Before Cowboy Steve the Kettlethief turned into a Grade A asshole, we managed a pretty good first date – obviously, considering I was hooked on this guy for quite some time. Despite him having an aversion to texting throughout us dating, pre first date he did quite well with that. Full sentences and all. I guess it was a selective aversion after all.
As usual, our meeting point was LSS – what is it with me and guys and this place?! Now, I had never been greeted by being full-first-named before (only my dad does that, normally when he tells me off. Yes, still now), so I was a bit like wtf. But he was cute and I didn’t really care anyway. He did have an American accent even though he was a Brit – that took a little getting used to. I actually had to ask because I thought it was some obscure deepest, darkest England dialect. Whoops.
We went for dinner at Wahaca which I happen to love, so it was all good. He was interesting to talk to and we quickly realised a shared mutual appreciation of the F word. Very bonding indeed. After dinner, I dragged him to one of my favourite bars that happens to make pretty awesome Martinis, and we were knocking back the cocktails, quite a few of them. This was still going well, the conversation was flowing. I do remember checking out his ass once when he was ordering the next round of drinks and I thought, he had to get rid of those baggy trousers. Now going to this place had been a concession on his part but he got a little restless and finally asked if he could suggest something a little out of my comfort zone.
I know you’re thinking dark corners and all that, but as it turned out he was just talking about the pub down the street. With very steep stairs btw which after all those cocktails and some more cider proved to be a little on the challenging side. We kept drinking quite a bit, sitting opposite each other engaged in animated conversation. Maybe just on my part but he seemed to be having a good time too. I do recall that I kept opening and closing the top button of his shirt. I think I was checking out his chest hair (which he referred to as his rug, so there was plenty of that). No idea why I did that but I didn’t get a slap so it can’t have been that bad.
I managed to miss the train I had aimed for so we swung by another place for one last drink. Now, at least for a short while, we got ourselves a dark corner. He was a quite good kisser, so it was a little unfortunate I was so inebriated at that point that closing my eyes made the room spin. And that was not down to his incredible abilities I’m afraid to say. As he put it politely later, I was swaying. He did get me on my train home and even though I had to go to work on three or so hours sleep the next morning, I was pretty happy.
I used to refer to him as the text dumper so I think it is quite clear this one did not work out, although it took two years to get to the point of no return. I guess we were trying, or at least I was; but way too hard at that and he not at all. I have no idea really but it’s better to see it like that otherwise the time wasted on it would be too regrettable. I sometimes wish he had send me ‘that’ text sooner, because even though I knew this wasn’t working and made me miserable as hell in the process I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to fuck off. But hindsight is a stupid word, we’re all wiser afterwards. I did hate him for a while, but that’s subsided now. Strangely enough, the one thing I learnt from this guy is that it’s okay to be selfish. Ironic really.