An Interesting First Date

Before I start on my latest post, I would like to draw any attention I may receive to my Twitter feed, which can be found here.

I would also like to take this opportunity to mention my friend Mark's blog site. It looks a lot more professional than mine, and actually updates regularly. Check it out!

Anyway.

I don't think it's much of a confession these days to say I use online dating. Really it's not much of an anything. Fortunately that's not what this post is about, but I suppose that it is the context. 

I first began online dating in the summer of last year, based on the glowing reports I received from an acquaintance of mine, who had carved himself out a niche as a very successful libertine. Driven by both the desire to meet new people with the possibility of sparking something and a mounting, crushing loneliness, I made a profile.

And then nothing happened and I gave up.

But 6 months later I started again! Quite quickly I began messaging someone who appealed to me on various levels: 1) she looked quite gothic in her picture; 2) she said she was taking a masters in classics; 3) actually...it was mainly those two things. Her responding to my message also helped move things along.

By the second message, I had already accidentally asked her if she was into S&M. Okay, semi-accidentally. She happened to mention a book in passing that was vaguely to do with the subject and I brought it up. It turned out that she was into S&M.

We decided to meet. I chose one of my favourite cafes that happened to be within decent cycling distance of work. She was sat in plain sight of the entrace, wearing a purple jumper. She definitely came across as nervous, she had long black hair that she would retreat into at certain moments in the conversation. 

I began by making a comment about the weather (it was fucking cold) - it seemed like the first point of bonding for fellow Englishpeople. Thankfully, this was not the sort of date where small talk needed to be made. Within what seemed a short amount of time, she told me that she was in an open relationship. My reaction wasn't great, I remember making some audibly English sounds, most likely in the 'oh' or 'ah' category. It was more surprise than anything else, because I just had not gleaned that from her profile. 

Once that was in the open, we discussed classics, our backgrounds, and then sex.

It was my fault really, I was the one who brought it up. What was great about this girl was that she was really sexually liberated and completely honest about it. The problem was that I was honest about it too. Now, I wield the truth as an ogre might wield the leg of a horse: with reckless, joyful and yet thoroughly gross abandon. The point came that she asked me how many sexual partners I had, and I answered truthfully that I had been with two people. 

Now what was funny about this, and the reason why I felt I had to write about it, was her reaction. She diminished into her hair with what looked to me like shock, as it became increasingly obvious that I was hilariously out of my depth. The funniest moment was when she asked me how I had only been with two people when I had just been talking about the other dates I'd been on. I said, 'Oh, we only went on two dates, we didn't have sex.' She looked quite aghast, just at how weird it must have sounded to her.

The only way I can describe it is the awkward meeting of two vastly different worlds. My one being the one where sex is serious, where the concept vastly outweighs the act because there is so much built up around it in terms of culture and gender politics. Her world seemed to be one where sex simply is. It is something enjoyable, obtainable and ultimately freeing. 

We make our own prisons and our own means for liberation. Something like sex can be both of those things. I am reminded of the question that everyone associates with philosophy from the age of 5: "If a tree falls in the wood and no one is around to hear it, does it blah blah blah?" I suppose my version of this is: "If someone is sexually liberated, but does not really have sex, can he or she still be said to be liberated?" I would like to think yes, because there is more to freedom than what the body performs, but then action defines being, it carries out freedom.

After leaving the cafe, we walked around some parks and streets, discussing pretty much this. When we parted, she said she was glad that she had met me. A few days later she emailed me to say that we were probably too different, I think she was right. To use another ancient metaphor, stepping out of the dark cave too quickly leads to being blinded by the Sun. I translate this as: things come in time, just step slowly.