Back To Reality

So I’ve returned from my weekend in France. And I really, really don’t want to be here. I’ve done literally diddly squat all day. This is not good!

After hopping on the Eurostar and changing metro lines in Paris like a pro, I jumped on the TGV to head south to Marseille. It was six and a half hours in total before I finally got to Marseille St Charles and saw the smiling face of The Frenchman as he waited for me on the platform. It was so good to see him again. It had only been 3 weeks but it felt like forever. My train had actually arrived a little late, which he was thankful for because he was late himself. The reason, he told me, was because he’d been busy making a pie. He’d never made one before but he wanted to have dinner waiting for me since I was arriving so late in the evening. I have to say, I was mighty impressed. His pie was delish and went well with his salad and home-made dressing, chocolates and ridiculous amount of wine. We spent the evening eating, catching up, having obscene amounts of sex and generally chilling out. It was so nice to be back there with him (and his cat, of course), it almost felt like I’d never left.

On Saturday, he woke me up quite early. “Have you finished sleeping?” he asked. I hadn’t but being kissed awake put an end to my laziness. What a wake up call indeed and let’s face it, sex is a perfect alarm clock. He fell asleep afterwards and because I’d brought my laptop to keep me occupied on the train, I decided to get some writing done. When he woke up, he asked to read some. My writing was a major bone of contention with my ex and he never once showed an interest in it, until I left. He ended up reading some on the Sunday and while I was embarrassed, he seemed genuinely interested in the story, asking about this and that and for translations around English expressions he’d never heard of. It was nice for him to show an interest in something that means so much to me. It was a really nice, chilled out day. We went for a drive into the mountains to see a Calanque (kind of like a bay) and even though I got a bit chicken at the idea of going all the way to the top, it was simply stunning. He goes running up there all the time and it made me feel pea green with envy. I’m not sporty at all compared to him (he runs, plays squash, tennis, golf and football on a regular basis) but just the fact that he was able to go running with that kind of scenery around him…it made me realise just how different our lives actually are. By the time we got back to his apartment, I had a headache from the freezing cold, windy weather, so we both lay on the sofa, him to watch football and me to nap. I knew he was a massive fan of Olympique Marseille but, actually, I think he’s just a football addict all over. This is a new one on me. My ex didn’t really watch it at all, but I’m thinking a football addiction is better than a drug one? No?

Anyway, that evening, we went for Pastis (a popular pre-dinner beverage. Bit aniseed-ish. Not that keen), then dinner and to a club. I had been curious as to whether he’d told his friends about me, not least because there’s this one girl on his Facebook who is just always there. There’s always one, isn’t there. In any case, I’m not bothered about her now, but still, I didn’t know if I was this dirty little English secret, so I asked him. He said he’s told his friends about me “sure, I have” he said. They think it’s great, apparently. Definitely and experience, if a little crazy. That said, he has friends who’ve ended up marrying their partners after long distance relationships, so it’s hardly out of this world. The main thing, he said, is that he’s happy and they can see it. When he talks about me, he has a smile. Aww. That was enough for me. It was a great, great night. Fabulous food, where we ended up staying in the restaurant until way past midnight, then onto a bar with live music and then onto a club. I really didn’t want the night to end but I was conscious of the fact that it was 3am and I only had one day left. I didn’t want to spend it all hungover, so we left.

We ended up having a long conversation about relationships, and trust. I’d made a friend in the club waiting in the overly long queue for the toilet and obviously, being English, I was more interesting than the run of the mill French women there. It was all super friendly and when I was back on the dance floor with The Frenchman, my new friend saw us and said hello. The Frenchman knows my last relationship was a bit…restrictive…and he seemed to struggle with understanding why. Sure, everyone says ‘oh yeah, I’m really trusting’ at the beginning of a relationship but with him, I believe it 100%. Just the fact we’re in this long distance set up means we have to trust one another and I still can’t get over the self-assurance which seems to ooze from his pores. I know he’s not sleeping with anyone else (I asked the question last week) and the reply I got was ‘there’s only one girl and that’s you.’ That’s more than enough for me.

