Tag Archives: text messages

So excited

The next day, Thursday, I wake up and within seconds I feel breathless. I want her, I want The Artist. I want to be with her, look into her eyes, hear her laugh, see her smile. I want to hold her hand in mine as we walk. I want to stop, cup her face with one hand and kiss her gently. Just thinking about those things makes me tremble inside; I’ve forgotten what that feels like. In truth, I’m a little scared because it feels like I’ve lost control. This is the effect she’s had on me. A rational, logical person would say that it’s only been one date and that I shouldn’t get carried away. My instincts tell me that she’s worth getting carried away for. I wonder how she feels?

I send her a text message at 7.05am bidding her a good morning. I offer a few words of support for something she’s not looking forward to doing at work. I make fun of the fact that we’re not strangers any more so it’s okay for us to talk on the phone, suggesting that we chat later in the evening. 22 minutes later she answers with a very long message, so she must have started texting me back straight away. She thanks me for my words of encouragement and says that ‘something’ will be distracting her today. Then she says that she would ‘love to chat’ and asks if she should let me know when she’s home.

Her last sentence makes me smile; women love a man to pursue them. I don’t want to do what other men do, so I respond by suggesting that she call me when she’s comfortable once back at home. I let her know that I have an idea for our next get-together. I deliberately don’t use the word ‘date’ because it is laced with pressure in so many women’s minds. I tap into a woman’s innate desire to tie up loose ends, satisfy their curiosity, that is why I’m deliberately vague and enticing about having ‘a plan’. It works.

Nine minutes later her response arrives, again much longer than mine and it ends with “Looking forward to talking to you and hearing your plan! X

My heart swells to bursting point. She really likes me.

I struggle to function properly the rest of the day. All I can think about is her. My thoughts and feelings of when I was with her on our date had a very limited sexual dynamic to it. Yes, I felt physically attracted to her, but my focus was solely on her as a person. Now, the next day, my thoughts regularly turn to wondering what making love to her would be like. I think it would be gentle and tender. The way she kisses tells me she is about love and not lust. She didn’t once use her tongue, even though I teased a little once at the end of the evening by sending forward a probing tongue on her lips.

So far the greatest physical negative is her being on the chubby side, but I can live with that. Having seen that she can out-eat me, perhaps I can be a helpful influence in that regard, but only if she wants to lose weight.

More than anything, I want to find out what her romantic fairytale idea is and then make it come true for her.

Later that night we chat and The Artist tells me that she is visiting friends in Cambridge for a party on Saturday and staying over. My plan involving the cablecar across the Thames, a visit to the Millennium Dome followed by a meal at a South African steak restaurant will have to wait for another day. Every ounce of my being tells me that that day is going to happen.

“I don’t suppose you fancy coming to Cambridge on Sunday?” she asks.

Teams of muscular wild horses being stung by wasps couldn’t keep me away! That’s what I say to myself.

“I’ll think about it,” is what I say to The Artist.

I call her at 8pm on Friday night on the pretence of wanting to chat with her, but deep down I know I want to find out if she’s on a date. My Trust Demon is tut-tutting at my enthusiasm and he demands that I take a moment to play safe. She answers my call but is on a bus home, so I ask her to phone me when she gets home and is okay to talk. “It’ll be about half an hour til I’m home,” she says. “That’s fine,” I say. I don’t know whether it was because she was on a bus or is having second thoughts about me, but she didn’t sound too pleased to hear from me. I assume it’s the bus.

Exactly half an hour later she calls me. I appreciate someone who does what they say they will do. She’s just arrived home and immediately phones me. I take that to show serious intent on her part. We make small talk and she sounds a bit upset or grumpy to me. I coax a little bit and she opens up. “I don’t want to bore you with this, but I’ve been having a bad time at work this week,” she starts, then launches into detail about her problems at work. I just listen and it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I guess that she has nobody to talk to this about, so I just let her vent. I’ve learned to not be the solution to whatever a woman is moaning about when it comes to her work.

Saturday 28th February 2015
I send her a text message at 8pm telling her that I hope she enjoys her party and takes embarrassing photos. I don’t expect to hear from her, the party should be well under way. Less than half an hour later she sends me a very lengthy text message that she must have started composing as soon as she read my message. She provides me with a postcode for me to find her friend’s house and suggest one-ish as a meeting time. That’s far earlier than I expected and I’m surprised and pleased.

