Mind the Red Flags

So I disappeared for a bit there. My apologies. The Diplomat and I were getting really serious, and it didn't seem right to be blogging about it. When I say really serious, I mean conversations about where to live and how many kids to have and when we'd want to get married.

That was all brought to a crashing halt last week, when I found out that he had been secretly dating another woman. The problem isn't the dating, it's the SECRETLY dating. The most important thing to me in a relationship is honesty, and he was being dishonest not only to me, but to her.

How did I find out? It's not a proud moment for me. I read his email. That in and of itself should have been a big enough red flag for me to end the relationship. When you can no longer trust your partner without feeling the need to spy on them, there is a serious problem. What made it even worse for me was that he and I had had a conversation not even a week before about how I was having trust issues, and I thought we really needed to work on them. Instead, he was apparently planning dates with this other woman.

But in speaking of red flags, I have to kick myself for not minding the biggest one I've ever had in a relationship. Back in May, the first time I ever read his email account, I discovered that he and his friends had been saying really terrible things about me behind my back. We're talking name calling, body-bashing, downright hateful things. And yes, the Diplomat was not only allowing these conversations to take place, but participating in them.

I of course confronted him about what I had seen. He was horribly embarrassed (as well he should have been,) but more because I had found out about the behavior than the way he'd been acting in the first place. He apologized profusely, cried—the whole nine yards. And I forgave him. I chalked it up to a stupid decision on his part to try to impress his idiotic friends. I felt betrayed, yes, but I thought it was something we could move past.

Clearly, I was wrong. I realized how wrong I was when all I could think about were the things he'd said and my overwhelming desire to look at his email again to know if he was still doing it. That's why I was looking at his email last week, when I discovered him cheating.

I don't blame the other woman at all. He was lying to her just as much. In the emails I found, he carefully avoided mentioning me in any way. So the next day, after he and I broke up, I sent her an email. It said that I was not mad at her, but that I wanted her to know what was going on. I explained that I was almost certain that she had no idea I existed. She was kind enough to reply later that day to confirm my suspicions- her response said, “I am so sorry. I never would have gone out with him if I knew he had a girlfriend.”

With that one line, she confirmed everything I knew to be true. The Diplomat had been swearing that they were just hanging out as friends and that nothing had happened, and like most people who have just ended a relationship with someone they love, I wanted to believe him. Because of her response, though, I know he was lying to me. I don't know if anything happened between them. I don't want to know. But whether or not they ever got physical, he was cheating on me.

A little over a week later, I am still dealing with those feelings of betrayal. We'd had a trip planned for this weekend, which I am now taking alone. I also had a first date last night with someone new. Even so, it's still fresh and it still stings. I'm confident that each day, though, will be a little easier than the day before. It is that thought which is getting me through.

Enter the Slum Lord

As I have hinted at before, I've been spending a lot of time with the Diplomat lately. Part of the reason for that was just the way the circumstances fell- I was swamped with schoolwork so I couldn't spend a lot of time going out. Even so, it was a conscious choice to keep seeing the Diplomat even as I was telling everyone else I was busy. I really like spending time with him. He's smart, he's funny, he's sweet- and those are just the beginning. Lately, every time I spend the night at his house he makes breakfast in the morning. That may not sound like such a big thing, except that he doesn't (or didn't) usually eat breakfast. There have also been multiple occasions when him making breakfast turned into him bringing me breakfast in bed. I'm getting spoiled, let me tell you!

Still, with all this time that we were spending together, I had only met his friends once. When he asked me to go out with him to Korean BBQ with a bunch of his college friends, I was apprehensive but I agreed. The first time I met these people, I got way too drunk and acted like an absolute fool. Even worse, I didn't find out about how I'd acted until after. That's the thing about getting drunk, I suppose- you think you're totally pulling it off, while everyone around you is scared. Apparently, and I am still ashamed to even admit this, at one point I was rubbing on the Diplomat's friend's leg. What kind of person does that?? Not the person I thought I was.

So like I said, I was nervous to be seen around these friends again, but I figured if the Diplomat and I are going to keep dating, I'm going to need to be able to face his friends.

We were the first ones to the restaurant (it seems the Diplomat and I are the only ones that feel bad when we're not punctual.) Then his friends started trickling in. They included his two best friends, one of whom lives out of town now, the other best friend's sort-of-girlfriend, a bunch of the guys they went to college with, and a couple people they play on an indoor soccer team with.