I wish the weekend didn’t go so quickly. It felt like my feet hardly touched the ground. After getting in at 3am, speaking for another hour and half and then having a marathon sesh, we didn’t actually get to sleep til around 6am, which of course meant we woke up around midday on Sunday. By the time we’d dragged ourselves away form each other and out of bed, half the day had gone. Again, he slaved away in the kitchen (roast chicken this time) and we were both so knackered we decided to forego a drive to Le Vieux Port (The Old Harbour) and settled on the sofa with another bottle of wine and his cat to watch a film. The next thing I knew, it was time to go home. Almost. But the filler for this bit will go in a separate post – this one is long enough already.

Waking up on Monday morning was hard. Not only was I exhausted, I just didn’t want to go. His cat was meowing and kneading his paws on my face after having accompanied me everywhere the night before (even to the bathroom) and I was so comfortable with The Frenchman spooned around me. I couldn’t believe it was time to go already. The good news is, I didn’t cry this time. I don’t know if it’s because I was going on a train and not a plane, but the goodbye didn’t seem so gut wrenching this time. It felt more like I was going away on a trip rather than all the way back to London. It was hard, of course, but I managed to hold it in. Until this morning. I have no idea why I was so emotional. Maybe it was hearing Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds on the radio which now reminds me of him. Maybe it was waking up without him having gotten so used to it, so quickly.

Obviously, this is all reaaaaaalllyy condensed. I don’t want to bore anyone with minute details. Suffice it to say, it was easily one of the best weekends of my life. And now, I feel a bit lost. Which sucks arse. Because I really doubt I’ll see him before the end of the year, and it could be 6-7 weeks before I see him again. And that is a really, really long way away.

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Strange things are happening…

This is a very quick post, but something strange happened last night. After work I went out for drinks with colleagues to celebrate Miss Comeback’s birthday (amongst others) – happy birthday Miss C! Anyway, the strange thing was, I didn’t dance all night! Maybe because we were tucked away by the bar where the acoustics were, shall we say, crap. But I didn’t dance at all. Not even a little wiggle. I just couldn’t get into the swing of things and ended up leaving with some of the girls at 10pm. Sober as a judge. I was in bed by 11pm.

What the actual fuck?

Strange.

Today I’m meeting up with a group of girls I’ve been speaking to online in our writing community for a couple of years – it’s the first time we’ve all met up together. I think it’s fair to say there’ll be lots of wine consumed.

Well, I have to make up for last night!

Dating exploits and chick-lit cliches

I’ve been a busy bee since coming back from Ireland. After Mr Double-Barrel’s radio show, I’ve kept a low profile with him and as is always the way, he’s increased the communication. Facebook poking, messaging – you get the drift. We met up on Friday as planned to watch the football and I was as blasé with him as I could possibly be. The compliments were rolling off his tongue. I looked nice, I smelled nice, it felt like he hadn’t seen me for ages. I replied ‘well it has been 3 weeks.’ He was touchy feely and for once, I felt like he was on the back foot. I guess it helped that I got chatted up by a rather hot guy who was there with his friend. When Mr Double-Barrel and I left, he told me that the hot guy had asked if we were together. Mr Double-Barrel said ‘not exactly’ and when the hot guy asked if he could ask for my number, apparently Mr Double-Barrel said no. Dick. The hot guy was, well, hot and told me to come back to the bar the following Tuesday to watch the next match. I didn’t end up going, but he served his purpose. Mr Double-Barrel was reminded that I’m not reliant on him for a love life. We went back to his and I took full advantage of the situation. He asked when he’d see me again and we made loose plans to watch the next match on Tuesday. I’d call him I said and didn’t speak to him any more after that.

I suppose I should admit that I’ve signed up to eharmony. The reasons are threefold. One, Miss Sunshine and Miss Comeback are on it, and I thought I’d keep them company. Two, a character in the new book I’m writing joins a dating website so it’s research (kind of) and three, it’s keeping me busy and when it comes to dating I guess practice makes perfect. So I’d started chatting to a guy. Italian, chef, pretty cute in his pics. We met up on Sunday and all I can say is ‘yawn’. He spoke about food the whole time and was not as cute in reality. On the upside he was a genuinely nice person and introduced me to a new bar. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night.

