August 29, 2010

ELIZABETH ROSE

“Let’s face it: a date is a job interview that lasts all night. The only difference between a date and a job interview is: not many job interviews is there a chance you’ll end up naked at the end of it.” – Jerry Seinfeld

We’ve had some lovely and horrific dating stories this month on metanotherfrog.com, and there is yet more to come. This and my current status as single & celibate (nothing makes you more likely to stick to physio than believing it to be “sex-therapy” ) has led me to meander down memory lane. I find myself thinking of the best first dates I have ever had. In fact, I once had a date so good, it lasted 28 hours.

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I met him online shortly after arriving in Canada, and we had exchanged a couple of messages, before he suggested a chat over the phone. We got on so well, I found myself asking if he wanted to come over. It was early evening and I was heading up to the rooftop to BBQ steaks. I had more than enough for two and wanted to keep on chatting.

He lived just north of my apartment building, so jumped his bike and appeared 20 minutes later. He was handsome and funny, and it was still as easy to talk in person as it was on the phone. Turns out we liked tons of the same stuff. Whisky, steak, funny movies and walking through the city at dawn being the ones we indulged in that night.

We ate, we laughed, we drank, but mostly we talked. As it grew dark and then light again outside I mentioned how much I loved watching the sunrise over the city. So we head out for a walk. I meandered alongside him into neighbourhoods I wouldn’t walk alone in; safe since he was pretty built and a bit of a boxer. Lo and behold, we reached a building that he stopped at.

“I must have been on automatic pilot. This is where I live.” He admitted sheepishly.

I invited him sight unseen to my building for a steak, so I’m not one to judge. So I followed him in and settled in with his outstanding Scotch whisky collection.

So there we were: snuggled on his bed with a good dram of whisky each, as he read me his favourite poems. Not my usual activity in a hot guy’s bed, but I was enjoying the novelty.

As it was we slept through the morning at his, before buying fresh fruit from the local market for lunch, walking back to mine for dinner and even heading to the movies: twenty eight solid hours enjoying each others company. A few passionate kisses and a bit of an above waist fumble was the only physical contact. Still it was a great date and left me wanting more and really rather keen on this chap.

Unfortunately, one interest we didn’t share seemed to be naked bonding and penetrative sex. Not even six dates later – which would be around the time I wrote my original piece about him, after which he was less than keen to continue. (Safe money still on the VSD.)

Which just goes to show you can’t judge a man by his first date or as Cher would have it, by his kiss. I would always recommend you judge based on hard evidence; preferably a good girthy hard-on ramming against your cervix.

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