I had a date tonight with a guy with gorgeous blue eyes. Perhaps not Alaskan Malamute Husky level blue, but damn they were nice.
I met him on Tinder late last week. We’d chatted quite a bit on the app and he met my standard list of criteria – yes I am very upfront about this now and it seems to be working a treat (more about that later). He was 33 (like me), 6’5″ (deliciously tall), smart, successful (apparently), funny, cheeky. It was all stacking up to be a good date.
We met after work at a bar and he had warned me that he was rocking a holiday beard as he hadn’t needed to shave for a few weeks so he’d look a little different to his pics. I was expecting a bushranger beard due to the warning, but it was a nicely trimmed manly beard that I really dig. He actually looked better than his pics. Seriously, when does that ever happen. When?!?
We get some drinks and chat flows instantly and becomes progressively sparky and flirty as the drinks disappear. He suggests another round and something to eat and goes and orders for us. Whilst he is gone I txt my friend Ms E who is doing my online dating safety check tonight where I send her EVERYTHING i know about my date, where we are meeting, when etc just in case he abducts me, and tell her that he is freakin’ GORGEOUS! You know, just so the police get the identikit sketch of him right if the need arises….
Dinner is full of sexy eye contact, cheeky giggles and really great conversation. WTF. This is going a little too well you say! Wait for it…
There is some hand touching and that and all signs are pointing to him being pretty keen, but he seems rather gentlemanly about it. We leave that bar and head to another down the street with a little kiss or two along the way, but being a Monday night both places were relatively quiet. We have another drink at the next place and he is clearly trying to step things up a bit to encourage more kissing, but I’m driving home later so I’m nowhere near tiddly enough to find it socially acceptable to be pashing in a bar at 8:30pm on a Monday night.
So I tell him so. He then suggests that we go to my car to kiss as it’s parked nearby. Yup. Seriously. He. Said. That. FML.
I try and shut that one down as politely as I can and he is a smart guy so I assume he would get my subtlety when I say ‘no that’s far too high school’.
He responds with saying that we can go back to his place. Aaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnndddddd I’m out…..
He had paid for everything up to that point, so I get up and go to the bar to pay our bill for the last round. The cute European (of some description) barman says to me in an accent that I have NFI what it is ‘why are you so lovely and he is sitting over there and you are here paying?’
My thoughts exactly buddy! I return to the table. He gets up and in hindsight I now see that he likely thinks my haste to get the bill is my urgent uncontrollable desire to get his clothes off, but I walk outside with him following me and stop on the path and say ‘I’m off that way’ (i.e me, not we), kiss him on the cheek and say goodnight. He replies ‘oh ok, have a good night’ and I’m out of there.
Ms E then gets an update to modify the details of the police identikit sketch briefing to be sure to include a giant cock in the centre of ‘Mr Dreamy Blue Eyes’ forehead.