The Canadian – I shall call him Ike – was quite quick to ask me out on a second date after our first one on Thursday night. I had spent the weekend in Bangkok so he asked me on Monday whether I had recovered. Of course I had, I was out drinking already. He asked me what I wanted to do. I agreed to meet him on Tuesday and fueled by liquid courage, I told him to show some initiative and not make me do all the work. On Tuesday morning he proved that he had done his research by proposing two very different date ideas: an art gallery plus tacos or brace yourself, ice-skating!
I was in a dress so really ice-skating without prior warning or preparation was out of the picture. Not to mention, it has been at least a decade since I ice-skated? I am not about to fall into an uninitiated half-split and rip my tights, clothes or worse some unmentionable body part in front of a near-total-stranger* that I have some interest in having sex with at some point. Also as an added disincentive, ice-skating was in Tsim Sha Tsui aka the dark side.
*a near-total-stranger who is Canadian and probably has decades of ice-skating experience on me. What? I am not generalising, I said PROBABLY!
So Ike met outside my office – I can’t quite remember what he was wearing but it was probably something extremely ratty and similar to what he wore to the first date. Now that I think about all his clothes look the same to me, or he only has two tees? He does wear nice shoes though (always different ones). Whatever, moving on. I am trying to move past the dressing, for a change! And at least he’s in character, and not a poorly dressed banker/consultant, which is fucking inexcusable when you make six-figures.
We pottered about trying to find the gallery and I finally spotted it. It was some weird grim, morbid take on Alice in Wonderland but it was amusing enough and we ended up talking to the gallery owner, getting photographed with the artist and getting free wine! Then he proposed that we have dinner at Taco Loco.
Now, I have only eaten once at Taco Loco, during the cricket world cup that India won, and violent diarrhoea had ensued. But I kept this to myself (okay I only mentioned it after eating). Taco Loco seemed chilled out enough and it was cheap. I was not about to suggest some pretentious, expensive restaurant and come across as a total wanker. See? I am nice. The tacos were half-decent especially when paired with Dos Equis. I learnt a lot about my date over that elegant dinner.
Ike the free-spirited Canadian works freelance in all manner of arts. He writes and teaches and does other right-brained things I cannot elaborate here for fear of him finding my blog by googling. He’s spiritual and yogic and other crazy Bohemian things that I joke about to his face (but am secretly fascinated by also). He’s anti-formal-education and has never been to college and yet is well-read, intelligent, and never lacks context. In short, Ike confuses and scares me a great deal. Though in fairness, he only scares me NOW ex-poste (not when the date actually happened). Or post-sex as it were (spoiler alert!).
It was still pretty early so we decided to grab another drink. I proposed The Globe for beers and since he had so graciously paid for dinner, I paid for the beers. Again, we didn’t run out of things to talk about. So a total of three drinks in (1 wine, 2 beers each) and I decided to call it a night. I wasn’t drunk or anything nor had I looked at the watch. He offered to walk me home. Uh oh. I politely said it wasn’t necessary but he insisted. What the heck, it’s always nice to be walked home (even if it sort of implies that your date will probably try to come upstairs).
When we got to my back door (insert anal joke here), he noticed the trees poking out from a level above. What’s that? Oh, that’s the sort of porch-garden thing my front lobby on the first floor has got going. He suggests that we go there. It’s a good suggestion, since umm, I have never been there.
The porch area as it turns out has an area for recycling, an old clothes donation bin and even a ping-pong table. But that’s not the point. We grab two lawn chairs and sit and talk. For some reason I am talking/rambling on about irrational beauty standards for women (I always make intense feminist arguments on first/second dates just to heat things up a bit and because I get bored). As if on cue, he says to me “don’t worry, you’re beautiful”, leans in and kisses me. It is horrible (the premise, not the kiss), cheesy as fuck but I go with it anyway but not without clarifying mid-kiss that I was not fishing for a compliment. We continue kissing and predictably he suggests taking the show upstairs. I debate it inside my head a little bit – shagging on the second date is forbidden. It’s one of three rules from Pink that I have taken to heart.
But I don’t know if Ike has any long-term boyfriend potential anyway and what better way to check if it is just sex he’s after? So I say yes. And boy, does he surprise me. He is no rush at all; it is excruciating but in a good way, the best way. The sex is top-notch as is everything leading up to it. It feels intimate and meaningful, irrationally so, and spiritual even*. Like some sort of cosmic reward after all the shitty half-assed sex I have had this year. I have more orgasms with the Canadian in one night than with most of the other men of the year put together. They should all go fuck themselves right about now. In the ass. With cacti.
It took an amazing amount of self-restraint in the morning to reject his offer of “take a sickie so we can have sex all day” and instead throw him out of the apartment and go to work. What can I say? I still have a new boss who still is a tosser- not all the men in my life are giving me toe-curling pleasure.
P.S. How to recruit a fuck-buddy you ask? you have to stay tuned for the next date update. I don’t give everything away right away! Oh no wait.
*propensity to bullshit / look at the world through rose-tinted glasses may increase after superb sex. I had a stupid fucking grin on my face the whole of Wednesday, true story.