Last Saturday night (or actually, Sunday morning) I had an impromptu second date with the Gentle, World-weary Police Detective.
On our first date, when I very first saw him, the first thing that struck me was that he looked exactly like the other policeman I had been on a date with.
Since our date, I’ve shown photos of both policemen to a few friends, to see if it’s just me. Everyone has said “oh my god, that’s the same person, isn’t it?!” or “could they be related?”
I’m pretty sure they’re neither related nor the same person, but it’s good to know it’s not just me.
As well as looking alike, they have very similar first names. Like if one was called Tim, the other is Tom.
The problem is, I’m not sure that the Gentle World-weary Police Detective’s actual name suits him. The other policeman’s name suits him better, and I’m really struggling not to call him that by mistake.
If anything, he’s more of an Andrew, so I’m going to call him that on the blog.
The evening after my first date with Andrew, I was delighted when he texted me saying which days he was next free. I couldn’t believe how easy and straightforward it was, after dating lots of guys with whom constructing plans was like constructing a difficult piece of Ikea furniture, while pretending not to be.
The one downside was that, because he works shifts, and I was busy on the first date he suggested, it was going to be a week and a half until our second date.
Time was really dragging, as I waited for the second date.
He didn’t seem that big on texting, but I wasn’t too worried. On OkCupid, the dating app we met on, you can answer loads of questions about all different things, and then it compares your answers and tells you how much of a % match you are. We were a 98% match, but then I answered some new questions, which I hadn’t done for a while, and it went up to 99%.
I looked at his various answers and saw, for questions like “how much should you and a partner text each other?” he’d “less than daily.”
So then it was nice when he sent me one message a day, often at about 1am, when he’d finally finished work.
I did think it was fair enough that he texted me less than other boys, because of his job – he can’t exactly be dicking around with his phone when he’s at a crime scene or whatever.
So, on Saturday night, I had just arrived in a night club with friends. I knew he was also out with friends, for a stag night.
He texted me asking if I wanted to meet up, if his night finished early. He was very sweet, like “it’s no problem at all if not.”
I was a bit worried about how I’d manage the dynamics if he came and joined us too early, so neither my friends nor he thought I was abandoning them, but I was really pleased he suggested it.
I really liked the idea of seeing him so I said yes, because waiting until Wednesday was killing me.
Then, I spent the whole rest of the night with my phone in my bra, so I’d know as soon as I’d got a text, (so I didn’t have to keep getting it out of my handbag) and would know whether he was coming or not.
I didn’t have much signal in the club, as we were down in a basement.
Eventually it got to 3am and I wasn’t sure what was happening, and we decided to leave. As soon as I came up the stairs of the club, my bra went mad and I got loads of texts from him.
It turned out he’d been waiting at Tottenham Court Road station since 2:30am.
I suddenly only had 3% battery, so I ran to meet him.
As I walked towards him, he looked at me like I was a train he had been waiting for, for hours, which he had been told might be cancelled. He looked full of happiness and relief.
We hugged and then he said “give me a kiss” and we did. He didn’t taste perfect but he had been doing stag things all day, so I thought it was fair enough.
He was enthusiastic about my cardigan, which had cherries on, and then said “I feel like a bit of a lemon.”
He seemed stressed out about whether it was weird that he had suggested meeting up. I think it was largely because it was 3am, he was a bit drunk and he’d been standing around for half an hour.
“No, I’m glad you did!” I said.
“What do you want to do now?” he said.
“Go home?” I said. He looked sad, so I added, “do you want to come?”
We got an Uber back to mine.
It was quite a long Uber journey. We chatted very animatedly. Most of the conversation was stories about my friends, and I liked how interested he was in gossip about people he’d never met, and how much he remembered from our first date.
It was starting to get light outside when we reached my flat.
When we walked into my living room, he said, “wow! I love the colours!”
I made some tea for myself and hot chocolate for him (he doesn’t drink tea. I’m always suspicious of people who don’t drink tea) while he walked around my living room expressing delight at things. He loved my sofa, which is turquoise with butterflies on.
We drank our hot drinks and sat and chatted. Weirdly, he was sitting on the floor rather than on the sofa.
I was hungry and decided I fancied some raw mushrooms. I cannot bear cooked mushrooms but like eating them raw, and recently discovered they’re very filling when you’re hungry. I gave him a mushroom too, which he ate slightly tentatively.
