It’s funny how moving past someone emotionally, ever so slightly, changes everything. Ian started out with decent potential even considering the distance. But his weird behavior on our third date (even now that I understand its cause) and his subsequent whining about not knowing what he wanted and what we’d do in September when he started to spend less time in the city was enough for me to move him from the “good potential” to “meh” box.
How different my reaction to him versus Kyle. I’m still not at “meh” with Kyle, but wish I was.
I did get to thinking that Ian and I had fun together on the first two dates, he was interested in similar activities, the conversation and sex was good, and therefore perhaps a few summer dates with him could be fun. I reached out, he was happy to hear from me, and that felt nice.
We had a date on Monday. He kissed me when I walked up to him on the street. It was nice.
We had a beer on a patio. It was nice too.
By dinner however my internal monologue focused more on the “meh”. He is a nice guy but I found our dialogue ever so slightly tiring. Right now I can’t even pinpoint why – probably because I don’t have that core desire to get to know more, with the hope of building a relationship, so an otherwise perfectly fine conversation has even less appeal.
During dinner, he showed me some pictures on his phone and a message popped up from Bumble: “‘Rower’ has sent you a new message”. He giggled about it nervously. I didn’t feel jealous, but I was irritated – although probably not for the reason you think.
If he’s “bumbling” in my city he’s going to end up matching with someone else who lives here. I didn’t mention it but it made me think he’s not exactly sure what he wants. Or maybe he just doesn’t want it with me. It seemed like the wrong thing to do if he was serious about what he said mattered.
After dinner, he invited me back to his condo. We took in the view of my stunning city, my nose pressed up against the glass of the picture window. I drank water and he drank beer. He kissed me. We have great kissing chemistry. He undressed me in the living room. We fucked on the white leather couch. He bent me over the white leather ottoman and I got fucked from behind while looking at he view.
I distinctly got the impression it was something he’d always wanted to do, and when I asked he concurred.
And no, I’m not writing about the experience with beautiful words; that’s deliberate. The sex was good, he hits the right physical spots, but it was relatively devoid of emotion. No, that’s not a surprise. He wanted to please me; he told me I got him so close so fast and wanted to know how he could keep me “on the edge”. But I didn’t even really care to keep going.
We hung out partially clothed in his kitchen and talked. And…
I told him I blogged.
The whole back story is irrelevant but we had been talking about writing earlier that evening. He asked me a direct question and I didn’t lie. I suppose I was careless with the knowledge because I don’t think he’s interested enough for it to matter. I regret telling him, I think despite him understanding how cathartic it is (he writes too, just privately) in the cold light of day I suspect its freaked him out.
We kissed and hugged goodbye, made appropriate noises about seeing each other again in two weeks when he was back in the city, I took the elevator downstairs and hopped in a taxi.
I crawled into my bed with crisp white sheets, and thought of Kyle and Tony, who hadn’t quite left my mind at all that night. Seems even a decent date and a leather couch fuck can’t turn off my brain and heart.
[Image from the movie “I Walk Alone”]