My Choices

So, this is all my fault? I pick the wrong men?

Looking back, I think it's actually a miracle that I've been involved with men at all. You see, when I was about 16-18 I sort of made a vow not to settle down until I was at least 25 years old. I simply thought that before that age would be way too early.

This was a bit strange for someone being from a country where people tend to grow up quickly, start living with someone and even buy a flat and start a family quite early, around twenty or in their early twenties. No matter if they're at university, they just adapt their family life around their studies.

So a lot of my schoolmates and friends were getting all excited about the new home that they were setting up with their boyfriends, working part-time along with school to save up for a new settee. This was when we were 18 and 19. Then they started to get pregnant too and all conversations within the group somehow revolved around pregnancies, babies, baby clothes and baby accessories, the cost of daycare and where to find the best childminders.

It would have been easy just to get sucked in; who wouldn't want to have a nice home with a cute boyfriend and a little baby to make the picture perfect? It would have been so easy just to hook up with some hard working schoolmate and have him take care of me and our unborn children. I would have had security and a future plan to follow.

But instead of finding it tempting, I felt a surge of anxiety whenever I imagined this future for me. And when these girls were talking with glee about the couple-things they had been doing, having the in-laws over for dinner and such, I couldn't help but thinking that they were only playing house, the grown up version. Having recently lost a parent, I was extremely aware of how short life can be and how precious our time is. There's never a chance of going back and taking a different turn if you realise along the way that you'd rather not be where you're at. Becoming a mother at the age of 20 means you'll be a mother for the rest of your life, perhaps for 60 years if you're lucky. You'll be responsible for another person for at least the next 20 years, longer if you keep adding children. Their well-being will affect where you live, how you work, what you do in your spare time, how you spend your holidays, everything!

So I thought to myself, no matter if I fall in love with someone in the next few years, no matter how much in love I will be, I will NOT move in with someone or have children before the age of 25! That way, I thought I could still do and have all the things the other girls did, but do a lot more before that. I could have it all if only I postponed this for a few years.

And so my abstinence from couples' life began; when we graduated, I already had a plane ticket to go abroad, on my own, while many of my friends went home to make dinner for their family.

Unavailability

So, while on ice, I've had a lot of time to think.

I've begun to see a pattern in the men I get involved with, not only those I've blogged about here but ever since I started properly dating. Yes, I've almost only dated men, never been in a proper relationship. Why is this?

I could blame it on the men, and some of them have been real dickheads and not treated me well. But at the end of the day, they're the ones I pick. I don't get easily attracted to men, you can call me picky, but very few men truly raise my interest. And I very seldom have developed a big crush on them, a crush that could have led to something more deep-rooted but didn't get the time to grow because the guys started acting like...yes, dickheads.

Only twice in my lifetime have I been in love; the first one didn't know about it till too late (that's a story for a veeery long blog post one day), the other one acted like a dickhead. For real. He's admitted it to me, as we're now quite good friends. But that window closed and once it's closed, I can't force it open again. He simply killed off any romantic feelings I had for him. Yet I can feel very close to him as a friend, am very fond of him and hope he'll find a good woman soon because he's really trying to find someone. But it can't be me, now I sometimes wonder what on Earth I saw in him a decade ago. It might have worked, but I would have been compromising a lot. In some ways, he doesn't get me at all, and I'd rather be with someone who is at least open to my way of thinking, or else be alone.

Anyways, I think that most of the men I've been involved with in my lifetime have had one thing in common. No, not that they're usually a lot older and grey-haired, which is what my friends keep teasing me about, but that when it comes to it, they are in fact unavailable, emotionally if not physically.

It's not something I know from the start, but something I discover, often painfully, along the way. They simply are not available to me. Why do I keep choosing them?

Walking on Ice

Am I not right in thinking that the idiom "To put something on ice" means a temporary halt?

In any case, I thought that despite Henry putting us on ice, we could still remain in touch. So I kept him as a Facebook friend and even sent him a couple of messages, as a friend, pondering about something rather trivial, as you do with your friends.

No reply. Not even a "Thank you" when I sent him a link to something regarding one of many topics we discussed passionately.

Did this mean he didn't want any contact at all until in two or three months? Would we then simply pick up where we left off?

