The other day I wrote about a date I had with H. It can be difficult writing publicly about people you're seeing. H eventually found the post I had written about her and, though I'm loath to put words in her mouth, she seemed unhappy with what I had written. I asked H if she would be willing to share what her experience of our time together was so that I could post it here. She accepted the offer and what follows is her recounting of our date. In case you're curious, I was born in Kenya. I am not South African, nor have I ever been to South Africa.
Now H's story:
"As I walk into Dolores Park to meet South Africa man, he sends a text to let me know he’s wearing a purple shirt and is sitting beneath a baby palm tree. Purple shirt guy might be boring, might be rude, might need intensive therapy, might be gorgeous, and might be fun. Half expecting that he’ll be awful; I’m stoked that cocktails will be involved. He promised to bring wine. I have plans afterward with a girlfriend, so either way I’ll have a fun evening. I’m new to San Francisco, and making new friends is far more important to me than finding myself involved in a romantic relationship. That said, I’m completely emotionally available and am open to meeting someone extraordinary, otherwise I wouldn’t even be here.
I round the palm and see him. He’s beautiful, but I decide that I am more beautiful and I find comfort in knowing that I have an edge here in the balance of power. Beautiful South Africa man stands and we exchange a hug and kiss. He pours wine into two animal print coffee cups. I choose the cheetah print and he teases me about being a fast girl. He’s casually dressed in cute jeans, a faded purple shirt that says hang loose, striped blue socks and bright lemon colored shoes. It sounds like a bad combination, but he completely pulls off the look and I like it. I compliment his shoes. “They are yellow,” he says. “I know my colors,” I say. He comments that he likes mine as well. Unless he paid close attention while I slipped them off, I know he cannot see them. My shoes are behind me and out of his view. I ask him what kind of shoes I am wearing. He laughs and owns up to not knowing.
He shares his hatred for feet and we both agree that it’s weird that his coworkers tend to walk around at the office in white tube socks. He asks me a work question and then apologizes immediately. He hates talking about work. Perfect, because so do I. “Tell me a story,” he says. I share a story that I had just discussed that morning involving a girlfriends bombed Valentines Day earlier this year. Her boyfriend broke up with her on Valentines Day. Fabulous girl that she is, she put on her sexy new lingerie, and drank an excessive amount of champagne while feasting on crab and oysters that she had planned to share with the boyfriend. While cracking open one of the oyster shells, the knife slipped and she had to be taken to the hospital in her lingerie for stitches in her hand and wrist which without explanation appeared to be a suicide attempt. Beautiful South Africa guy shares that he’s never had a great Valentines Day. He asks if I have and I just say “yes.” Sharing a hot Valentines Day story about a previous boyfriend doesn’t seem appropriate ten minutes into a first date.
He leans in and kisses me. It’s perfect. It’s soft and sweet. He pulls away and shares that he “just wanted to try it out.” He leans in again and we kiss for a few more minutes. I love kissing and we kiss well together. I’m also aware that we are in a public park and try my best to fight back a bit of laughter. I usually require a bit more alcohol to engage in PDA with a stranger. While I wasn’t necessarily ready to kiss South Africa, I completely indulge myself in a fabulous make out session. He shares that he’s been in the city for almost a year and we banter about how he could spend his little anniversary with the city. I suggest the Kabuki Spa having just been for the first time after a day of surfing. It’s such a relaxing and lovely way to spend an afternoon or evening on oneself.
He asks me if I smoke. I do. He asks if I mind giving him a cigarette. We’ve been drinking wine for about an hour and I was just planning on having one myself. We spend the next few hours kissing in the park. The sun is setting and we have a gorgeous view of the city. I realize that I don’t really know anything more about South Africa than I knew before walking into the park. I know that he dislikes co-workers cruising around the office in their socks. I know that he was born in Africa, but not South Africa. I forget where exactly but still continue to refer to him as South Africa merely because I like how it sounds. I know that he buys striped socks. I know that he has amazing hair which feels incredibly hot to run my fingers through. I know his name and I know that he is an amazing kisser. For a first date, that’s good enough for me.
We both have plans later in the evening. I’m meeting a girlfriend for drinks around 10:00 and he has a friend coming over around 9:30. He invites me over to meet his man friend and for us to have a cocktail before we each go out. I agree. Nothing says serial killer or sexual sadist about beautiful South Africa man. Maybe it’s his expensive and fashionable glasses or his bright yellow shoes. We walk hand in hand and intermittently stop to kiss along the way and in the elevator on our way up to his apartment. Beautiful South Africa’s man friend is fantastic, and mixes all sorts of random and delicious drinks for us. I’m certain to have a hang over.
