It’s been 8 months and 7 days since I came out if a 10-year relationship with the man of my dreams. Everything since then has changed, we communicate now through little black boxes: texting sweet flirtations and suggesting the art of tease through phones and virtual communication. Facebook has come and taken over like a virus stripping away all mystery and wonderment of a stranger. Commitment has become taboo and casual sex has become the norm, people play “I want you, I want you not” games with each other, and to say “I love you” is becoming rarer. I guess I have a lot of catching up to do.
I decided it was probably time to get back in the singles game before I shrivelled up and became dry. Besides, I craved intimacy and this was the longest drought I had experienced for just over a decade.
My first date with another man in 10 years happened last night. I didn’t expect to get nervous but an hour before 8pm my heart was buzzing like a jackhammer. I was a butterflied, bellyaching teenager all over again… all the internal dialogue of heart beaten patter “should I go, should I stay, who is this man, he might be a psychopath, what am I doing, maybe he’s the new man of my dreams, what do I wear, what am i doing!!?
Step back in time- 1.5 weeks (11 days to be specific)
I was skipping down Swanston St in Melbourne CBD peak hour, singing a song, with a bounce in strut and happiness in my gait when a man ran in front and stopped me suddenly. He told me I was the most beautiful and exotic specimen he had ever seen on the street that day, and wanted to know my story. Why I wasn’t like the rest. I was quite taken aback by him and his outburst but I was inwardly flattered and my internal romantic was curious. I had just been reading Anias Nin’s journal in the library and inspired by Anias’s epic love affairs and this mans boldness, I gave him the time of day.
I had been single and fancy-free for 8 months yet this was the first man that wasn’t drunk and drooling to have approached me.
Here was a man who had put his pride and limb on the line and was brave enough to follow his instinct and approach a lady mid-stride on the busy city street. Rare.
He asked me to read him poetry from my journal, I did. He asked me for my number so we could drink some wine together and get to know each other, I gave it to him. I was flattered and intrigued by his boldness. He wasn’t my type, all I knew was his first name and postcode but I am a romantic at heart and was feeling ready to try myself in this singles game.
11 days and 8.5 hours later-
He met me at a busy bar in Fitzroy. I was nervous. He was not (he’d done this many times before). I was a smoker. He was an ex-smoker. (Little bit of a problem as when smokers are around nonsmokers you begin to notice that your breath distinctly smells and tastes like an ashtray and with or without mints, this can immediately cancel out the possibility of French kissing unless you eat a lot of parsley and brush your teeth 2 times)
It was easy, fluid conversation; we spoke of music, passion, and science… He told me he had once worked at a spiritual festival reading faces. I asked him to read mine. He came up real close to me, putting his legs on mine and put his face so close to mine I could feel his breath. He told me that my bottom lip was thicker than my top lip, which meant I was highly sensual but that my top lip is thinner, meant I was afraid of expressing my full sensuality. Hmmmmmm…….
The date was good, we laughed, we drank whisky on the rocks. We bar hopped from venue to venue and talked over bad electro music. I lost and found my wallet, we told stories. It was Chinese new year. I was a new woman again, fresh, and still a mystery.
Somehow I ended up in his car, on the pretension of going to get Pho’ (Vietnamese soup) at midnight on Victoria St. And Lordy Lord there was not one single food place on Victoria St open. He super smoothly decided that we should go to his house as he lived a minute away and eat there. So against all odds, my first date seamlessly led me to his lair. Like a lamb to the slaughter. A fish to water. I was in his house, meeting his cat, cooking broccoli and veggie patties and sitting under a strange gazebo mood lit with candles and drinking dry wine.
Who would have ever thought?
Before we went to bed. I told him I didn’t want sex. In fact, I couldn’t have sex as I would probably have an emotional breakdown, seeing as I hadn’t touched another man intimately for over a decade, and I just wasn’t ready.
He said, “Whatever you want, darling”, and continued to drape his arm about me tickling his fingers softly on my skin.
20 minutes later under the covers. The air was thick with tension. He wanted it. I couldn’t. He expected it. I had a knot of anxiety in my gut. I thought to myself, how the hell did I get, myself in this situation in a strangers bed on the first night of the date. I had a broken the first date rule number one.
So as you can imagine the whole blue balls saga continued. Although I had forewarned him about me being currently sensually disabled and a ball of anxiety in that department…
Don’t get me wrong I was aroused and thought he was a nice enough man. Curious but I guess not that curious.
The fear of a bad lover, a foreign body, alien scent, condoms and chemical lube. Freaked me the hell out. I felt like a virgin all over again.
We lay in bed, I could feel his hard-on pressing into my buttox.
It took me a long time getting to sleep that night. I had nightmares. I felt like I was 16 again, when my first boyfriend would try to persuade me to lose my virginity with him, and proceeded to get angry and tell me how sexually frustrated and what torturous pain he was in when I said no.
I didn’t kiss him. We didn’t have sex. It was a 12-hour date. We talked for 8 of them. He was charming, but I could tell he was trouble.
I gave him blue balls. He bought me a vegetarian burrito for breakfast and strong black coffee.
He was half of a gentleman. I behaved almost like a lady. I skipped all the way home.
I don’t think I will ever see him again.
Why are a women expected to put out sex on the first date?
Can sex with strangers really be non-attachment and purely pleasure for pleasure’s sake?
Is this a modern conception of the 21st century? Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned courting? Getting to know or trust someone before exchanging bodily fluids and potentially bad/ good sex.
Do men really get blue balls? Or is that mans biggest sob story?
The moral of today’s story
What women want-
- A gentleman who acts in gentlemanly fashion
- When a man has the courage to ask out a random woman on the street there’s a pretty high chance of success.
- Random encounters of romantic love/ lust definitely make blood sing and skin electrify.
- Don’t pressure a person to have sex.