I think I got 2 hours sleep after our first date night of drinks, and meeting friends, and seeing each other’s apartments, and dancing in the living room, and incredible sex… and I was more than a little tired. As was O, so we stayed in bed quite late on the Saturday morning, chatting, laughing at how this wasn’t how we’d expected a date for a few drinks after work would end up, and having more of that – you guessed it – incredible sex (I’m not even going to apologise for it!). While still in bed, I had to reject a WhatsApp call from my Mum and text her that I couldn’t answer it because I wasn’t in my own bed (Mama didn’t raise no liar)… #awkward

We finally got up and showered together before he got ready to go to his parents’ and I headed home. PSA – showering with a 6’5 guy makes for some logistically awkward moments. Also some bloody cold moments, like when he entirely blocks the water flow from reaching you.

We both had busy Saturdays of visiting parents and going on a birthday night out (him) and going to the gym then going on an afternoon long brewery crawl (me). He did say before we left each other in the middle of downtown that he fully welcomed drunken texts and expected to see (me) the next day. Despite him telling me on Friday that he’s not a great texter, it wasn’t long before my phone buzzed with a message from him asking how the breweries were.

We texted on and off during the day and at 9pm he asked what the chances were he’d see me that night. I told him it was pretty high, but when I ended up heading home around 10.30pm I presumed he’d be out later so went to bed and only woke up when some other fuckboy called me at 1.30am. Don’t ask me why I don’t put my phone on silent.

O had messaged at 12.30am asking if I was still awake so albeit that it was then an hour later, I called him to see where he was but he didn’t answer. I then sent him a text that he did reply to and, despite it being middle of the night, me being fully in bed and asleep, I somehow ended up agreeing to get up out of bed and going to meet him at the McDonald’s a block from my place. I know, makes no sense to me either. Even just 36 hours in, he was definitely starting to seriously affect my sleep and I should have hated it more than I did, which was not at all.

By the time I got there though, O’s friend whose birthday they had been celebrating and was visiting from out of town had shown up at McDonald’s (he’d gone MIA earlier in the evening) and now needed to be let into O’s place where he was staying. They were both pretty drunk but O seemed to have his shit together, despite stinking of weed. So I suggested he take his friend home, I’d wait for the food that he’d ordered and and then take it back to mine where O would come once his friend was safely tucked up at home. It really was handy that we lived so close.

Standing in McDonald’s still half asleep, I wondered what the hell I was doing. But there was something about him… Clearly he was making me do crazy things, which worried me slightly. But let’s be honest, I’m never going to turn down the chance to snack on a stray fry.

I texted him once I was home letting him know his McDonald’s was awaiting him, and he replied saying “you’re quickly turning into a unicorn”. Well, you do what you can, right? [insert hair bob emoji lol]

Twenty minutes later I went down to meet him outside my building, as I wasn’t sure the buzzer / elevator instructions would be entirely digestible for him that night. Watching his tall frame come lumbering over the street, he definitely seemed a little worse for wear. As we got into my apartment, he got undressed almost immediately so was sat on my sofa, in his boxers, munching his McDonald’s like it was the most normal thing in the world, which was only marginally strange given I’d known him at that point for so little time. But for being an “8 out of 10 drunk” as he said the next day he was, he was still pretty well put together.

Apparently all his friends loved the story of how I wanted to watch the rugby right after we finished having sex and the love bite (which I’d accidentally given him, did I not mention that? Yeah… good God who am I?) was a constant source of amusement for his friends all day. But his reply to them was always to say the sex was absolutely worth it so he really didn’t care. I, on the other hand, was mortified.

I slept a little more on Saturday night than I had on Friday night but only by a couple of hours. We had a lovely morning of snuggling, which I’m pretty sure is what Sunday mornings are made for and which later led to him calling me “a little cuddle monster”. But he seemed to need more sleep so I left him in bed while I skyped my family back home. After having to reject my Mum’s call the day before, and having to explain why I was kind of whispering that morning, I had to tell them the abridged version of the man in my bed… Always fun family chats!

I went back to bed for a bit but I was pretty antsy which he fully called me out on when he woke up. He asked if he’d done anything stupid the night before but I assured him he really was fine. He apologised for gatecrashing my place after his night out, and thanked me again for getting his McDonald’s. He was very appreciative and maybe a little sheepish.