So when Tuesday rolled around, it was time to meet up with Mr Double-Barrel again. I knew straight away there was something up and when I asked him what it was, it turned out he’d had a crap day. First off? His ex, the one who I was stressing about, had a go at him. When I asked why, he said ‘because of you.’ Oh joy. Apparently, she saw the picture I posted of us on Facebook from Friday night. Now, it’s not like we were all over each other in the picture and it included the hot guy and his friend. But she didn’t like it, and apparently had a go at him. I took this as my opportunity to get some answers, so I asked what the deal was with her. I mean, she practically jumps on his facebook as soon as he posts anything. He said she’s still in love with him and he just wants to be friends. Apparently they were together for 3 months (so not as long as I thought) and it ended because he didn’t want a relationship. And he added that he still wasn’t sure he did. Next up, the girl his brother was hoping to start a relationship supposedly turned around and said it would never happen because she likes Mr Double-Barrel. So he was down because his brother hadn’t spoken to him since. To say the guy has baggage is an understatement. Proper Terminal 5 syndrome. I just kept asking questions and soaking it all in.

I told him he was going in the commitment-phobe box and he said he isn’t, he just doesn’t know what he wants. He’s a toxic guy, like the ones I read about, and I told him so. He said he likes me, blah blah, and ‘it can’t be easy for me not knowing what’s going on.’ What did I say to that? I said that if we’d have been having this conversation a couple of weeks ago I’d be upset, but since listening to his radio show in Ireland, I wasn’t actually that bothered. I added a nice little ‘no offence’ to that. Once I feel slighted, I can do a 180 lightening quick and it takes a LOT for that person to get back into my good books. Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy. He’s a good laugh, very fanciable, all those good things, but he is just too damned complicated for his own good and right now I’m not looking at him with doe-eyes for a relationship. In any case, we had a bite to eat, watched the match and then he invited me to a business meeting with a friend of his afterwards.

One thing that I do have to give Mr Double-Barrel props for is that he knows some interesting people. The guy he was going to meet was this American media mogul and I figured, why not? That and the fact their ‘meeting’ was on the roof terrace of the private members club, Soho House. Cue wine and lemon drop shots on the roof until 2.30am. Mr Double-Barrel took me back to his because the buses were likely to be full of drunken England fans, and we collapsed on the sofa to sleep. I had a slight variation on the walk of shame (even thought I’d done nothing remotely shameful. Not a drop of saliva was shared) the morning after in that I had to get from his flat in West London to mine in South, grab a shower, change my clothes and then head into work. I have to say, this year, I’ve lived out a few chick lit clichés and as a writer, this is all great stuff to use in my next masterpiece. He’s currently on holiday at that festival with the ex who loves him and who he’s leading on. I kinda feel a bit sorry for her actually.

Hm. What else? Oh yeah. The Frenchman. We’ve been messaging each other since Ireland and it looks like I’ll be going away for the weekend in August. And why the hell not?

Ooh la la avec les hommes Francais

So after an hour of feeling pissed off on Thursday after hearing Mr Double-Barrel on the radio, Miss America and I decided to go out on the piss and I was under strict orders to pull me an Irishman. I failed, dismally. And picked up a Frenchman instead. We went out for dinner and met a group of French guys who were in Ireland for a fishing trip. They were all the same age, 32/33, and all of them were lovely, compounding the stereotypical image of unfriendly French natives!

There were three of them who lived in Westport, I’m not sure what their relationship was to the guys who we were talking to but they seemed nice enough. And one of them took a shine to Miss America – never mind the fact he was there with his girlfriend. He was seriously cute and honestly, if looks could talk his would have said ‘I want to eat you now’. Intense wasn’t the word.

I’m sure you’ve already gathered, but Miss America is a great wing woman. I can be shy around guys but she thinks to ask leading questions and keep them interested. So we ended up going on for a few drinks with them and I got chatting to the one I’d had my eye on from the start. I’ll call him The Frenchman. He was very much my type – snowboarder, indie looking. He reminded me of a cuter Fred Durst and I used to love him back in the day. Over the course of some drinks we chatted and swapped English and French. When the club got ready to close, we went back to their cottage and Miss America was more than happy to keep me company.

Once there, the champagne and whiskey came out. Looking back, it could’ve been dangerous – two girls getting drunk with five French dudes, but hey, it was fun. And I fancied the pants off The Frenchman. Miss America decided she wanted to see the sunrise and suggested we go for a hike up the hill, but as time moved on, she ended up nudging me, telling me that if I wanted to pull him, I’d better get on with it before I lost the chance.

You already know I’m shy. I hadn’t even kissed the guy, though we had been flirting over the course of the evening. So I put my 50 Shades hat on, gulped down the rest of my drink, took his hand and into the bedroom we went.

