On or around June 1, I matched with a gent on Tinder that I shall call…hmmm…Wiley. Wiley was immediately very eager and communicative, and although I could take him or leave him initially, as I can the majority of men on Tinder, he grew on me in spite of myself and I ended up giving him my phone number a few days later. Sometimes it’s just the obvious effort that can make all the difference – he looked cute and seemed nice and smart and really interested in me, so there was really no reason for me not to like him, only it’s Tinder and so it’s difficult for me to really strive to make the effort to entertain anyone seriously. But when one really appears to strive to keep himself on my radar, like Wiley did, it kind of makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
We started texting the Sunday before last, and it wasn’t long into our conversation that day before he staked his claim to take me out the next Saturday. Which I liked because that told me he was committed to the idea at least, and plus I was enjoying our banter already.
Wiley is good looking, but he’s not exactly my traditional type in terms of our political ideologies. He’s a journalist and leans a couple of ticks more to the left than I do or like my men to. To add more fuel to the fire, his profession and my profession especially tend to butt heads a lot. But he specializes in the political scene and thus has a lot of knowledge of and insight into current events and people of interest, and although we don’t exactly perfectly align when it comes to certain topics, we’re not too egregiously dissimilar. And really, our philosophical differences only added a little bit of spice to our conversations, as they gave us a good foundation for flirtatious teasing and banter and general mentally stimulating debate. Good stuff.
We exchanged selfies somewhat throughout the week, which is crucial to minimizing the catfish risk. It was still him…he was still cute. Cool. Our first phone conversation took place on Thursday night. He was out of town for work and that actually happened to be the first day where I texted him in the a.m. and didn’t hear anything from him all day. When he still hadn’t responded going on 8 hours later, I started feeling mildly put off and sent him a catty “Or not…” to relay that. As it turned out, he was just busy with interviews and studio work all day and didn’t have free access to his phone. All was well. I’d had kind of a crummy day at work and then some of my friends happened to piss me off as well, so I felt like connecting with someone. I also wanted to make sure he wasn’t some drastic weirdo in the wake of our upcoming date, so I asked him to call me later that night, which he did. We talked for maybe 40 minutes or so. He sounded like a normally functioning human being and we were able to carry on a conversation just as breezily as through text, so I was pleased in that respect. And pretty excited about our date in 2 days’ time.
I had another crummy day at work on Friday, and so in turn I ventured out solo on Friday night to drink my sorrows away, and I drank them away and then some. I got so drunk that I A) Lost my check card (unbeknownst to me until Sunday afternoon) and then B) Sent a series of drunk texts to Wiley being generally whorish and then lamenting about how he’d probably think ill of me if I ended up sleeping with him the next night. He assured me he didn’t think that way (but of course he’d say that), and added that both of his most recent significant relationships started off like that. Then I passed out and forgot about everything until I woke up the next morning trying to piece together the events of the night before.
I was moderately hung over, but Gatorade and water solved that pretty sufficiently, thank goodness, as I had a hot date to start getting ready for sooner or later and I wanted to be in tip-top shape.
Wiley lives about 50 minutes away from me, and the date was taking place in his neck of the woods. He was kind enough to offer to pick me up but I didn’t feel the need to have him drive all the way to me for that and I decided to just Uber to a town about 15 minutes up the road from him and to have him pick me up from there since he wanted to be all traditional.
He booked us for an 8:30 p.m. dinner reservation and then for a 10:30 p.m. reservation at a fancy cocktail joint afterward. I was awful flattered that he had taken the time and effort to plan this and that there was an action-packed night ahead. After my last couple of days at work, I definitely needed the getaway.
We arranged for him to pick me up from the Uber around 7 p.m. Shortly thereafter I got to the destination to discover that he had sent me a series of texts trying to get me to meet him outside of a metro station, but my phone was on silent so I didn’t see them until I was out of the Uber already. So I had to stand around on a crowded corner for a little bit to wait for him to figure out where I am in relation to him and then traverse the couple of blocks to get to me. Traffic was kind of backed up due to there being some type of festival or something going on and streets blocked off as a result. But it wasn’t too long before he was calling me to tell me he was right behind a delivery truck that was across the street from me, only we were hidden from each others’ view initially due to a bus stopped on my side. Cue an instant of random sudden shyness as I realized all would be revealed once the bus moved away and the moment of truth commenced. I’m typically not that shy or self-conscious in moments like these so I don’t really know where that came from. I guess because I kind of liked him and wanted all to go well.
