Erratum

I shall be glad when this weekend will be over, gentle reader. Following my fabulous Friday night the last two days have left a bit to be desired.

After my disastrous date on Saturday, and I wrote the previous post about it, a friend contacted me – inadvertently waking me from an early night; and I was very short with him which made me feel worse for being a meanie.

And today Sam was due to come over to have dinner and watch a film, though he didn’t show up, which is sad but had an air of inevitability about it.

In addition there were all the petty irritants that, when one is on a high, would normally not matter. Stormy weather undoing my work on the balcony. It taking nine times longer than it ought to pay my bills over the phone. The computer crashing. The boiler playing up…

But, on top of this – and perhaps inevitability suits both ways – today I bumped into Darren for the first time in what must be 11 months.

'Bumped into' isn’t quite right. He and I happened to be walking along the same street in the same direction. At first I didn’t recognise him. He was wearing a suit, whereas his style when I knew him was very up-to-date casual. Glancing round I am certain that he saw me, but he did not acknowledge me and instead kept walking, quickly, wherever he was going.

Eventually I tired of being just behind him and changed my route to be rid of him. I didn’t call out or try to catch up. I just let him be.

Relief, annoyance, fear, contempt. All these emotions competed for my attention. It's funny how the unexpected can change your perspective even a year after the fact. I wasn't ready to see him, not at all.

Overall this weekend has shaken my confidence a great deal. Very, very much in fact. And as these things can ripple forward I am concerned about the impact on my dates this coming Tuesday and Thursday. I was tempted to cancel them. Certainly I may withdraw from the dating scene for a while. Well, actually a couple of guys have recently been in contact via gaydar and Parship and something might, just, come of that so you never can be too sure...

Yes I am, in short, a bit battered by events. Such is life, I suppose. To tackle things I have done my introverted project manager thing and written a list of five discreet ways in which I can be a better person, as a first step forward. Frumpella shall not be defeated! Yet for now I need to keep a bit of a low profile until I feel better.

Learn the rules

Another weekend, gentle reader, half over. Has there been some man fun? Why, yes. Yes there has.

I hummed and hahed over going online today as I brought a lot of work home and Saturday is a deadline for a client of mine; but online I did go.

The first few guys who expressed an interest didn’t really attract me but after a while this really hot (and I mean hot) fella began chatting to me and we arranged for him to come over. Unfortunately, and this is really only the second or third time this has happened to me, he stood me up.

I don’t mind a guy cancelling. It happens. Even a guy changing his mind once we’ve met. It… happens. I’m really not into pressurising someone to do what they don’t want to so would rather people cancel and feel OK than meet me and feel bad.

What I don’t like is a guy who should be in my bed popping up in the chat room where we met without getting in touch. I only caught him out because I never logged off (I used the time to get my work done, being an efficient slattern you see) so when he came up there again I sent a sharp message discussing the merits of Rule 7 and moved on.

I know the wonderful world of cruising is not known for its manners and etiquette but a simple “sorry I’m not coming because… you’re just not that attractive” isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Well, fortunately there are plenty more fish in the sea and, unbowed, I hooked up with a guy who lived only about 15 minutes walk away. A rather charming South African in his early forties, and very nicely put together with it. His apartment has a floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river (like mine but better!) and that kind of view only enhanced the fun for me. Very nice. In fact we may well hook up again in the future given his location and… the rest.

The reason I like older fellas [and when I write older I mean born before me, not necessarily ‘old’er] is they know what they want, how to get it, what to do when they get it and don’t mess guys around. They are well mannered – I was offered a glass of wine on arrival and a shower before leaving, - and understand the concept of No Strings Attached without rushing you out of the door or making false promises about meeting again.

So, a good time so far. I really think "The Rules of Shagging" might be another money-spinner…

Dumped

Wednesday is date night, right? Thursdays too, often, but plans this week…

Anyway, Wednesday dawns. It's a nice day. The Appointed Hour of Fuzunjulation arrives and…

Nothing… Curious.

So, as one does, one enquires after the whereabouts of fine, fine, booty. Text one. No answer. Text two. No answer. Text three, four, five - and a couple of emails - no answer.

When Darren finally answers me we have a long and frank (voice) discussion about why he's not coming round. Apparently (and being new to this, who am I to argue?) being stood up is the nicest possible way of saying he thought he was over his past relationship but he wasn't. Essentially he’s used to being more in control, or dominant, in a relationship but he needs time to rebuild his confidence. My new-found confidence has shown him he wasn’t ready to be with someone, and he's bit scared about how I’ve changed into someone more relaxed and comfortable with who I am. And, to put it bluntly I'm not really his type.

Or, to summarise, “I was hoping for some ripped love-slave to fuck my way over my ex, but that ain’t you [Lord knows he got that right] so I’m off, with the delusion that this really is the best thing for both of us”.

Or, even more succinctly, “Even though I’m a coward, I think I can do better”.

Perhaps I'm being harsh, though. He did say a lot of nice things about how great it was to be with someone who liked him so much, and he assured me he hadn't met someone else. On the other hand, though I don't think I could plausibly be expected to have deciphered that from being stood up.

At first I was just numb and spent hours staring into space. The next morning I had a good cry and discussed it with friends, who were (as always) totally supportive. I made it into work and went out for a couple of drinks after with colleagues who were bored to the point of chewing their legs off by my relationship woes.

Then, and this is prizewinning - it really is - on the way home a text. From him. An explicit text essentially suggesting he'd like to fuzunjulate his way back into my good books and we could go from there. A tentative texted 'yes', and more explicit texts follow - certainly enough to shock the elderly lady sitting next to me (whoops). And so at home I clean, shower, change, perfume and primp except again, again, again, again gentle reader I'VE BEEN STOOD UP.

So of course now I feel like an idiot and the bottle of champagne with a bandelero of condoms, which was such a romantic gesture at the time, just seems silly now.