Huston, wir haben ein Problem

The second date went even better than the first. We rolled into Lab in Soho for a choice of cocktail (out of a menu of 400) which turned into 3 cocktails and a shot of Mumm (yes, champagne shots as a side to fruity vodka are in), then walked across WC1 to Carnaby Street where we found a funky Chinese wok restaurant. From there, we hit Sketch (for about 3 seconds) and ended up at the Polo Bar for a bottle of the Widow (Cliquot, who else).

 

Needless to say, that was a lot of alcohol, even for my Nordic liver. I was entirely composed throughout, which is a relief, but the moment of truth arrived at the Polo Bar and we decided to spend the night together. I swung by my flat, picked up work clothes and got back in the cab to his place.

 

I sound like a pathetic teenage girl, but this guy ticks all my boxes. MY boxes. That is, he’s fun to be around, he’s drop dead gorgeous, and he’s kind. I’m still trying to get used to his (heavy) Australian accent, and sure, this morning he asked me whether Moscow was 3 hours ahead of us or behind. I only have envy for those who go through life with some sort of blissful ignorance.

 

At his place the clothes came off, fast. We were lip-locked and inebriated. That’s when we both realised there was a glaring problem. I wasn’t hard.

 

I didn’t get it. Here I was with one of the most attractive men I have ever come across, and King Henry won’t even fly at half mast. I was so freaked out by this unusual situation that mentally I became even less prone to getting hard.

 

He didn’t react very well to it either. First, he was sure it was him and that I wasn’t attracted to him enough. Then he asked: do you have a boyfriend? Nope. Are you in love with someone else? No. Are you HIV+? Nah uh.

 

As we lay there in bed, frustrated, I decided it was time for me to go back home. He wouldn’t let me, and I wasn’t sure how much more humiliation I could stand for one evening.

 

Sharing this with a friend of mine, she immediately responded, “Wow, you must really like this guy.” The truth is, she’s right. Maybe, I haven’t been able to move him down from the realm of fantasy into the very real world of intercourse. I feel almost inadequate in his perfect presence, and the vulnerability affects me in ways I didn’t think possible.

 

The thing is, now it will be even harder (no pun intended) to get this going off the ground. Now I have something to prove, pressure to perform. It’s a downward spiral waiting to happen. For a quick second, I even contemplated artificial inducement. WHAT THE HELL? I’M twenty £)£$%ing three!