Curry Cocktails to Yellow Tights

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I’m going to tell you about D. Partly because I’m not ready to write about A, and partly because of his bizarre behaviour today.

I met D on Tinder about a year ago. His conversation was rather sparkling for a while, and the rapport was far more constant than it is with the average tinder match. We didn’t arrange to go out for some time after matching (unusual for me – I tend to arrange dates sooner rather than later because I hate the concept of getting to know each other virtually).  Our first date was at a speakeasy in Soho where we strangely drank curry and bread flavoured cocktails. He didn’t look much like his photos, but that didn’t matter – it was obviously him. And he was nice.

(Well… he was until we ended up at a second bar where he committed the terrible, terrible crime of trying to show off by making a (very attractive) absolute fool who was loitering around look silly, and ended up looking far worse himself.  Thinking about it, the first date wasn’t great.)

Somehow, he redeemed himself and I saw him a number of times. It wasn’t long before we both assumed he would be staying at mine after each date (I haven’t mentioned his extraordinarily large testicles, but they were certainly a factor…).  What I liked about him (other than those) was that we would always get up, brunch and do something fun the next day. None of the waking up early and leaving before I’m dressed, or rushing off after breakfast that often happens at the beginning. Or just wasting the day in bed – except occasionally. I liked that I always felt as though I learned something from him, he educated me a little. Eventually I decided it was time to check he didn’t live in utter squalor and gauge a bit more of his personality by seeing where he lived…. Big step.

Because he worked in a different part of the country, he only lived in his London flat over weekends and through holidays. And unfortunately, this time his flatmate’s mother was staying.

I tried again the next week, but when he made another excuse I knew something was a little odd. There couldn’t be a live in girlfriend because he was spending most of every weekend with me. Unless she went away at weekends. No, more than likely, he was either a) embarrassed about where he lived (at the time, I was living in a lovely flat in West London); or b) didn’t actually live in London.

The answer was b). Of course. I found the fact that he’d lied about it extremely weird, if I’m honest. I knew he worked elsewhere, why did he feel the need to say he lived locally? It was the detail in the lies, unnecessary detail – he’d described so much in great detail: manipulation?

I was distant for a while, but ultimately I had planned to spend the weekend with him and didn’t have other plans. So I agreed to see him anyway. He was (rightly so) incredibly embarrassed. Cringing when I asked him about it. There was quite clearly no malice in the lie. The explanation he gave was simply that it was tinder. I probably wouldn’t have met him if he’d said he didn’t live nearby (true), and that when he said it – before we met – he didn’t think it would turn into something where I would ever need to find out. And then I we saw one another again and again, and I asked him questions, and he answered them, and it suddenly became too late to tell the truth..

He was so earnest that I just understood, I suppose. But I was annoyed. He was right, I wouldn’t have seen him if he didn’t live in London because I had been that person. Living outside the city, up almost every weekend – but then there would be six consecutive weeks where I wouldn’t come up because I couldn’t for a while. And I knew as much as he said he was ‘always in London’, that it would be the same thing. And I didn’t want that – I didn’t want to start seeing someone I wasn’t going to see regularly.

Sooner or later, that time came. He had to cancel last minute, then couldn’t come up for a month, and then was going away for six weeks. So I said that there was no point in keeping in touch, I wouldn’t see him for longer than I’d known him, and ultimately… it just seemed like a bit of a waste of time. I didn’t want a virtual half relationship. He was quite taken aback with my honesty and bluntness, but said he supposed I was right. Which I was, but…. you know. It was a shame.

And he went away. But somehow we ended up back in touch, and I see him every so often. A few weeks ago I went to stay with him for the weekend, and he usually gets in touch if he’s in London. Recently, I’ve been seeing him fairly often, speaking daily…he knows I’m leaving the country soon. I know I’m leaving the country soon. And we know we live in different places, so I don’t think either of us are viewing this as anything in particular, but I like him a lot. I guess we met quite a while ago now, so he has the comfortableness an old boyfriend has, I don’t have to try and impress him at all – he’s just easy to be with.

But he’s been in the city all week. I saw him the day after he came up, and we planned to go out another night, but today he messaged me apologising for taking a while to respond because he was busy doing ‘this’….

He sent a photo of a restaurant bill for two. An incredibly expensive restaurant bill for two (he asked if we could make dinner at mine last week because he was low on money. I didn’t have a problem with this, but now he can afford to buy a huge lunch and six cocktails for somebody else? And is flaunting it?).

Nothing wrong with that, though – just a little bit rude. But he sent another photo, ‘and this..’

It’s a photo of three vibrators in a drawer full of underwear.

What the fuck? What on earth was he ‘busy’ doing with them?!

Obviously it’s nothing because he’s sending me a photo of them. If it was something, he wouldn’t be. Right?

I jokingly ask him about it: By the looks of it, you’ve taken a girl out for an extortionate lunch and then gone back to hers and played with her toys. Though why anybody would want to have sex after so much food is beyond me…

He knows my humour. He knows I’m joking.

But there is no response.  What the hell? Come on, just deny it. God, it’s actually true? Has he just taken some other girl out for lunch (the check states two people, his name is on the credit card next to it, I’m getting more and more mental, zooming in on the photos for clues with every minute that passes without a response), spent a fortune on her, and then spent hours making her cum with her sex toys? Is that what he is trying to tell me? And there are a few pairs of hideous coloured tights in the background – I thought he’d at least have some taste. I wear stockings for him and expensive lingerie and he’s fucking some girl who wears yellow tights?!!!!!!!

And part of me knows this is irrational. He’s a nice guy. He’s very boyfriend-y. And well mannered. And he wouldn’t do that, he just wouldn’t.

Or would he? Don’t I always think they wouldn’t? And I can’t think of any other explanation. But why on earth is he telling me? And so graphically? It’s ok for him to be seeing other people, of course it is – I am. And I am leaving. I can’t expect him not to. But…he shouldn’t be telling me about it. And not while he’s here, in my town. I’m here, he can fuck me when he’s here.

What on earth????? It is so disturbing if that is his way of telling me he’s sleeping with other girls. I don’t need to see that, don’t want to see that, can’t stop imagining it now and actually…really don’t want him to be. If this is what has happened, please tell me why they are all eventually just as bad as the last?

Still no response. I send another message – I don’t care now, I want to know: I was joking, but the lack of response is making me think that is what has happened. Nothing. Online, offline, online, offline, but no response.

So I sit down and type this to try and make some sense of it and stop myself going crazy. And I have just got a message…

Thanks! I can’t believe that’s what you think of me.

Can I not take my aunt out for lunch?

Oh.

(that doesn’t explain the vibrators though……)

What do you make of this? What on earth is this? Is this some kind of game? Can you think of any acceptable explanation? Is it just me finding this totally weird, and am I going a bit too mental here?

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3 responses »

  1. Pingback: Too Many Men? | NakedBackpackersandSordidStories

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