It’s probably not a good sign when you spend a lot of your date thinking about how you will describe it in your blog.
I finally met the Man from the Internet today. We messaged each other about six times in the last few days just to confirm when we were definitely meeting. We were meeting in town for a coffee, but just in case, I gave my flat a quick clean. I didn’t have the time or energy to wash my bedclothes, so I turned my sheet upside down and put it back on the bed with a healthy helping of Febreeze.
I got a bus into town. Although the Man from the Internet had seen many photos of me, I’d only seen one of him. As the bus pulled up to the bus-stop, I could see someone I thought I was the Man from the Internet standing outside the cafe. I got an attack of nerves and I couldn’t get out of the bus. I couldn’t get out at the next stop either. I very nearly stayed on the bus all the way to IKEA. I couldn’t move. Thankfully, two stops too late, I pulled myself together and got out of the bus and went back to the cafe where we were meeting. And there he was.
This is one of only two days in the year when the pubs of Ireland are closed and the cafe was overflowing. The Man from the Internet is Indian. And it was hard work. His accent is thick and he didn’t have a lot to say for himself.
As an English language teacher, I have frequently given oral placement tests to new students to decide what level class they should be in. This date was like the placement test from Hell. I didn’t find him interesting nor did I find him easy to understand.
Nor did I find him attractive. At all. He had his backpack with him and made it clear he was prepared to come back to mine. We couldn’t go back to his because he’s sharing with other Indian guys, and I think I’m meant to understand that he’s not out to them. But I didn’t want him to come back.
We covered all the normal stuff: work, home, family, favourite sexual positions. At one stage, he started interrogating me excitedly about food. Bear in mind, I’d met him on a website where you go to meet fat gay men. I very nearly got up and left then. I find it difficult enough to accept someone sexualising my weight, but with my food issues, the idea of someone sexualising my eating made me want to cry.
I made the decision never to sleep with him, and then he leaned across the table and told me he was really horny. And all of a sudden, my tummy filled with butterflies, my heart raced and I felt like I was floating on air. Nothing can get me all a-quiver like the idea that someone actually likes me. Likes me like that.
And I spent the next ten minutes considering taking him home. It was only about 5:00 at this stage and he told me that he had until 7:30, and that was plenty of time.
Of course it is.
I told him I wasn’t sure. That I was nervous. And he was perfectly gentlemanly and didn’t push it. I wish I was attracted to him. Then it would (probably) have been a lot easier.
It didn’t feel right. I take most of my advice from teen dramas, and I know that if I was in one of them, then it would be wrong to do it if it didn’t “feel right”.
I told him that Wednesdays and Fridays are good for me and I came home alone, promising him I’d see him again.
And now, here I sit. I’m still full of butterflies. And I feel disappointed in myself. And I feel relieved.
It hasn’t really been a Good Friday and it certainly hasn’t been a Great Friday, but it hasn’t been a Bad Friday either. Overall, it was a Middling Friday