Part of me felt like I’d done too much, I’d been too nice, too accommodating, too available. Was being willing to get up in the middle of the night to meet him when he was TUI (Texting Under the Influence) me giving myself too easily to him? But I had loved seeing him again, falling asleep next to him again was comforting, waking up beside him again was exciting. But I’d started to feel conflicted about my actions, which only fed my antsy-ness.

He had brunch with friends to go to, which seemed like a total struggle for him in his slightly hungover state – I was intrigued how much alcohol was required to get a guy of that size drunk. Meanwhile I was excited to get up and get the laundry on and get out to exercise. We were very different people that morning! I needed a quiet but productive Sunday after a weekend which had ended up not at all like I’d envisaged.

We texted a little during the day and it seemed like his Sunday was getting boozy, brunch was followed by beers on the beach, then around 5.30pm he messaged and asked when I’d be eating dinner. I had been napping, thanks to a serious lack of sleep the previous two nights, but texted back around 6.30pm to say I’d be eating within the next hour, in my head the text finished with “because I want to be in bed at 8pm” but I refrained from sending that part to him. At which point he said he wanted to cook for me.

He had said something in the morning about making up for his drunkenness by cooking me dinner, but I never really thought it would happen. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it if I’m honest. I was concerned about seeing him 3 days in a row, I didn’t want to see him if he was super drunk (Saturday night drunk was one thing, Sunday day drunk was another) and I felt that maybe I should make myself a little more unavailable. But he was so excited to cook for me and having someone cook dinner was always a treat (a symptom of long term singledom), so soon enough he was at mine suggesting he cook fish tacos. When should I tell him I don’t eat fish?

On his arrival, he was a bit of a drunken, beach mess and I slightly started to regret my decision to say yes to dinner. Plus I could feel my anxiety kick in about my scheduled bedtime not going to plan and just generally not making good decisions. I really like order, I really like routine, I really like knowing what the fuck is going on and this weekend had contained none of those things. I also knew that sometimes I needed to be a little more flexible, a little more easy going and a little more spontaneous. So I was trying to find balance.

We left mine to go back to his place for him to shower and change before we went grocery shopping for dinner, and the whole time dinner just felt like it was getting later and later and I was becoming more anxious… My anxiety was apparently obvious to him and as he was getting ready to shower he questioned why I seemed so reluctant to be having dinner with him. I tried to explain about my general preference for control and plans and that unexpected changes cause me anxiety, all the while feeling very vulnerable sharing these fairly deep seated fears with someone I’d known for such a short time.

He knelt down beside me as I was sitting on the sofa, towel wrapped around his waist, and said “if anyone understands about anxiety I get it, as a result of the basketball injuries, I suffered from depression and from that developed anxiety, so I get where you’re coming from. Just know I understand” and then he kissed me. It was incredibly sweet and my heart skipped a beat. For being such a big, bullish guy, he was also sensitive and tender.

I loved his openness to being sweet and complimentary, like when we were dancing on Friday night and as he stroked my side he said “damn, you’re fit, how did I not notice that before?!” Or when on the Saturday he said he’d found himself checking his phone and hoping I’d texted him while he was with his friends. And despite him not being a texter, he wanted to text me all the time. Or when he was at the beach on Sunday but had apparently just wanted to be hanging out with me.

But was it love bombing (someone blinding you with grand gestures and hollow words) or was it genuine interest. I couldn’t be sure. On both the Saturday and Sunday I’d tried to make sure I wasn’t driving the contact, that he was the one that reached out first both times, but did that really give me an indication of true intent? It was too early to know for sure.

He smoked a joint on our way from his place to the supermarket and it seemed to help him sober up(?) a little. At least that, and the shower, and change of clothes seemed to have helped so by the time we got to the store, shopping was easy and super fun, but everything seemed like it would be fun with him. I finally admitted at that point that I didn’t actually eat fish but I’d try the fish tacos if he promised he wouldn’t be offended if I didn’t like them. He agreed but promised I would love them.