At first, after eating a bit of chocolate, I hadn't felt too bad about this ice-situation, thinking that 2-3 months would pass quickly because I was indeed very busy, and then we'd finally have the time to get to know each other better. And, he would be even further into his journey of being sober, probably not as preoccupied with AA meetings and that sort of stuff anymore.

But Henry's complete silence made me uncomfortable.

So now I'm tossing and turning, trying to figure out what he actually meant. I should have asked!

The Iceman

That's it, I just don't get it. Any of it.

There was no doubt in my mind after our second meet-up that there was chemistry between me and Henry, and that it was mutual. We sent playful texts to each other and even though I was the impatient one, he kept responding and saying hopefully he'd find the time soon for us to be together. And I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about having more coffee together.

But again, he was terribly busy, and then there were the AA meetings and his work for those, all the reading and then the weekly CoDA meetings.

I was patient, I thought he was definitely worth the wait. But then I received an alarming message from him; he needed some space because he'd had a health scare and needed more testing, it was something to do with his lungs, and since he's a smoker, I got genuinely concerned for him. Never mind whether anything had or would happen between us, he'd need support if the test results came out bad and since I was involved in volunteer work for young people who have been diagnosed with cancer, I'm very knowledgeable in this field. So I just sent him one more text, telling him I'd like to be kept posted and he shouldn't hesitate to contact me if he needed anything.

About a week later, he texted me a smiley face and said the tests had come out fine, he was OK, nothing to worry about. Thrilled by these wonderful news, I rang him as I wandered around the grocery shop trying to figure out what to have for dinner. He sounded really relieved so I understood how heavy this had been on him, so I suggested we'd meet up soon to celebrate, not his evening, but just soon.

That's when his voice changed and the all too familiar we-need-to-talk-tone popped up in his voice. He said he just didn't think this was a great time for him, it appeared he'd be really busy for the next 2-3 months, at weekends too. "I think it's best if we put this on ice."

Funny enough, I was just standing by the frozen seafood, looking down on packets of fish fingers and fish burgers. I only managed to stutter "Yes, of course, I'm quite busy too so I guess it's just really bad timing," to which he agreed.

So we left it there, with a hint of "Let's wait and see" in the air as we finished the conversation and I quickly decided to go for frozen pizza. And chocolate for dessert.

Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me

Finally, Henry found time to see me again. But he was pressed for time because he had a CoDA meeting to go to so we just met in another coffee shop.

So we sat there and talked about religion and child upbringing and the education system and we agreed on so many things; I love talking to this man! But I was also terribly aware of his strong hands as he sipped his coffee or fiddled with the wrapping from the complimentary piece of chocolate that came with it. I could see he was hairy; he had long, blond arm hair peeking out from under the sleeve and a bit on the back of his hands. And with a couple of buttons unbuttoned at the top of his shirt, I could see a bunch of even longer chest hair swaying to the rhythm of his Adam's apple. And I just luuuv body hair, it drives me crazy.

In fact, Henry turned me on so much that I couldn't sit still there, I just wanted him to reach over the table grab me in his strong, hairy arms, kiss me passionately and use those big hands with long piano fingers to explore my body. But we were in a coffee shop and it was the middle of the day and he was getting late for his meeting. So in the end, all I got was a quick peck on the cheek and a boyish wink accompanied with his beautiful smile, before he rushed off to catch the bus.

I stumbled out of the coffee shop and went to a nearby gift shop run by a friend of mine. She knew nothing about Henry but as soon as I was over the threshold she raised her eyebrows and asked "Are you in LOVE???" I just laughed nervously, said I might at least be falling in love, hard. And since she's initially an actress, I asked her whether she might have heard of Henry, the cameraman? Oh yes, "Henry?" she nodded dreamily, "Oh, I bet he's an amazing lover, there's just something about him."

I couldn't agree more. I bet he's a wonderful kisser and a perfect lover. Definitely one of those who enjoys kissing so much he can spend hours snogging.

Then how come he hasn't tried to kiss me yet? He obviously likes me, he finds me funny and intellectually stimulating. He sends me messages telling me how great it is to be able to talk about these things (the Universe etc.) with me. And I AM cute and attractive and sexy and most men can't keep their hands off me once I give them permission. As well as those I don't give permission.

