Date #8 – 52 First Dates

© Bernardo Baldiviezo 2011

They say that if you fail, try try again, and after Saturdays dismal failure I was very keen to get another date in pronto. I’d been speaking to Mr Investment Banker for a few months now and had largely held off because our initial communications had surrounded meeting up for a random shag. He was on gardening leave from his job, horny as hell, and thought we’d have a great time. However, whilst he had a great body and was South Asian so just my type, with 52 First Dates a bid to find love, the last thing I needed was another notch on my bed post and a new fuck buddy to confuse my befuddled head.

Over the past few months however, we’ve chatted more, he agreed that yes, he was a horny fuck, but a relationship could be on the cards, tick tick in my books. And so tonight, amongst London’s burning riots, dark looming clouds and the city alive with sirens, I decided to meet this rather handsome, pocket sized man for a drink or two.

The date was good, but interluded with quite a few moments of silence. We sat side by side on a bench outside a pub looking out at screaming police vans, not exactly good body language from the outset. We were approached by countless tramps, one of which was dressed almost as well as we were, and other than the odd glance at each other’s face, we talked, but at our drinks rather than each other’s faces. Some potential f-buddies are simply not suitable for more than bed bouncing, a fact that was clear by our lack of mutual interests, his seriousness compared to my silliness, and the fact that our lives are vastly different. I mean, he gets up at 6am, and I’m rarely in bed before  2am, this was never going to work.

After strolling the streets around Spitalfields hunting looters – we found none, though the police presence was high – I thought that I might get a darkened alleyway snog just for snogs sake. I mean, this is date 8 and I haven’t snogged since date 1. However, a hurried goodbye and a rather fumbled, quickly turn a cheek kiss into a limp hug on his part, showed me that he far from fancied me and I should’ve just jumped on at Liverpool Street rather than walking him back to Bank…confirmed by his then decision to go to Moorgate, possibly to avoid further kiss attempts from me.

So, an enjoyable evening came to an end. I never look back at these failings with regret, he’s a lovely guy, we’re just not suited and he didnt fancy me an ounce. Onwards….here’s to date #9!

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