John, the other poet.

I’m not too sure what to do with John. If I’d been less busy the past 10 days, I could have written many posts about him already. There’s potential – but for what exactly, I haven’t figured out. Writing about it will help crystallize my thoughts.

Based on his profile, I wasn’t expecting much from our first date. We had a 98% match on OK Cupid, which was something. His opening message was solid and he had some very deep questions to ask me (“are you ready for love?”) which were surprising and I presumed demonstrated depth of character.

But his photos didn’t look great. However, unless there is zero attraction, I give it a try if the other elements are there. He was super keen to meet – maybe a little too keen. He asked me on first dates that would have lasted many hours. I had told him between Liam and work, my time was fairly limited. I finally had to explain I wasn’t going to commit to an entire afternoon for a first date – because one doesn’t know if chemistry exists until face-to-face. He reluctantly agreed.

We finally settled on a Sunday afternoon coffee date.

The day before, Saturday afternoon, my evening plans fell though. I can’t remember at the moment who bailed, but I thought to myself I needed to meet him and get it over with. I wasn’t ready to strike him off the list until we met.

Given the time of day, dinner was the only viable option. I gave him some parameters and he chose a place. He said it was his favourite Italian restaurant in a predominately Italian neighbourhood.

He picked a place that I optimistically hoped would be a surprise – it had no ambiance and was empty. When I walked in, my first thought was “oh thank goodness, he looks better than his pictures.” He didn’t look like he was in his late 50s; my guess would have been 50, maximum.

Then he stood up, and he was physically better than expected. He’d said he was 6’2″ but his pictures didn’t give the right impression. He was even taller, with broad shoulders. He had a dad gut but on his frame it wasn’t too unappealing.

He was articulate, had good stories, lived in different countries and places, and was a professional in a challenging industry. It was a very nice change from some of my recent dates.

Then he reached across the table to touch my hand. His fingers traced a line on my inner wrist, and I felt an electricity I haven’t felt since Tony.

It was all over for me at that point. He could tell; I was suddenly inarticulate. He enjoyed it.

The food wasn’t the greatest. I noted he ordered a bunch of deep fried food and wondered whether he made healthy choices.

As we wrapped up dinner, he told me he’d drive me home. He was holding my hand and with that electricity coursing through me, couldn’t help but say “ummmm I may invite you upstairs.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile.

And I did.

17 thoughts on “John, the other poet.

  1. This is my first visit here and I found you via Julie’s Share our Shit Saturday post. I toy with online dating.. but nothing as exciting as THIS date has happened. I can’t wait to read more.

    • Welcome – nice to see you here. I’ve got lots of great stories… and disasters as well. I’d still recommend online dating but you need to know what red flags to look for. Good luck and look forward to seeing you around here πŸ™‚

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