Discussing this with my friends, they reminded me of the Sex and the City episode where Carrie started dating a recovering alcoholic and it was all too soon so he wound up drinking again. I am aware that Henry is dealing with a lot of stuff at the moment, rediscovering himself and all that. And I do admire him for doing all this hard work to become a better man, not doing things half-heartedly.

I'm just not very patient! I wanna be kissed!!!

My New Boyfriend

How could I become so smitten with some guy I’d only met once?

For the next few days I was in some sort of a daze. All I could think about was how much I wanted to meet Henry again. And by ‘meeting’ him I meant kissing him too. I just knew by instinct he’d be a great kisser, he had this air about him, of being a great lover. Slow, sensual lover who’d whisper in your ear with this deep, soft voice. Mmmm.

However, he was a very busy man, shooting films and commercials on weekends, tutoring at a film school mid-week. And when it wasn’t work related it was AA meetings. Every night, seven nights a week. And on Sundays, he’d go to CoDA meetings in the afternoon as well. He also sometimes had to turn up early to the meetings because he had some sort of a job, arranging the chairs, making coffee and stuff. He was very much into it.

But even though we weren’t seeing much of each other, we talked. A lot. Suddenly I enjoyed talking on the phone for ages, something I’d normally not do. In fact, up until now I thought I suffered from phone-phobia but perhaps I just never had anyone interesting enough to talk to!

I loved hearing Henry’s deep voice over the phone and listen to all his wisdom. He was reading books and contemplating life, death, the universe and such. Thanks to him, I’ve now started reading The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. It’s a nice read, although I think I might have made most of those discoveries a decade ago and would have needed Tolle’s advice much more then.

Still getting texts from Eddie, the boy, though. I keep replying politely but last night, I received two texts, one from Eddie and one from Henry, in the same minute.  

After having texted Henry about how impatient I was getting, waiting for our second date, wondering if he in fact wanted to see me again at all, he replied: “There’s only one moment, this one here and now. And if my moment becomes your moment sometime soon, I will relish that. x” Eddie’s text read: “Hey, u goin out tonite girrrl?”

I lied to Eddie, told him I was having a nice evening in, with my new boyfriend. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. I wanted to spend that Saturday night in, on the couch… texting Henry, who was technically my soon-to-be-boyfriend anyways!

Oh, Henry!

Thankfully, Henry wasn't put off by my weird reply - which I tried to clear up immediately by texting him again, saying it was a private joke AND that I'd been half asleep.

However, he was extremely busy, it seemed, and so was I.

For more than a week we had several incidents where one of us had an opening for a quick cuppa, but the other didn't. We hadn't even started talking on the phone, only texting each other but by now, a few times a day.

I think I was trying not to get my hopes up too high by refraining from hearing his voice, because I already liked him so much without knowing what he looked like or whether there would be any chemistry between us.

But finally, we both had last Sunday afternoon free and so decided to meet at a cafe near my home. I arrived 'fashionably' late, walked to the middle of the floor and looked around, not quite sure I'd recognize Henry. All I knew was that he was tall, slim and blonde - and I saw no one looking like that in the busy cafe. 

Then I heard a deep, baritone voice saying my name, behind me. I turned around and looked into steel grey eyes, sparkling and surrounded by smile wrinkles. Henry had the most wonderful warm smile.

I sat by his table, ordered tea and we started talking. We talked and talked for over two hours, very philosophically, about everything; life, values, education, human behaviour, love.

Henry sounded incredibly wise and contemplating. He'd divorced eight years earlier and been in a four year long relationship since then. He had two teenage daughters and showed me a picture of them on his phone. He had this distinctive, comfortable presence, very warm and serene.

And he was very honest. He told me he was a recovering alcoholic, had joined Alcoholics Anonymous a year ago, when he'd hit the bottom hard, e.g. lost his drivers license for life.

Had he told me that when we were still only messaging each other, I'd have stopped thinking about him there and then. Not that I don't socialize with recovering alcoholics or have anything against them, but I would have been scared of trying to date one, too much risk.

But, after having spent two hours with him, I didn't care. I didn't care either that he's a smoker, a vice I'd otherwise find a total turn-off. Nope, I didn't care at all, I only wanted to get to know him better and be in his presence for as long as I possibly could. When we had to part, after almost three hours, I was saddened.

I walked him to his bus stop and we agreed we definitely wanted to see each other again, then he winked at me and jumped aboard the bus.

