Well, i’ve just returned from my dinner date. I went on it for a little bit of fun and a moment of ‘time killing’ and well yeah, nice boy…i guess? He drove to mine. Picked me up at 7.30pm. When i answered the door, he looked all nervous and pink. I looked like a rich…slag. I automatically tried to make him feel comfortable by being the kitty queen of ‘touch.’ No, i didn’t grope him…i just hugged him. I should’ve groped him, then the date could’ve been over quicker. But i don’t like always having to make the man feel comfortable. He should be making me feel all cosy. I’m not terrifying. I’m sexy. There’s a difference. Anyway, then i ran out of the doorway and into his car, the sensor lights around my mothers home are rarely complimentary. I looked like a fucking witch. Haha..
To be honest i don’t have too much to say because he spent the time not saying much, being far too polite and being shy. I talked a lot. I asked him a lot. Then i sighed. I mean, i was only meant to be going on this for a bit of fun. I should’ve picked a player or a loud mouthed charmer, a cheeky chappy. However anyway, i picked a nice guy and well that’s exactly what i got. He brought me flowers. I really liked that. I bought him shots. He liked that (and he fucking needed it.)
We had dinner. He was being boring and i mean boring is okay if i already know you well. I mean there are boys, i can sit with, in silence or thought and it be completely comfortable. This was awkward. Well not for me. I enjoy awkward. I squeeze myself into those moments with a delicious wink of wit. Anyway, i figured the only way i could make this fun, is if he had more courage. The only way he could have more courage is if we got pissed. I ordered them in. It got fun.
When drunky he started getting ballsier. He grew a pair of nuts and began being a a Flirty Berty. I like flirty men, but only when they’re flirting with me. I don’t like men who take you out and then flirt with every other girl but you. It’s so ‘little boy, did that in school.’ I want a man. At one point i don’t think he could see any longer. It was terrific. I ordered the steak and everything on him, and with a face of sheer drunkardness out loud DEMANDED that i have everything i want. I know the people at this restuarant very well. I’ve been going since i was about 5. To them it’s a case of the same girl, but with a different face. He’d be a drunk dickhead. They’d give us the ten star treatment. I’d say thankyou. They’d give us free shots and give me a cheeky wink. (I am very fond of shots throughout dinner or to get a night going.)
All was going well. I was having fun and loving it. It was one of those meals will a million courses…so at times i’d have to stuff a moutful in my face and do a secret *trump.* Haha. AWFUL of me. I am a lady honest. I kept needing to go to the toilet to freshen up…well to breathe in my dress after mounds of red meat. He never went to the toilet once. I’m not used to that. Men i go out with usually make regularly tragic trips to the toilet and come back with dialated eyes, a bleeding nose and an attitude problem. Or they venture into here to text their girlfriend. This boy, i’ll call him ‘Darling’ was simply lovely.
He ordered champagne. Nice of him, he certainly made an effort. We had dessert. He told me i was beautiful, then followed it up with an ‘amazing.’ (Notice how i got that in…lol.) He looked dapper, smart and posh. I looked at him with dewy glamour puss eyes. Then he said a really weird thing, he said ‘I can’t believe you’re real?’ I never know what people mean when they say that to me? I hear it a lot…so in true Wunna *voice of chlamydia* style, i politely asked what he meant. He replied by going red and not replying. UGH!