Something I’ve learned to do is to pay attention to the length of woman’s a written response versus what I send her. If I send a lengthy message, whether it be an email or text message, and the response is short, it is an indicator that she’s not feeling particularly positively inclined towards me. If she matches the number of lines I write, then we’re in sync. If she answers with a much longer message it means she is feeling excited about me. The Artist’s very lengthy responses make me feel good. I get the impression that she’s very keen on me and struggling to hide it.

I’m battling to not come across as too keen too.

Pointer Sisters – I’m so excited

Interesting second date with Musician Gal

It was drizzling while I stood waiting outside the building where Musician Gal worked. It was 6pm and people were scurrying home, either carrying umbrellas or being fleet-footed, all with shoulders haunched, as if that would make any difference. I was excited about seeing Musician Gal again. Over the course of the day we had swapped text messages and had agreed to play the evening by ear, wandering where we felt like and doing what we felt like as the moment took us and the soggy weather allowed. I was looking forward to seeing how well we played together, having to suggest and then agree on something.

I’m also imbued with a sense of relief that Scots Lass, whom I’d met only hours earlier, was not The One. I had been curious about her, but now that she is as good as forgotten, I can focus on tonight’s date with Musician Gal. My thoughts are plagued though by Career Girl; what am I going to do about her? One woman at a time, I keep telling myself.

Musician Gal eventually came out of her building at 6.15, smartly dressed in a grey suit with colourful scarf. She was smiling and seemed pleased to see me. Once her frilly umbrella was opened, we huddled under it and she leaned on my arm. We walked towards the National Theatre on the Southbank, slowly carving our way through the rush-hour hordes – ‘the sheeple’ – as she called them. She had a bar in mind that she wanted to show me. It was part of the National Theatre building, but it was not obvious to find as only a nondescript office-door entrance led to it. Once inside it was a pleasant, modern venue, the atmosphere happily buzzing with theatre-goers having a meal and a drink before their show. We found a booth and waiter service promptly appeared. We ordered a cocktail for her and a cider for me. We sat side by side in the booth and settled in to making small talk. Our conversation was positive and upbeat. She was quite an excitable person and that was before our drinks arrived. I guess it was her ADHD on show.

A couple of elderly men came over to us and asked if they could share the booth with us as the place was full. I was enjoying having the booth to ourselves so that we could hear each other. I wanted to keep it that way and in an instant decided to dismiss their request politely but firmly. Before I could say a word Musician Gal took charge of the situation and shooed them away with little ceremony, which they did not appreciate, given their mutterings. Musician Gal was an alpha female, but this didn’t bother me. Being with women who are timid and weak gets to be a drag very quickly if I’m having to initiate, organise, say and do every little thing.

We were both getting hungry and the drinks had gone down easily. As we were leaving, it was obvious to me what the path to the exit was and I went that way. Musician Gal was convinced it was another way and she separated from me. I knew I was right and kept going the correct route and through a dividing glass panel I could see her reach a dead-end in the restaurant. I waited for her to catch up to me, musing over her being headstrong, wondering if this was a sign of trouble ahead. I knew that she had not seen enough of me to trust my judgement, so I thought nothing of it. Musician Gal caught up to me, making a pithy excuse about what had happened. I said nothing and we made our way out on to the Southbank with her leaning heavily on my arm, hobbling more than earlier.

Intent on finding somewhere good to eat, we investigated a few of the dining options available to us. The rush-hour crowds had disappeared and the rain had abated. It was getting dark and I was getting hungry. The obvious choice of restaurants to my mind was a prominent pizzeria. Someone (probably another date) had told me that they did good pizzas in there, so I was curious to find out. Musician Gal wasn’t satisfied with this and we milled about looking at other places, which annoyed my hunger pangs a bit. Eventually she agreed that the pizzeria was the best option so we ended up back there.

She went off to the ladies, I ordered us drinks and when she returned we chose and ordered our pizzas. After some small talk about food and wine (one of her favourite topics) we got down to some serious talking. She described to me how she wanted her future to be. In great detail she told me how she wanted to be married and living in a house in the countryside somewhere, anywhere, as long as it had a good sized garden, preferably with a stream as one of it’s boundaries. There would be a dog and a cat involved.