I didn't walk home, because my feet couldn't touch the ground. I was floating. What a man!

The Art of Waiting

Right.

So he didn't reply that day. Not in the evening either. Even though I stayed up late to monitor both my phone and Henry's Facebook page. And there was no reply when I eagerly checked my phone as soon as I woke up.

Twenty-four hours passed and I heard nothing from Henry. He hadn't been on Facebook either. After work, I dropped in at my friend Alice's and showed her my empty Inbox. Alice, with all her experience of text messaging impossible, obnoxious men, instantly asked: 'Do you not have the Delivery Report setting switched on?' What bl**** setting?

So no, I didn't and therefore couldn't be absolutely sure that the message had in fact reached Henry. But come on, why shouldn't it have, I asked Alice. Does anyone turn off their mobile phones these days, for 24 hours straight? Hardly. And being a busy, freelance camera man, he probably recharges his phone religiously.

'Maybe he's traveling?' Alice suggested, always ready to find explanations (read: excuses) for men not keeping in touch. I explained to her how, in these times, he'd have to be on either one of the Poles, climbing Everest or something equally extreme in such an exotic place that it wouldn't have phone reception, and that he would definitely have mentioned if he was packing for such an adventure when I last heard from him. Besides, he had commitments at a film school where he was tutoring once a week.

No, Henry was probably just yet another immature middle-aged man who panicked as soon as he faced any sort of confrontation and came to the utterly stupid conclusion that the most successful response was to play dead.

Ah, well. Good to know that before I even saw him! It would be hard day dreaming about the one-who-got-away with his face missing. And no more time would be wasted checking his Facebook page every ten minutes. Alice and I started joking around, making up excuses for Henry not to reply.

The winner was: 'He accidentally chopped off all his fingers while making firewood for his elderly mother...who lives in an old, damp cottage...in...Effushire!' We thought we were hilarious.

Eventually, I dragged myself home, way too late and just managed to spit out the toothpaste before my head hit the pillow.

And sure enough, what seemed to be only a few moments later, my mobile phone beeped. I reached for it and saw that it was almost midnight. And there it was, only 36 hours later, a reply from Henry: 'Yes, I'd love to see you in person! Am out of town working on a project right not, but lets find time soon. :)'

I laid back on the pillow and smiled. Despite being almost too tired to type, I replied and stuck my phone under the pillow before going back to sleep.

As I was drifting away again, my consciousness kicked in. A gnawing feeling made me suddenly wide awake and I swiftly sat up in the bed. What the hell had I written in that text???

I grabbed the phone and checked my Sent Messages as my heart pounded in my chest.
'Oh, good! You didn't chop off all your fingers then!'

Nice.One.

Five Stars

The verdict was in five days later. According to Alice's friend, Henry is 'smart, funny and a good person. A 5 star guy.' However, she didn't know what his situation is, whether he has a girlfriend or not.

'Just ask him already!' Alice added.

I thought about it long and hard. At least he wasn't married for twenty years or anything. So, if I were to ask him out, nobody could blame me for not knowing if he was in fact living with someone or dating, how was I suppose to know if he didn't 'advertise' it on Facebook. Or hadn't told me, even though our messaging had been short and not personal. If I asked him out, he would simply be forced to tell me the truth about his circumstances and then I'd know. And he would be flattered, as he should be.

But I noticed that he hadn't been active on Facebook this past week. Nothing had happened on his page, he hadn't liked anything or replied to comments. I thought of the whole year that had passed between him joining Facebook and becoming active enough to reply to my message and suddenly got scared that he had lost interest in Facebook and wouldn't log on for months again! OMG how could he do that, just leave me hanging without knowing what he even looked like! And no way of contacting him ever again.

Oh wait, his mobile number was listed on his Facebook Info page.

So, fueled by the fear that he wouldn't log on to Facebook till next year, and that by then, some cow would have snatched him from me and gotten herself pregnant and everything...I texted him.

'Hey, it's Me. Would you perhaps like to see me in real life sometime soon?'

What a Small World

It turns out, Henry was intrigued too. At least he took a close look at my Facebook page and started pointing out things that he liked or we had in common.

Like, a few of my top ten favourite films are also his and thereof, The Sting, is one of the reasons he decided to go into movie making. Yes, he's a movie maker, a director and cameraman. And once we started chatting about our jobs, we realised that our paths had crossed at least twice! Although we couldn't quite remember each other.

