Sunday, May 30, 2010

The Kid

I don't date younger men. At (nearly) 30, I find that - yes whilst being a broad generalisation - men mature later, therefore you're best off to date an older man.
I take this to the extreme and prefer the 32-44 bracket. Don't ask me where the number 44 came from - but 45 seems too old.

Every rule has its exception, and, every rule should be broken!

I met The Kid online.  He initiated, and insisted.  I was impressed by his perseverance.  Even when I knocked him back saying he was too young.

We met up at the pub.  I now blame him for my cider habit.  He was gorgeous. And incredibly fit. We played a couple of games of pool, then went our separate ways.

We met up again, a week or so later at The London.  We drank cider all night. He was nervous, it was sweet.
The night got messy, as it does when you go out drinking with a 23 year old.  We did a few of the bars in Balmain, until it was closing time.
It was late. I was drunk.  He was drunk-er.
We BOTH got in a cab and ended up at my place.

This ended in sex. Quick sex. Very quick sex.
Quick sex is not satisfying sex.  But sex with a 23 year old is fun, if nothing else.
The next morning, I dropped him back to his car. He was worried about me dropping him home as he was afraid his parents might ask where he'd been.

We had a fun night.  It was definitely enjoyable.  I did expect a 23 year old to have a fantastic stamina though.

When The Kid wanted to hook up again, dinner was out of the question.  For a starters, there wouldn't have been enough conversation commonality to make dinner comfortable.  Secondly: Date, or Sex. But not Sex, then Dating.
So instead of either, we flirted via text (so very 23yo of me!).

Then, one Thursday afternoon, I was off work, sitting at home in my trackies (a very good look) and got a usually flirtatious message out of the blue. So I replied with a "My place, 20 minutes". Without a word of a lie, 15 minutes later The Kid was on my doorstep.

He was smooth. He was polite. From the minute he got here he said hello, gave me a polite kiss on the lips, sat himself down and started to unlace his shoes.  I apologised for being in trackies, that I should have changed.  He asked why I would bother changing, when I was about to take them off anyway. He showed himself into my bedroom and started to take off his work clothes.

The sex was as I remembered it.  Short and sweet.
He left within a half hour of getting here. He was, again, polite about doing so, didn't waste time, wasn't rude about leaving, just got dressed, kissed me goodbye, said he hoped we could do it again soon, and went on his way.

We didn't do it again.  He moved overseas to play Rugby.  He texted me some, before he left.  He said he was hoping to catch up 'one last time' before he went.   He left on short notice though, and therefore, time unfortunately didn't permit.

Two things that I've learnt from this though, which has been reinforced since.
1. You can't do Sex, then Dating. It just doesn't work.  It confuses the excellent tension that you get pre-sex when you are dating.  You can't flip that. Everything gets all topsy-turvy.
2. Sex is fundamental. Maybe, with time, you can work things through. I'm not saying that The Kid would have been a write-off from a relationship perspective based on his bedroom performance. That's a whole separate blog right there, however, if you're going to do the whole one night stand/fuckbuddy thing - you need to be good. Not necessarily even great - but good as at least a starting point!

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Safe Guy

I met The Safe Guy at The London the day that this whole 'blog came into creation.

It was lunch with the Girls, down in Balmain, and I'd been telling them the story of 39. They were laughing at my ability to find myself in all kinds of situations with men of various natures, and I was giving them a run down of the latest shenanigans. 

As we're sitting at a table in the pub, I had one of The Girls on either side of me, and we were up against a wall, looking out into the pub, watching pub-crawl groups come and go, guys with their puppies in the bar (one of the great things about The London is that it's dog friendly, this in itself is a great pick up opportunity!).

We're sitting, chatting about this and that, and over wanders a dashing looking man who introduces himself. He explains that he and his mates are having a party upstairs, but it's dull and boring, and would be so much more entertaining if we would join them.

I declined, explaining that Girlfriend's husband was on his way to pick us up. He then asks me if my husband was coming too.  Smooth.  I explained that I didn't have a husband. We chatted, phone numbers were exchanged.  We went our separate ways.

I never met up with him but he called on several occasions, and when he did, this guy had a really odd habit, one worth noting. One I would love feedback on.
Every time he called and wanted to catch up, be it for dinner, drinks, coffee, he was always insistent that I "bring a single friend".  He, too, was going to bring a friend, but a first 'date' as a random pick up, and as a double date... this was just all too complex, therefore it never happened.

What continuously perplexed me though was this:
Was it that he thought it would be more comfortable with twice the amount of people?
Did he think he was doubling the odds? i.e. maybe my mate was going to be a better option?
Was he uncomfortable about meeting up with a stranger? Although he was the one who continually pushed.
Did he think he was going to get an orgy out of it? Is that seriously even an option?
Did he think I was a potential serial killer and therefore needed witnesses?
Am I over thinking it?

