Image via Wikipedia
Friday afternoon I went on a tour of the CUB brewery with Tim. It was one of those cheap voucher deals I'd picked yup weeks before. Did the tour had, had a few complementary tastings afterwards as well as a couple of paid beers in the beer garden of the pub around the corner.
Got home, changed clothes, dashed off. Caught up with another girl - let's call this one the political advisor. Split a bottle of wine at Walters and a plate of food, had another drink at the very trendy Ponyfish Island before she put it to me that we had three options: another drink, go home separately, or go home together.
Soon enough were in a cab back to my place, a quick glass of wine before the rest of it accompanied by Rigby's whining outside the bedroom door wanting to be part of it.
She left early next day while I mooched around. Felt a bit lost. For once felt the absence of someone to chill out with. I wondered if I was oversexed. Then wondered if it was possible to be 'over' sexed. She was a nice enough girl and someone I could imagine having many interesting conversations with, but not, I knew, someone who was ever going to capture my heart. Did that matter? Normally no, but I figure I've been with 8-10 women over the last 6 months and for all the pleasures of that not one have I contemplated in a more serious way.
Last night was another girl - the Speed Dater. She's different. Feminine, girly, maybe a little demure, smart, but not overly assertive. She's cute with a neat little body, an endearing habit of curling her lip when making an ironic comment and a propensity for saying "totally!".
We saw a movie and then had dinner before ending with a drink. It was a rainy night and the city full of people attending the comedy festival and the remnants of the footy crowd. Our conversation flowed at times and faltered at others. I took the lead asking questions and leading the conversation into interesting, and occasionally provocative avenues. She seemed to enjoy that, though she is not the type to take the initiative.
Nor is she the type to suggest the same propositions as the woman the night before; nor to be propositioned like that. It's not a bad thing. In my present state I am more inclined to woo than conquer; I want to seduce slowly if given the choice, to come at things naturally rather than rush at them in a crazy shedding of clothes. Naturally I imagined that neat body revealed to me, the shy, but encouraging glances, the measured, unhurried lovemaking as we discover each other between scraps of conversation. It seemed sweet to me, though not something unique to us: I was happy to share that with anyone who might be right for it.
Nothing happened. We parted. I left wondering what I am to do, encouraged sometimes, discouraged others. There's a door with a key in it and until you gain entry to the room beyond you can never be sure. You don't always get there though, and sometimes you lose patience trying. One more maybe.
Then there is the other, the Philosopher as Donna likes to call her. She is more earthy again, more direct as I like it, but not as feminine.
Whatever. I'm not about to say no, but I think maybe I need a break from the easy and meaningless sex. I've reached my limit for the moment. I want to seduce and feel it deep inside me.