Man friend asks whether I have seen South Africa’s photographs from when he was in the Peace Corps. I have not. He insists that I see them. Did I know that beautiful South Africa man is making a film and is the director? Have I seen his fantastic pair of pink shoes? It’s all so cute. Man friend is trying to make beautiful South Africa seem very cool for what I perceive to be my benefit. I ask for a few embarrassing stories, he doesn’t give any up. He’s a loyal man friend. After viewing the Peace Corps photos, I realize that beautiful South Africa has only recently grown into his adult hotness. He’s “new hot” and I find that attractive. I’ve never been a huge fan of guys who know they are good looking as the knowing of one’s hotness generally corresponds with a certain level of arrogance that I find unattractive. I step out to the terrace and call Tara who is lounging around in her panties and her bra and who is now contemplating staying in. I hadn’t realized the time and am late to meet her. She needs a few minutes to pull it together so I have a few more sips of man friend’s drink concoctions.
Beautiful South Africa is attentive and affectionate with me in front of his man friend. He holds my hand, kisses me and wraps his arms around me intermittently while we chat and share drinks. I excuse myself to use the bathroom and return to find beautiful South Africa and man friend setting up wii golf. Do I want to play? Man friend hands me a remote and I decide it is time to go for sure. I feel like something shifted in the mood. Man friend is visiting from out of town, my girlfriend is waiting for me and I think video games are silly. When I share that I am leaving, I find it funny when beautiful South Africa man asks if it’s because they are playing videogames. Funny “ish” because I slightly feel that he is gauging whether setting up video games is a sure way to get a girl to leave one’s apartment. Given his behavior throughout the evening, I hadn’t considered that he might actually want me to leave.
He offers to walk with me to my girlfriend Tara’s apartment which is a few blocks away. We walk hand in hand. When we arrive, he shares that he will be busy filming all next week and weekend, but that he would like to see me again the week afterward. He also suggests that I call him earlier if I’m available. I’m not a ‘call first kind of girl’ and explain that while I’d love to see him again, he should call me. He calls me old fashion before we share an amazing kiss goodbye. I climb the stairs to Tara’s apartment with a huge smile on my face and am excited to share all the details of my date.
I’m a complete girly girl and gush over my date’s gorgeous hair, that I think his glasses are sexy, how well we kiss together, and how he’s easy to talk to. I again realize that I don’t really know anything more about him, but don’t really care. I assume that I’ll see him again. Tara throws on a gorgeous new dress and we walk to a nearby bar. We have an entertaining conversation about beautiful South Africa man, her new love interest, dating in general, and then of course go back to her apartment and have a pillow fight in our bra and panties. The week passes and I’m secretly a little bummed that beautiful South Africa man hasn’t called. I never considered that he wasn’t interested in seeing me again. Not because I’m arrogant, but because of the level of affection he showed throughout our date. I generally think I’m a good judge of a man’s interest in me. The confidence in this skill has recently disappeared.
The following Sunday, I find myself leisurely playing online and decide to check out the Hooksexup magazine site which is generally entertaining enough. I click on the date machine which I had not noticed before. I see beautiful South Africa man’s photo alongside other photos and various articles. I assume that he must have upgraded his membership and has a highlighted profile. I skim various articles and come to a catchy article title about two women in the same night written by some guy who once sported a mullet. It takes me a few paragraphs to realize that I am reading an article written by beautiful South Africa man about our date. I have been reviewed and it’s not good.
I call Tara. I call Katie. I call Rachel. I read the key phrases in the article to each of them which note that he thought I was “boring”, how he kissed me so that I “wouldn’t start talking again”, how he “laughed lots to cover up his boredom”, and that he had “little interest” in me. I’m both injured and amused. He’s really not into me? I have a fairly healthy ego and I decide it will be funny to print the article and put it on my refrigerator. I own a copy of ‘He’s Just Not That into You.’ My friends and I don’t need this book to guide our love lives. We think it’s ridiculous that women need someone to point out that if a man is not calling you, or is married, or is not having sex with you, then he’s probably not interested. There is not however a chapter cautioning women that a man may not being interested in you if he spends the evening kissing you, holding your hand, laughing attentively while you share stories and inviting you to his apartment to meet one of his friends followed up by a decoded man version explanation that kissing may be his way of quieting you and that his laughter covers boredom.
While this is the first time to my knowledge that anyone has ever called my boring, I obsess over the next few days. I overanalyze my fun level and charm and am annoyed that a few paragraphs written by a man I hardly know have had such an effect on me. Dating can absolutely suck. It can be expensive, disappointing and a humbling experience. It can also be wildly romantic and allow ourselves to explore new interests and places with amazing new people. After a few days, I finally stop obsessing and I realize that we are all reviewed by the people we encounter in our lives. And in the end, the only reviews that really matter are the ones we give ourselves. Beautiful South Africa man does not need to think I am fun nor interesting because I think I am just fabulous!"
Previous Posts:
Celebrity Confession: Who is Lauren Cohan and Why is She Hitting on Me?
Sex Machine: My First Muff Dive
Crying in Public: Remember the Cheerleaders
Sex Machine: Masturbating Upside Down
Date Night: Two Women in One Night
Date Machine: Kissing on the First Date
Hooksexup Confessions: Rate My Penis Size
Date Night: The Wine Bar as the End of Civilization
Crying In Public: The Sichuan Night Train
Love machine: How I Date On The Internet
Sex Machine: Zeitgeisty's Ass Bangin'
Sex Machine: Rate My Blowjobs
Crying in Public: My Cubicle