Either way, I guess I'll never know now...

Saturday, May 8, 2010

39 & 36

I went out with a whole lot of work people one night. We went to the prestigious Ivy Bar.
I don't mind the Ivy, but there are five bars to choose from, but choosing the wrong one can end up with a dull evening.
The Pool Bar upstairs generally won't take people in in large groups. If you're with a couple of pretty girls, dressed nicely though, you're in without a second glance.
The place is gorgeous. The people are gorgeous. The staff are gorgeous.  It's actually quite sickening. But it's a nice bar.  The Change Rooms downstairs from the Pool Bar have little beds, sometimes curtained off...
It's an easy place to be, never pay for a drink, if you're into that kind of thing.

There were too many of us to get into the Pool Bar, and we headed to my favourite Playground instead.
This was, of course, quite conflicting for me; Play and Work, both in the same place... Play won out.

We do our lap of the bar (I'll come to explain this in the Guidelines) and settle ourselves down in my favourite spot at the bar. I am with a darling friend of mine from work at this point, a very very camp friend of mine, and we were at the bar sitting quite close together, scoping out all the decent men in the bar.

Sitting about a half dozen people up from us at the bar is a very attractive man, with a girl on each side.  He has about an inch of beer left in the bottom of his glass and he looks a tad bored. 
It's hard, here, to explain the look of these girls without sounding somewhat judgemental, because that is what I'm being - I judged them on first appearance... And the only word that comes to mind is, well, skanky... This is a bar usually full of suits, and these girls were in micro-minis with VPLs, and faux-leather... So not-pretty.

As I'm buying myself and my friend a drink, I ask the bartender to replace this mans beer. This is done, he looks over slightly confused, I raise my glass, cheers him, look away and go back to my conversation... and place a bet with my friend as to how long it's going to take him to walk over.

After five minutes, my new friend wanders over, but, seeing me sitting very closely to my male friend at the bar, stammers a "thank you for the beer", and backs away. My friend scoots off to find the rest of our colleagues, and I smile at my new friend, and explain that a girl is always safe with a gay friend at the bar.

We get to talking and he's a 39 year old man from Chicago, over here on a sabbatical.
American accents are sexy. Most would disagree, but they make me weak at the knees. I found this particularly entertaining, because I'd been message swapping with a guy from Chicago who'd been living in Sydney for a few years, over internet dating.

So I ask 39, what's a guy like him doing in a bar like this... by himself. He explains that he was with his little brother, but his brother had to go meet up with a girl on a date... You see... he's been doing this internet dating thing.

Of all the bars on all the nights in all the world... chances were I couldn't have randomly picked the one guy who's brother I'd been chatting up online.

We integrated with my work mates, got to chatting, and 39 asked if I wouldn't mind texting his brother to let him know that he was still in the bar (no mobile here in Aus). He replied saying he was five minutes away.
The second he walked into the bar I spotted him. Undeniably. What are the odds do you think?
This website boasts of over 350K+ Sydney based singles. At a half, 175,000 men, and I end up chatting up his brother?!

I said nothing. 39 introduced us.  He asked me if we'd met before, said he recognised me from somewhere (funny that). I changed the subject, asked him how his date went, and he rambled on about her being a crack-whore. Then he twigged (hopefully not from the crack-whore comment).
What was most distressing at this point, as it all unfolded there at the bar (workmates present), was the look on 39's face as the groundwork unravelled before him.  He turned around and walked away.

Little Brother aka 36, insisted that I go and sort it with 39. I took his advice, found him at the bar, and somehow managed to explain that I'd been tuning his little brother on a website. 36 left. 39 and I had a few more drinks and at about 2am it was time to leave.  I ended up back at 39's place, which actually ended up being 36's place... Hmmm.

The rest of the night was average, we were both pretty drunk and I think top of my agenda was sleep...
39 was playing golf the next morning, so we were up at 6. He got up, thinking I was still sleeping, and through the paper-thin walls I heard the following conversation:
36: How did your night end up?
39: Fun, good clean fun. Yours?
36: Quiet, I called it.
39: Oh really? We thought you brought someone home with you...
36: So, are you going to see her again? Dinner is on tonight at The Victoria Rooms. I'll write it down and you can pass it on.
(36: Exit stage left)

He brings me a glass of water. He kisses me good morning. I pretend to wake up. I mumble something about the time and having to get to work. The last thing I'm wanting right now is a dinner invite - not that I'm presuming to get one - but I don't need that kind of awkward at 6am. I get dressed whilst he's in the shower, and after he's out of the shower, say a quick goodbye and drop him my card whilst he's still in a towel.

A couple of hours later, I bounce into work only to be greeted with grins from my colleagues and expectations of stories... I try to relay what on earth went on, only to have to explain it as I have above, 39... and his brother, 36.

About a week later (after 39 had gone back to the states) I get a text message, from 36... just saying hello...