Things got off to a rocky start. When the best friend that lives in town, Slum Lord, walked in the room, the first words out of his mouth were, "Hi Date Slut. Move over." W.T.F?? I was immediately put on edge. (And for the record, I did not move over.) That man seriously rubs me the wrong way. He acts like everyone should do what he says, just because he says it. He's rude and abrasive, especially to women. For god's sake, he refers to his sort-of-girlfriend as "38," because that's how old she was when they started dating. Call me a femi-nazi if you must, but that is just not okay.

Even with Slum Lord being dickish throughout dinner, the experience was mostly enjoyable. I felt like I was being really quiet, but I still managed to get to know some of the Diplomat's soccer friends a little better. When dinner was over, they decided to go to a nearby bar for drinks. I was getting tired and feeling cranky, but I put on my best brave face and tried to enjoy it as much as I could. And I did enjoy parts of it. The Diplomat's best friend that lived out of town seemed like a lot of fun, and I wish we'd gotten to hang out more. The soccer friends were sweet. His other college guy friends didn't say two words to me, but the Diplomat said afterwards that he thinks it's mostly because they're intimidated by women. What I really appreciated the most was when I texted the Diplomat to let him know that I was ready to go home, he made his polite excuses and bowed out for us instead of brushing me off or blaming it on me. That meant a lot to me.

That was several weeks ago, at the beginning of finals time. The weekend before I went out of town, the Diplomat invited a bunch of his friends over for ribs at his house. These were mostly people he plays soccer with- in fact, they might have all been soccer friends. I'm not entirely positive. Regardless, Slum Lord was there again. When I expressed my disinterest in seeing Slum Lord again, the Diplomat predicted that things would be better this time around, as Slum Lord tends to be less of a chauvinist around this group of friends.

The Diplomat was right, and things actually went better with him this third time around. He wasn't nearly as dickish. There was still some clear animosity between us, though. I think I shocked him at the end of the night when most everyone else had left, when I turned to him and asked point-blank, "Why do you hate me?" He said, "I don't hate you, I just don't trust you yet, and I don't like change." I think that sounds like a cop-out. I think it would have been much more honest if he'd said, "I don't like you for my friend," or, "You acted like a total ass the first time we met," or, "I hate everyone until I get to know them."

Either way, he's the Diplomat's friend. That means it doesn't matter how I feel about him, I'm not going to say bad things about him to the Diplomat or try to keep them from hanging out, or any of those other ridiculous things some girlfriends do. It does mean that I am going to be nice when we do hang out, and maybe someday we'll actually kind of like each other. But I'm not holding my breath.

Catching Up, or Why Grad School Controls My Life

I apologize for my lack of posting in the last few weeks- I've been swamped with work for the end of my semester. Grad school can be a bitch that way!

First things first, McCool is okay. He's back at home and seems to be recovering well. It looks like it's just a case of him losing the genetic lottery.

I haven't been going out a ton lately, for the same reason I haven't had time to post. I did have another date with the Mad Scientist that ended in him coming back to my place. He was amused that I had “his brand” of condoms. You may call it wishful thinking, but a girl shouldn't be without at least a few Magnums!

The Mad Scientist really is a good kisser. I'd go so far as to say that he's a great kisser. But the actual sex is just...okay. I suppose the enthusiasm with which he approaches it counts for something, but I was seriously worried that we were going to wake up my housemates with the way my bed was squeaking! I think I need to tighten the bolts now.

I think he thought I was joking when I told him he could spend the night, but I had to leave by 7am to get to school. Sadly, I was not. I let him sleep in while I got ready, then woke him up and rushed off. He's called me a couple times since then. It's so strange to be dating a guy who willingly calls! I can't remember any other guys like that.

Also at the beginning of the month, the Diplomat went to Spain and France for a week. That is, he went to Spain, and was supposed to go to France, but his flight was grounded with the ongoing spewing of that-Icelandic-volcano-that-no-one-can-pronounce (hey, it takes about as long to say that as to actually say Eyjafjallajokull.) Because of that, he came home a few days early.

