So, you might know from my spoiler on Sunday morning, that my 3rd date with Great Scot went well. Really well.
It went well enough that my inner thighs still ache a bit today.
It was actually a surprise because
- I had a total mental breakdown on Saturday in the day, so wasn’t on form
- I had kind of written him off in between dates 2 and 3
I’ve already written about how I felt on Saturday morning. I won’t say much more, as it’s both tedious and depressing, but there were some extra things I was upset about, and I spent most of the day crying in bed.
Amazingly, that didn’t help.
I thought about cancelling the date, as I wasn’t 100% certain I wouldn’t cry. I’ve never cried on a date before, but I imagine it’s not the done thing.
However, I just knew I should go. I knew leaving the house and hanging out with a jolly man would cheer me up.
And I knew if I did cry, he’d be lovely about it. And I also kind of thought he wasn’t The One, so I didn’t 100% care if I cried.
Also he’d already texted me twice saying he might not be on great form because he hadn’t slept well, so if anything, I thought it might put him at ease if I cried and he knew he wasn’t the worst one on the date.
The first two dates with him had gone really well. On the first date, he gave me those Neighbours stickers because I said in my profile that I love Neighbours, which I thought was absolutely lovely. And I’m not the only one – I posted about them in a Neighbours Facebook group I’m in, and literally 50 people commented saying “Marry him.”
I had a really great time on that date, and then an even better time on the second date. He’s lovely, interesting, funny, deep and handsome, and we have loads in common.
We did some kissing at the end of the second date which gave me a serious lady-boner. Texting in between dates has been good.
My one was concern was that it only took half a date to be pretty certain he has low self esteem and social anxiety, and I’m really trying to break my pattern of having boyfriends who need me to be their therapist. I worry I feel so comfortable with him because he’s exactly the kind of vulnerable little kitten I’m used to.
At the same time, I’ve been dating a Chilean Lecturer. I’ve also had a great time on our two dates, and we have loads in common too. However, sometimes he makes me feel a bit uncomfortable and I just feel like we don’t quite get each other.
I definitely prefer the Great Scot, but I don’t know if that’s my insecurities finding fault with the Chilean, because he doesn’t seem to have any mental health problems.
With the Scot, I’m like “Step aside, there’s a CBT therapist in the house.”
With the Chilean, I’m like “what would my role be?”
But then I think, maybe it’s a double bluff and actually the Great Scot just has more in common with me. I think I actually just feel more comfortable with the Scot because he has better social skills.
I was going to do the only sensible option, and fuck them both.
Then the Great Scot went down in my estimation. We were supposed to have our 3rd date last weekend. He weirdly suggested Sunday night. It wasn’t really convenient, as I was out of town during the day. I checked we couldn’t do Saturday night, but he said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep on Saturday night so he’d be on good form for me on Sunday.
He works shifts, often either getting up at 5am or finishing at 2am, and he’d just worked 10 days straight. He keeps struggling to sleep because of his asthma, so this wasn’t quite as ridiculous as it sounded, so I sceptically agreed to Sunday.
Then he cancelled that Sunday date a few hours before, because he hadn’t slept and had a job interview to prepare for, and had got himself into a bit of a state.
I was unimpressed. I’ve had a few boyfriends who were precious about their sleep (e.g. making me sleep on the floor, banning spooning) and I don’t want another one.
I also have a zero tolerance policy on silly cancellations, since the Whippersnapper.
So I agreed to reschedule, but in my head I thought his days might be numbered.
So, Saturday night, I got the train to central London, with mixed feelings. We agreed to meet at Goodge Street as it’s on the Northern line, which seems to be important to him, and I know a nice pub there. When I saw him outside the station and when we hugged, I thought ah, bless him!
We had some nice chat on the way into the pub, I can’t remember what about.
As we were buying our drinks, I mentioned I would try to pace myself with drinking as I hadn’t eaten much.
