All good things must come to an unexpected start…
I’m still here, you sadistic bunch of so-and-sos. Over the months, I’ve had numerous requests to stay single forever so I can keep writing about my dating misadventures. Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but I’ve met someone.
And yet, while even I thought that I’d stop writing about dating once I had gotten myself into a relationship, I feel that this is simply a new chapter in my big ol' book of relationshipery. And with that, I’ve decided to keep this going, only now, you can laugh, cringe and cry at my anxious internal monologue as I blindly stumble to impress, woo and not fuck up a good thing - Poor guy.
Catch up on Chapter 1: Singledom
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 1 - An introduction to me, nude photos and two fuckwits
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 2 - Intimidation, confidence and two more fuckwits
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 3 - MTB Hoe Bags, dating jargon and more delightful fuckwits
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 4 - Sex
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 5 - Find out what my ex's say about me
MTB Dating Diaries: Part 6 - Is age really just a number?
The first four weeks of a relationship is crucial; The first date, the first kiss, the first time, the first fuck up… lots of firsts. Guess how many of those firsts I fucked up? More than one.
The First Date
So, what could be more obvious for a couple of mountain bikers than to go for a ride as a first date? With him visiting, the trails were home territory for me and a quick blast around a favourite trail of mine seemed a good way to ease into it.
Now, I'm not super fit or pretend to be any more of a rider than I really am so it was no surprise that he lapped me on climbs as his itchy pedal pins were aching for a proper session. As I tried to regulate my breathing and suppress the look of dying pain on my face as I pedalled harder, I was relieved to reach the top of the climb.
I offered him to hit the descent first because I knew following me would be like getting stuck behind a learner driver on the road without an option to overtake. He declined. Fuck.
So, I set off down the trail that I knew and loved, and then yep, I ate shit. Front wheel slipped from under me and I go somersaulting over the top with a hell of a landing. Pinned under my bike, I lay on my back, waiting for him to come get me and in that time, which felt like forever, I’m fighting back the adrenaline-fuelled shakes and stinging tears behind my eyes. I lay there, accepting what had happened and feeling like an utter twat and just wishing that the trail would open up and swallow me whole.
He pulls me up, sits me down and checks I’m ok. I’m not fucking ok. I managed to hold back the tears, smile it off and accept that shit just happens… to me… at the worst times. C’est la vie.
The First Kiss
I’m not really the most romantic of people. I don’t like grand gestures and anything that seems planned in any way. I like to just go with the flow with many things because I believe things are best when they happen naturally… so, how did I fuck this up so bad?
Still nursing my wounded pride and a sore body from the date-gate, a chilled evening on the couch watching films was the only thing on the agenda. Cosied up under a blanket, enjoying a cuppa, he was being warm and careful to not make me feel more stupid about stacking it in front of him, so when he sat forward, turned to me and leaned in… a rapid fire of "fuck, shit, oh god, now?" bombarded my head. I was caught off-guard and not expecting it to happen in that very instance, and so, my fuck or flight mode engaged and as he firmly pressed his lips to mine…
I blew a raspberry in his mouth.
Thanks, brain. Thanks.a.fucking.lot. I could immediately see the shock and shimmer of hurt glaze his eyes, and my heart sank. He stood up and walked off into the kitchen. I felt like such an awful human and I hated myself more than I had in a long time, but a tiny little cunt voice in me was laughing nonetheless. I followed him into the kitchen, tail between my legs, murmured an embarrassed apology and kissed him… properly. I could tell that I hadn’t totally redeemed myself and I’m not sure I ever will.
The First Time
I’ve already explained my fuck-or-flight theory on sex and how there are a lot of thoughts, emotions and feelings which culminate to form my final answer to, "Do I want to do this?"
Given my track record of the first date and the first kiss, the thought of possibly having sex with him was totally frustrating. Terrified I would inadvertently cock it up (haha), I almost didn’t want to put myself through the anxiety. But you know what it’s like, you’re in bed, you’re kissing, he looked amazing, felt lovely and then… sod it. If I fuck this up, I’ll apologise and go die of embarrassment somewhere after I've kicked him out, moved home and erased myself from social media existence.
And without the graphic detail, the no-pants-dance gets underway and all seems to be going well… until… he burns up red in the face, pulls out and walks out of the room. I shit you not, he just bailed on me leaving me lying on the bed like I’m at the gyno clinic, whilst he buggers off downstairs.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so hurt, confused and concerned in my life. Fuck it, I didn’t know what to feel so I just felt all the things. I tucked myself back into bed and whilst I can hear him coming back, my insecure chick-brain kicks in; "What did I do? Doesn’t he fancy me naked? Was this some head-fuck game? Payback even?" I panicked but told myself to just wait for an explanation before getting worked up.
He climbs back into bed and with an impossible silence between us, I asked what happened. Turns out, he overheated and made himself feel nauseous and needed a break – with that, we went to sleep.
Getting to know you
When it comes to dating someone new, it can be pretty exciting. Your mood is all up in the clouds and it’s like no other feeling out there. Your stomach turns with dancing butterflies, your mind wonders and relives moments you’ve already shared and you do think to yourself, could he be “the one”?
Then again… falling for someone and feeling all the feels in the world is fucking agonising. While you feel super stoked on your new beau, you're often plagued by common thoughts like… Does he have skeletons lurking in the past? Are his intentions true? Do we want the same thing? Am I enough? Is he enough? And then there’s the whole past relationships conversation that you question whether you want to know about or not. In this instance, I’m at a major disadvantage because he’s followed my Dating Diaries in which I’ve shared a great deal.
And then there’s the fear of him finding out about things you’d rather hold onto for a little longer. Like how you have the dietary habits of a 5-year old, or how you like to watch cartoons in bed in the morning, how you have a fear of wind turbines, along with other historical negativities which ultimately made you the person you are now.
All of that. All of those emotions. All of those doubts and concerns. Fuck me, if I thought being single was hard, dating is changing the difficulty level to expert.
With so many more firsts to come our way, this won't be the last entry, not by a long-shot.