He was originally scheduled to be back Thursday evening, and the plan was for me to go to his house and make him dinner. With the change, though, he was getting back on Tuesday, when I have class. When I got there after, HE had made ME dinner! I couldn't believe it. Of course, that meant I had to repay him with a little something special. I was impressed he could perform after 10 hours on a plane, but perform he did.

The other big thing he did while he was gone was to finally grow the beard I've been bugging him to try. He just seemed like the kind of guy that could pull it off, and I was right. He's gotten nothing but compliments since, and I've of course taken all the credit.

There's much more that has happened, but I am going to have to take some time to try and sort it all into coherent stories. So look forward to a posting binge this week!

Sunday- Booty Call

I had tentative plans with the Blues Man on Sunday for an actual study date. No, that's not a euphemism. We both have a lot of papers to finish before the end of the semester, so we were going to get together to work on them. It feel through, though, and so I found myself sitting in my house Sunday afternoon, growing increasingly horny.

That's how I found myself texting the Diplomat for a booty call. Of course, I actually like spending time with the guy, so it was more like “I want your body. Oh, and let's have dinner, too.” The Diplomat has been over to my house a few times, but only to pick me up. I wanted him to see how I live, as sappy as that may sound. For god's sake, he'd never even seen my bedroom or office!

Well, that was quickly remedied when he came over. I gave him a tour of the house, and somehow it managed to end in the bedroom (imagine that!) It's been so hot here lately that we ended up a sweaty, sticky mess. In other words, it was fantastic.

I'd promised dinner- this was a high-class booty call, after all- so we went downstairs to make it. This was also the first time I'd cooked for him, and he's been doing such fancy meals for me, I was intimidated. I was also almost out of food- I missed the farmer's market on Saturday where I get most of my food for the week, and I hadn't gone to the grocery store to get some other stuff. That meant I had to fall back on one of my “whatever's left in the fridge” staples- homemade flatbread pizzas. Not terribly impressive, but he seemed happy with it, and I thought it tasted good.

By the time we were done eating, it was getting late. We'd gotten horribly sweaty earlier, and the heat from the oven had created a furnace in the kitchen that was cooking us alive. That meant there was only one solution- a cool shower. This wasn't the first time the Diplomat and I have showered together; even so, there's something undeniably sex about seeing a partner naked and glistening with soap and water. That's not to mention how much fun it is to rub against each other when you're all slippery. In other words, I'm a big fan of showering together for reasons other than having someone to wash your back.

Afterwards, we went to my room to get ready for bed. We completely disregarded the fact that we'd just cooled down, and we heated things up again. Then we lay in bed together, touching as much as we could without feeling like we were going to suffocate from the body heat, and started talking.

“Something has changed,” he told me. “Since we went sailing, things have felt different.”

I had to agree. It's not that I think our sailing trip changed things, but that it was about that time that I started looking at him differently. Maybe it had something to do with splitting up from the Dreamer that allowed me to see what else could develop, but it's definitely gone beyond “just hanging out” recently between me and the Diplomat. I told him so (leaving out the part about the Dreamer, of course). Still, I was surprised by his next question.

“So would I be off-base if I referred to you to my friends as my girlfriend?”

If I'm going to be completely honest, I have to admit that I was relieved. I'd considered broaching the topic a couple times in the last week or so, but after the way things went down with the Dreamer, I was afraid to bring it up. I feel like in that case, I had pushed him into more of a relationship than he was wanting, and it all blew up in my face. So this time, it's really exciting that we're on the same page. We talked about what “being serious” meant to us, and what we want out of a relationship. We talked about still dating others, and that both of us are absolutely wanting that. But I was also careful to explain that doing so doesn't mean to me that he and I are any less committed. In other words, I tried to learn from the mistakes I'd made in dating the Dreamer.

The Diplomat had to leave early the next morning, as usual. I had laughed earlier in the week when my roommate remarked upon how rarely my guys stay over past 8am, but it's so true. Still, better that than a guy who never leaves!

Friday- How to Get Mega Brownie Points

This was the weekend of concerts, as I had plans to see another show on Friday night with the Diplomat. The venue was near his work south of town, so in the interest of not backtracking a zillion times to meet up in town, I instead drove to his office and we went together to the show.

Unfortunately, I'd been having stomach pains all day. I don't know what's causing them, but they're becoming more frequent. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they're debilitating, but they're definitely distracting and painful. I didn't want to miss the concert, though, so I sucked it up and went anyway. Plus I was really looking forward to seeing the Diplomat.