We found a table and sat down, and he asked what I’d been up to today.
I was surprised as him when I said “I’ve felt really miserable all day.” I even told him I’d spent a lot of the day crying.
It was a risky strategy, but I think I just felt really comfortable with him. I just thought fuck it, this is the actual honest answer to your question, I can’t be bothered to make up a better one.
Maybe it wasn’t quite as bananas as it sounds, in the context – after all, we had already texted each other saying we were both having terrible days.
I said “sorry I don’t know why I told you that. I would never normally say that on a date. It’s just a combination of a few things getting on top of me but I’m feeling better now. Anyway, how are you?”
He asked sincerely if I wanted to talk about it, and I said cheerfully no it was fine.
Then he told me he’d nearly cried in his office because he’d had an incredibly stressful day. It did sound very stressful. He’s a manager an entertainment place (but I won’t say too much in case there’s not that many who are Scottish).
Then we stopped talking about crying and moved on to normal stuff. Quite soon I felt happy and like I was having a lovely time. I always seem to feel good about myself around him.
He kept remembering I hadn’t eaten and checking in with me about it.
I had just said it in passing, like lots of people might say they’d been too busy to grab a proper meal, but somehow he picked up that it was more than that (which it was).
Every so often, he’d gently say “what about now? Are you hungry now? I’m sure we could find you some food somewhere.”
It didn’t feel bossy or hectoring, just lovely and caring.
We changed to a different pub to try and get some dinner, but the second pub had also stopped serving food, just like the first.
In the second pub, we had some great conversations. I told him lots of stories – some crowd-pleasers I tell everyone, and some niche ones that have had mixed reactions or that I’ve never thought to share before. He said a few times “I really like your stories.”
We kept finding ourselves on really deep topics. By the end of the night we had covered feminism, religion, life after death, paedophilia and rapists.
He said “sorry, I’m not very good at shallow-ending.”
I think he made up the term but I really like it – keeping the conversation in the shallow end.
“I’m no good at shallow-ending either!” I said. “I think it’s because I spend all day talking about things like suicide, child abuse, torture and human trafficking. But also this stuff is more interesting!”
He worried a lot about what he said, like one time I came back from the toilet and he said “sorry was I making it too serious just then?”
I reassured “seriously, I’m not thinking that at all.”
The cancellation from the previous week came up. I let him know in a nice way that I wouldn’t tolerate cancellations for silly reasons. He seemed to take it on board.
That pub closed, but we found another that was still open a few doors down.
I had initially said I wanted to get the last train from Marylebone. When it seemed unlikely to happen, I had said I would get an Uber. I had been thinking out loud about how I would get home if we didn’t go home together, but then I worried he would think I was very set on going home alone.
We settled into the third pub. It was a lot smaller and very cool (Draught House Charlotte). Normally, Great Scot always sits annoyingly far away from me, but we were forced to sit close together at this tiny table. Our legs gradually started touching, which was nice.
I noticed he remembered a lot of what I’d said on the previous dates, which was nice.
When this bar started closing, I said “so, one thing I’ve been wondering, is how set we each are on going home separately, to our own respective homes?”
He laughed. He said he wasn’t feeling on good form due to his sleep problems, and he really wanted it to be good the first time.
I said “really? I never expect it to be that great the first time – you’re just settling into it.”
He sort of disagreed and said he still wanted it to be good.
Then I said “Where I am, is – there’s a menstrual barrier to doing some of the things I’d like to do with you. But, I kind of would like us to not go home separately so we can keep hanging out. And there are still some things I could… administer.”
It seemed like things really turned around when I said “administer.”
He laughed and said “you’re really cool.” He tried to high five me but it didn’t quite work out and turned into an awkward handshake.
He said “now I’m torn between doing what my brain says, and the fact I have a ‘Y’ chromosome.”
Soon we agreed he would come back to mine.
