Dating notes: I did a bad, bad thing. Yeah, I'm horrible and I know it.
TL;DR version: I blew off one date while he was waiting for me in the restaurant to accept a last-minute date with Brian. We had a great time.
Thursday was a hard day for me as it marked the three-month anniversary of Phil leaving me. Despite that anniversary, I had a date set up for Thursday evening but I wasn't looking forward to it. Not because of the man--he is pleasant enough--but I was just very depressed.
I left work, weighed in at Weight Watchers (down another pound for a total of 36 pounds since January!), gave some moral support to a couple of other members who were struggling and came home to quickly walk the dog and change into a date dress. I chose my go-to black lace-up bondage dress that I always feel sensual in, hoping it would lift my sad mood.
My dinner date was to take place at a restaurant 10 minutes from my house.
So at ten minutes to 8:00 pm I gather up my kit and start to leave the apartment. My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It's Brian. Brian, whom I haven't dated in like six weeks, and whose last communiqué (outside of Facebook) was a seriously-great breakup text which I received when I was already deep in dating Walter.
Here's the exchange. Read it while I go duck my head in shame.
That's right. I called my other date, who was already seated and waiting for me at the restaurant down the street, invented an excuse (sick dog, must rush Jesse to the emergency vet), and accepted Brian's "better" date.
I felt horrible, of course, because I'm not the sort of woman who would ever do that (or ever have two dates, for that matter). But I did it, and then I was petrified that I would run into the non-Brian date in the métro because if he left the restaurant to return home, he'd be on the exact métro line as me, line 8. So I tried to hide myself in the métro car until I knew I was safely out of that zone.
Now, onto the FANTASTIC DATE with Brian.
We meet in front of Le Grand Rex and Brian suggests we go over to a nearby cafe to get a pre-concert drink while we catch up. He knows I only drink cider or champagne so it's champagne for two. I fill him in on the Walter story, showing Brian a photo of Walter. It turns out the Brian had not only worked with Walter on a short project, but did know him from the Paris-Glasgow EasyJet flight. "He's a bold guy, right? Kinda bossy? Works for Saipem?" Yeah yeah. He was sorry to hear about what a dick Walter was and reiterated that I was great and deserved a great man. I sensed that Brian was no longer dating his girl back in Glasgow but didn't ask. In any case, Brian leaves Paris next week--his project is finished--to return to Glasgow for the summer, after which he moves on to a project in Nigeria. "Nigeria!" I exclaim. "Home of internet scammers!" "I go where the oil is," he replied.
The concert hall is filling so we leave the café. Oh, Brian did this thing I forgot about him---he was always very paternal with me, buttoning my coat for me, or holding my stuff. He asks if I need to use the restroom before the concert begins (as if I'm a little kid!) and then holds my purse for me while I go. I find this very sweet and not at all odd. "Don't steal anything," I joke.
We have great seats, of course, because Brian is super rich. We are in the orchestra section, huge leather seats with a headrest like you have in a planetarium because the Grand Rex is this masterpiece of Art Deco architecture with all sorts of things going on everywhere--like the ceiling, where there are lit stars to give you the impression you are in an open-air amphitheatre. (This will be an important detail later, bear with me.)
Champagne. And big big music and sexy dancing.
Brian goes and gets us more champagne (in France they sell glasses of champagne during concerts, ballets and operas) and we settle in and talk before the group comes on. We talk about our kids, his moving around constantly ("I'm glad you are here in Paris", he tells me, "so I know I always have a friend here to visit."), some curriculum I'm developing for a course called The Art of War.
The group we are there to hear, St Germain, used to be a jazz group but they are now afrobeat/world music and they are simply excellent. They come on in outfitted in their funky traditional African dress and interesting instruments and begin to play. It's just big big sound that takes you to another place. I'm feeling loved and cared for with Brian and I'm digging every single moment, especially because I've got a champagne buzz going (and of course I hadn't eaten dinner because I blew off the dinner date) and the music is trippy and there's a huge dope haze settling mid-height in the concert hall that Brian and I laugh about and I'm crossing and uncrossing my legs enjoying how thin they feel and Brian puts his hand on my knee (probably to get me to stop fidgetting) and I'm so very glad I'm not so fat anymore.
