I am a bit conflicted when thinking about last night’s date. In some ways, I am not happy. I have been really stressed out for the last few days. My temper is short. I am cranky. Last night’s date was a bit unsatisfying for me, and not just sexually.
We spent good time together, but I felt disconnected from him at times — and I was keenly aware that he seems to forget or ignore certain things about me and my personal history (or he was teasing, at times, which is certainly possible). That said, I think he was really happy with everything, which almost pisses me off more.
But then I realize when I actually think about it that it was an important, comfortable date on which we achieved new connections and new intimacies and my issues are dumb.
My relationship with BFD is strange . . . I am his girlfriend in that we’re sexually active, we are exclusive, and we plan to see each other nearly daily . . . and yet, we are dating. We sort of only go out on dates. We don’t work out together, we don’t run errands together, we don’t cook together, we don’t spend the night together . . . we go out on dates. Even when we have “domestic evenings,” we order in delivery or I bring in takeout and there is a bit of a plan to watch sports or a movie or work or something.
After we postponed the last two days, we spoke mid-afternoon to confirm we would be seeing each other. Before 6, I emailed him to confirm a time and he sent a rather vague response “see you at seven.”
I did not ask, though. Instead, I drove out to his place because that is what we do.
I arrived about 15 minutes late and he was on the sofa waiting. I sat down next to him and he put his arm around me and pulled me on top of him. The sex was more fun and yet less satisfying. I laid some groundwork for things I wanted to do and I took much more control over everything. He . . . loved it. He loved everything about it. We tried some new things and everything worked out well, and yet, I think I was a little too much in my own head to completely relax. I was on a high plateau and just stayed there, more interested in his pleasure than mine. That put me in a bit of a funk, though, which is stupid since it was all completely within my own control and had he realized, he would have handled it. I was just too wrapped up in what I was doing to focus on me. It happens.
The post-sex was weird. We went upstairs to shower, which we both needed to do since we were sweaty — no really. As we walked up, he asked me about the guys by name, what are they doing, how are they. Weird. Once we got up, he handed me a towel and sent me to the guest bathroom. I was confused, and pissed. I went to say something to him and the master bath door was closed, which never happens (the wc is in its own room, of course, so there’s never a reason to close the bathroom door). I went to the guest bathroom and slammed the door. A few minutes later, I again walked down the hall to the master and heard the shower was off. The guest bath is not equipped for showering, so I left my towel upstairs and went back down to get dressed, the whole time thinking, “Fuck him, I am leaving.”
(Although I did carefully consider the fact I would be leaving in a huff in his car . . .)
He called downstairs to talk plans as I coldly told him I left the unused towel upstairs and that the guest bath did not have a usable shower (no curtain). He said, you wanted to shower? Uh, yeah, so he turned the shower back on for me, explaining that how poorly designed the bathroom is that you cannot open the shower door without closing the bathroom door (and the that light switches are all behind the doors). These are the things he notices, but it explained why he had closed the door.
He stayed and spoke to me while I showered quickly.
So I threw a little tantrum for nothing. If he noticed, he did not say anything.
After I dried off, I dashed downstairs to dress again as he came down, looking all hot. He is feeling much better, so of course, he is now pushing himself too hard. But, the result . . . yowza. His arms, wow. I noticed while he was holding me earlier that his arms were getting even more defined, but in his shirt, he looked dreamy.
I was still sort of pissed and on edge though. In part, I was a bit put out about the sex. It felt amazing, but incomplete. He asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant [chef’s name from his favorite restaurant] always recommends. I said, I have no idea who that is. He said, you know [name] from [restaurant]. I said, BFD, I have only been there with you twice and I have never met him. He ignored that.
I said, sure, fine, we can go, and he said we’d be taking “your car.” Okay, I told him I was light on gas, I meant to get some but I was running late. He said, okay, then we will stop for gas. We got in the car, with me driving, and headed back north of town. I plugged in my ipod and he immediately unplugged it and plugged in his. I told him he has appallingly bad taste in music, which he then proved over the next 25 minutes. We stopped for gas at the 7 minute mark. I got out to pump it, but he jumped out first, slid his card in and put in a full tank. (Very sweet, and very freaking expensive.) When he got out, he grabbed his iphone and my ipod and slid them both into his pocket.