Of course, I still had no idea what he looked like but still, couldn't remember talking to a blond cameraman that time we were definitely in the same place at the same time. And he didn't recall having talked to me, although he did vaguely remember a journalist with big, fuzzy hair visiting the film location where he was working at that time.

I'm not terribly superstitious but I am open to letting the Universe take its course and try looking out for its signals. Henry and I had been at the same place at least twice and now, because of a little Facebook mishandling, we had contacted each other. Is that coincidence or the Universe desperately trying to make the horse drink after leading it to the effin lake?

Henry's e-mails were always interesting and witty, he's very good with words, I must say. I have of course Googled him to bits but to no avail, he seems to avoid having his photo taken! I came up with a couple of small images with him all blurred at a distance, or wearing a large, hooded parka (as freezing cameramen do) so all I know is that he's slim, tall and blond. And I'm getting so excited, I check my Inbox as soon as I see there's a new message, eagerly waiting for his next reply.

So, when out at lunch with my friends Alice and Sophie this weekend, I asked them whether it wasn't weird getting so excited about a total stranger, who I don't even know what looks like. The pair of them are hopeless romantics, poor sods, so they both shouted 'No!' and got even more excited than me. But to be honest, I don't even know that much about him, his Facebook profile doesn't reveal much and I haven't managed to pry about his personal life through our short Facebook conversations. He might as well be married with five kids for all I know!

I told my friends that, before they'd start planning my wedding. And then I told them his name. That's when Alice almost choked on her chicken salad. She recognized the name; his last name is quite unique and she had made a note of it a few days ago, noticing he had commented on Alice's friend's Facebook page. Yes, complicated and far-fetched but yet so convenient. Alice and Henry have a mutual friend!

So, now I'm waiting to hear what Alice will find out after talking to her friend. Patience.

The Blurry Guy

Eddie did text me every now and again for the next couple of weeks, usually something like "Whats up?" or "Goin out tonite?", and I replied politely each time.

And even though I was still contemplating meeting up with him again, I just couldn't bring myself to it. Especially after I got distracted. By Henry.

Yes, one day, I received a message to my Inbox on Facebook. It was a reply from someone named Henry to a message I had sent him a year ago! At first I was really puzzled and thought that a) Facebook had gotten its wires crossed, b) someone had hacked my account, c) I was going crazy.

After a while though, I vaguely remembered how this correspondence had been initiated. About a year ago, I was at home, sick with the flu and it just went on an on and on so out of utter boredom one day, after having watched every YouTube video in the universe, I started scouting for new Facebook friends. I went through my friends' friend lists and the 'People You May Know' recommended by Facebook, usually people in the area.

I sent out a few friend requests and messages to people I thought I might know. Amongst them was Henry, who had only recently joined Facebook at that time, didn't have much information on display and no profile pic. Still, because of his last name I thought that perhaps he was this guy I knew at Uni. So I sent him a message with a private joke that only the real Henry would understand and know how to reply: 'Hey, is this Henry, 'my dead brother'? ;)'

Then I completely forgot about him. Until 12 months later I received an answer: 'Nope, still alive, are you my sister?' Which was the wrong reply so obviously he wasn't the Henry I thought he was. By now this guy had uploaded a profile pic but it was a blurry, fish-eye photo and all I could see was that the guy was blonde, unlike the other Henry.

I still replied to him, saying I had obviously mistaken him for somebody else '...but kudos for the quick response! :)'

It wasn't long till he replied again: 'Thank you, I didn't want to write something in a haste!'

Funny guy. So I wrote something witty back, and he instantly replied. And then I added him as a friend and he accepted. Only, he doesn't have any other photos of himself apart from the profile pic, so I still have no idea what he looks like. We kept exchanging short messages and Henry proved to be very witty and satiric. And good with words.

I was intrigued.

The Boy

What I forgot to mention last time was that just before I fell asleep that night, I did text that young man, just to tell him I was home safe and sound.

By doing so, of course, I was also giving him my number. Which he used to reply the next day, apologizing for having been so drunk and asking whether he'd said something inappropriate. I assured him he hadn't so he replied again to ask if we could meet up again.

