Yesterday, my first new date in four years. Lunch at the Wolseley. I knew I'd scored a hit when he ordered the oysters. This man is feeling fruity, I thought, and being of a certain age, any help is welcome. This perception was borne out when, resting in Green Park between outings, he lunged. And very nice it was too. Though odd. Because at Writers' Group on Friday, we'd discussed the first kiss. The almost painful excitement of will-he-won't-he, and the electric charge as heads knock together and mouths meet. Add to that mix the fear, from lack of practice, that you'll end up with your tongue in their nostril or dislodging a bit of gnarled brandy snap that's invisibly lodged in your newly flossed teeth, and what you have is an almighty adrenaline high. But there was none of it. It felt as if I'd been kissing the man all my life. Is that good or bad? And were the nose-numbing Bloody Marys to blame? Afterwards we went to Chelsea for an evening of popular classics at Cadogan Hall. Here, we held hands and each took it in turns to nod off as the room was overheating, the music was mellow, and there's sod all else to do when you're at a concert really, unless the violinist is so hot that you can't take your eyes off his finger movements. A short dinner and a second snog followed. Will there, I wonder, be a second date? Walking home, I ran into the owner of our local nightclub who's recently had a health scare. "Everything's fine," he said, "But it sent me into a spin, thinking of all the things I should have done and wanted to do. Then I realised I had done them, or was planning to." I gave him a hug, glad he's better, and glad that he, like me, has no regrets, even if, occasionally, he, like me, has made a total tit of himself;-)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Yesterday, my first new date in four years. Lunch at the Wolseley. I knew I'd scored a hit when he ordered the oysters. This man is feeling fruity, I thought, and being of a certain age, any help is welcome. This perception was borne out when, resting in Green Park between outings, he lunged. And very nice it was too. Though odd. Because at Writers' Group on Friday, we'd discussed the first kiss. The almost painful excitement of will-he-won't-he, and the electric charge as heads knock together and mouths meet. Add to that mix the fear, from lack of practice, that you'll end up with your tongue in their nostril or dislodging a bit of gnarled brandy snap that's invisibly lodged in your newly flossed teeth, and what you have is an almighty adrenaline high. But there was none of it. It felt as if I'd been kissing the man all my life. Is that good or bad? And were the nose-numbing Bloody Marys to blame? Afterwards we went to Chelsea for an evening of popular classics at Cadogan Hall. Here, we held hands and each took it in turns to nod off as the room was overheating, the music was mellow, and there's sod all else to do when you're at a concert really, unless the violinist is so hot that you can't take your eyes off his finger movements. A short dinner and a second snog followed. Will there, I wonder, be a second date? Walking home, I ran into the owner of our local nightclub who's recently had a health scare. "Everything's fine," he said, "But it sent me into a spin, thinking of all the things I should have done and wanted to do. Then I realised I had done them, or was planning to." I gave him a hug, glad he's better, and glad that he, like me, has no regrets, even if, occasionally, he, like me, has made a total tit of himself;-)
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3 comments:
Being a man of a certain age, I find the first kiss can be awkward. On the basis that people don't like nasty surprises, I have adopted the rule of always asking "Can I kiss you?" usually accompanied by touching the lady on the chin.
Any comments on that approach?
Except, the eroticism of the first kiss is embedded in that awkwardness: what makes it erotic is that it's inevitable and yet unexpected. To ask permission is to give warning, and while the premise is flattering, and therefore will set a heart fluttering, it removes the urgency and replaces it with a certain formality. That said, where one is uncertain of the other person's inclinations, I imagine it's a helpful gauge!!
Just plant a smacker and hope for the best, usually works. And if it doesn't, on to the next, all jolly fun.
Except of course, if it doesn't work, the sense of rejection is devasting. And uncertainty. Did I read the signs wrong? Was it my aftershave? Did she need to burp at that moment? Will I ever be loved again?
Young love eh? Who ever thought it would still be the same at 40
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