Monday, 14 May 2012

I admit to disappointment

It's been a bit quiet on my blog this past five days. I know why. There has been something I haven't wanted to share. It's this: I had another date with Alan. I went over to his flat for dinner. It was a nice dinner. He made lasagne and I brought wine. Afterward we went to his bedroom. We lay on his bed and chatted. After a while we stopped chatting and started kissing. Some time after that we had sex. For me it was unremarkable and lacked passion or edge. It was nice but it wasn't exciting. It felt a bit like being a teenager again, when you're getting off with someone just for the sake of it, just because you can. I don't feel as though I have a proper erotic connection with Alan yet. I think I slept with him too quickly before I'd had time to look forward to it or decide whether I wanted to.

What a harlot... I'm not saying that I won't see Alan again. He's definitely a nice guy. It's just that I don't know exactly when I will see him again. Not this week; maybe next week? Maybe. I don't feel much urgency about it. This is probably going to be an occasional rather than a regular thing. Unless I try to change it, of course, shake it up and say: authenticity or nothing!

I explain it all to Virgil, in the new spirit of communication and as-full-as-we-can disclosure. He gives me a hug. 'Why is it,' I say, 'that when sex is literally there on the menu it becomes less exciting? There's no urgency. No thrill of expectation or chemistry. At least a-coffee-and-a-fuck dates are fun because you're being naughty and bunking off gainful employment. Daytime sex always feels a bit exciting by virtue of that alone.'

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