Post-Date
So, I’ve done the pre-date write-up. If you haven’t read it yet, check it out HERE. Now it’s time to read the post-date review. The date with the man I’ve still not come up with a name for. The date itself, for some women, would have been a total disaster. For me, it was brilliant. Excellent. Fabulous. I laughed, I was myself, we were ourselves. It was lovely. Childish and totally non-conformist but still lovely.
Before the date we had agreed not to get dressed up. I didn’t want to see what he looked like in a suit jacket if he never wears a suit jacket. I’ve seen him in photos wearing a suit, I’d quite like to get to know the real him, how he is every day, wearing whatever he’d normally kick around wearing.
I over-dress all the time because I don’t have a real job and I have way to much time on my hands so I went dressed pretty much how I always dress – black jeans, black boots, casual dark-grey tee with a black blazer, cute black + white scarf, curly pink and purple hair, and precision-sharp eyeliner that I know compliments my big blue eyes. Plus accessories obviously. I’m THE accessories girl.
To start with, I was an hour and a half late. Why? Because that’s what happens in my life. I’m always late. I realised my roots were shocking – pink hair with blonde roots, so I had to re-dye them. Which of course meant re-bleaching them. In short, three hours of solid hair love. He’s lucky I was only an hour and a half late.
He got lost whilst trying to find me. He parked close-ish to where we agreed to meet and we found each other eventually before agreeing to find somewhere to go for a drink. He’d seen a couple of smaller pubs nearby, why didn’t we go to one of those? We drove and got lost some more before finally finding a little country pub out in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere where we sat and drank Cokes for a couple of hours, chit-chatting and laughing the time away.
Was I hungry? Did I want another drink? Was I comfortable? Bored? As attentive as I could have hoped he would be, I didn’t find it awkward but I didn’t really want to be there. I wanted to be somewhere just us two where the barman wasn’t staring at us (because we make quite the colourful couple with my hair and his tattoos), three or four dates down the line. The sexual chemistry was undeniable. I knew it would be. I can just tell he’s going to hit the spot. I found it increasingly difficult to keep my hands to myself and I’m 100% sure the same can be said for him too. It’s no wonder the barman kept staring. Yeah we made out for a minute or two. And what? He’s a GREAT kisser. One of the best. Thank you Cupid for giving me another great kisser. I owe you one!
There was one of those stuffed-toy grabber machines you find at seaside arcades and he tried his best to win me a Minion. Sad but true. Even sadder was the fact he couldn’t win the damn toy, his frustration becoming more and more apparent. My frustration grew with his when I gave the game a shot for myself and he slid up behind me, squeezing in close, leaving me nowhere to go. Wrapping his arms around my waist and embracing me with a cologne I’d not smelled before, he made that noise in my ear, “Mmmmm” and I lost my mind. It took everything I had not to push my butt back into his groin and show him a little something of what he could expect from date four, especially when he moved my hair from the back of my neck and nuzzled slightly, not biting, not kissing, just being close, the feel of his surprisingly soft stubble sending shivers right through me.
I didn’t win the toy either.
We composed ourselves before drinking the last of our Cokes and on our way back to his car, he turned and grabbed me, pulling me in real close again, making that “mmmm” noise that, at this point, just makes my legs buckle. He’s tall, a shade under six foot I think. He towers over my tiny 5 ft 3 frame and when he wraps his arms around my waist, he makes me feel so small, like a little doll. I’ve never really dated tall men but I’m starting to see the appeal. He makes me feel small but in a good way, like he could protect me and break me all at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it.
“I’ve bought a couple of spliffs with me. I really want to take you back to mine and just chill, laugh and be breezy with you but that goes against our rules and it wouldn’t be innocent. But I’d love to chill and smoke with you.”
Okay, I get it, it’s weird, hardly the most conventional of dates but I’m a fellow stoner and when we ended up in that park, smoking and seeing how high we could get on the swings whilst getting really, really high generally… Well, it was fucking awesome.
I’ve never laughed so much. I’ve never felt so… I don’t know? I didn’t give a fuck. I was having a whale of a time, running from one attraction to the other. First the swings, then the roundabout, then the seesaw where he kissed me hard and deep as he helped me get off. Traditional? Definitely not. Fun? Fuck yes! I don’t care how much you laugh at me. First dates are awkward, difficult and uncomfortable. Not this one. I laughed, we got to know each other, we were relaxed and happy and comfortable…. I reckon it might just go down as one of the best first dates I’ve ever had.
He dropped me home and we agreed to make our second date for Sunday, specifics to be agreed closer to the day. One final leg-buckling kiss and off I went, skipping to my door, cheeks hurting from grinning so much and lips slightly swollen from passionate and intense kisses I’ve not had in too long.
By the time I’d awoken, he’d already been a busy bee and was out and about, having a cuppa with his mate at the tattoo salon. Within three hours, he’d gotten himself inked. Not just any ink though, ink to commemorate our first date…
To be continued.
Clearly.
