partying), I had a peep at the list I thought would suggest inner-peace during 2010. Here's our Graham with a quick recap:
Carried over from 2009: I will tell my sexual partners what I want in bed, and I will not be embarrassed to experiments with my desires, fetishes and comfort level with kink.
61% of the time...
I will have as much sex as I want, and I will stay careful about my sexual health. I've stayed safe, need to work harder re: quantity and quality of sex - see above!
I will raise my standards and lower my expectations.
Done and done...
I shall avoid anything and anyone that threatens me and my self-respect.
I shall think less and do more.
I don't think so.
I will not be afraid to let the right people into my heart.
I've stopped the wrong people being in my life, so halfway there. I shall not waste Sunday afternoons.
Must try better. Although is it a waste to spend Sunday afternoons in bed?!
I shall not treat sleep as the enemy. What was I thinking? Sleep in the enemy - prepare the attack!!!
Simply, I resolve to stay true, work hard and have fun. Tick, tick and tick. Now all I need is a list for 2011. Suggestions welcome.
Polite drinking etiquette aside - we had NOTHING in common past the basics. Yes, we both liked to breathe. Yes, we both liked cinema - different genres of course. I was planning my escape from the get-go. It wasn't so-so, it was awful. God, my glass is half-full.
Since, I've had four more dates; one interesting, one embarrassing, one passionless and one just plain torturous.
I think that I am in the wrong place to date, I don't mean geographically, but mentally. As such, the rest will probably sound like the ramblings of a woman destined to be bitter and twisted always.
The interesting date He was interesting the date itself less so, afterwards through I realised that I didn't fancy him but I did enjoy his company. After a couple 'thanks for a great night texts' communication fizzled out. Looking back at it, he must have felt like he was being interviewed with the endless supply of questions I had for him.
The embarrassing date
He had to reschedule, then I did. By the time we met, saucy text messages had been sent, received, lady-played over. I arrived ten minutes late (thanks Victoria Line!). I moment I sat down, I felt that the text messages were too intimate too quickly. I could feel my cheeks blush. To counter my unease, I waffled without pause. At the end of the night, we embraced, I went to kiss his cheek as he aimed kissed my mouth but unfortunately his lips landed on my ear. Oh dear.
The passionless date(s)
We met for a quick drink in a favourite pub of mine. After the first or second drink there was little chemistry, I actually had the bottle to say that as he looked like he was falling asleep, we should go our separate ways. He looked shocked (see 'is it an ego thing?' from yesterday), we had dinner and it was pleasant and I laughed almost continuously. We had an awkward train station embrace, half hug/half air-kiss.
We met up again, this time for a romantic picnic, although there was no romance. A very asexual date. As we parted, again, a weird half hug/half air-kiss. He said he was going to call during the week that followed the picnic, he didn't, so I didn't.
The plain torturous one will have to wait until tomorrow...
Where does this strange etiquette come from? The one where you don't fancy each other after one never-mind two drinks. So why then have three, four, maybe more, just to see? Is it an ego thing? Is it waiting to have ones attractiveness validated, or is it just English politeness and manners gone mad...
Maybe our American cousins have the right idea*:
a) You rock up b) Decide you don't 'feel' it c) Make like a tree and leave
* Based on one conversation with an American colleague...
In the struggle that is London + Public Transport + minus zero weather conditions, I couldn't help but notice the number of attractive men with sometimes downright disturbing attempts for a moustache...
Woken in the middle of the night, in the dark my hand wanders into an erect penis, after half hour or so of playing he ejaculates (diligently clears up the spunk) and returns to sleep.
I was at a just-about-to-come-pre-orgasm. I may burst. I am wet and throbbing. I am looking at him sleep wondering if he will recall his dawn climax?
In my head I am running through the options:
- Wake him and alert him to the fact that I am about to sexually pop!
- Use my left hand to finish myself off
- Use his left hand to finish me off
- Whip out my smallest yet strangely strongest vibrator to complete the task
Of course I won't actually do any of the above. I'll go to the kitchen, fill a glass with cold water, return to my bed and snuggle up.