The Date With J

Well.

I just had the most wonderful date of the year. I was utterly spoilt, and have been on a high since it ended. J is lovely, all my concerns about him have vanished and I find myself quivering like a schoolgirl waiting to hear from him. I totally need to calm the fuck down, but I'm not sure that I really actually want to just yet!

I was up in London for work, and whilst I finished late I still got to the restaurant too early. So I went for a petite meander, both to have a look around and possibly find a cash point. I wasn't expecting to see him on my travels, but we bumped into each other as he walked to the restaurant from the tube. He laughed and told me I was walking the wrong way. I knew I was, but it wasn't worth the energy explaining.

The restaurant was loud and busy. Possibly a more so than I would have liked, as I struggle to hear what people are saying at the best of times! We chatted, we drank sherry (gross - far too sweet), ate Basque ham and figs before ordering a fish pie to share. It was lovely - smoky, but lovely. We talked and talked and talked. There were some lulls in the conversation but I didn't mind them too much. I think we were just nervous. He also does this thing where he looks of into the distance as he's talking, or about to say  something, and I can't quite tell if he's bored or if he's thinking. It generally turned out to be thinking - I think that must be a little quirk. It could be worse. 

I picked a white wine and it was lovely. We had people that knew about the food and the wine (although the wine guy seemed to just repeat the word 'tannins' and I sort of lost interest). No pudding, and after he paid the bill (what a treat!) we left. We walked through Holborn, and he suddenly realised where we were - outside the supermarket where we'd all mucked about on PolyDay. We chatted about that day and how it had turned so silly. We'd both enjoyed ourselves/ 

We got in a cab, and he took me to Milk & Honey. It is a private members club in Soho. I was excited, with just a teensy bit of fear lurking in the background. The outside wasn't marked. We went in, and a lovely vintage lady greeted us. She rang up to The Red Room, where J had booked. This is when I tumbled into 'where the fuck have you brought me' territory. He had a somewhat crazed look on his face and I don't yet know him well enough to judge whether he was excited or about to offer me as a human sacrifice. The lovely lady said 'he's ready when you are', took my bags and we walked upstairs.

Heaven awaited me. A decadent 1930s style bar, with cocktail cabinets, Art Deco mirrors and dimmed lighting awaited us. He bought champagne. We chatted, it was heaven. He'd brought me somewhere he knew I would like and I was flushed with pleasure. Recently I've been feeling a little hard done by, and I felt I couldn't remember the last time someone went out of their way to do something nice for me. I'm sure they do, but to have J treat me so nicely was a real treasure. 

We chatted and chatted. Our hands touched slightly, then more, then more. Then caresses. Then holding hands, then kisses. Lots of delicious kisses. We talked about seeing each other again, and he walked me to the station and saw me off.

An email and a text the next day had me reeling with delight.