The music ramps up into some serious afro funk and we rise from our seats and start to dance. Because I know that Brian and I are not going to end up in bed, I allow myself to move in front of him and dance fitting my backside into his body. He puts his arms around me, probably knowing what I am doing is merely cockteasing him but he plays along like we are still a dating couple. This is super sexy music, music that lends itself to dancing like you are fucking your partner, and hey I'm happy and don't care that I'm not the original date or that Brian had another girlfriend or that he is leaving next week. I just felt free and good and beautiful.
We danced like that all night (argh, more blisters the next day) and when the concert ended, Brian said "let's just get one more glass of champagne before the metro shuts down." So we returned to the original bar we had been at and Brian ordered two more glasses and had a cigarette.
We talked and laughed and I admitted to Brian that I had lied to him on our first date when I told him that I'd been single for three months. "The night I met you? I'd just been dumped two weeks before."..."I know," he said. "We're Facebook friends, remember? I read your post a couple of weeks ago, when you announced that Phil had left you." I explained why I had lied to him, that I didn't want him to not want to date me because of how newly-single I was. It didn't matter to him. "I like you Shelby. I REALLY like you. I'm sorry we didn't work out but I think I wasn't ready for you, and you may not have been ready for me. But I really do like you and anytime you want to come to Glasgow, I'd love to have you." Oh sweet Brian. "You know Brian, you were the first man I dated after Philippe. I have to tell you--that you were pure grace. I was so lucky that you were my first. You are a gentleman, you always listen to what I had to say, you remember everything, and we always had the best time together."
So after that honesty-festival, it was well past midnight and we needed to get the métro before it shut down. We were both taking the 8 but on different platforms, so we descended into the belly of Paris (Emile Zola reference) and stopped to say goodbye before separating towards the different stairwells. Brian pulls me towards him and I hug him tight, giving him the French one-two cheek kisses. Oh he smells good, like sweat and steel and his brand of tender masculinity. I would have gone home with him and fucked him a million ways to Sunday had he asked me. "Oh Shelby" he said but I wasn't sure why. I backed away, kind of tiptoeing backwards, still facing Brian with a huge smile on my face. And then on impulse I advanced towards him and kissed him. Kissed him for real. A lovely long kiss like we used to do, me rising up on my little kitten heels to meet his mouth better and him slipping his hand inside my raincoat to grab my waist and pull me into him.
We stopped at that. I turned around and went down my stairwell and Brian went down his.
And that night, karma kicked in: Jesse got very sick and pooped all over the living room. Of course. Because no lie ever goes unpunished.
Thursday was a hard day for me as it marked the three-month anniversary of Phil leaving me. Despite that anniversary, I had a date set up for Thursday evening but I wasn't looking forward to it. Not because of the man--he is pleasant enough--but I was just very depressed.
I left work, weighed in at Weight Watchers (down another pound for a total of 36 pounds since January!), gave some moral support to a couple of other members who were struggling and came home to quickly walk the dog and change into a date dress. I chose my go-to black lace-up bondage dress that I always feel sensual in, hoping it would lift my sad mood.
My dinner date was to take place at a restaurant 10 minutes from my house.
So at ten minutes to 8:00 pm I gather up my kit and start to leave the apartment. My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It's Brian. Brian, whom I haven't dated in like six weeks, and whose last communiqué (outside of Facebook) was a seriously-great breakup text which I received when I was already deep in dating Walter.
Here's the exchange. Read it while I go duck my head in shame.
That's right. I called my other date, who was already seated and waiting for me at the restaurant down the street, invented an excuse (sick dog, must rush Jesse to the emergency vet), and accepted Brian's "better" date.
I felt horrible, of course, because I'm not the sort of woman who would ever do that (or ever have two dates, for that matter). But I did it, and then I was petrified that I would run into the non-Brian date in the métro because if he left the restaurant to return home, he'd be on the exact métro line as me, line 8. So I tried to hide myself in the métro car until I knew I was safely out of that zone.
Now, onto the FANTASTIC DATE with Brian.
We meet in front of Le Grand Rex and Brian suggests we go over to a nearby cafe to get a pre-concert drink while we catch up. He knows I only drink cider or champagne so it's champagne for two. I fill him in on the Walter story, showing Brian a photo of Walter. It turns out the Brian had not only worked with Walter on a short project, but did know him from the Paris-Glasgow EasyJet flight. "He's a bold guy, right? Kinda bossy? Works for Saipem?" Yeah yeah. He was sorry to hear about what a dick Walter was and reiterated that I was great and deserved a great man. I sensed that Brian was no longer dating his girl back in Glasgow but didn't ask. In any case, Brian leaves Paris next week--his project is finished--to return to Glasgow for the summer, after which he moves on to a project in Nigeria. "Nigeria!" I exclaim. "Home of internet scammers!" "I go where the oil is," he replied.
