I’d met a girl near Trafalgar square last week. The open was pretty unmemorable, but I remember her being slightly resistant to giving her number. Actually, that’s a good sign. Counter-intuitive I know, but in hindsight, it’s because she fancied me. We exchange a few texts, I take the piss out of her for being a cat owner. She’s gonna die alone with nothing but an apartment full of half-starved cats and photos of her ex-boyfriends.
So roll forward to tonight, I meet her at 7pm. She’s on time, so am I. We walk to a bar. Bit of chit-chat. She’s cuter than I remember, slim, tight jeans and white singlet top. I like her cleavage and her body. Her face is pretty, she’s 27, when she was young she was told she looked like Mary-kate Olsen. I can’t see it myself. She has some Portuguese heritage, so her skin is a little dusky. I tease her about using a sunbed.
So here is the game changer. I push and push and push. She told me she wouldn’t kiss on a first date several times. I encroach her space, pull her chair into me, push her away. I use silences to encourage her to talk, touch her hands, her legs, her arms. I don’t even do it with the pretense of an excuse, I just do it. She calls me weird, tells me she feels uncomfortable, but crucially, her body-language is screaming the opposite.
I ignore that she’s telling me it’s too soon. I tell her if she wants to go, she can. At one point by accident I spill my wine over her. It goes over her top, in pre-game days I might have been mortified. She attempts a “kickoff” I tell her there are worse things than spilling a little wine “Syria, refugees and ISIS”. I don’t apologise, she goes to the bathroom to clean up. She hears me joking with the table next to me, “I always like to spill wine on a girl on a first date, just to see if she really likes me”. They laugh.
She comes back and says “you were doing so well until you spilled wine over me”. I shrug my shoulders, and tell her don’t worry it was my wine, when she was in the bathroom I poured some of her drink into my now empty glass. She notices and punches me on the arm for taking her wine. She likes me, I know it. Turns out her last boyfriend was a 4 year relationship. It finished in November, he dumped her after a “last holiday” together.
I tell her men and women can’t be friends because there is always a power imbalance, someone always wants to fuck the other. She disagrees then relents, one of her long-term male friend tried to kiss her on Friday night. She tells me it was awkward, and she was disappointed in him for ruining their friendship. I tell her it’s a man’s job to chase a girl, and I respect him for taking a shot at her.
We stand and walk to the next bar. I attempt to kiss her, she refuses. Then I do the “hover kiss”, I tell her to trust me, that I won’t kiss her, but I’ll get as close as I can. I won’t touch her. But she has to trust me. She stands still, I move into the kiss, slowly, looking at her. Our lips don’t touch, but I can feel the sexual tension ramp up a notch. I don’t kiss her. I know she wants to though. She tells me she doesn’t kiss on a first-date, I ask her if she has ever kissed on a first-date. She says she has, but when she was younger.
Next bar, more chit-chat, I open up about my life a bit. I tell her some stories about living in Ireland in my teens during the troubles. My father was in the army, I tell her about the sectarianism, the violence, the hatred, the UVF/IRA murals, the painted curbs and the rain. I tell her about having to have an armed escort to go to hospital. I’d had my tonsils out at a hospital on the Falls road. I remember my father carrying a hand-gun, we also had an armed driver in an unmarked van to take me there. True story, they dropped me off at the hospital with my mother. They returned two days later to pick us up, me minus tonsils.
She’s listening, but she can’t work out if it’s a story I tell all the girls, she even says to me “Is this what you tell all the girls to connect with them”. I tell her “No, not this story”, actually she’s the first to hear it. I pull her in again, go to whisper something in her ear, then realise she’s letting the kiss happen. I kiss her, it feels good. So much for “not kissing on a first date”. The tension recedes a bit, I can tell this is all I’m gonna get tonight.
One more glass of wine, some more making out. She likes me, but she’s 27 so I know she’s angling for a boyfriend. I walk her to the station. Half-way she says she does’t need me to walk her. I look at her, and ask if this is a test. She says “maybe”. I tell her it’s dangerous here, I tell her I normally like to fail tests, but since I spilt wine over her least I can do is make sure she gets to the tube safely.
Actually a pretty good day, I went pretty far out of my comfort zone with the escalation. She’s a definite “maybe” girl and I think my tight game has switched it up for me. The only problem is she knows I’m a player and I could tell that really didn’t sit well with her. Realistically I think she’ll come out again, but I don’t think sex would be on the table unless we were in a relationship. Good date though.
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