I got out of the car, ostensibly to speak to him, but actually to grab his iphone so I could see the songs he was playing and making m guess the artist. He knew that’s what I wanted, so he moved quickly away laughing. Playful. Very un-BFD-like.
Back in the car, with another 20 mintues or so ahead of us, he continued to play like 40 horrible songs — including classics that my friends older brothers played while they were in high school — rush, pink floyd. yeesh. He also complained incessantly about my driving — too aggressive (you have quite a leadfoot for a woman), not paying enough attention, etc. I was driving exactly as he drives.
It was funny and cute and relationshippy.
We finally arrive, after a few missed turns from his fabulous directions, and it was terrible. It’s a restaurant of his heritage, so he told me a sentence he wanted me to say to the waiter. I declined since I had no idea what I was saying and I had a feeling he was setting me up. He ordered and spoke to the staff in the language. It was very cute.
The food was bland, though the restaurant was filled with his countrymen. He does not strongly identify with his people, especially not style-wise, which he pointed out. He is very different, very Americanized, having been born and raised in the US, isolated by geography from other people like him. BFD, even in jeans and a t-shirt, looks prosperous and my presence reinforces his status. I was the only white person there with someone of their heritage. There were two tables of caucasians and many, many tables of people of BFD’s ethnicity. Plus, I am kinda hot.
During dinner, he asked me at length about my friends. As I told him certain things, he said, oh, good, I will have to give JF a hard time about that. I really like him. I invited him to E’s birthday dinner and told him the date and he was excited about it. I said, you know, they invite you to stuff all the time. He said he would be more available soon and was looking forward to hanging out with them. I was shocked. Happy, but shocked.
We got into some serious business discussions while we sat there, which was entertaining, but I do sometimes get the feeling he forgets who I am when he gets into lecture mode. I am more of a peer than he treats me at times and it pisses me off.
At the next table a few feet away from us there were three generations of a family, with a fat-cheeked baby crying and crawling. The grandmother, who looked to be in her late 40s, kept looking to us apologetically, but we were so charmed by the baby that we beamed back at her and at each other.
After we wrapped and left, he took back over the navigation and dj duties. We sped off, again with him criticizing my driving (but it is his car . . .), and he asked for us to take a different route back which put us back on our side of town. We drove back listing to my ipod, as per our earlier agreement. He was displeased and talked trash the whole way.
He asked me to exit early in pursuit of a particular treat, which was sadly unavailable. When I asked if he wanted other things, he said a BFDism: “No, I want what I want when I want it.” I said, yeah, no kidding.
We spoke about two upcoming movies and I told him that one of them is supposed to be great, as I heard from [a story I told him weeks ago]. He looked at me with surprise and I realized he never responded to that message because he glanced at it and promptly ignored it. The idiot.
We enjoyed the long drive again with him criticizing the music and giving me a hard time, as I was doing back to him. It was actually fun and he was funny.
We drove back to his house and he ended the date in the car. He leaned over to kiss me, but I was still rather displeased with him. I did kiss him, we made plans for tomorrow, and he acknowledged that yes, the music was pretty good.
I got out of the car and hugged and kissed him again, because I was being unnecessarily cranky.
As soon as I was in the car, I called BP and spoke to him for an hour.
Then I emailed BFD to tell him I was mad at him for not revealing the artists of the songs as he said he would. I also sent him two mp3s I thought he would like since he listened to one of them twice in the car and asked for the correct spelling of the artist’s name.
Overall, it was an interesting date. It was far more affectionate than normal. BFD was happily a passenger and referring to his car as my car. The sex was more fun than normal, though I did hit a high plateau and stay there. I was more in control of the entire encounter and I tried a few new moves on him. He seemed to enjoy the change, as did I, and he encouraged me to stay in control. Our conversations were interesting. He wants to be better friends with my friends and is making plans for the future.
The two strange things. First, I was very cranky and stressed and it affected my reactions to everything. Second, BFD is funny? When did that happen?