My mind was racing ahead to sex, and we hadn’t even done any flirting yet (Picture: Ariane Sherine)
I called the last man I dated ‘Jeremy Hunt’ because he was a silver fox in his 50s and looked like the MP.
Unlike the MP, though, ‘Jeremy’ was a socialist and a greengrocer. He loved indie music and designer clothes and doted on his two teenage kids.
We started messaging on Twitter last February, after he donated to a charity fundraiser I posted.
I slid into his DMs to ask if he wanted a thank you card. He politely declined, but sent me a message so long, I could only assume he was either romantically interested or had a lot of spare time on his hands.
We messaged for a whole 10 days, switching to WhatsApp and talking about our kids and exes. Divorced for seven years, Jeremy was charming and seemed kind, honest, thoughtful, smart, respectful and funny.
I told him I was scared to date again as I was plus size and a recent man I’d dated had regularly fat-shamed me, telling me he didn’t fancy me because of my weight.
‘I totally understand you feeling the way you do, that kind of rejection is horrible,’ Jeremy wrote. ‘But I’d say it says more about your ex than it does about you. It makes me feel really sad that you think you aren’t attractive to men. Well, you are to this one.’
It was really lovely to hear, but at the time I was cynical. After all, he hadn’t met me yet.
He reassured me that he wasn’t superficial, saying: ‘Of course you’re right that for a relationship to work there has to be a physical connection. But there are other things that are just as important: trust, understanding and communication.
‘I also miss shared experiences: sharing a delicious pistachio ice cream in a Florence piazza, being there to run a hot bath when they’ve had a s**t day.
He summed it up by saying, ‘If I had someone I could do all this with, I honestly wouldn’t care what the scales say.’ Which was really romantic. I hoped he would still feel that way when we met.
After a heavy nudge from me and a bit of hot sexting, we finally planned our first date: coffee at the South Bank. On the morning of the big day, Jeremy sweetly told me that he was really excited. I was excited too: could this be the man of my dreams at last?
I was nervous about first date sex with a virtual stranger
Then he said something that gave me a big shock.
‘I made sure to pack a bag with a change of clothes and some aftershave.’
This felt like going from 0-60. I usually didn’t have sex until at least the third date, preferring to get to know the guy first – and yet here was Jeremy, planning to stay over immediately. Had I given him the wrong idea by sexting?
‘But we don’t know we fancy each other yet,’ I protested.
‘I thought we said we did fancy each other?’ he replied.
I was confused, but he was gorgeous and didn’t seem like a serial killer, so I decided to go along with it (in my defence, I hadn’t had sex for a year). I shaved pretty much my whole body (I’m Asian) and frantically cleaned and tidied the house.
When we met under the clock at Waterloo Station at 1pm, Jeremy was holding a huge bunch of pink flowers.
He kissed me straight away and slipped his hand into mine. His was dry and firm but mine was a sweaty mess, as I was nervous about first date sex with a virtual stranger.
We had coffee but I could barely concentrate. Still, we talked about lots of different topics for an hour: Twitter and how much we both enjoyed it; politics, Keir Starmer and the Labour Party; our shared desire to get healthier; how much we loved our kids. When we’d finished our flat whites, I said, ‘Right, do you want to go then?’
‘Where?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Back to mine, of course,’ I said, looking baffled. He looked equally confused in return, but said ‘OK.’
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So we travelled the hour back to my place in East London, my heart pounding. I remember that he was talking quite seriously about his career at various greengrocer firms, though the noise of the Tube was too loud for me to hear every word. My mind was racing ahead to sex, and we hadn’t even done any flirting yet.
When we got through the door of my house, I felt too shy to start ripping Jeremy’s clothes off – he would have to make the first move, I decided. So I asked him if he wanted a cuppa in the kitchen.
As I made the tea, I told him, ‘I’ve never brought a guy home on a first date before.’
‘I was a bit surprised you suggested it, to be honest,’ came his confusing reply.
‘Me?’ I gasped. ‘You’re the one who packed the overnight bag!’
Jeremy frowned. ‘I packed a change of clothes so that I could be fresh to meet you after work.’
I suddenly realised my mistake and started laughing. ‘So you weren’t expecting sex today after all?’
‘No! I just wanted to smell nice for you.’
We both laughed for ages, and drank our tea, and kissed, and got to know each other. He had to leave pretty soon, because he needed to get up for work at the market at 2am.
It would be another four dates before I had sex with my greengrocer, but his aubergine was worth the wait.
We fell in love and dated for nearly five months, but our relationship ended sadly after he abruptly and inexplicably fell out of love with me.
He lost interest in me completely, and I broke up with him as a result.
Still, for nearly five months, I got fruity with him – and we’re still on good terms.
So, How Did It Go?
So, How Did It Go? is a weekly Metro.co.uk series that will make you cringe with second-hand embarrassment or ooze with jealousy as people share their worst and best date stories.
Want to spill the beans about your own awkward encounter or love story? Contact [email protected]
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Had I given him the wrong idea by sexting?
