Men are like buses … noisy, smelly and never on time.   They also seem to come together all at once.  (I don’t mean in a gangbang type way.  At least, not on this occasion.)

 

This dating blog post is Wednesday’s date.

 

P and I ‘met’ online and have been speaking for a few weeks.  He’s 27, lives fairly local to me and the banter rating had been pretty good.  I never message anyone first on this dating site – Hashtag CBA for the most part, but I think, as a woman, we pretty much get messaged a fair bit so I’ve never had to bother.  I sound like a right knob, I know.  Whatever.

 

P had been pretty keen from the outset … *looks in mirror – who can blame him* … but then he committed the cardinal sin:  He ‘lost’ my phone number.  We’d texted on the phone before and I have to say, ‘losing’ my number hacked me off royally.  So I did what most mature women my age would do … I ignored his next batch of messages he sent on the site.  But, persistent swine that he is, he asked again for my number, apologised again for losing it and at 8pm Wednesday night, whilst I was soaking in the bath, I thought OK, let’s see if he’s all talk.

 

So I asked him if he wanted to come round.

 

Now, a few of my readers have been aghast that I would be so ‘reckless’ and invite a man I don’t know round to my house.  The world’s full of nutters blah blah blah … but to put those people’s minds at rest, I do have certain rules.

 

  • Firstly, you never really know if anyone you meet IRL (in real life) or on t’internet is a nutter.  Wouldn’t life be dull if you let potential mentalness get in the way of meeting new people.

 

  • Secondly, my best friend lives round the corner and whenever she or I are ‘entertaining,’ we make sure we check in with each other, give each other details of the person we’re seeing and call if ever we don’t get a good vibe about the other person.

 

  • Finally, being a woman of the world etc, I’m a good judge of character (two failed relationships aside, obvz,) and I do like to get to know someone well before I ask them round.  I’m not stoopid.

 

  • Oh, and finally finally … babysitters are bloody expensive and quite frankly, I just can’t afford to fork out for them every week.  So there.

 

Anyway, I digress.  So P said it would be cool to ‘hang out’ with me that night.  His enthusiasm knew no bounds.

 

My son was already in bed and chilling at home meant P was really going to have to take me as he found me.  Not literally take me, at least not immediately … but I just mean I didn’t really have to bother getting all tarted up.  It had been a long day at work so that was ALL good.

 

I got ready – smooth legs, lipgloss, spritz of perfume and a smile was pretty much the extent of my effort.  Oh, and a black dress – long sleeves and a flared, to the knee skirt, which meant I didn’t have to breath in all night.  Bonus.

 

Then the phone rang … why does the phone always bloody ring before they get here?  He was running a little late because he had to get petrol.  Then he rang again to say he was at Tescos.  I half expected him to ring to say he was stopping to scratch his balls.  He didn’t.  Thankfully.

 

He knocked ever so gently on the front door when he arrived, probably scared he’d wake my son up (nothing could EVER wake my son up,) and he came in.

 

Erm, PHWOAR!

 

Seriously.  PHWOAR!

 

He.  Was.  Gorgeous.  His photo had been nice enough, but in person, he was deeeee-licious.  6ft 1”, stubble, dressed nice and he smelt lush.  Oh, and the Audi TT parked outside my house did wonders for my street cred, if only for a limited amount of time.

 

He came in, kissed me gently on the lips and said, “Wow, you’re gorgeous.”

 

Now, me of all people, knows the lengths men go to to get theirs, but he sounded genuine enough, bless him, so I totally rolled with it.

 

Thank you,” I smiled, “likewise.”  See.  Class all the way baby.

 

He’d brought a bottle of wine and we went in the kitchen to get some glasses.  I explained that as he was driving, he could have the small wine glass and I’d have the pint glass.  He saw the look in my eye as I clutched the Rosé and didn’t argue.

 

(As an aside, I don’t usually drink wine – makes me vomit then fall asleep … not the best look on a first date.  However, Rosé is like the orange squash of the wine world and, like Baileys, I can drink it with it having no effect on me whatsoever.  Can’t really ask him to bring round a bottle of Absolut can I?)

 

As he was so hot, I quickly turned Don’t Tell the Bride off and found some dodgy R n’ B music channel to put on as background music.  I’m nothing if not smooth.

 

He seemed a little nervous but conversation flowed easily.  He’d chosen to sit on the big sofa and I sat on the small sofa opposite.  I pointed out my DIY skills in a bid to impress him by pulling out the chopping board I’d put underneath the cushion in an attempt to fix the broken springs.

 

We spoke about previous dates we’d met from the site and played the ‘Who’s Had The Worse Date’ game. He regaled me with a hilarious story about this woman he’d taken out for dinner who kept touching up her boob implants all night.  You had to be there.  Was funny at the time.  I told him my ‘mediocre boner’ story.  He was amazed I hadn’t pierced the man’s boner with my stiletto.

 

Anyway, we had a really relaxed evening chatting, drinking, flirting.

 

Now this is the bit that’s sometimes a little … awkward.  It was obvious we fancied each other, but how do you get from sitting on opposite sofas to snogging each other’s faces off whilst trying to retain a modicum of coolness.

 

You can’t.

 

“Come over here and sit with me.”

 

So I did.

 

We spent the next hour or so kissing.

 

You know how that first kiss is always a little scary/nerve wracking because it’s either going to be shit, average or amazing … and until your lips touch you just don’t know?  Well it was amazing.  The kiss is pretty underrated in my opinion and you can tell A LOT by the way a man kisses you.  He kissed GOOD.

 

G-O-O-D.

 

We just fit together perfectly.  We were totally in sync with each other.  There were no clashing teeth.  No awkwardness at all.  I could have kissed him all night.

 

One thing nearly led to another and I was honestly tempted to lose my virginity to him.  But for some reason I didn’t, and to this day, I remain a virgin.

 

But damn … I am a BRILLIANT kisser.

 

 

 

 

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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