NaBloPoMo #20

A “worst date” story that I was going to tell at an event I didn’t attend.

I’m at university, and university is for experimenting. One of my frequent experiments was heading down to the LGBT bar (there was, as far as I knew, only one in the city) and making out with cute people.

And drinking. Drinking was an important part of my time at university.

So one evening I’m partaking of both. There’s this guy who’s yelled his name at me over, of all things, It’s Raining Men, but I’m drunk on the taste of his lips. And vodka. Between the two I can feel it’s time to go home before I do something silly.

Before I do we swap numbers and I get a text on the way home asking me for a recuperative hot drink in the morning with a suggestion of retiring back to bed if it’s too much.

Whose bed?

Well. Let’s flirt with that idea after the drink.

Didn’t charge my phone when I got in. Tell you the truth, didn’t even change out of my clothes. So when I woke up the next morning I plugged it in and saw a message…

I’m in the chocolate shop on Little Belmont St. Get here quick so I can get something hot inside you

“Cute guy”

…I panicked. That’s what I blame for the fact that I was halfway there before I realised I’d left my phone at home. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter that I’d have half an hour before I had to run to lectures. It didn’t matter that the only memory I had was smudged lips and eyes like winter and…hair, I think? There must have been hair, because I’d run my hands through it.

Thankfully, he was sitting at a table in full view of the door: at least as handsome as he’d been last night. No lipstick, but the most beautiful blue sweater.

I walked over, and I said:

I ran. I haven’t got long.

And he said,


And I said,

I ran here, and I have to go in half an hour, and I’d like to kiss you now.

I hadn’t meant to say that last part, but he was gazing at me with confusion and I was suddenly concerned that I was plain in daylight where I’d been alluring under stage lights. And he smirked, a little smirk that seemed to suggest this happened to him literally every second day, and he said,

Oh, sure.

And we kissed, and it was perfect. People should have been applauding that kiss. There should have been awards handed out.

Although to my embarrassment it turned out his name was Michael, not David, which is what I thought I’d heard last night.

He was funny as anything. He studied Oil and Gas Management, and he knew about how the Earth moved, and he drew the tectonic plates on my arm in delicate lines with a fine-nibbed pen he put back in his jacket pocket in this really fussy way I still remember.

I stayed an hour longer than I’d meant to and dragged him out with me when I finally forced myself to leave so I could kiss him in the street.

Weirdly I didn’t remember having to crane up so much the night before to kiss him, but I had also been on a table at one point. I’d picked up that habit aged 9 when I discovered I was as tall as I’d get.

I’ll be in touch, I said.

And he just raised an eyebrow and laughed this sort of – barking laughter.

Bet you won’t, he said.

And listen I love a challenge, right? I’m the kind of person who’s going to die because someone said, “Bet you can’t do a double somersault off the Empire State.” Motherfucker I’ll do it, and I’ll flip you the bird while I do it. Anyway. The point is, I hate being told I’m not going to do something, so I say:

I fucking will.

So when I got home that evening, having drafted and redrafted the text I was going to send, I want you to imagine my surprise to see these two texts from the cute guy:

Boooo, already left. Come find me at the beach 😉

“Cute guy, slightly pouty”

Seriously? Okay, rude, whatever

“Cute guy, very upset”

See, here’s the thing about cute guys. They’re actually not that rare, and they’ve all got very used to potato people like me hitting on them.

And my only consolation is this: that the smug dickhead in that chocolate shop doesn’t know this bit, and so his story about this encounter is much less funny than mine.

November is National Blog Posting Month, or NaBloPoMo. I’ll be endeavouring to write one blog post per day in the month of November 2019 – some short and sweet, others long and boring.

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