IV.I.IV – Off to the Races
IV.I.IV
OFF TO THE RACES
I remember dreading having to go on a date. All the small talk, the playing hard to get, the thrill of the chase. Then there’s the waiting for the right moment to ask them out and the having to decide where to go.
Then, of course, comes the much-awaited, much-dreaded day – along with the jarring pre-date jitters. You have a shower, do your hair, put together an outfit, throw a fit because that outfit’s just drab, choose another outfit and reapply some hairspray. By then you’re all sweaty so you take everything off and have another shower. “Does this shirt fit well?”, you change again, and that’s when you notice you’re late. And so, all resigned, you take off and by the time you pick your date up you’re a sweaty mess yet again, your shirt’s creasier than the aluminium foil hat covering an ex-NASA astrophysicist’s head and your hair’s practically the tumbleweed you see scurrying around in Western movies. They get in your car, you make some small talk, you get to wherever and then… guess what? More small talk. You find out they have a porcelain doll collection and suddenly all you want to do is stab your eyeball with a knife.
We’ve all been there. So many bad dates. So, so many bad dates. People who look nothing like their profile photos, people who snap their fingers at the waiters, people who hate dogs. You know, the generically bad ones.
Then there’s the special ones. The ones who make you excuse yourself to the bathroom so you can call your friends for help. Like that one guy who gave me this really expensive perfume which later on I got to know was bought with money stolen from his roommate (at least I can say I broadened my horizons and dated a felon). The girl who nearly choked me to death whilst going at it (sorry, not my thing). The guy who professed his love after a one-night stand (trust me, I’m not that good). The girl who thought I was blaming our lack of chemistry on her crutches (sprained ankle, flawed logic). Oh, almost forgot the white supremacist I kicked out of my car (need I elaborate?). The list goes on. Trust me, it does.
What I came to realise was that even these bad dates were good – for experience. Plus, they make for good stories. And the good ones? Boy do they make up for the bad ones. That pre-date dread I talked about? I guess I can say that’s all out the window now. I have genuinely grown to love dating – albeit for the wrong reasons. Like the fact that I got to know so many people from all over the world this way. People with whom I’m friends with to this very day. People who have taught me so much about life – from culture to cuisine, from language to all kinds of lore. I know that these aren’t the reasons why people date, mind you, but it’s these things that make dating worthwhile to me. Not the promise of finding love or just to have fun.
I mean sure, those are pluses, but they’re also rare to come by. Rare – though not impossible. I had already counted myself lucky to have had found Pedro; my first and only love at that point. Some people never find love at all, yet I had already experienced it once. It might have been for a very short time and it might have been the idealised, immature kinda first love, but it was real love – at least to me. And now I found myself open to the idea of more. I felt too greedy to be asking for more. In fact, back then, I had kinda gotten used to the fact that I’d probably never encounter such a thing ever again, that I had already used up all my happy.
As faith would have it… enter Alex – a Polish, tatted up hottie you’d expect to find in some Lana Del Rey music video or a Calvin Klein ad. Like seriously tatted up. From neck to foot kinda tatted up. Also ripped. Kind of a bad boy vibe going on if you know what I mean. Did I mention he’s ripped as hell? Oh and he has a moustache. Which he pulls off. I know right? Crazy!
So this Alex… He used to date an acquaintance of mine and even though we had never met and that I’m not the kind of person who fawns over others, I kinda did fawn over him. Platonically and in a dignifying way of course. So you can imagine my disbelief when he DM’d me on Instagram.
Always the straight-to-business kinda guy, he asked me out that same day. We went for a drink and we dove right in, discussing everything from work to politics (kind of a pattern it would seem). I distinctly remember excusing myself to the bathroom and as soon as I was back at the table, I found myself ambushed by his lips. A very deep, very sensual and very passionate kiss. In the middle of the bar. In front of everyone. “Just wanted to see if you’re a good kisser” he said with a smirk. Knees weak, arms spaghetti. Just for the sake of clarity, I never go goo-goo or gaga over anyone. But that evening? I went goo-goo and gaga.
Though my experience had been limited at best by that point, I do have to admit that the chemistry we shared was unlike any other I had ever experienced – a feeling he reciprocated. I had no idea two people could be so physically compatible; kinda like two puzzle pieces that just fit together – which is friggin’ crazy considering how different those pieces were.