I didn't know quite how to react, I hadn't been that intrigued on our firs encounter and felt as if I should take a breathing pause after Carl, even though I wasn't exactly heart broken. But then I reminded myself to keep an open mind and not only look for fireworks and excitement, i.e. not base my entire judgement on first impression only.

So I told him, truthfully, that I was going to the theatre with my friend (Hannah) that very evening and afterwards, we'd probably pop in somewhere for a drink or two. If he were on his way out that evening too, he'd be welcome to stop by.

That way, the ball was in his court completely and if he showed up I would get the chance to check him out properly. It would also be great to get a second opinion from Hannah. If he didn't show up, I'd still have a great night and need never to think about him again.

However, he did text me and ask which bar we were at...and then showed up. His mates were at another place, he had left them to come and see me. I thought that was sweet.  His name was Eddie and he was a cook. We chatted for a few minutes and I could see Hannah watching his every move and listening to his every word to collect data for her final ruling. 

Eddie turned out to be quite an agreeable young man, the crucial word here being 'young'. Even though he didn't sound extremely boyish, I was pretty sure he was no more than 25. So I curiously asked him how old he thought I was?
He grinned triumphantly and replied with the exact correct answer. My reaction was to become slightly offended, as a lady would but also because usually people think I'm much younger than I am. The incredibly vain me thought frantically 'OMG are my looks fading so quickly?' but before I started to scream, Eddie continued by reciting the short version of my bio. Yes, he had Googled me.

This time I didn't know whether to be flattered or scared. It's nice to know that someone's interested enough to look you up on the Internet...but it would be more classy if he had kept it to himself. As we, girls, do all the time!

So, he already knew that I was exactly ten years his senior. And that didn't stop him. How sweet!

A few moments later, he decided to go to the other bar and get his friends to come over. Me and Hannah looked at each other when he'd left and she nodded agreeingly, ruling that he did in fact make a good impression. And I'm sure she found it added weight that there was no chance in hell he had dated her aunt at some point.

Half an hour later, Eddie turned up with three of his mates. They'd obviously been passing time by drinking while we had done more talking than drinking. So they were...rather upbeat, to say the least. They were loud, goofy and, well, funny, to some extent although I think I recall hearing a fart joke. Yes.
And Eddie? He thought they were funny too. So suddenly, Hannah and I had a group of loud, crude, young adults by our table. We smiled politely at the boys and made our excuses, we couldn't stay out late on a Thursday night as we both had to get up early for work. 

I could just hear how terribly grown up we sounded, but didn't care at this point. Any ideas I might have had about taking a young lover seemed as silly now as the jokes those little boys were cracking as we left the bar.

That's Life

Sorry again. This time I‘ve been on holiday, or at least out of town. Spent most of it with my family, visiting other family members or attending family functions. So now I‘ve done my duties, till Christmas at least. And I‘ve gotten rid of the guilt knot that‘s been rolling up in my tummy since last Christmas and can spend as much time this summer lazing about with my friends.

To wrap up how things ended with Carl though; we did meet once again.

He texted me the following evening and asked how I was doing. I gave him the perfect opportunity to get involved in a a little flirty-dirty text conversation by telling him I was about to get into a bubble bath, which I was. But he just told me to enjoy my bath and bid good night.

I wasn‘t all that disappointed, I really rather wanted to have an early night in than give sex with Carl another go.

But still, I wasn‘t willing to give up after one, not-so-great time so I called him a couple of days later and suggested we‘d go to a cafe that night. Which we did and it was rather nice.

And exactly just that, nice. We talked but there were no sparks, I didn‘t long to kiss him or touch him, even though we showed each other affection when we greeted each other. I sensed something was off.

Then he started to open up. He told me about his marriage, which had ended a year and half before but had been bad for the past five years and the end had been sudden and somewhat cruel. Not the least for his young children, whom he had solely looked after for the most part since.

So, Carl explained, he was finding it extremely hard to be intimate with me; he‘d been badly burnt and was still recovering.

I saw he was very uncomfortable talking about this and felt sorry for him. So I just leaned forward, touched his arm, looked him in the eyes and said ‘So what you’re saying is; we’ll never be more than friends, right?’

Never have I seen anyone so relieved to hear that old, over-used phrase. So, we kept on chatting and finished our teas. Then gave each other friendly pecks as we said goodbye and promised to be in touch soon.