We found seats and sat through the first two acts, with the Diplomat continually checking in to see how I was doing. I could tell he was worried about me, but I was really enjoying the show. I stayed seated while everyone else stood for the big act; I was worried about making my stomach worse and ruining the entire night. By the very end I was feeling about 90% better, though, so I jumped around for the encore.

The Diplomat offered to let me drive his car on the way home; it's a manual, and though I learned how to drive one years ago, I'm worried that I'm forgetting. I figured the crush of post-concert traffic was probably not the place to refresh my memory, though. We picked up my car, and we both drove over to his house. Parking was TERRIBLE. He found a spot, then got in my car with me to help me find another. He lives in a part of town that is really old, so it's all parallel parking on the street. I'm not the greatest parallel parker to begin with, and when the only spot I can find is less than a foot longer than my car, I'm screwed. Thankfully, I was able to ask the Diplomat to do it for me. He squeezed in, and made it look so easy!

He had dinner all but ready at home, and whipped together a guacamole to finish it. It was so good. I would seriously not complain about eating guacamole every day. He'd also made more butterscotch mousse for dessert.

We were completely exhausted by the time we were done, and went up to bed. We had nice, sweet, slow sex, and fell asleep tangled up in each other.

I had to work the next morning, so the Diplomat set his alarm for us to wake up. He didn't have to do that- he had nothing to wake up for- but he wanted to get breakfast together in the morning before I left. When the alarm went off, I made some pitiful excuse about not wanting to wake up yet. He told me to go back to sleep, so I did.

An hour later, he woke me back up. “I got breakfast,” he told me. And he did. He'd gone out to a local pastry shop to pick up fresh croissants, and he made cappuccinos. I've had guys do sweet things for me, but letting me sleep in on a Saturday morning and bring me breakfast on a day when he didn't even have to be up definitely takes the cake.

We went back to his room after breakfast, and let's just say I was late to work that morning. There were no toys, no handcuffs, no kink- just good sex. I can't think of a better way to start the weekend than cuddling with him in bed, his hands running through my hair and feeling his warmth. And if he keeps up the breakfast in bed, I foresee it happening a lot.

Sunday- Another Sunday with the Diplomat

Every person has his or her quirks. Things they really like, things they really don't. One of the things I really don't like is taking my car in for an oil change. There is no rational reason for it, I just can't stand taking the time to bring it in, waiting for it to be done, having them try to upsell me, all that jazz. When the Diplomat suggested working my very overdue oil change into our date Sunday, I jumped at the opportunity. I dropped off my car, then we headed up to Ikea to pick up some things for his new house.

It was a new experience to go shopping with someone who has almost total impulse control. Not being an impulse buyer is one thing, but he took it to a new level. Not only did he not buy anything because it looked cool, he didn't buy anything that wasn't on his list, even if it had a useful purpose. I wish I had that much willpower- it'd save me some money. We left right as I got the call my car was ready to be picked up. We went and got it, then headed back to his house for dinner.

For dinner, the Diplomat had made chili. Now, I love chili. It's delicious and filling. But the fact that he'd made chili shows a fundamental difference between guys and girls- guys don't think about how the food they eat on the date is going to affect them after. Beer and wings? Big greasy cheeseburger? No problem. For me (and I think most girls) on the other hand, the food I eat is directly affected by what's going to be happening later in the night. If we're just going out for dinner, I can handle a burger- the date's usually over by the time my stomach decides it hates me. With chili, though, and especially chili on what was likely to turn into an overnight date, there was no escaping it. I was going to have a stomachache later.

After we finished and were still sitting on the couch, we started making out. What is it about sitting on the couch on a date that turns almost immediately into making out? The condoms were upstairs, though, and neither of us felt like going to get them, so I knelt in front of the couch instead, if you catch my drift.

The Diplomat is quickly turning into The One Who Cooks (tm). For dessert, he'd made a butterscotch mousse. I thought the chocolate mousse was good, but this was out of this world. As I ate, he wrapped me up and started rubbing my shoulders. I love a good massage. Then that turned into him whispering in my ear.

“I want you to go upstairs, take off all your clothes, and kneel on the floor. You're going to close your eyes, put your hands behind your head, and wait for me. Do you understand?”