Somehow, this lead on to a conversation about drugs.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I said. I didn’t want him to arrest me, but I also wanted to be completely honest. “I used to take cocaine in my 20s.”
“OK,” he said. He didn’t arrest me. He said he’d never tried drugs but wasn’t that bothered. He thought maybe drugs should be legalised but he wasn’t sure.
We started kissing, and the possibility of going to bed came up.
I explained that I didn’t want to have sex that night, because I wanted to make sure it felt 100% right first.
He was really nice about it, but was acting like he thought I’d said “we can never have sex.”
He was saying things like, “it’s OK. Sex is only one part of a relationship. It’s not the be all and end all.”
“Yeah, but just to be clear, I’m not saying we can never have sex. I’m just saying literally ‘let’s wait til our actual second date'”.
We went to bed, and kissed for a bit, then talked loads. We talked about our jobs, and compared being a therapist with being a police detective.
“Your job is like Actual Real Life. My job is like Talking about Real Life,” I said.
I said I was lucky because the people I help want me there, whereas often the people he helps do not want police there.
He said that lots of people would kill a police officer if they could get away with it, “they wouldn’t think twice about stabbing me. Well, not stabbing me. It would be more their style to beat me to death with a baseball bat,” he said, completely matter-of-factly.
“Oh my god!” I said, hugging him really tightly. “Are you actually safe?”
He assured me he was.
At about 7am we went to sleep.
We woke up at about 10am and started kissing again. He was lying on top of me, pressing his massive erection against me.
I went to make a cup of tea, and weighed up the situation. We had agreed not to have sex yet, but I assumed that he would probably try his luck at putting his massive erection in me. This was based on both the size of the erection and my previous experiences with boys who had supposedly agreed not to try and shag me.
Fuck it, I was planning to have sex with him in a few days anyway. I thought, as the kettle boiled.
I went back into the bedroom and we carried on kissing.
After a while, he was lying on his side and I was lying on my back, and his hand was on my stomach.
Oh my god, I actually really want to have sex with him. Please let him move his hand a few inches down, to the edge of my underwear.
Then he moved his hand somewhere completely different, miles up by my shoulder.
Fuck sake! I thought. I held his hand and tried to negotiate it back to my lower stomach area, but it stayed where it was.
“Do you want to touch me?” I eventually said, trying to sound as breathy and sexy as possible.
“Oh, no, I think you were right about waiting. It’s not quite the right time,” he replied.
I felt a combination of pleasant surprise as his respect for my boundaries, and slight disappointment.
We spent the next few hours talking about all kinds of different things, and kissing. We talked about sex A LOT.
We covered our favourite positions, things we like, things we don’t like, things we think we’re good at it, things we want to try. We were both talking like we expected to carry on dating for a while, saying things like “yeah, we could definitely try that at some point.”
“You know that thing you say, when you arrest someone?” I asked. “Has a girl ever asked you to say that to her, in bed?”
“No, they haven’t actually! Why, is that something you’d like?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I replied, trying to seem nonchalant. This was something that had occurred to me the day after our first date. “I thought, you know, it would be cool if you like arrested me and then I was like ‘is there anything I can do to get out of this?'”
He’s so principled, I expected him to say “I do not find the idea of police corruption sexy!” but he said “OK! Maybe if we did that, we could start with a stop and search!”
“Yeah, that would work! Do you have handcuffs?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“With you?” I said quickly.
“No, not with me!” he said, laughing. “I don’t think they’re very comfortable.”
We were talking with our limbs intertwined, sometimes kissing. Every so often, his hand brushed past a dangerous area, within about a 10 inch radius of my vagina, and I’d get a bit hot and bothered and my heart rate would quicken. Then his hand would wander off somewhere else.
Then we had quite a long kiss, with him touching all different parts of my body with his hand, and then it brushed STRAIGHT OVER my underwear, on its way somewhere else.
Oh my god. This is it, we’re going to have sex, I thought, feeling all quivery and excited.
Then he stopped kissing me and started talking about something else.
I ended up saying something about how I might have changed my mind about waiting.
“I mean, I’d be fine with just doing it now, actually!” I said.
“No, I thought you were right, we shouldn’t rush it,” he replied. “It’s not quite the right time.”
It IS the right time.
We talked about all kinds of different things – deep and meaningful, and lighthearted. We talked about our past relationships. He told me he’s had two long term relationships but never lived with anyone. He has only been dating since the start of this year.
“Well, as a veteran, I should probably tell you it isn’t usually this good,” I said.