I was feeling only a little melancholic as I walked home from the cafe. Carl was a good man, a great ‘candidate’ because we had so much in common. He was cute and funny too. So why didn’t we fall madly in love with each other? What was missing?

I only managed to walk two blocks though when, passing a pub, a young man (well, younger than me) addressed me. He was cute and looked harmless so I stopped to say hi in return. We introduced ourselves and he, obviously a tad drunk, said he worried about a beautiful woman walking home on her own after dark.

There was no way I was going to allow him to walk me home so I said I was a big girl and could take care of myself.

He still insisted I’d let him know that I’d arrived home safely and practically forced his phone number upon me.

I thought he was cute and agreed, continuing walking home thinking how funny this evening had been. First, I sort of got dumped by a man 17 years my senior and a few minutes later, someone in his early twenties had tried to pick me up!

I’d be all right.

Not...Great

Sorry it‘s been so long, I’ve been terribly busy lately but also...I guess I’ve been too frustrated to want to share with you the great disappointment. Too disappointed to want to admit my newest failure.

After the fabulous date, it was obvious Carl really liked me. And I liked him in a way that I found him interesting, kind, cute, sweet, intellectual, funny, surprising, impressive and he sure could kiss! Yup, he turned me on. I was very excited about all this.

So, I was certain I’d hear from him soon again and decided not to seem clingy or pushy by contacting him first.

Then two days passed, without a word. By the third day I forgot about being lady-like and texted him to see how he was doing? (Any man should know that translates into: Why haven’t you called me???)
But he just said he was fine, and how was I myself?

So I admitted I had been wondering if I’d ever hear from him again. He called right away, explaining nervously how he’d been trying not to seem too keen and keep his cool. We laughed it off.
And then he suggested a movie date the following night which I accepted, even though I had an early meeting the morning after for which I needed to prepare well. I didn’t care, I wanted to see Carl.

I had almost finished prepping for the meeting when it was time to run to the cinema where I met Carl, looking all stylish and cute, ready with the tickets like a true gentleman.
I gave him a lingering kiss because he just looked so adoreable there and we gazed at each other, knowing exactly what awaited us after the movie.

Which is why I didn’t pay much attention to it but concentrated more on stroking and squeezing Carl’s hand resting on my thigh.

As soon as the movie was over, we were at his place and headed straight for the bedroom.

It was...good. He was attentive and considerate and fairly passionate...but he didn’t say a word or laugh or anything. There was a certain lack of intimacy and afterwards he got up and put on a robe to go downstairs to get us something to drink.

That was considerate of him, but I could have gone for a few minutes without getting a sip of water, instead I would have liked to cuddle a bit and be silly, as you do. But he didn’t offer that at all, he didn’t take the robe off again and just sat on the bed, chatting. Chatting!

Yes, I had told him I had that early morning meeting and couldn’t stay overnight, but I didn’t expect him to want me out right away. There was something very awkward about this.

So I just got dressed and left, and the long, deep kiss in Carl’s doorway didn’t make up for the fact that I was leaving only 20 minutes after climaxing. And I didn’t feel any intimacy at all.

Dangerously Fabulous

So, last Saturday was the big date.

I was absolutely fabulous wearing that new dress as I strutted into the Sushi place Carl had picked. He was waiting there with drinks ready, at the best table in the house and had already ordered the tasting menu. I was impressed, he took care of everything! And he was looking very handsome in a dark suit and a dress shirt but without the tie.

The night turned out to be absolutely fabulous too. The food was exotic and tasty and Carl, not so nervous any more, was a dream company. I was amazed at how well he fitted the description of the perfect man I had so often preached about to my friends. He‘s smart, witty, educated, well-read, philosophical, a little nerdy, curious about everything, talented, artistic, musical, interested in languages and last but not least; funny. He‘s great at telling stories and I‘ve hardly ever laughed so much on a date before.

It even occurred to me that maybe this was it; maybe I‘ve found him? That was around the time Carl recited Shakespeare‘s sonnets after listening with enthusiasm to me explaining how my BA thesis had been about proving that Romeo and Juliet really isn‘t a love story.

So, I guess life with Carl would mean a lot of stimulating conversations. Exactly what I‘ve been looking for!
It turned out to be a long date. When the restaurant finally closed, we went over to Carl‘s place for some tea.

