I’m not sure how to feel about my 5th date with the Great Scot. It felt like a date of two halves. I had so much to say, I’ve put it into two posts, to give your eyeballs a break.
He invited me round for dinner at his on Saturday night.
On Saturday morning, he texted me asking if I could get the food instead of him.
That could seem pretty naff, but I was OK with it, for a few reasons:
- the main reason he didn’t have time to go to the shop was that he was spending the whole day at a charity open day – a crisis phoneline he wants to start volunteering for
- in his message he apologised about 5 different ways
- I can’t eat gluten, so I’m used to taking some responsibility for gluten-free ingredients
- I’ve been struggling to eat recently, and I was a bit anxious about him lovingly preparing something I would struggle to force down.
So I said that was fine – I fancied a pizza so I’d pick up a gluten free one.
Then I wrote “I don’t want you to think of me like a grocery prostitute, but if you’re planning to fuck me like you did the other day, I’ll bring you the whole shop.”
Then I didn’t send it, as I’m not sure how comfortable he is with sexual texts. He sent me that one about ‘polishing the gnome‘, but I’d sent two vaguely sexual messages since then, and he hadn’t referenced them in his replies.
Then I thought fuck it, I’m the kind of person who says stuff like this and he needs to know that. And I pressed send.
I spent the day visiting my friend who just had a baby, outside of London.
We had a lovely time. She seemed really well (if exhausted) and the baby was pretty cool. She seemed loved up with the baby, in a lovely way that was still perfectly in keeping with her usual low-key, laid-back, slightly sarcastic way.
When she had sent me photos of the baby, after she was born, I had thought she looks a bit Chinese but I decided to keep that to myself.
Then, that day, when I said “you know, I think this is quite an attractive baby”, my friend said “I think she looks Chinese.”
In the afternoon, Great Scot sent a smiling emoji in response to my sex text. Then he said he’d just remembered their oven is broken, so something cooked in a pan would be better.
“Fuck sake!” I said to my friend and her boyfriend (I had already checked it was OK to swear around the baby, and it was asleep anyway).
“It’s turning into quite a cooking challenge!” her boyfriend said.
I now had to bring ingredients for a meal that was
- Gluten free
- didn’t require an oven
- required no knowledge of what utensils or ingredients he had
- it was unclear if he would still be the Official Chef or whether that would be me, so it had to be a dish with a level of difficulty that allowed me to show off if it was me, or matched his cooking ability (which I didn’t know) if it was him.
After a brainstorming session, we agreed I would make salmon with crushed potatoes and vegetables (that may or may not be steamed, depending what equipment he had). Normally I cook salmon in the oven, but my friend suggested I poach it. She dug out a cookery book and I took a photo of the relevant page.
On the way back to London, I went to her local Tesco and bought the ingredients. I texted him asking if he had white wine vinegar but he didn’t reply immediately, so I bought some anyway.
Just as I was putting his address into the maps on my phone, he texted me saying “no I don’t. Also, my sister’s partner has gone missing for over 24 hours and I’m getting anxious, might have to file a missing person report.”
As I was in the Tesco car park with my engine running, I cut straight to the chase and said “should I still come?”
He said “yes, but just to let you know.”
Then I sent a nicer follow-up message, saying how awful and we could talk all about it when I arrived.
So I set off – it was about an hour’s drive back to London. Mainly I was just thinking about him and his sister and her partner, and how awful it must be.
But also, a tiny, horrible part of me thought he’s probably not going to want to have sex if something awful has happened. My sex life just can’t catch a break at the moment!
I expected it would be a heavy evening, but at least I spend all day every day in heavy situations at work, so I wasn’t worried.
And I appreciated that he hadn’t cancelled. I felt like he had taken on board what I said about cancellations, or he just really wanted to see me.
After an hour of driving in the rain, my phone said “you have reached your destination” and I found somewhere to park on his road.
Just as I turned the engine off, I got another message from him, saying “all good on the missing person front!!”
“Amazing! I think I’m nearly here.”
Then he phoned me. I answered and he said “look to your right.”
I’m not great with my left and right, so I looked to my left, quite extensively.
He said “your other right.”
I looked over and saw him standing in the doorway of the house on the opposite side of the road.
I got out the car with my bag of ingredients, and crossed over the road. We kissed on the lips in the door way of his house, and I noted it was the first time we’d greeted each other that way. It felt lovely to see him.
We went inside and there was a flurry of overwhelming activity where I was introduced to housemates whose names I didn’t catch and had to sort out getting my ingredients into the packed fridge without disrupting the housemates’ cooking, while deciding whether to take my shoes off.
We went into the living room on our own and sat down. He seemed like a restless, tightly coiled spring.
“I’m sorry if I smell of cigarettes, I’ve been smoking a lot!” he said. He could barely keep still.
He started telling me what had happened with his sister’s partner, who had just arrived safely home after going out on a massive bender.
I could tell he needed to talk and let out some of his nervous energy. We had started out sitting quite far apart on the sofa, but I shifted closer to him so I could put my hand on his arm.
He talked all about his sister, and how worried he’d been. His sister never overreacts, so he was very concerned. He had called the police to get advice and ended up filing a missing person report. Then, 15 minutes later, his sister called him to say her partner had just walked in the door.
Then he moved on to telling me about his day at the charity. It had been good, but really full-on. He’d been very extensively interviewed for the volunteer role.
