He had his card out on the bench, ready to pay for our drinks and sushi dinner. I swooped in and put my phone onto the machine before he could. It was a really lovely date and I hoped he wanted to see me again, too.
I don’t like the presumption that he has to buy me dinner for a number of reasons. Mostly I feel there’s an unspoken agreement that I owe him if he does. No-one would say that out loud, but I feel it and maybe he does too. He is not entitled to anything and I want to remove any chance this could be misconstrued.
We went home to my place and we laughed about stupid shit and ended up naked, as you do, kissing and touching. I have no problem getting intimate with someone I have only just met. If two people are down to get down, I don’t see the point in those rules about waiting for the third date. That seems like a game I have no interest in playing.
We texted, for a few days and it was fun and it was easy and he told me I was beautiful. He told me I was intriguing and I’d had an affect on him. I am usually dubious of expressions such as these, especially soon after meeting. It was nice though. To be talked to in that way and to be told that I was lovely and wanted. I felt attractive. I believed him.
I didn’t hear from him for a few days and that was confusing. I resisted the urge to text him and ask if he’d died and needed me to avenge his death. I told myself that he was probably busy and that was fine.
After three days, like Jesus, he rose again. His tone via text was clinical and distant and I was confused. I thought maybe I was reading into it too much. He came around and did some handy jobs around the house like he said he would. We hugged and he said it was good to see me. He kept me at a distance. He left and there was no kiss.
I felt anger more than confusion at his withdrawal. I felt we’d crossed a distance and become close and I deserved more than I was getting.
I wondered whether my falling into bed with him on the first night was my paying for dinner.