I absolutely did. It was even hotter this time than the last.

The entire point of going out on Sunday was to watch the first episode of the show Treme. As a thunderstorm started outside, we got glasses of red wine and cuddled back together in the bed. We laid there together while we watched. When it came to an end, with a glass of wine in me and the rain falling outside, I was ready to fall asleep.

The Diplomat went downstairs to lock the doors and turn out the lights, when the next thing I do, he was rushing up the stairs and throwing on clothes. “I'm having my first homeowner crisis,” he told me. “My basement is flooding.”

I felt terrible, but there was nothing I could do. He found the clogged drain in the backyard that was backing up into the basement, which stopped it from getting worse. Still, there was at least an inch of water in the majority of the basement. I helped him carry a few things upstairs that hadn't yet gotten wet, while he tried to figure out what to do next. Finally he came to the decision there was nothing that could be done until the morning, and we went up to bed.

The good news is after a quick romp in the morning, he was able to get what he needed at Home Depot. Getting to see first-hand the joys of homeownership definitely hasn't left me in a hurry to get there myself. Give me a 24-hour maintenance man any day.

Wednesday- Take Me or Leave Me

The Diplomat told me during out date Sunday that he had missed seeing me. My schedule is such that I book up a week or more in advance, especially for the weekends. Since I don't have class until late on Wednesdays, I suggested we meet for lunch.

His office is about 40 minutes away from me, but only about 10 minutes from a restaurant that has some of the most amazing tacos I've ever eaten. I picked him up at his office and drove us. Amazingly, we found the restaurant without too much difficulty.

The Diplomat eats some of the strangest things I've ever seen. I'm not talking monkey brains strange, at least not that I know of, but he ordered beef tongue tacos. When we went out for pho a few weeks ago, he'd gotten one with tripe. It doesn't gross me out to be with him while he's eating them, but I definitely don't ask to try a bite. I wonder how much of it comes from his childhood living in different countries across the world. He told me his favorite was spending his middle-school years in Zimbabwe.

When we were eating, I was reminded of my first impression of him on our first few dates. He definitely comes off as quiet and reserved, even though I know that he has another side to him (as he showed me on Sunday night.) Sometimes I worry that I'm running over him with my outgoing enthusiasm. That leaves me debating whether I should hold back a bit, or just trust that he likes that about me.

Of course I always go with the latter; I won't change who I am for anyone, especially a guy. I am who I am, whether you like it or not.

Sunday- I'm on a Boat

(Yes, I realize how entirely un-original the title of this post is. I'd apologize, but I don't care! I still think it's funny.)

Apparently one of the Diplomat's favorite activities is to go sailing. He doesn't have his own boat; instead, he belongs to an organization that allows their members to take out the group's boats almost whenever they want. We'd planned to go on Easter, but the weather had been less than cooperative.

It was just the two of us on the boat. Because of that he made me do a lot of the steering- I was beyond nervous! In fact, I freaked out every time the boat leaned far over to one side. He kept assuring me that it was actually impossible for this type of boat to capsize, but that didn't help much. Finally I just told myself that I would fall out before the boat fell over, and for some twisted reason, that calmed me down a bit.

We were on the water for almost two hours when we decided to head in and go back to his house for dinner. He cooked again; his shrimp was good, but his apple, cheese, and walnut salad was superb. He offered desert, but we decided to have a few after-dinner activities first.

We headed upstairs to his bedroom, and while we were standing in the middle of the room kissing he whispered in my ear, “go stand next to the wall with your eyes closed.” I giggled and eagerly complied. He stood behind me and asked, “are you going to do everything I say?” There was no question about that. I stood next to the wall and heard him opening a drawer. The next thing I knew, a blindfold was being slipped across my eyes. Then he turned me around and started kissing me more.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I love giving up control in the bedroom. There is no more extreme way of doing that than allowing yourself to be blindfolded and cuffed, which was what happened next.

The biggest surprise came after we made it back onto the bed. He had a restraint system set up, what I guess to be similar to this one (after all, I was blindfolded. Link really NSFW, by the way.) He had my arms and my legs spread with the cuffs while he continued to tease me. To put it bluntly, it was hot. I was begging for release, and I don't mean from the restraints. Finally I got it.

