First Date…

I went on a date last weekend. Too soon, I hear you say? Damn right dear reader, but I’m a twenty-something with a blog to run and I’m not sure how many articles about me tiptoeing around my house sipping whiskey at 5am in a heartbreak stupor I can stomach posting. 
Anyway, the date was organised by S, who knows nothing about my situation with Tory Boy but knows a man who has apparently fancied me since he saw a photo on S’s Facebook profile (how very millennial). Thinking this might be some sign from above that it was time to get back out there, or at the very least out of the flat, I agreed and the date was set. We’d meet early afternoon in Soho to ensure plenty of time before the 10pm curfew, and S would be present as chaperone because apparently First Date is painfully shy around new people. Cheers mate, you’ve really pulled out all the stops with this one. 
The day rolled around and after a few cups of espresso (I don’t sleep remember) I started to get ready. I always lose my appetite and start running after a breakup so I was looking particularly toned and decided on a navy merino wool shirt which draped over all the right places, pairing it with some tapered cream chinos and brown suede boots. 
We met, ordered a substantive round of drinks and started talking. The conversation flowed easily between the three of us. S has form for setting up her friends and has perfected the art of establishing a topic, leading with an anecdote and then drawing back so the two love interests can take the lead. This tactic worked well for the most part, except that no matter what the subject of discussion, First Date invariably managed to segue into an anecdote about him and his ex husband. Which is surely a red flag. Not that he was married, I knew about that (thank you Facebook), but if you can’t fill a few hours of conversation without bringing up the man you divorced two years ago, it suggests you’ve not quite worked through the situation and I’ve no desire to be anyone’s therapist. 
I still hooked up with him, mind you. What? I’ve always been a bit of a tart. After several hours downing cocktails in soho, the bars inevitably closed and we all decided to schlep to my flat in the suburbs. Picking up several bottles of wine en route, I gave them a quick tour of the place before we settled ourselves down on the cream sofas. As the chatting continued, First Date and I got increasing touchy feely and as I gently stroked his lower abdomen he nudged my arm until my hand was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Maintaining focused eye contact with S so she wouldn’t look down I stroked his ever hardening member until his trousers were so full I could barely move my hand. S went to the kitchen to grab another bottle and First Date spun over to get my fly open and my own member in his mouth. After a minute or so, I heard the telltale ‘pop’ of a cork leaving a bottle and pushed his head up so could get my fly up before S walked back in the room. We talked for an hour or so longer, getting increasingly merry and eventually- once First Date started audibly snoring on my lap- S called a cab. 
As soon as they were out of the door I sighed, knowing I had no interest in seeing him again. It was nice to be distracted for a day but S made it clear at various points that First Date is looking for something serious and that really isn’t something I can give anyone right now. He’s also a certified Nice Guy TM, so I can’t even have a bit of fun enjoying the attention without feeling like an arse. We chatted scantly over the next few days but no plans were made. I’m not ruling out dating altogether but I think next time I need to look a little further away from home.