Telling this story requires me to swallow a huge humility-pill and dig deep to forgive my former self.
If I replay the first date with Asshole in my mind now, I see dozens of red flags. To keep a single post from turning into an entire chapter, let’s just stroll back through memory lane to that first hour or so we were together.
After chatting for hours and hours every night for two weeks, Asshole and I were finally going to meet. Conversation with him was always interesting and he got my nerdy jokes and even added to them. Normally my obscure humour receives blank stares and silence. On those rare occasions I find somebody who even gets it, let alone can add to it, I am hooked. I was so excited to meet this brilliant person I had been getting to know and I hoped there was a spark in person.
In the day or two leading up to actually meeting he emphasized how important punctuality was for him. I warned him time was a somewhat more abstract concept in my world and I would be coming to him after a business meeting that had the potential to run late. The day of, he kept checking via text and a couple brief calls for my estimated arrival time. It seemed sweet and I could sense his anxiety, but his tone also had a hint of irritation that he could not control my comings and goings so absolutely.
I told him not to stress. I would message when I arrived and he lived just a few minute walk away so he could meet me then. He agreed almost not begrudgingly.
When I actually pulled into the agreed upon location and found a parking spot in the shade, I messaged and waited. He arrived much quicker than I anticipated so I was still scrolling on my phone and confirming to my Boo that I had arrived safely and would check in later.
I turned to look out the window and was greeted by a lanky man, with gelled back dark curls wearing mulberry slacks and some sort of draped, knee-length linen…thing. His round glasses combined with wide-eyed anxiety made him look a bit like an insect above his mask and there was a bag slung over his shoulder.
I smiled at him as I greeted him and his eyes slid back into his sockets as he took a deep breath. Oh! There’s the music-man I’ve been falling for, I thought and breathed a sigh of relief. He was sexy and quirky and charming again. (Anxiety is a bitch.)
I can’t remember the first words he said to me in person because he slid his mask off as he was saying them.
Umm. What?! No. Really?! What happened there?
Staring me in the face was what appeared to be a bad case of meth-mouth. This is a definite deal breaker for me. Why did a man who claimed to have a PhD from the University of Toronto, work for the Stratford Festival, have about $5 million in trust, and have amazing health benefits have missing and blackened teeth? That’s easy enough to fix in 2021. With enough money, they’ll even sedate you while they do it.
There was zero indication of the obvious dental issue before arriving and it is normally something I asked point-blank before even agreeing to a coffee date with previous matches but I just never would have imagined it was even something I needed to worry about from the rest of the picture he’d painted of himself and his life.
Well, I’m already here and my childcare is taken care of. Might as well go for a walk, feed some ducks, and check out the city with a free tour-guide. I know the conversation is good. One day of fun won’t hurt.
He handed me a single white rose, signed with our nicknames. I smiled, awkwardly I’m sure, and held it close.
Wow … Wow … So sweet and cute! … Now what do I do with this? What’s the etiquette here?
We’d discussed before hand the possibility of me staying the night (sex not necessary), especially if we went for dinner and drank some wine, so I did have an overnight bag. He asked if I wanted to bring it back with me or grab it later when we moved my vehicle to a different parking spot.
I smiled but my eyes wandered back to the teeth.
“We can get it later,” he said cheerfully. Then he assured me his friend, whom he was letting stay with him as a favour until he found a different housing situation as he transferred work positions (so he told me), would be out of the apartment for a while and we could go back there and chat. He also said he had just come from work and wanted to change.
Oh! I can leave the flower there so I don’t have to carry the poor thing all over Stratford in this heat. It will wilt if I do that.
I agreed to go with him. My Boo would scold me and tell me that’s how you end up on the ID channel. The stairwell up to his door had torn wallpaper from three different eras exposed and the stairs themselves could have used some attention.
Umm…maybe I should turn back now. Between the teeth and the apparent crack den, he almost lost me.
I’ve never been accused of having a good poker face. He read it with the ease of a children’s story and his wit came to his rescue.
“I know the stairway is a bit Baghdad bombing chic, but I promise my apartment is much nicer,” Asshole said and smiled at me. His green eyes sparkled.
Ok – He’s clearly sober regardless of the housing situation and there’s that wit I love. Lets see this apartment which is in an incredibly convenient and beautiful location.
In his apartment, we sat in his living room. It was mostly giving me grandma vibes with antique floral armchairs and a jewel-toned couch. An old, dark-stained wooden end table was piled high with various magazines including Martha Stewart’s mag. He said most of his things had been hastily tossed in a storage unit when things in his life turned south suddenly but, due to a series of traumatic events and health concerns, and he had moved into this apartment to bridge the gap and it was implied this furniture was gifted or picked up cheaply second hand.
That much was believable – at least the second part.
While sitting in the living room, he gave me a small gift wrapped in purple wrapping paper. Purple is my favourite and he knew it. I held it for a moment, unsure what to do. He was standing there with me so I placed it on the entertainment stand first and asked if I could have a hug before anything else. We’d been as chaste as middle schoolers going to homecoming
He agreed and we hugged. He smelled good and my head nestled nicely on his chest. I sighed happily. It felt…good.