After we'd laid in bed for a while, the Diplomat reminded me that he had desert. I had mentioned to him once in passing that my favorite desert of all time is fresh berries with homemade whipped cream. He'd actually remembered what I'd said and decided to make it for me!

It was delicious. By the time we were done, though, we were both tired and ready for bed. He'd had enough downtime, though, that he was ready to go again.

This time, I asked him to take it slow. We untangled at the end and fell asleep.

The next morning the Diplomat had to go to work. That didn't stop us from having one last romp in the bed before getting up. It's so hard to get out of bed in the morning when you're with someone you like. Thankfully he doesn't have to be at work at a certain time, or he would have been late.

Sailing, dinner, desert; bondage, repeat performances, and morning sex? It doesn't get much better.

The Weekend of Canceled Plans

I was supposed to have a party Saturday night, but it was canceled at the last minute. Instead, the Dreamer came over to hang out for a while. We didn't feel like going out anywhere and I wasn't up for cooking, so we ordered a pizza. Then we sat on the couch and watched a House marathon. I ended up falling asleep on him before he finally decided to go to bed. At least this time he actually stayed through the night.

The next day, the Diplomat and I had plans to go sailing. The thing about sailing, though, is that it requires the cooperation of the weather. When it was realized that there was going to be no way that we could sail (no wind = no sailing, who knew?), we decided to go run some errands and pick up things that he needed for his new house.

There was only one problem with that plan- we'd forgotten that it was Easter Sunday. Nothing was open. We were finally faced with the choice of finding something to do or giving up and going home when I suggested a Vietnamese restaurant near my house. I figured Chinese places are always opened on Christmas Eve, so maybe Vietnamese would be open on Easter. I was right!

Over dinner, I brought up a topic that had been bothering me since the night of the Diplomat's birthday party. The guy who had uncomfortably cornered me earlier in the night had said something interesting later at the second bar. He had asked about polyamory, and what that meant. After I explained it, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “you know the Diplomat isn't okay with this, right?”

Now, I don't think anybody else could speak for the Diplomat, but it was completely possible that his friend knew him better than I did. So I asked him about it.

“I consider this the experimental phase in my life,” he told me. I'm still not quite sure how to take that- is he saying that he is okay with polyamory now, but won't be later? That it's only a “phase” for him? It's okay if that's the case, I suppose- it's not that I have plans to marry him and have babies- but it's just the first true example I've seen of someone using polyamory as an experiment, rather than a choice that was carefully come to after lots of deliberation and self-searching.

The Diplomat took me home after dinner, with the promise that next time, we'd make sure it wasn't Easter Sunday when we went out.

Friday pt 2- Mistaken Identity

Friday night was also the Diplomat's birthday celebration. He was having a joint party with two friends at a bar, and we met up to drive together. Because of the whole night and day spent with the Blues Man, though, I was hardy even running on fumes. I called ahead to the Diplomat and warned him that if he wanted me to be at all functional that night, I was going to need some coffee. He met me at the door with it- major points for him (and a major caffeine boost for me).

I was a little nervous about hanging out with the Diplomat's friends, as I had no idea what to expect. They were all very nice, though! I love meeting new people- I tend to get along with almost anyone, especially when there is beer involved. There were a disturbing number of men in the bar, though- there were probably not even a half dozen women there for the party, including a birthday girl!

I found out that one group of friends there with another of the joint birthday-ers were grad students at the same university as me, though they are in computer science. One of them in particular was super cute, and I flirted with him for a while. It was really funny when he pointed out his faculty advisor to me, who was also there. The advisor told me I should race the other guy to finish our programs, as maybe he'd finally be rid of him.

The Diplomat and I had a lot of fun, and he really came to my rescue when one of his friends cornered me and was asking all sorts of weirdly personal questions, especially for someone you'd literally met less than an hour before. I leaned over to the Diplomat, whispered “save me,” and he made up an excuse to have me come up to the bar with him. Phew, disaster avoided.

As the Diplomat and his friends decided to leave the joint party head to another bar, I tried to find the cute CS guy I'd been flirting with earlier, but I only saw his friend. I didn't want to lose my chance, though, so I asked if he would give my number to his “cute friend that was wearing a black shirt.” He said no problem, and I wrote it down on a piece of paper. Then I headed outside to catch up with the Diplomat.