Obviously, no tea was consumed...but some saliva I guess. Yes, he‘s a great kisser as well. But that was all we did, I managed to tear myself away from him and go home, thus maintaining my ladylike manners as is my new technique.

I can tell you that the dress certainly did its job, though.

Got Myself a New...Dress!

And then...we met for lunch. I simply glided into the somewhat fancy restaurant that Carl had suggested, looking fabulous, and kissed him on the cheek as he shook my hand. He looked terribly nervous, which I thought was just charming.

We had soup and fish and talked and talked. He divorced three years ago and says he‘s not been dating that much as he‘s also busy looking after his two young children. Yes, bugger, he‘s nearing fifty and yet he has such young children, staying with him every other week. Oh well, I decided not to let it put me off though.

He turned out to be very intelligent and highly educated, both an academic and an administration type AND a hobby musician and writer! How perfect a combination is that?

I tried to seem not too impressed though, appearing to be a little reserved and modest (a new technique I‘m experimenting with). So I ignored several opportunities to show how witty I am and neither joked or teased him as much as I would ordinarily do, if I wasn‘t trying to impress a man.
I was just suitably passive and humble, fought the urge to pull out my purse when the bill arrived and allowed Carl to pay, as he seems to be one of those rare, old fashioned gentlemen.

Then he drove me home before going back to the office, said he‘d really like to see me again and asked whether I‘d have dinner with him this weekend. I of course accepted, as I find him very cute, very interesting and very charming. Then I gave him a feather light kiss on the lips and hopped out of the car.

I couldn‘t stop smiling for the rest of the day, called a couple of girlfriends and described the date to them in detail and then went shopping for a new dress. Yes, this man deserved a new, expensive dress for our proper date, no doubt about it.

Wound up buying a short, green patterned cocktail dress with spaghetti straps. Dead sexy. Hope Carl doesn‘t have some sort of a heart condition, this dress will most definitely cause a rise in his blood pressure...

Late that same evening I received a text message from Carl: 'Thank you for that kiss in the car. It was sweet, so are you. Good night.'

Aaaaaw...

Getting Excited

Things usually happen when you least expect them.

Last Thursday night I went out with my friend Hannah. We‘d been so busy lately that we had neglected each other and so decided to go out for dinner and afterwards we went to a pub as there was still so much we needed to talk about.

At the pub however, I noticed a group of men, celebrating the birthday of one of them. But it wasn’t the birthday boy who caught my attention, but one of his mates. I’m not sure why, he’s quite ordinary but with big, blue eyes and a kind smile. And distinguished grey hair.
I watched him for a while. He was too engaged in conversations with his mates for me to be able to approach him. It was a very definite mid-week guys’ night out, an occasion when women need to absolutely stay away.

But I pointed him out to Hannah, who grinned and said ‘I know who he is!’

It turned out she couldn’t remember his name but she knew he’s the chief executive of a certain regulatory authority. And when I asked her how she knew she took a sip of her beer and casually replied: ‘My aunt dated him for a short while last summer.’

I almost choked on my drink. Was my attraction to older men turning my friends’ mothers and aunts into competition? Isn’t there something obscure about that? Hannah laughed at my expression and explained that her aunt was her mothers’ youngest sister and quite a babe, so it wasn’t as if he’d been dating a knitting granny-type wearing reading glasses and an apron. Which was exactly the image I’d gotten into my head as soon as I heard the word ‘aunt’.

I was intrigued and so when I got home, I did some research. After all, I am a journalist, I have my resources. I found out his name, Carl, and no evidence that since the time he'd dated Hannah’s aunt, he’d gotten engaged or married. So I was fully in the right to contact him, I thought. The worst thing that could happen would be he not being interested and/or already involved with someone.

So I just sent a short message to his office e-mail address:
‘Hello there. I saw you at the pub earlier tonight but you seemed to be having such a good time with your mates that I daren’t interrupt. But you caught my eye. You can find out more about me If you google my name. And if you’re interested after that, I’m open to meeting up, for a cup of coffee or something. Otherwise, I apologise for taking up your time and bid you a good life.’

There, how could anyone not be flattered at receiving such an e-mail? I went to bed quite pleased with myself, but not really expecting anything.

The next morning, he had already replied. In fact, he had replied at 2am: ‘Hello there. I’d be more than delighted to meet you. How about lunch tomorrow? My phone number is ...’