I don’t really live by any rules, let alone dating rules. And while in some cases it would be in my benefit to do so, the flesh is weak.
Two weeks ago I ‘met’ Sean on OKC. I’m not into building tension and apprehension by emailing for weeks on end, so after a few messages we agreed to meet for a date. I took a train to his city, he met me at the train station, and took me to a cocktail bar close to his house. He wasn’t bad looking, and while he surely wasn’t ‘athletic’ as he states in his profile, I wasn’t disappointed. He’s 32 (and that’s progress, I usually date younger men), American, and talks a lot. A LOT.
During the course of 3 cocktails, he talks about his job that he’s just quit, his dancing he’s quit, his band he’s forming, all the things he considers himself an expert on, and so on. To me, that’s amusing. I consider myself to be a pretty easy going date, I have enough things to say to keep a conversation going, but with this one, I couldn’t get a word in. And mind you, I have never seen anyone drink those 3 cocktails as fast as he did, all the while talking. So we chit-chat, I try to figure out whether he’s just confident or arrogant, and think that, in my humble European opinion, he’s very American. He’s loud, he raves, he pulls out my chair, makes sure my glass is never empty and I think I kinda like it.
And at some point, it is decided we go back to his place. There was a reason for it that I don’t remember. He shows me to his third floor city center studio, gets me another drink and asks one of the few questions asked that night; how come I have been to India so many times? One of my favorite things to talk about! But mid conversation, he makes his move and jumps on me. He turns out to be a great kisser, and it’s not a surprise when he lifts me off the floor and onto the bed. Clothes fly and things get messy. I don’t do oral on one night stands or first-times, and neither does he I find out, and so we get by otherwise, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize it’s not gonna happen for him. A+ for effort, on my side, that is, but he can’t keep it up. Eventually blaming it on the alcohol (and fair enough, we’ve drunk quite a bit) he calls it a night. And just when he does, I realize he has not even touched me south of my chest. Awesome.
I end up spending the night because I missed my train home, we cuddle for a bit, and I manage to get 2 hours of sleep before my alarm goes off. While hesitant sunlight starts to flood into the room, Sean pulls me in for another try. Another fruitless try. It’s highly unlikely the alcohol is still affecting him after 7 hours, but I’m not a bitch and am nice about it. I decide not to mention he forgot something fairly important, and have a quick shower and dress to make a run for the train station.
Once at work, I am roped in for coffee by my friend and colleague Anna, who wants to hear everything. She’s a very picky and careful dater herself, and we couldn’t be more different in our taste and approach of men, but entertaining each other with our stories is the highlight of our week. So while I tell her the full story, she asks me if I liked him enough to go on a second date if he were to ask. She’s appalled at his morning failure and his ‘forgetfulness’ about my orgasm.
Back at my desk I wonder; do I like him enough to go on a second date? How many questions has he actually asked about me? But while the sex part may not have been successful for any one of us, I did have a good time at the bar, and he might have been a little full of himself, but who knows, he might have been nervous. I’m pretty sure his non-performance wouldn’t have made him feel better about the whole thing either.
As usual, I analyze it to death but then decide not to worry about it so much. If I do hear from him again, I’ll see how I feel about it in the moment and take it from there.