Who needs an Irishman when you can have a sensual Frenchman instead! Remember my blog post where I said I couldn’t remember the best sex I ever had? Yeah. I do now. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with anyone who was do focussed on my pleasure before. Plenty of kissing, massaging, intense staring…yum. I missed out on the sunrise (it was cloudy anyway) but I didn’t really care. I remember Miss America shouting that she was going to take my hiking boots, but that’s about it. A couple of hours later they came back and after a quick hello and a drink, we all went to bed. After a few hours kip cuddled up to The Frenchman, he told me he only had one hours sleep, because I was in his bed. It was apparently a ‘great, great moment.’ And no, Miss America, I don’t think he meant my snoring!

It’s safe to say Friday was a write off, but after such a fabulous night it was an even price to pay. It took my mind off Mr Double-Barrel completely and it put a smile on my face. Not bad 🙂

A Jubilant Jubilee Weekend

One of the best things about being British is our penchant to celebrate everything. I definitely wouldn’t class myself as a royalist but thanks to Queen Liz being on the throne for like, ever, we got a four day weekend to celebrate her diamond jubilee. And what a weekend! Where to start?

I swooned over a work colleague who doesn’t warrant a name in the blog yet, but he’s a looker alright. On Sunday I met up with my girlies all at the same time. Nothing new right? Well my friends have never met each other until now, we tend to meet up separately, but since we’re going on holiday together I thought it was about time. So myself, Miss Sunshine, Miss Yoyo and Miss America met up for lunch and I think it went very well! We were meant to all go shopping together but schedules got in the way, as ever. When I finally got home at around 9pm I got a text message.

Introducing Mr Pensive. He’s a security guard from my work who I’ve been eyeing up for a while. He managed to find me on Facebook and we swapped a few messages and it turns out he lives 4 streets away from me. So he asked me out for a drink. At first I thought ‘I can’t be arsed’. It was late and I was tired. But then I thought ‘fuck it, why not’ and so I went to meet him. To say he’s cute is an understatement. About 6 foot 4, brown hair, nice eyes. And 24 years old. Another young ‘un. Oh dear. It won’t go anywhere. The spark wasn’t there though I’m not sure if he’s just shy or his English second tongue was a hindrance. But he’s very sweet, walked me home and gave me a peck on the cheek. We’ll see.

Monday I had drinks with some girls from work organised by Miss Effervescent, who organises our girls nights out. Cue 7 hours of 8 girls occupying a corner of a pub. And lots and lots of fun! Too much food, too much wine and one very hot barman. Seriously I could have dragged him outside there and then, he was that hot. Aussie, blonde/brown hair, cheeky smile and a great arse. When we left I gave him my number. I must be getting bold in my old age.

There’s a saying that things always happen when you least expect it, and it’s true. I didn’t expect to get a text from Mr Music asking me out for drinks, but I got one anyway. Imagine that. So after our drinks with the girls I headed up to meet him and his flatmate. Long story short, it was a repeat of how it always is with him. Lots of talk about not wanting to ruin our friendship because it’s one of the few he values, blah blah blah. I just wanted to get laid. I didn’t. We went back to his, fooled around and then decided that actually, having sex might just push it too far. Come morning I got up, made myself a coffee and fully intended on sneaking out. And then he woke up, asked for a cuddle and apologised for being an arse. I told him not to worry about it, I know he’s an arse. And cue more fumbling. And last minute backing off. If I had balls they’d be bright blue. I left and haven’t spoken to him since, nor do I intend to. I’m treating this like a guy would and I’m not about to obsess or over analyse what we spoke about. Though I think I must’ve been on heat because I was noticing hot guys everywhere. When I met Mr Music, the most gorgeous American made conversation with us. He was tall, very tall, with tousled curly brown hair and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. We lost him in the packed out bar though, which was a shame. I blame it all on Fifty Shades of Grey. Yes, I’m reading it, don’t judge me. I need a Christian Grey in my life is all I can say.

And as for Mr Double-Barrel? I’ve decided to cut my losses. I’ve had enough of the analysis and uncertainty. I’ve not blogged about him since I met his friends but that’s a whole other post by itself. Suffice it to say, I think he’s playing games. So I intend to speak to him and see what he has to say for himself.

