As far as first dates go, it wasn’t bad really. I mean we had our disagreements, but if one were to tick off a checklist, which of course I did, there was a more than average chance of things working out between us. Adjustments would have to be made of course. No two people are perfect together. He was certainly not. Perfect that is. But it is fair to say his knuckles weren’t dragging along the floor, which is a vast improvement on my taste in men to date. Not sure how I developed a thing for Neanderthal but I am content to blame my public school experiences; you know we learn no manners or etiquette in the wasteland of poverty-stricken suburbia, it’s enough to just survive.
So we ate pasta, drank some red wine, I mean these are ordinary pleasures for extraordinary times – have you noticed the world is falling apart? Lately. Seems like Love is all we have left and that is difficult to find. So he tells me that I look nice by the candlelight, and I say something like ‘thanks, you picked a good drop’. He doesn’t look as nice by the candlelight. What am I supposed to do, lie? There’s a little bit of pasta sauce stuck to his collar, and it’s distracting me, he is losing ground because the longer I stare at the stain, the larger it gets, until all I can see is a clumsy idiot who can’t put food into his mouth, an infant I am going to have to spoon feed. Still these are trying times and I am not yet ready to rule out casual sex, although god knows if he can steer his dick with any more grace and integrity than his fork.
We are sizing each other up. There is no getting around this. Nobody has time to make mistakes in the dating game anymore, as Time pushes on and women cry foul as their reproductive abilities whither. I’m getting a little grey. I think my time is done, which is fine, I’m in my prime, and my focus is on the big O, orgasm.
I’m studying his hands, thinking about that schoolyard equation about hand span equalling the length of the male penis when erect. Of course this doesn’t give any clue to girth, and girth of the penis is almost as important to my mind, as length. He is talking about hopes and dreams he has, something about setting up his own business, which makes me wonder if he can’t take direction from other people. Like from me, later in the bedroom. I already run my own business. My commitment phobia is right out there, on the table. In the past I’ve found this turns a lot of men on. Kind of like how the reverse is true for women—some women go wild for a man wearing a wedding ring because it symbolises an ability to make a commitment. Ironic. The women rarely see that though, I notice.
Over sticky date pudding I am tempted to ask for his views on feminism, but really what I want to know is if he gives oral. Still, the way the sticky date pudding is sticking to his chin turns me off. Why doesn’t he notice? Perhaps he isn’t a details man. Details matter to me. I’ve experienced too many misunderstandings based on missing details. Those little pieces of information like, ‘actually I am married and should have mentioned it sooner’, or my personal favourite, ‘yes, I was arrested but nobody died, it wasn’t murder.’ Sticky date on the chin, mishandled, becomes sticky date on my genitals. Well in a perfect world it does. I don’t think he’s an oral kind of guy though; he seems to be looking for Love instead of Sex because he’s talking about the fate of humanity. We’re all doomed. We only have each other to cling to. Need to re-set our priorities. This litany is beginning to sound like a list of excuses for being a bad fuck. This date needs to end.
We share a cab home. We both know there is nothing more to be said this evening. No Love, no Lust, and just another failed attempt at trying to connect with a stranger you met in a lift at the Office. Seemed like a nice idea at the time, to go and have dinner together and now it’s just an awkward conversation about the weather. Nobody needs to call anybody; we’ll see each other the next day, and the day after. I think it’s time for me to apply for a new job. Take off. The Grey in my life is suffocating me.
FIONA
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