“I would like to spend my days baking, cooking, sewing, making hats and jewellery. In the evenings we would sit in a hammock and drink wine. I wouldn’t go off to work unless I wanted to,” she says to me.

This last stipulation made me wonder if she was looking for a man with money. Musician Gal was obviously in the mood for some brutal honesty and started telling me about her previous relationships. This involved no prompting on my part and I was pleased by this unsolicited display of honesty. I took it to mean that she was taking me seriously and was wanting to lay her cards on the table.

She recounted a plethora of relationships and flings, all of which seemed very short-lived, but I made no comment on this for fear of seeming judgemental, so I just listened. Her longest relationship had lasted 5 years, which seems to be the norm nowadays. My last relationship had lasted that long too.

Of all the details she provided, the following story typifies what she told me. She met a colonel in the army. They saw each other for 6 months, but did not have sex in that time. He was posted to Afghanistan for a brief period in that time, after which he took her away on holiday twice. Once was to Australia and Singapore, with the second being South Africa. They stayed in hotels together, slept in the same bed and did not once make love. She says that towards the end of their time together, he proposed to her, but she was not inclined to say yes. This wasn’t the only story she told me that involved “seeing” someone for many months, but never actually made love.

What the fuck? Who does that?! What was she playing at? I didn’t ask her to elaborate, largely because I was mildly stunned and confused by this behaviour trait. I couldn’t help but wonder if she would do that with me.

The conversation moved on to more mundane topics and we’re having fun again. Banter flows like a wild river and we make each other laugh. Before we knew it we were the last patrons in the restaurant and staff were loudly closing up. We left and entered a darkened London, the Thames air cool and few people about. I walked her to London Bridge Station and in it’s cavernous concourse we found a quiet corner where we kissed like teenagers. She made negative comments about my light stubble giving her a rash, but I laughed this off. We bade our farewells and went to our respective platforms.

On the train home I mulled over the events, confessions rather, of the evening. Her relationship style and history didn’t sit too well with me, but given my shenanigans of the past year, I couldn’t get judgemental. I appreciated her honesty. She seemed quite headstrong and I could see us having blazing fights. Nevertheless I still wanted to see more of her and get to know her. There was a serious prospect of a relationship with her and I was excited about that. Yes, I wanted to fuck her, dodgy knee and all. So doggy-style was out of the question. No big deal, lots of positions in my repertoire. There is no way that a normal man, let alone a man like me, would want to have a relationship with a woman that he did not find attractive. That lust factor just has to be there and with Musician Gal it’s there, along with that elusive electric chemistry.

When I got home she had sent me a text message which read:

Fabulous evening, handsome man. Hope you didn’t have too much of a trek home? I would love to be lying on your chest right now xxx

During the date we had made a plan to get together on the coming weekend. It was my town’s farmer’s market on the Sunday and I wanted to do my usual cooking-for-a-woman thing. Career Girl was away for work the coming weekend so I decided to speed things up and my text message read:

The market is only on on the Sunday. Naughty idea: I come and fetch you Saturday, saving your knee for a stroll. That night I make you a risotto. I introduce you to Californication, which you will want to watch all night. When tired you slump against me, my cue to carry you to bed. I wrap my arms around you to keep you safe and warm. We do not make love. In the morning we get to the market early and then I or we prepare what we bought. The weekend ends with me driving you home in my sports car…what you reckon? How does that sound?

Her response: “Super!!!! Xxx

I was totally sincere about not making love on our first night together. I can and have done that. I did, however, want to make love to her and was thinking it would be on the Sunday at some point. On the Thursday I sent her my “converter message”, the one that ramps up the sexual tension to breaking point for a woman, the one that ends “…I reckon you taste sweeter than you realize...”

I was blown away by her response which arrived 23 minutes later.

I’m looking forward to the hugs, lying in your strong embrace and feeling the power of your body which essentially does it for me; I love the power of man. Get it right and I’ll be putty in your hands. Ps warning: I am not a morning person. Meow! X

Snow Patrol – In My Arms