And it did. The bus moved, he saw me on the other side of the street, and we waved. I went to try to cross the street, but the light was green and I didn’t want to try to rush it because I was teetering in the high heels he insisted I wear. So THAT was actually a little awkward as he stood outside of his car waiting for me and I kind of just stood there like a jackass waiting for the light to turn before saying F it and walking over anyway.
And there was Wiley – just as he looked in his pictures. No surprises. He came to my side of the car and we greeted and hugged and he opened my door for me. What a gentleman.
He was instantly touchy-feely in the car, in a good way. The plan was for him to take his car back to his house and Uber the couple of blocks to the restaurant, as parking would be horrendous in that area. In his car, he immediately took my hand and held it for a little while along the way, and varied between either that or placing his hand gently on my thigh. And I welcomed it. I thought it was cute that he was into being so physically affectionate immediately…it seemed like he was pleased with what he saw, at least.
We got to his neighborhood and waited in the car while he ordered the Uber. It was just about 8 p.m. at that point, so we were due to be a little early for our reservation. He gave me the option of coming in his house for a glass of wine for a little bit, or heading to the restaurant and having a pre-drink there if our reservation wasn’t ready. I opted for the latter.
We were at the restaurant within 10 minutes and our reservation was not ready, but we sat at a window seat at the bar for a little bit sipping bourbon (he) and wine (me) until our reservation was ready. I gave him points for his restaurant selection – a trendy spot that, while maybe the slightest bit pretentious, had a unique rustic, hipster-ish vibe to it. We were both maybe just a tad overdressed for it – he in a suit with no tie, I in a dress and sparkling heels, but the restaurant was intimate enough that no one was really paying attention to us anyway.
We shared a meat and cheese board appetizer, and then a rib-eye steak dinner designed for 2 to share. The food was divine.
As was the conversation. Just as in text, and the whole of the night itself, the conversation never languished. Our different political temperaments reigned supreme at certain points, but not in any kind of tense way, or even in a clashing sense…it was more of a general sharing of thoughts and ideals civilly and with open minds. Everything you’re not supposed to talk about on a first date, we talked about – politics, religion, exes (well…his). All the good stuff.
The one minor glitch in the matrix was revealed when he advised me he’s actually 43 and not 37 as his Tinder profile states. Hmmm. His explanation was that he doesn’t really use Facebook as much as other types of social media and when he set it up years ago, he mostly likely put in a false year of birth so as not to have too much of his info out there. Sounds plausible…not the first time I’ve heard that in regards to Tinder age discrepancies, but most people explain that in their profile. Either way, no big deal. Everything about him was still true to form, so I wasn’t going to get pissy over 6 years. He wore every bit of his 43 years well. So I could let that slide.
Most notably, at some points, Wiley made reference to future activities for us, like baseball games and skeet shooting and things like that. He at one point remarked on how I was the most beautiful woman in the room, and, as we were walking out, commented on how many heads I was turning (*Gush*). He certainly knows how to lay on the charm. Fitting, being as he talks for a living. He knows how to work people. But even if he was working me, it didn’t really feel like that. It felt nice. Genuine.
At some point in the night I checked my phone finally and saw a text from him: “You look gorgeous.” This was well after the fact, but he had sent it around 8 p.m., around the time when we were either waiting for or already in the Uber from his place. Total Prince Charming.
The next spot on the agenda was about a block away. It was a speakeasy type of place that offered specialized cocktails. We had a couple of rounds there but as the night wore down and my feet started to hurt (one of which Wiley had me stretch across to his seat so he could rub it), I started feeling tired and decided that since I’m feeling like having sex with this guy, we might as well get that show on the road and go back to his place. So I suggested he close the check and we retire back to his place for wine. No argument there.