He bowed his head and nuzzled my neck a little and I slid up on my tippy toes to return the favour. Our lips met briefly but repeatedly and gently. Then mine trailed down his jaw to his neck and ear lobe.
I could feel his growing enthusiasm as we were still hugging. I can’t remember the phrasing but he made some joke about he wasn’t going to make it if we didn’t stop. There was visible pre-cum. He had to change now whether he wanted to or not. I chuckled like the school girl he’d accused me of not being.
He reiterated his room mate was gone for a while.
Mm-hm…and?… (I knew what “and” was.)
We chatted a bit about what we could do for the rest of the day. A walk and feeding the geese was definitely part of it, but we hadn’t decided where to eat dinner yet. I was not terribly hungry and the thought of food at all at that time felt a little strange and made my stomach do a jig. We agreed to discuss dinner more on our walk and then he got up to go change.
He asked if I wanted a tour of the place so I followed.
Dining room.
Bathroom.
Kitchen.
“And here’s my bedroom,” he said stepping in and gesturing me to follow.
It was a long room in a building at least one century old. Given the placement of two doors (for one room?) and some exposed pipes equidistance between them, I strongly suspect it used to be two bedrooms and the wall was simply torn down at some point.
He had an air conditioning unit in the corner by the window and a simple wooden chair. At the other end of the room was an antique white dresser and two twin box springs with a queen mattress on top for a bed.
I guess the bed is in storage too? Man, I would at least take my bed. Sleep is important. Maybe the mattress is grand.
He asked if I wanted to see the speedos he’d told me about before.
“Sure!”
“Do you want me to model them?”
Uhhhh… “If you want,” I said and shrugged. I can’t say male swimwear, no matter how baggy or skimpy, ever did much for me one way or another.
He pulled the two speedos out of the drawer and laid them on the bed for me to see. One was nautical themed and more of a boy short cut. I have underwear that skimpy.
The other was a bright pink male bikini cut. I don’t honestly think this one will contain him after what I just learned.
He read my face again, I vowed not to ever play poker for more than candy and he agreed the pink one didn’t leave much to the imagination.
We never actually got to him modelling the speedos but he did start pulling out clothes to change. I wouldn’t call myself a prude by any stretch of the imagination and naked bodies don’t phase me one way or another so when he indicated I could stay it just discreetly looked the other way but didn’t feel compelled to leave either.
When he got down to his skivvies he indicated he really wanted me to see. I didn’t want to see that much yet. He walked up to me, somewhat close but not threatening at all, in nothing but his lime green briefs.
I looked him up and down and smiled but as he hooked his thumbs in the waist band I trained my eyes on his and did not move them.
“I will unwrap my presents and enjoy my gifts when I am ready,” I said smiling coyly at him and holding his eyes the whole time. (The double entendre there was brilliant but 100% accidental.) I have no idea what he was doing below his collarbones, which were the extent of my peripheral vision.
He teased me and asked why I wouldn’t look and I just nodded and said no. Then I left them room.
The last thing I saw at that moment was him smiling at me. He seemed simultaneously annoyed and impressed and it would not be the last time I got that reaction from him for various things.
He met me back out in the living room where I had taken a seat on the couch and was scrolling through my phone waiting for him to finish changing.
He kept smiling at me with the most flirtatious grin. I said ‘no’ – and for now he liked it – so he was chasing.
We chatted a bit before he insisted I at least unwrap the other gift.
“I guess I can manage that,” I chuckled, but then blushed and became noticably uncomfortable.
I unwrapped the small purple package and inside were some pearl earrings on simple silver dangle clasps. The pearls were imperfect, which made them even more perfect to me. I like things a little imperfect in general. They were simultaneously classic and a little unconventional.
Woah! Jewelry?! Um…this is big. But also if he’s as wealthy as he claims, simple pearl earrings aren’t such a big deal. If this is how men with this level of wealth want to woo, just say ‘thank you’. Remember when Ewan from Oxford University in England gave you wine that’s like $300 a bottle the first time he met you? Just go with it, Varity.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling meekly and running my fingers over the small, round stones. I felt like he really understood me from that simple gift. He folded his long, slender legs and then his arms and told me I was welcome and he hoped I liked them. I assured him I did. Then I sat them next to me on the couch.
I loved them actually and may even buy myself a pair someday, but I still felt uncomfortable receiving such a gift so soon. Right or wrong, jewelry feels to me like a gift you “earn” in a relationship.
So there we sat across from each other in his living room
Now what?
“So, are you going to show me your tour guide skills?” I asked.
“Yes!” He sprang lithely from his chair, we donned our shoes and exited via the Baghdad-bombing-chic stairwell onto a busy downtown street in Stratford, lined with lots of little shops and places to eat.
Truth and Recovery 