Outside, I saw the CS guy standing with another group of people. Then his friend who had my number came outside, with the slip of paper in his hand. He leaned over to talk to....the faculty advisor! I heard him as “who's this?” and the friend pointed me out. I couldn't very well go over and say “oh, that wasn't meant for you,” so I decided to roll with it. I can say, though, I've never managed to give my number to the wrong guy before! At least I saw that it went to the wrong guy- it would have been horrible to go out with the advisor thinking it was the CS guy until I got there and saw him. I haven't heard from him yet though, so I doubt anything is going to come from it.

One of the Diplomat's friends gave us a ride back to his place, and I collapsed into his bed. I'd been up for 23 hours at that point- sex could wait.

Wednesday- The Christening

When the Diplomat and I were discussing when to reschedule our date, I'd first suggested we just push it back a week to Friday. (Mondays aren't generally a good day for the sex date, after all!) He couldn't do that, though, because he was closing on a new house and moving in on Saturday morning.

Wednesday was the day of the closing, and also his birthday. He'd posted up a message asking if anyone was free around noon that day to celebrate with him, and I was, so I jumped at the chance. He was supposed to be over around noon after closing, but as usual, it didn't happen on time, so he was a little late. It wasn't a big deal, though, since he let me know beforehand that he was running late. I really don't have a problem with other people being late, as long as I know what is going on and am not just sitting around waiting for them.

For lunch, the Diplomat recommended a restaurant downtown. It was a beautiful spring day, so we got a table outside and ate our sandwiches on fresh, crusty bread. When those were gone, we got dessert, of course. He asked if I wanted to go in and pick, but I let him surprise me with it. He chose some sort of chocolate espresso napoleon, and while I'm not usually a big chocolate fan, it was really good.

We happened to be in the neighborhood of his new house, so I asked if we could go over and see it. He brought a camera along to take pictures for his family, but I insisted on taking it from him when we got to the front door. I made him pose in front of it, and almost got him to smile (he's not a big picture smiler, as you may imagine). I even snapped one as he opened the door for the first time. I'm a big dork, I know, but that's the kind of picture I would want after I bought my first house!

He showed me around the place, and it's been really nicely maintained. I've heard a lot of horror stories recently of people buying houses were the previous owners clearly didn't care about its condition, either because of looming foreclosure or what have you, but it's obvious he didn't have this problem. He gave me a tour of the house from bottom to top, ending in the upstairs bedroom that spans the entire top floor.

Now, I'm sure you know what's going to happen next. New house? Empty room? Two days after the sex date? That's right, that house needed a good christening!

I think I've mentioned in a previous post that I always carry condoms with my in my purse, and this kind of situation is exactly why. It would have completely ruined the spontaneity of the moment to have had to run to a store to go buy some condoms, and there's no way anything was going to happen without one. And, thanks to my habit of carrying two condoms instead of just one (you never know, after all! The only thing worse than having to stop a progression towards sex because you don't have condoms is having to stop sex in progress because you don't have a spare if one breaks) we were able to put his friend's advice of “suck it up and go a second time” into practice.

Of course, it was a completely empty house, so there was no trashcan, towel, or even toilet paper to help clean up with afterwards. I don't think I've gone out in public post-coitus like that since high school, but it was totally worth it.

Monday- The Diplomat Scores a Goal

Since I'd canceled the date with the Diplomat on Saturday night, we rescheduled for Monday. Now, it was the third date, and you all know what Michael Scott says. The third date is the sex date. Plus he had invited me over to cook for me- how much more obvious can it get? I was totally okay with that, though, don't get me wrong.

When I got to his house, he greeted me at the door but then had to run back to the kitchen, where he was tending to his risotto. That's right, he was making risotto! I know my foodie friends all claim it's not so hard, but I think they're just saying that to try and show off. I know it's not something I would even know where to begin with.

He had a little table set up in the corner of the living room with two chairs and a bottle of wine. It was sweet in that “romantic empty restaurant movie trope” way. It's rare enough to get a man to cook for me; to have him go all out on the set up was even more amazing.

Speaking of amazing, the food was delicious. But then he asked if I wanted dessert (for my obvious answer, see the tags at the end of this post.) He went to the kitchen, then brought back...homemade chocolate mousse.