Then he told me a close friend at work had just been suspended. It sounds like there is a culture of bullying and his friend was being targeted. The Scot was completely blaming himself, even though I couldn’t see how he even had 1% responsibility. He was also worried he would be next. It sounds like his job is very bad for his wellbeing in a lot of ways.
He visibly relaxed as he talked, and at the end, he put his hand on mine, on his arm, like he was saying he liked it being there.
We talked about getting some drinks from the kitchen.
“Let me give you a hug first, you’ve had such a stressful day!” I said, or something like that.
We hugged, and then I kissed him. It was a really nice, long, snog. It was lovely and he had relaxed now.
He said “it was funny, I just happened to look out of the window, and I saw your little car pull up across the road. I opened the door, and all I could hear was that Dr Dre bass-line, and I saw you getting your things together and it was so flipping adorable.”
“Oh my god! Can people hear that?!” I exclaimed.
I always assume my car is like a completely sound-proof recording studio.
We went into the kitchen. He had bought wine. He had remembered that I had New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc in the restaurant and bought that, which I found touching.
We went back into the living room, and had a much more relaxed, fun chat.
Somehow we got onto accents. I had already noticed he was really good at doing accents – a few times when he was telling me stories, when quoting someone else, he would do their accent and he was very good at it.
He told me a story about how once, on a night out, he’d decided to do an Irish accent for the whole night, he didn’t really know why. He had met a girl and slept with her, largely off the success of his Irish accent.
In the morning, he woke up in her bed and forgot, and asked for a glass of water in his usual, Scottish accent.
She was like “what the hell is going on! I thought you were Irish!”
I asked where this had happened, and he said “Scotland.”
“Ah, cos at least if it happened in London, I’d be like ‘ah, it’s still a lovely foreign voice!'” I said.
Also, his Scottish accent is absolutely beautiful. It’s definitely always there, but I can always understand what he’s saying. It’s quite gentle and musical.
At one point, he was saying something about rabbits and their burrows, and he sort of rolled the ‘r’ in burrows, and I said “can you say ‘burrows’ again?… sorry, can you just say it again?… can you say it one more time?”
And then the same thing happened when he asked me when I was going to do something, and he kind of pronounced the ‘h’ in ‘when’ and I got him to repeat that a few times as well.
We went to the kitchen and start cooking our dinner.
Something about that Irish accent story really made me fancy him even more. Maybe because it reminded me of the way he is in bed, when he’s suddenly all cocky and sure of himself. (I should add that he had reflected on the ethics of getting someone into bed by lying about your demographics and he did regret it.)
I kissed him again in the kitchen.
“Do you mind me randomly administering affection?” I asked, as I realised I was making all the moves. He said he didn’t, in a very sincere way.
“So, who is the Official Chef, is it me or you?” I asked. We both agreed it was me.
“I’ll be your sous chef!” He said.
I dished out instructions about equipment, setting timers and making sure the right music was on the radio, and he took his responsibilities seriously.
After getting the potatoes on, we kissed for several minutes.
God. I wanted him way more than I wanted food.
I always find it quite stressful cooking in an unfamiliar kitchen, and I did feel like that this time, but it wasn’t too bad. We were a good team.
I had never poached salmon before.
I read out the instructions from my friend’s book. “Turn the boiling water down to a simmer. A shudder would be more accurate. Then slide the fish in and cook for 3 minutes.”
“What do you think that means? Is this water ‘shuddering’?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. I’m always suspicious of cooking instructions that say things like ‘shudder’.” He replied.
“I’m always suspicious of cooking instructions that sound sexual, like ‘slide the fish into the shuddering water’.”
We finished cooking the food and I was pretty pleased, except I thought I’d overcooked the vegetables a bit. We went through the living room to eat.
I felt really happy. We were having such a lovely time.
He was very effusive about my crushed potatoes.
Then I put my fork into the salmon and realised it wasn’t cooked properly.
We discussed this for a while as we weren’t 100% sure, but we decided our water must not have been shuddering.
We decided to re-poach the salmon, and went back into the kitchen. It actually worked pretty well, just putting it back in the (boiling this time) water.
We stood by a cooker, with our arms around each other, watching the salmon, and it felt lovely.
The affection was a lot more two-way now.
I could have felt bad, that I’d made us raw salmon to eat, which could’ve given us food poisoning, but he was so positive about the potatoes and lovely about the salmon, I felt good.
When it was properly cooked, he insisted on having the more bedraggled salmon steak, even though it was really mine, so I could have the nicer one.
After dinner, we washed up (he washed up while I pranced around the kitchen, chatting). He hugged me and said “I’m so glad I didn’t cancel when I thought that thing was happening with my sister.”
Then we went up to his room.
There was a while where I sat on the floor while he put fresh bedding on, which he had planned to do earlier, before the sister’s partner went missing.
I said I liked his sheets, and he said “yes, I thought you might do, as the pattern is quite similar to yours!”
Once the bed was made, I stood up and we kissed. He undid my skirt and removed it, and then eased my tights down my legs, and then my underwear.
Jeez, I think it was the very sexiest undressing I’ve ever had.
He tried to lift me onto the bed but it didn’t quite work, so I hopped on.
Then he did stuff to me, which didn’t take long as I was so turned on by him, I’d been gagging for it for days.
After I’d been satisfied, we moved on to the penetrative bit.
God, I love doing that with him. He slid his fish into my shuddering water. And that water shuddered a LOT.
In the end, I gave him oral and he completed the transaction.
This was where things first started to go downhill.