We got an Uber. In the car, he asked “what time does your flatmate get up in the morning?”
I said it really varied depending on his plans.
He started asking what Flatmate Joe is interested in.
“Are you trying to plan some topics of conversation in case you have to talk to Joe?” I asked, laughing.
“Yes.” He said sheepishly.
We came into my flat and I got us some drinks. We sat in the living room and chatted until I realised it was 3am.
In that time, we talked about religion (both agnostic) and whether we believe in life after death (as well as 2001 by Dr Dre at great length). We had slightly touched on exes throughout the night, and I decided this would be a good opportunity to tell him I had an ex that died.
His reaction was lovely. He was like “Oh my God! Are you OK?”
After a while, we went to bed. When I came back from the bathroom, he had taken his jeans off and was getting into bed. I got into bed fully clothed.
We lay in bed and carried on talking for a bit, but we were lying miles away from each other. Then he started to ready to go to sleep.
I lay on my side of the bed, rubbing my mouth like I do when I’m deep in thought. I wanted to get some physical contact going, and was trying to decide what to do.
Then, he suddenly leaned over and started kissing me.
And then we were all over each other, like ravenous magnets.
“I thought you weren’t sure about having sex.” I said.
“So did I.” He said.
He started trying to undo my skirt. I was a bit dubious, because I wasn’t sure where we were with the menstrual negotiations, but I unzipped it for him. I started unbuttoning his shirt.
He edged his hand towards my underwear. I said “You know it’s my period? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
He did want to.
He took my tights off. I remembered I hadn’t bothered to shave my legs or tidy up my bikini line, as I thought my period would mean I wouldn’t be getting naked.
I started to say “there’s some body hair admin I haven’t done, because…”
He interrupted “I couldn’t give a fuck.”
Normally, I would find that rude but it was just 100% reassuring and lovely. And I believed him. I didn’t give my body hair a second thought.
That man knows his way around a vagina. I felt like I was 50% of the way to coming just when he put his hand in my underwear. It was so lovely, it seemed like his default sex moves fit with my preferences. The way he touched me was perfect.
After the orgasm, when I had got my brain functioning again, I said “what would you like me to do to you?”
He kissed me passionately and said “I just want to be inside you.” The way he said it, it was like he’d never wanted anything more.
Oh god, I realllllllllly want that too.
“And you’re OK with my period?”
He answered by continuing to kiss me.
I insisted I give him some oral first, as promised.
When he took my underwear completely off, I said “would it be very unromantic if I put a towel down first?”
He didn’t seem bothered.
“Shall I get a condom?” I asked.
I think he got a tiny bit stressed out about losing his erection while I rustled around in my drawer looking for condoms.
When I found them, I was about to launch into how they were latex-free, because I bought them to help with a previous person’s balanitis (Whippersnapper), and how the World Health Organisation had found that, while there is a slight increased risk of the condom coming off, some people prefer the feel to latex ones.
But then I looked at his eager face and knew he did not want to hear about balanitis and World Health Organisation, and just handed him the condom.
When we were ready, we drifted into a spooning position and he put it in.
OH PENETRATION!! HOW I’VE MISSED YOU!!
Oh my god. It hurt for a second but then it was so good!
Despite being quite tentative and self-deprecating most of the time, I loved the way that he was really confident in bed. It was like there wasn’t enough blood to run all of his over-thinking brain programmes when all the blood had rushed somewhere else.
He was very assertive. He even did that thing where you go to kiss him and he pulls away for a moment to tease you before kissing you, which could make me think “don’t be a dick mate” but it was just super-hot when he did it.
He seemed to really prioritise making sure I had a lot of orgasms. He seemed to like positions where he could do stuff to me at the same time.
When we’d finished, I can’t put into words how satisfied and content I felt.
We went to sleep.
He was quite restless in the night, making a bit of a song and dance about his asthma. I gave him an antihistamine as it was all I could think of.