If it hadn't been the sex date before that, it was now. By the time I finished my delicious, creamy, light-as-air chocolate mousse and my second (or was it third?) glass of wine, I was in that giggly, tipsy, bubbly mood where everything in the world seems great. It's also the tipping point for me between innocent flirt and “no really, let's go make out on the couch” flirt. So that's what we did.

Now, I know that I said the first time I met the Diplomat, he was overly reserved. So much so that I nearly didn't go out with him a second time. But given a few dates, some wine, and some positive reinforcement, that man can shed his inhibition. We made out for a little while on the couch, slowly shedding clothing until it got to the point of “maybe we should move this to the bedroom.” I'd been nervous because he seemed so much more submissive than I generally like in bed, but he was able to step it up just enough that it worked for me.

I've gotta tell you, women should be dating more soccer players, even not very good ones. Any man who can run like they have to for extended periods of time has the...ahem...requisite thigh muscles and stamina to do a good job in bed. After we cuddled for a while, he told me the best advice he'd ever been given about sex. I'll paraphrase it here: “you may be tired and want to go to sleep, but suck it up and do it a second time.”

How about a hearty amen to that!

By that point, it was nearly midnight, and I had to be up at 6am to get to class on time Tuesday morning. The Diplomat offered to wake up with me (he had to go to work anyway) if I wanted to stay there, and I was tired enough that I took him up on it. I don't think we took up even a third of his massive king-sized bed. I got a totally new perspective of him the next morning, though, when he “happened” to have a spare unopened toothbrush available for me to use. Only two kinds of guys have spare unopened toothbrushes available- the smooth players and the oral health nuts. I'm just going to hope that the Diplomat falls into the former category.

Saturday, Pt 1- When a Second Date Goes Right

The Dreamer had to leave early Saturday morning to go to work, which was good because I had to get ready to go on another date at 10 am. This was my second date with the Diplomat, and he was picking me up at my house.

Now, on a first date, I almost always insist on meeting the person somewhere. There are two reasons for this- if they turn out to be psycho, at least they don't know where you live; and if the date is going horribly wrong, you don't have to endure a car ride back to your house before you can get away from it. My first date with the Diplomat was for Thai food in a boutique neighborhood not far from my house, and it definitely fell into the “bad first impression” category.

The name “The Diplomat” is a bit of a misnomer, I'll admit. He's actually an electrical engineer that works for a government contract office. His father was a diplomat, though, and I definitely get that vibe from him. He's rather reserved, shy, and to be perfectly honest, awkward. During the first date, he actually started asking me to make lists! “Name your top five authors. Your three favorite colors. Your best recipes,” etc. (In regards to this, Henry Rollins explains it better than I ever could- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9S5-EB8dR8 )

At the close of the first date, I thought he was nice but not someone I really felt the need to go out with again. I didn't count on him being so persistent. A half dozen phone calls and two emails later, I found myself agreeing to a second date.

This time, we decided to hit a nearby city that I hadn't been to yet. I figured if nothing else, at least I'd get to see the sights. After he picked me up, we used a Park and Ride to take public transit in instead of having to fight the city traffic. It was definitely the right choice, especially as I got him to loosen up a little bit during the ride by joking with him about the other riders. There's nothing like making fun of fringe Republicans to help two liberals bond.

When we got to the city we walked around a bit, seeing sights that I've only ever experienced in photos. It was almost surreal. At one point while walking down the street, I took the Diplomat's arm. I love walking with my arm in someone else's, especially when you can get the stride going right so you're not bouncing up and down in different time. That broke the ice- we spent the rest of the date playfully touching each other, holding hands, and him putting his arm around my waist while we stood.

For lunch we went to a historic building that has been turned into a food court. It wasn't your usual food court fare of Chick-Fil-A and Hotdog on a Stick, though- they had Indian, Chinese, pizza, and ice cream. We both decided on falafel from the Greek stand. The guy behind the counter kept trying to foist samples of chicken and beef onto the passersby, often to no avail. “Can't even give away free food!” he lamented to us as we waited.

The Diplomat and I had planned to stay in the city for a while after lunch, but I was tired and my feet were starting to hurt from my cute heels. We took the train back to his car, and drove back to my place talking easily about a myriad of topics from religion to music to indoor soccer.

We decided to meet again, and this time he won't have to wear me down.