He agreed quite emphatically.
He said things like “I haven’t been good at communicating in the past,” and “I’m probably not an easy person to date.” However, throughout the afternoon he communicated all kinds of personal and complex feelings to me really easily. When he described what went wrong in his past relationships, he was very self-critical and took responsibility for things that seemed unfair.
I realised I need to make sure I don’t believe his anti-hype. At one point I asked him what it means that he is a detective compared to a normal policeman, and he really downplayed it, saying they are pretty much the same. Afterwards, I thought that can’t be true.
I need to be cautious of taking his modesty at face value and underestimating how special he is.
I told him what happened with my ex-boyfriend’s death. On our first date, I had told mentioned ‘being given bad news by the police’.
“I was wondering if you remembered me saying that… if you were curious what happened?” I asked.
He said he had been, but didn’t want to ask.
I told him the story. It was nice talking to a policeman about it.
I said “later that day, a detective called me and asked me some questions, about the last time I saw him alive and the electric heater. Afterwards, I thought was he trying to work out if I’m a murderer? Do you think he was trying to work out if I’m a murderer?”
Andrew said the detective would just have been trying to build up a picture of what happened. He said “sometimes people get defensive when you’re asking them questions, but it’s just to build up a picture of what happened.”
“Oh, I wasn’t defensive. I told him wayyyyy more detail for every question than he probably wanted.”
We talked about the investigation and the inquest and the coroner.
I told him that it was funny about police, because I remembered in my teens, when my friends and I were talking about men in uniform and stuff, I said police would probably be my favourite type. It wasn’t something I thought about that much, but was probably something about people in authority.
Then, after being given the news by the police in 2012, for a while I had trauma symptoms every time I saw police or even people who looked like police. I remember once, walking down the street and seeing a man dressed in black walking towards me and getting panicky as I thought he was a policeman, but when he got closer I realised he was a normal man who was on his way to go fishing. It felt like the memory of getting the news was happening again every time I saw police.
I said “anyway, that’s a thing about me, do you have any events from your backstory that you want to share? Fine if you don’t!”
He told me he had suffered from depression in the past but was OK at the moment. He said he was worried I’d think he was only interested because I’m a therapist.
I said I didn’t think that at all, but that I had found I always date people who I end up looking after, and I did want to break that pattern.
“Oh fuck!” he said, seeming really worried.
“Don’t say ‘oh fuck’, it’s not a problem at all, it’s just something we need to be aware of,” I said. “And I can imagine… I mean, I’ve only met you twice, but… I mean, obviously we’re still getting to know each other, but… I can imagine you being quite good at looking after and taking care of someone.”
At a different point, for some reason it came up how we feel around each other. I said that I feel safe and comfortable with him, and it’s made me realise that I haven’t felt that enough in the past. But as well as feeling safe and comfortable, I felt really excited.
He said that being around me makes him feel ‘alive’, which isn’t something he usually feels.
Then we got back on to sex.
I had progressed through these stages, in the many hours we’d been together
- being certain we shouldn’t have sex yet
- thinking I’d go along with it if it came up
- thinking I actually did quite fancy the idea
- really wanting to have sex with him
- telling him I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anyone to touch me more than I did right then.
We ended up lying with him on top of me, in my favourite position, where the lady is lying face down, and the man is lying on top of her. Like doggy style, but lying down.
He was rubbing his massive erection against my place where it was specifically designed to go, but I was wearing underwear and a little nightdress, and he still had his boxer shorts on.
“Oooooh for god’s sake, don’t you just want to move my underwear out the way and slip it in?”
“Not yet,” he replied.
“You’re being a massive prick-tease,” I said.
When it got to about 5.30pm, after he’d been saying he should go for about 4 hours, he really did get dressed and get ready to go.
I offered to walk him to the station and he said yes, as he didn’t know where it was.
I threw on some clothes, which turned out to be some quite skinny jeans and a Beatles strappy top, and some high-heeled sandals. It was a cool outfit.
“Oh my god, you’re SO COOL. You’re so much cooler than me. I mean, I try to be cool and arty, but I’m not, I mean, I did History at uni… but you really are!” he said.
“I’m OK with being the cool one.” I said.
He said “I bet you’re glad I’m finally leaving, after saying for hours that I’m going to go!”
“Yes I am,” I replied. “So I can crack on and masturbate, and then hopefully I’ll finally be able to think straight again.”