The Suzi Tinder Dating Chronicles: Chapter 10 – The Return of Mr. Darcy

Mr Darcy

Remember when I said “watch this space” in my last blog? Well, that space has recently  been filled with a wide collection of experiences which can only really be described as wonderfully confusing. Is this another horrid tinder experience? No, but it is a continuation of a successful tinder experience from a year ago that looks like it might end up being ongoing. Mr. Dark Features made a whole lot of effort to come and visit me on one of my child free weekends. That’s right. He came to see me… from a whole other state. Romantic? Or am I just dynamite in bed? It was the question that plagued me for the weeks leading up to it. I know what you’re thinking… Please allow me to answer it for you. Of COURSE I’m dynamite in bed. But it did recently it occurred to me that sleeping with someone who ACTUALLY LIKES YOU is much much better for your self-esteem. SHOCK HORROR!!!!!!! So here I am day dreaming about this hugely grand romantic gesture, but also liking the validation of my sexual prowess before the part where you’re just a walking non-talking boobie honey pot of pleasure.

 

I picked him up from the airport. Nice of me, no? I’m fucking wonderful, considering I didn’t do, nor really was allowed to do (or pay for) anything else (no guilt extended, just lapped that shit right up, cause baby, I’m worth it) for like, the rest of the weekend. Gentleman. Can I just take a moment to explain to you how it felt just seeing him in the flesh after so long? Can you remember that moment after you met your partner and you knew you super liked (Tinder reference) them? Yeah, you remember, and I’m talking to all of you, since I’m virtually the only uncoupled person I know. Your heart jumps into your throat, your hair stands on end and your whole body is flooded with enough endorphins to engage in otherwise unsatisfactory social behaviour that offends anyone over 50. That last part is just me, isn’t it? My body was almost in a state of automatism so it took a great deal of restraint (and an angry security woman who was scolding me for sitting on the kerb for a bit too long) to not be too overzealous and, to my amazement, he seemed to be on the same page. I concluded this from the very intense eye contact that ensued almost immediately. It was hard not to crash my car and kill us both in a fiery inferno because I was so conscious of his gaze. I’d completely forgotten how disarming it was to just be in his presence. It wasn’t even like “hey, how have things been?” It was “Hey, how did we come to be? How did we manifest this and why? What do you think it means? Show me how you live your life because I want to know you.” Like, what the fuck? I dig it. Take your clothes off now please.

 

We went back to my house.  A great deal of restraint was shown on both our parts. We had cocktails. More restraint. Dinner. More restraint. Dancing. More restraint. Home. Zero restraint and it was just as intense and passionate as I remember. The intensity didn’t stop until he left. There was a hotel room, another dinner, many many embraces. I’m going to save you the sordid details (mostly because Mema reads this on the odd occasion). The reacquainting process took about 10 minutes, and then it was as if no time had passed between us at all. Ever the intelligent, thoughtful and sensitive man I remember. This time though, some conversations held slightly more weight. Sometimes perhaps a double entendre of sorts, other times take out the indecent meaning and you have something that warrants a great deal of thought. Here comes the “but”. There’s always one. It would be nice to just survive on the emotion of the present moment, because nothing else would really ever matter. “Does he make you happy when you’re with him?” is a statement I hear often from my friends and mostly my dear Mema when it comes to matters of my heart. But what if they’re hardly ever with you? Most of you know pretty well, I’ve been in this position before. Look how that ended up? Your emotions are just governed by the way you live and the way you choose to feel.

 

Whilst I’m pretty self-sufficient in the emotional game, when you start giving bits of it away, there’s a little bit of expectation that builds up that you might not necessarily get back. I’m a self-sabotaging wanker, that is for sure, because phrases like “unconventional nuclear family” and “work isn’t based on locality” breed more fear into my psyche than “you’ve got an abnormal pap test result and need a billion injections, some of them into your eyeballs and also Suits has now been cancelled and Gabriel Macht has given up acting.” What now? Will I proper fuck it up? Maybe. Is it the real deal? I don’t fucking know. Will he see through my “Suzi-has-her-shit-together” front? Most likely. It sure was nice to get a hug from someone who meant it though.

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