After dinner, and me finding I did actually love his fish tacos, we were talking about how surprising the weekend had been, as we had a few times already since we’d met. My surprises for the three days of the weekend were him kissing me outside Tacofino, him texting me while out on Saturday, and the fact he was able to make me comfortable enough on Sunday night, despite my spontaneity anxiety, to be able to enjoy dinner with him. His 3 surprises were me saying I’d see him after meeting my friend for dinner on Friday (also me giving up my self restraint to sleep with him), meeting him at McDonald’s on Saturday and letting him stay (also the Saturday morning sex being so good), and me agreeing to a drunk guy coming to cook me dinner on Sunday.

It was fair to say neither of us had expected the weekend to go the way it did but lying on the sofa discussing the many events of the past 48 hours, it felt crazily normal.

He ended up staying over until Monday morning, after he’d said something about “well if I was staying…” and I said “well you’re welcome to” which caught him off guard but, honestly, it had been a lovely weekend and having someone cook me dinner on a Sunday night, and to watch Netflix and snuggle with until it was bedtime was unbelievably lovely. I fucking missed that!

Monday morning was interesting though. He for sure was feeling the effects of a heavy weekend, and the lack of sleep had him more than a little grumpy, though I could tell he was desperately trying to be fun and chatty before he headed home to get some more sleep and I got ready for work.

Within our first weekend of knowing each other we’d each met a close friend of the other’s, stayed at each other’s apartments, had sex (including some stuff that maybe takes some people more than a few dates to get to..), drunk texted, watched sports, showered together, went grocery shopping, he cooked for me, stayed over on a school night. It was a lot, and a lot more than expected, but it all felt really lovely.

I noticed throughout the weekend that I kept thinking “oh, people are going to judge me for going this hard and fast” or feeling pressured to make choices based on the so called “rules of dating” – don’t sleep together on the first date, don’t always be available, don’t give him everything he wants right away… I started to really psyche myself out and there were definitely moments of wondering if I should have been doing any of it. But then there’s the other side, when people say “when it feels right just go with it” or “if you want to, then why not?” So it was a conflicted weekend but by the end of it I was feeling more comfortable with my choices.

I also knew that O was nothing like I thought someone I would date would be, yet the ease with which I was finding spending time with him didn’t match that mis-match in expectations. The level of comfort we both had with each other, and had from the first date drinks, was unexpected and was rare in all the dates I’d been on. I hoped it wasn’t misplaced but we seemed to be on the same page.

I’d said to O on the Sunday night that my only concern with things being this unexpected, and ever so slightly full on, is that one of us (but I really meant him) would all of a sudden have a change of heart or get freaked out and run the other way. And that all I hoped was that there would be a conversation rather than just a slow retreat. He agreed, saying he was a much bigger fan of people having difficult, but necessary, honest conversations, than people getting into their own heads and things getting fucked up by not communicating. In that regard, it was like listening to myself.

But…it sounded like his last relationship was a bit of a head fuck with a serious lack of intimacy and I wasn’t sure he’d fully come to terms with that. He was also only just coming out the end of a long injury lay off and was dealing with the effects physically and mentally of that. He was building his business and, despite surrounding himself with seemingly older friends and mentors, he was only 26 (did I not mention that? Oops my bad) and had said himself he was unemotional. So expectations around any blossoming relationship needed to be kept realistic.

Also, up to this point O’s actions hadn’t entirely matched his words – he wanted to go slow but we slept together on our first date. He said he was unemotional but he’d been super open about his feelings (maybe that’s different?)… but each time the actions were “better” than his spoken intentions so I wasn’t complaining, but that’s where it got confusing for me. I didn’t want to be hearing one thing and having to presume he’d do something else. My head doesn’t need that type of messing about.

I remember my therapist Julia saying about the Canadian DJ situation, “you don’t necessarily want fireworks, the fireworks fizzle, they die out and then what are you left with?” At the time I thought “but how can something that feels so incredibly amazing be wrong?!” Turns out she knows what she’s talking about, as if I had ever doubted her. That situation went so wrong, so quickly. So I was glad it wasn’t feeling like crazy fireworks with O, that’s not to say it didn’t feel great but it just felt… easy.

Despite the element of confusion, I felt a sense of calm about and around O, though I couldn’t quite place where it came from. Was it because it was just “right” or was it because I didn’t fully believe it might go anywhere, because it never does? I guessed only time would tell.

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