It’s been a while since my last update so just had to check where I got to last. And it was before I met up with the bearded cafe owner. The all important question for the night was going to be whether he liked the taste of beer – because this is supposed to be the indicator for good sex to come – so of course I asked this question and he said he did like beer 🙂 And then I realised, actually, I myself don’t like beer. I leave the rest of the date to your imagination.
And last night’s date ended in a most unpredictable fashion. I walked The French Man (note the change from “MPFM”) to the train station in Brighton so he could get a train back to London, and somehow I ended up getting on a train home to Hove while he turned back towards the seafront to go to a Brazilian night which I had invited him to.
There were signs before this second date with the French Man that it wasn’t going to work out. The biggest thing was his complete inability to plan anything in advance, meaning it was a whole three weeks since we last met up. Even on Thursday, 24 hours before we were due to meet, he wouldn’t give me an idea of what time he might arrive. “I go with the flow” was all he would say. I got somewhat irked and had to restrain myself from going writing a message back about how I needed to know so I could figure out if I could go for a drink after work, go home to get changed, needed to eat dinner first etc. I instead politely insisted on needing a rough idea. And then once he was supposed to be on his way, he texted to say he would be late, followed up an hour later to say he would arrive in 30 minutes (how on earth is that enough warning for me???), then said he actually didn’t know what time the train was due to arrive, or what time it had left, or whereabouts on the journey he was at that present time.
Thankfully he was very sweet when he finally arrived and I forgave him. We went for dinner and during the course of the meal he talked about how bad he was at planning, which explained why he had promised to send me a suggestion of a place to stay in Paris when I last saw him, but only sent it to me last weekend once I’d already been in another hotel for a night. I told him that I have my weekends planned ages in advance and that right now, they were all planned until the end of May, with the exception of April. His eyes nearly popped out of his head – it was like he didn’t know such things were possible. He asked me what I was doing, so I told him about every weekend one after another, but after four weekends, he stopped me in awe to say that not only had I planned them, but I could remember them too. Hmmm, it was starting to make me think maybe I was the difficult one.
I didn’t make things any better when he started recounting a story of how he’d had a chat with one of his students that day who was having a difficult time coming out, and then asked me what I would do if my son told me I was gay. I took this as a very serious question that required much thought. In my head I went through what I would do if my nephew was gay, what if my son was gay, what if I had more than one child, but how could I know what I would do or say as a parent when I don’t have any children, what would the child want me to do, would I have to talk it through with the kid’s father first, had we ever talked about sex and emotions with our kids…The French Man was clearly troubled that it was taking me so long to say anything. “Just what would you do, or say”, he asked again. Thinking I better say something quickly, I just came out with, “Well, I would just tell them that as long as they were happy, that’s all that matters”, thinking it was such a lame answer. “Exactly!” he replied. Oh dear, I just made myself look like quite uncomfortable with the idea of having a gay child due to over-analysing the question he’d asked me. Not helped by the fact that he then told me his brother was gay.
After dinner, we went for a drink. The cold that had been lingering all week then started to come out in full force. The last time I saw him, I was really tired and low in energy, and this time I was sneezing and crying. Not good. If first impressions don’t count, surely second ones do. I had to say it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to go to the Brazilian night, which was the whole reason I’d invited him to Brighton that particular night, and he seemed happy enough to just head back to London. Except that when we got to the station, he’d missed the last train. I said he could stay in my spare room, but he said he’d rather go to the Brazilian night on his own. And that was that.