Date Number Two With Someone New

So, Someone New and I decided to go bowling for our second date. It was fairly disastrous from the beginning, to be honest. I missed two trains and ended up having to get a bus [HATE], but then I lost the return ticket and had to pay an absolute fortune for a cab back to mine because there were no more trains and I missed the last bus looking for the stupid piece of paper. Was I drunk? Yes, of course I was. I did have a good time, though.

Two dates, both drunks, I’m starting to think either one or both of us has a problem. I was only tipsy during the first date, admittedly, but I lost track of just how much I had to drink last night. don’t remember much about the journey home, apart from handing over a wad of notes to a taxi driver with a big smile on his face. Judging from the state of my phone this morning, I took some photos in an attempt to be sexy, failed, and thankfully didn’t send them to anyone. I’m assuming someone ordered a pizza before I passed out since I woke up next to three stone-cold slices. I honestly don’t know what is wrong with me. I was trying to make a good second impression as I’d gotten a bit pissed the first time around – and I failed. I’m not meant to be drinking alcohol or eating dairy – and I definitely failed on both of those counts. My only consolation is that he’s suffering just as much as I am. Maybe more, in fact. Migraines and puffy faces for him, vomiting and serious light-aversion for me. Excellent stuff.

The date was good, though. Fun, with just the right amount of sex. (None, but some sexually-charged touching.) He guided my hips with his hands to ‘teach’ me how to bowl, and held my hands, clapping and laughing and jumping when I scored my one and only strike. Apparently, I’m shit at bowling. I am good at shooting, though; I hit the target almost every time when I was playing on the shooter games in the arcade. We raced bikes together, played air hockey, and as we were looking at each other from beneath our lashes at either end of the table, I realised something: I really, really wanted this guy.

If our circumstances at the end of that night had been different, there’s no way I wouldn’t have fucked him. Maybe I am a second date kinda gal? We’re in the process of planning our third date, and little jokes have been made as to what’ll be happening on the fourth one. We’ve had the grownup conversation about it: condoms, the pill, etc. We’ve also had the most polite text-sex I’ve ever had in my life. I’m hoping this isn’t a sign of things to come. I don’t want Mr. Polite in the bedroom.

I now want to have sex with this man so much, I’m thinking about him whilst my hands wander at night. Literally imagining what it would be like to be in bed with him; what he’ll say, how he’ll touch me, how he’ll kiss me, how his lips will feel against my skin … I can’t help myself. I like the way he talks, I love the way he walks, and now I want to find out how he dances! Metaphorically, obviously. I want to make him lust after me as much as I’m lusting after him, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure that our third date won’t be THE date. Maybe we won’t be able to wait until date number four? Maybe it’s not that damn important, anyway.

I’ll letcha know! 

Featured image by michellem18 on Unsplash