And now I’m getting ready for a trip to Ireland where I hope to meet with NaughtyLittleSecrets (check out her blog). If anything it will give me some time away from my mental gymnastics about Mr Double-Barrel because I’ll be going off-comms. Can’t come quickly enough!

The stench of desperation…

What an eventful weekend. Far too much to pack into one blogpost, so let’s talk about Friday. The rest can come later. It was Mr Music’s drinks and he liked his present (phew). But I didn’t get anywhere near him because he has a stalker. When he told me he had a girl on his case, I laughed and kinda shrugged him off in a ‘you wish’ kind of way. Suffice to say, he was not joking. She put my Mr Clingy to shame. As a woman and fellow human being, I cannot even begin to comprehend how someone could not have enough pride to know when to admit defeat and walk away.

this poor bunny is about to be boiled...

From the moment she arrived, Mr Music was cornered. Every time we looked over, she was hanging off him. Literally. Body language is a pretty expressive thing and when the guy you’re physically pawing at is turning away from you and telling you he’s not interested and it’s not going to happen, it’s a sure sign that he is just not that into you. Three times Mr Music asked me to go out for a smoke, to chat cheese and get fresh air. Three times we walked out of the bar. Three times, the Bunny Boiler followed. It got to the stage when we started ignoring her and still, she stuck around. I could understand if this was the result of a recent break up, but no – this is as a result of a fling that happened years ago. Worse, she now has a boyfriend. Doubly worse, she lives with him.

By the end of the night we were all pissed off. It was our friend’s birthday and we’d hardly seen him because she’d been pawing away at him, trying to convince him that she loved him and he loved her. Now, I’d already told her (because she asked what I thought) that he obviously didn’t like her. I can separate my platonic and lustful feelings for him, so it wasn’t sabotage. It was pity. I really pitied this woman who so clearly didn’t see what everyone else could. I’d already told her that he’s not paying her any attention and she should let it go. As we left the bar, she went a bit doollally and laid into him. And that’s when things got really, really awkward because I’ll never stand and watch a mate get spoken to like that, especially since he’d been pretty clear the whole night. So I stuck up for him and yes, I might have been a touch rude. I’ll always have his back and I told him so. But mostly, I was hungry. It was the end of the night, we wanted to eat and go our separate ways, but me and my friend could see that this woman was not taking no for an answer. And when she said ‘I thought I could sleep on your floor’, I looked at Mr Music’s bewildered blue eyes and cringed inside. The ridiculous thing was, she said to me and my friend ‘I’m really not a desperate woman’ – clearly that was not the case. My friend and I had even reached the stage of thinking drastic action was needed. I was seriously considering pulling him right in front of her because surely that would have got the message across? And OK, there’d have been something in it for me too. However, I’m not that much of a bitch and in the end, she got shooed away while Mr Music and I collected our food, leaving us to eat and finally go home.

It’s well known that desperation is like man-repellant, but this was off the scale. It was pure Glenn Close, Fatal Attraction, Bunny Boiling antics. I can’t believe that I was in such a tizzy over a couple of texts I’d sent him a while back because compared to her, I was tame. It was funny, I couldn’t not laugh. But I was also mightily fucked off. Mr Music and I had made plans to carry the night on, and through a combination of bad luck and his stalker, it didn’t happen, and who knows when we’ll meet up again. The crazy girls are the ones who fuck it up for the rest of us but one thing I do know, is that I don’t partake in stalker-ish behaviour. Mr Music has a way with the lady-folk, even though he doesn’t understand why. At least I’ll be going into whatever may or may not happen with my eyes open – no way am I ending up like the crazy stalker lady. But this isn’t the first time he’s had girls go crazy over him. He must have a cock made of gold or chocolate something. Hmmm…

Hangovers, Cuddles and Seduction…

Just when you think things are going smoothly, someone comes along comes and throws everything out of kilter. Friday night saw me out for drinks after work, something I rarely used to indulge in, but it was a double leaving do – it would’ve been rude not to! And, OK, I had an ulterior motive. A friend, I’ll call him Mr Music, who I’ve suddenly found myself lusting over for the past few months, was also going to be there. Add to the fact that things had got a little…strange over the past few weeks and I had to find out what the hell was going on. After some texts were exchanged, he’d disappeared and I ended up feeling like a total twat.

