London is the greatest place on Earth to be single – that’s what I’ve read recently. That might be true, but it depends what you are looking for.
During the last few months I met a couple of guys. I was chatted up on a train, underground, in a shop, in a park, and of course in clubs and bars. However, after having just short conversations I found out that those hotties had either serious issues, or simply didn’t know how to talk to women. So, I met a very handsome but a very shy boy who claimed that women didn’t fancy him (uhm hello! have you looked in the mirror recently?!) and he was afraid of making a ‘connection’ (he told me that after few minutes – weirdo!), then there was a guy who texted me for a while and when finally we were about to meet he said that he didn’t want to go out with me, cause I was a stranger (I say whaaat?), and finally a really decent 29 year old who (after I told him I was moving to Thailand) said that I wasn’t serious about life and that life in Asia was not a real life (and that just put me off completely). There were of course men who wanted to snog me after 5 minutes of conversation etc. etc.
Men are just weird!
After all those experiences I decided that I was no longer looking for a date. I was not ready for any kind of relationship. I would have used some sexy time, but I could have easily done without men in my life. But sometimes when you don’t look, it just comes to you unexpectedly.
I met the American Boy in one of my favourite clubs, in fumes of mojitos and loud music. Because of those fumes I didn’t exactly remember how he looked like, or what his name was. Nevertheless, I knew that there was something different about him, so I agreed to meet him a few days after.
Remember that this was my first date in 10 years. I was so nervous I had drank a glass of whiskey before I left (to those, who want to criticise – yes, I realise I might have a problem with alcohol).
When I entered the pub, where he was waiting for me, my jaw dropped. He was fucking handsome! ‘Are you for real?’ I thought to myself. He was a man that was just taken out of my dreams – I’m not exaggerating. He was tall with dark hair and brown eyes. A short beard covered his rather perfect cheekbones. He smiled a lot, showing a set of the whitest teeth I had seen in my life. While we chatted I kept looking at his broad shoulders, thinking of what I would find underneath that t-shirt..does he have any tattoos? Is his chest hairy? Honestly, I don’t even remember what we talked about…
Oh, wait! I remember him asking me if I ever wanted to get married. ‘NO!’ I replied, maybe a bit too quickly.
I had two beers with him (yes, alcohol problem, I know!) and started to feel a little dizzy. I excused myself and went to the toilet, where I closed myself in a cubicle and dialed M’s number.
‘M! He’s handsome, and funny and…and…fucking shit! What do I do?’ – I was a bit drunk and panicky, and started to think that I would never ever get out of that toilet again. Why? Because I was (I am) insecure and didn’t (don’t) have much experience with men in general. I was also scared with my own emotions.
‘Calm down! You don’t need to do anything with him. It’s just a date, a chat, maybe a kiss’ – she said calmly. ‘A kiss? Jesus…’ I moaned.
I left that cubicle a bit shaky. We walked along a deserted street talking a little. And let me tell you – that kiss I was worried about wasn’t bad at all!
The American Boy told me his name was John. He also gave me his surname and place of work. He was not only handsome, but successful, interesting and fun to be around. He sounds like a keeper, right? Maybe he was…But I was lying in my bed that night thinking what I wanted from this whole thing. I didn’t want relationship. He was leaving for the States in few days anyway, so there was no point in all of this. So, the next day I texted him and made what is known as a booty call.
Because my family and friends are reading this, I will save you the details. Let me just mention that he didn’t have any tattoos, if you get my drift.
After that, he was gone from my life, but this adventure gave me a great sense of liberation, and a feeling of strength I hadn’t felt for so long. It made me realise that I did this because I felt like it and only I will be responsible for any consequences.
The next day he sent me a good-bye text: ‘So, I’m off. It was lovely to meet you. Enjoy London till you can. If I’m ever in Thailand I will give you a holler’.
It made me sad, but this is not that bitter end yet.
After pondering about it, I decided to google him (warning to all the ladies: don’t take me as an example. Don’t do it!). I searched by his name, surname, place of work. Nothing. Finally, I found him by just putting his surname and place of work in Google and in this way I found out that his real name wasn’t John. Well, not a big deal right? Then I found his Facebook account, where in his profile picture he was holding a little baby boy (!!) I stopped there. I really didn’t want to know whose child this was and if the photo was taken by the American Boy’s wife.
I was furious and felt cheated. I wanted to buy a ticket to New York (which would have been a perfect opportunity for another trip by the way), find him and fucking smash his pretty face against something.
And that’s the bitter end.
But, I gave myself a few days to cool off and now I just treat it as another experience, another step to get over this divorce drama and make me stronger. I don’t dwell on the fact that he lied to me, or that he might have fathered a whole football team. His life, his problem. I actually cherish those moments and wouldn’t change anything (well, except that drinking and sitting in the toilet bits).
If our paths cross again I will call him by his real name – I bet his face expression will be priceless.