I don’t know about you, but I like to go into a date with expectations of how it will go. I like to expect that we’ll click, that we’ll talk about everything and nothing, that we’ll laugh, and hopefully enjoy it so much that we’ll want to do it again.
If you’ve ever read @theguyliner’s analysis of The Guardian’s blind dates, you’ll know that expectations are important. (If you haven’t, I suggest that you head to his blog right now. Seriously. He’s brilliant, not afraid to say what he really thinks, and his sharp, witty and acerbic observations soften even the most potentially insulting asides)
Expectations show a lot about a person. Whether they’re an optimist, how they feel about the date in question and whether they have as much imagination as a soggy sandwich.
It was with my daydream of a perfect date in mind that I went to meet Brian. We’d been having a mild online flirtation on and off for a few weeks, and we finally got around to arranging to meet. There was just one thing niggling me; his age. I wasn’t sure how old he was. His (pretty impressive) beard made him look around 27 which, at a few years younger than me, was acceptable. A little social media detective work revealed that he was actually 21. This makes him more than a decade my junior, and made me a little uncomfortable but I decided to go ahead and just enjoy the evening.
Before our date, he was cheeky, funny and all his pictures showed him to be well dressed. All very important qualities for this Miss Farnaby. His text confirming where we would meet should have set alarm bells ringing, or at the very least triggered a small red flag, but hey, we live and learn… He asked if we could meet in the supermarket near the bar, as he’d had kippers for tea and needed chewing gum.
Now… His awareness that kipper-breath could scupper his chances of a second date can only be commended, but WHY would he tell me, instead of nipping in and mintifying his mouth before meeting me? Turns out it was because he was more blunt than an Amsterdam coffee shop.
For the first half of the date, I found his forthright attitude refreshing – he told me that he found me attractive, that he was having a lovely time, and asked if he could kiss me. I was seriously flattered. And went ahead and had a little smooch. Conclusion: it was tickly, but nice with good but not brilliant tongue action. 7/10.
My succumbing to his charms ramped up Brian’s cockiness tenfold. All of a sudden, his hands were all over me and his tongue seemed to be searching for hidden treasure in my tonsils. As I pulled back, slightly alarmed about how I had suddenly been transported to a scene reminiscent of being 16 and snogging like my life depended on it, Brian took the chance to tell me about his ‘special skill’… Showing me how his tongue could twist this way and that, he said how much he was looking forward to tracing the alphabet on my clitoris with his gymnastic tongue.
I’m sure he looked smug, but under that beard it was hard to tell. I’m down with dirty talk for sure, but when the sauciest thing we’d talked about so far had been which condiment we preferred on our chips (I kid you not), I just felt it was a bit, well, unexpected.
Sadly I don’t have a beard to hide my horrified facial expressions under.
In my panic to change the subject, we ended up committing a cardinal sin of dating. We talked about politics. How I wish we’d stuck to preferred techniques for oral sex…
Once he found out my political leanings, he spent the rest of the night not just challenging them, but being downright rude about them, certain that his ideals were the only way forward and anyone that didn’t agree was obviously a sandwich short of a picnic. I love a bit of healthy debate, it shows me that they are passionate about something, but this was less Question Time, more 5 year old who wants you to know how great their new toy is. Oh, and there was the casual mention of his former membership of a very right wing platform where you don’t get in unless you are a racist xenophobe.
Time for me to go home and chalk this one up to experience. But not before Brian told me that he had a medical condition that meant he had to ‘spank the monkey’ (his words) at least once every day or his balls swelled up like melons.
This date had definitely not lived up to expectations. Maybe it’s time for me to change tack… I wanted to meet someone who was capable of adult conversation, gentlemanly behaviour (at least on the first date) and respected my opinion enough to not tear it to shreds. With this in mind, I joined Match.com, and signed up for a social event with them.
Check back for my next piece about a night of silly shoes, high fives and a guy that wouldn’t shut up…
Until then, happy swiping!