The concert hall is filling so we leave the café. Oh, Brian did this thing I forgot about him---he was always very paternal with me, buttoning my coat for me, or holding my stuff. He asks if I need to use the restroom before the concert begins (as if I'm a little kid!) and then holds my purse for me while I go. I find this very sweet and not at all odd. "Don't steal anything," I joke.
We have great seats, of course, because Brian is super rich. We are in the orchestra section, huge leather seats with a headrest like you have in a planetarium because the Grand Rex is this masterpiece of Art Deco architecture with all sorts of things going on everywhere--like the ceiling, where there are lit stars to give you the impression you are in an open-air amphitheatre. (This will be an important detail later, bear with me.)
Champagne. And big big music and sexy dancing.
Brian goes and gets us more champagne (in France they sell glasses of champagne during concerts, ballets and operas) and we settle in and talk before the group comes on. We talk about our kids, his moving around constantly ("I'm glad you are here in Paris", he tells me, "so I know I always have a friend here to visit."), some curriculum I'm developing for a course called The Art of War.
Click to viewThe group we are there to hear, St Germain, used to be a jazz group but they are now afrobeat/world music and they are simply excellent. They come on in outfitted in their funky traditional African dress and interesting instruments and begin to play. It's just big big sound that takes you to another place. I'm feeling loved and cared for with Brian and I'm digging every single moment, especially because I've got a champagne buzz going (and of course I hadn't eaten dinner because I blew off the dinner date) and the music is trippy and there's a huge dope haze settling mid-height in the concert hall that Brian and I laugh about and I'm crossing and uncrossing my legs enjoying how thin they feel and Brian puts his hand on my knee (probably to get me to stop fidgetting) and I'm so very glad I'm not so fat anymore.
The music ramps up into some serious afro funk and we rise from our seats and start to dance. Because I know that Brian and I are not going to end up in bed, I allow myself to move in front of him and dance fitting my backside into his body. He puts his arms around me, probably knowing what I am doing is merely cockteasing him but he plays along like we are still a dating couple. This is super sexy music, music that lends itself to dancing like you are fucking your partner, and hey I'm happy and don't care that I'm not the original date or that Brian had another girlfriend or that he is leaving next week. I just felt free and good and beautiful.
We danced like that all night (argh, more blisters the next day) and when the concert ended, Brian said "let's just get one more glass of champagne before the metro shuts down." So we returned to the original bar we had been at and Brian ordered two more glasses and had a cigarette.
We talked and laughed and I admitted to Brian that I had lied to him on our first date when I told him that I'd been single for three months. "The night I met you? I'd just been dumped two weeks before."..."I know," he said. "We're Facebook friends, remember? I read your post a couple of weeks ago, when you announced that Phil had left you." I explained why I had lied to him, that I didn't want him to not want to date me because of how newly-single I was. It didn't matter to him. "I like you Shelby. I REALLY like you. I'm sorry we didn't work out but I think I wasn't ready for you, and you may not have been ready for me. But I really do like you and anytime you want to come to Glasgow, I'd love to have you." Oh sweet Brian. "You know Brian, you were the first man I dated after Philippe. I have to tell you--that you were pure grace. I was so lucky that you were my first. You are a gentleman, you always listen to what I had to say, you remember everything, and we always had the best time together."
So after that honesty-festival, it was well past midnight and we needed to get the métro before it shut down. We were both taking the 8 but on different platforms, so we descended into the belly of Paris (Emile Zola reference) and stopped to say goodbye before separating towards the different stairwells. Brian pulls me towards him and I hug him tight, giving him the French one-two cheek kisses. Oh he smells good, like sweat and steel and his brand of tender masculinity. I would have gone home with him and fucked him a million ways to Sunday had he asked me. "Oh Shelby" he said but I wasn't sure why. I backed away, kind of tiptoeing backwards, still facing Brian with a huge smile on my face. And then on impulse I advanced towards him and kissed him. Kissed him for real. A lovely long kiss like we used to do, me rising up on my little kitten heels to meet his mouth better and him slipping his hand inside my raincoat to grab my waist and pull me into him.
We stopped at that. I turned around and went down my stairwell and Brian went down his.
And that night, karma kicked in: Jesse got very sick and pooped all over the living room. Of course. Because no lie ever goes unpunished.