We first kissed outside while we were waiting for the Uber. Not in a needy, lustful, aching-to-rip-each-others’-clothes-off kind of way, but in a sweet, patient way.
Uber arrived and we were back at his place in 10 minutes. It was there that I got to relieve my feet of those pretty, but torturous, heels, and get acquainted with Wiley’s handsome cat while he busied himself with pouring us some wine. I explored my immediate surroundings some – his bookshelves, particularly – and then we settled in on the couch in front of the TV for a little while sipping wine and conversing tipsily.
As expected, one thing lead to another and soon we were making out on his couch and then progressively ventured on to other recreational activities that we decided the bedroom was more suited for.
The sex was splendid…he’s attentive, he’s big, and he’s aggressive and mildly domineering, which suits me. Good times were had by all. Once we were done (and I’d consumed another glass of wine to re-hydrate…or, just for the hell of it really since it’s actually not hydrating at all), he motioned me over to the crook of his arm and we fell asleep together.
We woke up around 8 or so the next morning to the preliminary news about the club shooting in Orlando. Yikes. He commented that I look pretty in the morning (sans contacts, so I doubt that). Another round of sex ensued eventually and then he mentioned getting the day started and went to go start freshening up. I took that as my cue and started exploring the living room to find my various items of clothing that had been scattered there from the night before. It didn’t really seem like he was in a brunch kind of mood, but I mentioned it anyway. He said he’d love to on any other day, but he was headed to a baseball game later so needed to drop me back off and then get in a few hours of work in before then. Darn. Oh well…wishful thinking. Even still, he never made me feel like he was trying to rush me out of there – he even fed me blueberries. I knew it was just a matter of him being a little pressed for time. After all, my sleeping over wasn’t officially planned.
I asked when our next date would be and he exclaimed that it sounded like a good idea to get that out of the way and immediately checked his phone and tentatively scheduled us again for next Saturday. He warned that he’d be out of town working at least the night before, and maybe into Saturday itself, but said it sounded like it would work. Yay! That gave me something to look forward to.
His car was parked a little bit of a way from his house, so being ever the gentleman, he let me stay inside while he went to get it to bring it right up to the front door for me. He drove me back to the metro station drop off and waited with me there for 15 minutes or so while I waited out a quick surge and then ordered an Uber. He escorted me to the door of the Uber when it came, we kissed goodbye, and that was that.
What a lovely date.
I went home and kind of laid around thinking about everything. I was kind of expecting to hear something from him as the day progressed – a least a hello or what have you – and as I didn’t I became kind of anxious. The dreaded post-date limbo…will he or won’t he? UGH.
I ended up napping in the late evening until about 9 p.m. When I woke up I said Screw it and sent him a text. He wrote back immediately to explain that the Orlando situation necessitated him traveling out of town for work and he ended up missing the game. Aw. Well, that explained the radio silence for the day at least.
We got to talk some from there and all felt/sounded normal. I had looked up the baseball games in question he’s interested in (his town vs. my hometown) and they’re not until August, but he said it’s a sure thing as long as he’s in town.
I inquired as to what my final hotness percentile is. Before we met, he declared that I was at least in the 97th. Post-meet, I jumped to 99th, but he docked me a point for drunkenly losing my check card on Friday. Darn.
So, I guess I like him. I’d like to see him again. We shall see. He’s cute, he’s intelligent, he seems successful, he’s never been married and doesn’t have any children (but is open to it, which is important to me), and doesn’t really seem to be on the rebound or like the player type. His last relationship ended a couple of months ago after a year and a half because of what, as described to me, sounded like a general incompatibility – he said she was prone to getting drunk in social situations and being obnoxious to other people, and especially towards the end when they had been making plans to move in together, she began starting arguments for no reason so he broke it off and they’ve only spoken once since.
He said he hadn’t been on Tinder long and I was his third date so far…the other 2 he wasn’t feeling and they went nowhere.
I haven’t heard from him all day today, but I know he’s probably busy with work. Now that I know his last name and who he works for, I’ve been able to do a little bit of quality internet stalking and I was even able to listen to a recording of a broadcast he did today. So I’m sure it’s not me. It’s work. Maybe.
Standby for the impending disaster.