One of the things I love about being single is that I can go out, shake my booty and have a drink without thinking ‘I have to be home at xpm’ which is what I was used to. Knowing that I had nobody to think about or go home to was probably one of the things that made my night as good as it was. Sad, perhaps, but true nonetheless.

I’d met an old workmate I’d not seen for years and as we were catching up, in walks my friend, Mr Music, with his cheeky smile as if nothing had gone awry between us. I’ve been getting into astrology recently and he’s an aquarius. One thing I’ve learned is that aquarians don’t do pressure. So, I ignored him. Well, I waved hello, motioned we’d catch up later, but then ignored him pretty much and concentrated on the old workmate I was with. A couple of hours later, the air was cleared and we were back to our normal flirty selves. A few cocktails and cheeky shots of Jager and we were on the dancefloor. And just when I thought we were back to being friends with basically no intimacy, he pinned me down (not literally, I wish!) on the sofa in the bar and we chatted. He doesn’t want to get hurt, I tell him not every person is going to hurt you. He tells me I’m pretty fabulous, I smiled and said, ‘I know’. I’d told him I’d got him a birthday present, a thoughtful one, and after pressing me, I told him what it was. Which I’m pretty annoyed about now, but at least I know he’ll like it and I think he was genuinely taken aback in a nice way when I told him what it was. It was one of those really weird, surreal conversations that you only get when you’re half-cut. Honestly, I can’t remember all of it because all I was aware of was how damned close he was to my neck. Send a tingle down my neck and I’m pretty much yours. So, with the heat of his breath and all that good stuff, I was only half listening.

In the end, we left, without even saying goodbye to our friends. He wanted a kebab and I wasn’t going to say no and when he invited me back to his, I accepted. With this guy, I know he values my friendship more than anything else, so when he said purely platonic, I knew that’s what it would be. That, and the fact that Aunt Flo’s in town meant nothing else was going to happen. It’s funny, I think my pheromones draw him in because most times we meet up, including the last time which did end in some fumbling, was not the right time for me. In any case, we got a cab, went back to his, ate and slept. Yep, not even a snog. He did pull my head onto his chest, which was nice, but seconds later he was snoring his lovely head off.

Now, hangovers aren’t nice. I was teetotal for about 8 years and I’m still not great with the roughness of the next morning, but I woke up first, tiptoed to the loo so as not to wake his housemate and tried to go back to sleep, ignoring the fact that my head felt like a sledgehammer was being wedged into it and my feet hurt something rotten. When he (finally) woke up, he stuck a DVD on and indulged me in some cuddle time. This is a man who doesn’t do soppy. At all. But he has this way of making me feel like when we’re together, he’s totally in the moment. Could I have kissed him? Absolutely. Would he have kissed me back? No doubt about it. One of the things we’d both laid bare the night before was that we both fancied the hell out of each other and at some point, sparks are going to fly. But even so, not a single drop of bodily fluids were swapped. I loved that I could just lay with him, without having to think about anything at all. I’d thought he’d maybe forgotten about the last night we’d spent together, but he’d said certain things that I thought he’d be too drunk to remember. And when the time came to get dressed, there was no awkwardness. Never mind the fact that our limbs had literally been tangled all morning or that he’d seen my stupidly wayward morning hair and puffy eyes. We got the tube together – him to go to meet his mates and me to go home and sleep.

But now, I cannot get this guy out of my head. It’s ridiculous, because we’d go for months without speaking before. But now he’s occupying a space in my mind that I can’t get him out of. When his birthday finally arrives, he has to be prepared because this going to be a targeted seduction. It’s something I’ve never set out to do before, but believe me, I got the lingerie, the perfume, the outfit. It’s the only thing I can think of to satisfy this itch and based on our past couple of encounters I think it’s fair to say we’ll have fun.

Of course, there is the question of whether things will change when (not if) I finally get him into the bedroom. I’d hate for our friendship to change in a bad way and I know that’s what he’s scared of too. Having said that, it’s been 4 years of flirting and heavy banter, and a good 6/7 months of mutual attraction, and that’s a long enough wait, thank you very much. For now though, as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist unless he contacts me first. I’ve learnt not to over-text this aquarius man and if this is anything to go by, the thrill is definitely in the chase. Of course, it does mean I’ll have to unleash my intensity when I see him next instead of in a steady stream over the next few weeks, provided he doesn’t suddenly change heart or meet the love of his life. Hope he knows what he’s in for.