Insane grinning pt: 2…

Still feeling very relaxed.

So as promised, here is part 2 of the saga…

Last night I had the best night’s sleep I have had in a long while.  For now my nervous anxiety seems to have abated somewhat.  Maybe this is because at present I don’t feel anxious about anything.

I have no more first dates.  My blog is out and proud, well out at least and Tom and Elsie have been behaving.  I know, don’t worry I am not going to get too comfortable, as the minute I do, something will inevitably happen.

We are still in the half term, another week to go.  It will be calmer though as Tom has broken his phone.  This is obviously what he actually meant when he called me from the surgery that day because his battery had died.  My phone is dead he tells me.  So was he, nearly!

I thought I would be angrier than I am about this, as after all he has only had it for 3 months but Tom without his phone is generally a much nicer boy.  I had almost forgotten what he was like but now he can not be constantly plugged in to aggressive rap music and also can’t phone me when he is out and about to change all the arrangements we have already made, he is back in the fold and that is where I am keeping him.

I am obviously a bit pissed that he has broken his phone, they are not cheap but it was only a matter of time really, as you should have seen the state of the bloody thing.  I am surprised it lasted as long as it did.  So a nice long wait for a new one won’t do him any harm at all.  While he waits he can think about how best to look after his belongings.

Give him his due though, he hasn’t even mentioned getting a new one.  Elsie on the other hand would have made my ears bleed by now.  Constantly droning on about the ‘life struggles’ of having no phone to keep her social media updated and Snapchat ‘streaks’ going.  I can hear her now!

By the way. I would love to know how many of you actually read the first 400 words and didn’t just skim straight down to the juicy bits?

So the date with J… Forgive me if we get off to a slow start as I’m not really sure how to explain it.

It was a successful date, well, at least in the grand scheme of online dating anyway although, not quite an expert yet in that field, I do feel that as far as first dates go it was a good one.

He picked me up as promised on the dot of 6.30 pm.  I was nearly ready.  Not quite.  I am always late.  I have stated this on my profile as I can be horrendously late sometimes and for some people this is a ‘deal breaker’, another new term I have learnt.  Anyway, he waited patiently while I decided what to put in my bag.

As a general rule of thumb, I don’t do bags.  I take my cash card, a lipstick and my key, who needs a bag for that? But in an effort to look sophisticated I take a bag, which to be fair is all limp and lifeless because it has fuck all in it and annoys me for the whole evening.

As we leave, with me all of a fucking dither and trying not to skid across my wooden floorboards in ridiculously high stilettos, (remember I have Shortism) he asks me how I’m feeling.  I try unsuccessfully, no doubt, to appear calm and nonchalant and say ‘I’m okay, I think!’ then promptly misjudge the doorstep I have been treading over for the last ten years, very successfully I might add, to launch myself down the drive.

It is not very elegant that running man thing.

He grabs me in a very James Bond way and pulls me a bit too close.  Jesus, it’s a warm night!  He manoeuvres me to the car.  I am in trouble if he let’s go of his firm grip.  Sack of potatoes comes to mind.

Getting in a fast car with a complete stranger is something I don’t do very often.  Honestly.  It was scary.  He is a man and one that was obviously quite keen to show his prowess at driving, speeding off down the road at break neck speed.  I did actually squeal at one point but still trying to remain calm and unflappable I dug my nails in to the leather upholstery and resigned myself to thinking that if I am destined to die tonight, I might as well do it in style.

The restaurant as expected was posh, well posh by my standards at least.  A very lovely restaurant though and quite busy which I liked.  There is something very awkward about being the only two people in a pub/restaurant and very obviously on a first date.  So we took a table by the window in the corner and cracked on.

He was all things that I expected him to be.

I was completely right about J.  He is from good stock. That is obvious.  He is well-educated, that is also obvious.  His hands look like they have never done a days work in their lives.  I have more calluses than he does but then I do have to mow my own bloody lawns.  The most danger he probably comes in to contact with on a daily basis, is a paper cut from a broadsheet?

He clearly has his shit together.

I was worried before we met that he would be too posh for me.  I would not go so far as to say I am common but I am definitely not in his league.  My friend and I were joking by text and I told her I was worried about him being a bit to high brow and not being able to relate to his ‘dinner party’ friends.  She just scoffed at me and reminded me that I am me; take it or leave it.  Her actual reply:

‘Wot u on about u ‘ave eye brow friends, anyway he might like a bit of rough!’ – just about says it all.

She also reminded me that we were way off dinner parties yet and to just take it as it comes.  There is no deadline here.  Let’s see whether we like each other first before we worry about me making an entrance as the star guest at his December Ball.

I am drifting.

We got on well.  I expected we would as I felt like I knew him already.  I was nervous as hell and a bit girly and smiley all evening, which if you know me is hard to believe.  If there is one word I would not use to describe myself, it is girly.

In all, it was a really good evening, we seemed to have a lot to talk about, he was very interesting and I found his conversation quite stimulating.  If I’m completely honest, that wasn’t all I found stimulating but I’m keeping it clean.  My mother will probably read this.

He is ‘not my type‘ though.  I know, loud groans all round.  I said before I don’t have a type but I suppose as far as attraction goes, I do.  I have a thing about hair, in the way that I like my men to have some.  He doesn’t, well not much anyway. Can I let this bother me?  Probably, yes.  Should I?  No, probably not.

I like a messy looking bloke, you know the sort that is potentially going to be the worst kind to get in to a relationship with.

Why is it not possible to find a messy looking bloke who has all the other things as well?

I have said before that I do believe a lot of things can make a person attractive but as previously stated you have to want them and I mean want them.  In that sexual, oh my god just rip my knickers off kind of way.  Having said that once that feeling has passed and generally it does, to a certain extent, you must have something left between you, that will keep you fulfilled and happy and still enjoying great sex.  This, for me at least, seems to be the hard bit.

Some of my friends have these relationships, granted only a few, as I think they are rare but I want one.  I don’t think I have ever felt like that about anyone yet.  I have a tendency to confuse great sex with love and it is not the same.  Nice as it is.

I don’t think I can honestly say I have ever been in love.  Lust yes, love, I don’t know.  How do you know?  I question that all the time.  Is love different things to different people?

It is a lot to do with me.  I do give off a bit of a hard act image and while I am soft inside as are most people, it is possible that I am just generally attracting the wrong type of man because of the way I portray myself.

Anyway I digress, again.

The upshot of the date is that, I like him.  He fancies me, he told me that straight away, almost.  It seems my friend may have been right.  Whether long-term, we will have enough in common to sustain a relationship, however casual, remains to be seen.

Maybe we don’t need to have things in common?  The thing I am probably most attracted to about J is that he is his own man.  He has a life that runs perfectly well without me in it, I like that.  He wants me but doesn’t need me.  I feel the same way.

When he dropped me home.  He kissed me.  I was surprised by this, as him being from good stock and all, I thought he would be a bit reserved.  He wasn’t at all.  While he wasn’t pushy and trying to cop a feel, he did indeed let me know what he wanted.  It was a very nice kiss, he has very soft lips and he was firm but not invasive.  I liked it a lot and as the tingling sensation in my belly started to travel South, I desperately tried to bring myself back to reality.

I forced myself to get out of the car and lock myself in the house so as not to turn in to a complete harlot.

We have arranged another date and we are still texting.  The texting thing, I thought, would wear a bit thin after the date, it hasn’t.  It has got worse.  We are still texting all the bloody time and until the early hours.  It is getting a bit naughty now mind but still only sometimes and still along with lots of other general chit-chat.  I am also still grinning insanely and often.

The tension between us is building, rapidly…




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