126. The NoShow (35) and The Mauritian (38)

I matched on a dating app with a 35 year old guy who was a chef on oil rigs.  He told me he worked three weeks on the rig, then flew home for a three week break, during which time he helped out a friend who owned a restaurant.

He was strange on our chats, but not overly so.  We would be having a perfectly normal conversation and I would ask him what his plans were for the evening.

“Well one of my fuck buddies asked me to come over but I can’t be bothered.”

Uuumm..okay.

“Yeah she sent me a picture of herself naked in her yard, and told me she was horny and needed me to fuck her.”

Sigh.

“So why aren’t you going?” I enquired politely.

“Oh I can get all the pussy I want, I’m just looking for someone more mature this time who doesn’t want to marry me.”

Naaww…Poor little fellow is swatting away marriage offers.

I would chastise him when he said something offensive and he would apologise, assuring me he was much more congenial in person and that his dark, dry humour didn’t translate well via text messages.

I thought I would give him the benefit of the doubt for two simple reasons.  Firstly, one of my favourite people in this world is a very dry guy whose texts, while not explicit (not that kind of friendship) do sometimes come across badly, and I imagined them both to have similar slightly awkward but endearing personalities.

Secondly, he lived very close; only a mile and a half away.

If we could reach an arrangement for hot sex while he was in town every three weeks, then I could spend the other three looking for love, without being sexually starved.

It was worth at least meeting him.  So we arranged a drinks date after work and I asked him to pick a venue.

“I’m leaving work now, where shall I meet you?” I asked an hour before our meeting time.

As I travelled home he messaged.

“Sorry I’ve been held up, can we rain check?”

“Sure.  No problem.” I was secretly tired and all I wanted was my couch, so hooray!

Later that night he messaged to let me know how disappointed he was that he couldn’t keep our date and he asked when we could reschedule.  He seemed sincere so I gave him a 90 minute window I had on Sunday morning for breakfast.  I had somewhere to be for lunch that was an hour away so he picked a place that was not to far from home, but on my way to my lunch with friends.

I checked out the cafe’s website and it had an interesting menu so I figured the chef had used his head.

Sunday morning came and I got up to get ready.

“Good morning, I’m just jumping in the shower.  I will see you at 9.30”. I texted him.

I showered and dressed and I could see my message was unread.

I was five minutes from leaving when my phone beeped.

“Oh shit, I slept in.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.  No more fuckery from you Pal.

“Oh well,” I replied. “I figured you would bail again.  I’m not mad, but I am curious.  Are you too shy? Anxious? Misrepresented yourself in some way? Or just disorganised?”

“What?  Misrepresented? Disorganised?  I wasn’t going to bail but I think that might be a good idea now.”

Poor little princess, did I touch a nerve?

“I am exhausted and forgot to set my alarm!”

“So just disorganised then.  Well, good luck to you.  Buh Bye.”

Unmatch, delete, block, forget.

I’ve been chatting with a few guys and one stood out as polite, well spoken, intelligent and charming.  He was from the Swingers Site but managed to keep the dirty talk to simple flirting and didn’t send me a single picture of his cock.

Hard to find someone so refined these days!

We got to talking and he asked me to guess where he was from, with a couple of simple clues. I asked him in French if he was Mauritian (I’ve known a few) and he was delighted that I got it right and did so in his native tongue.

We got along famously on chat and I was finding him very interesting, so we agreed to a date on Friday night.  I told him I thought he was a little too good to be true and I asked him if there is anything he thought I should know about him before we met.

Right away he told me he lived with a woman.

And?

“She is just my roommate, but we used to have a FwB thing going.”

Aaaand?

“It ended almost a year ago but it has been pretty awkward.”

Aaaaaand?

“Sometimes she worries about me and texts or calls me while I’m out with someone else.”

So she is in love with him then.

“No, it’s not like that.  We have been friends for a long time, before and after we slept together.  She just checks on me out of concern.  I’m looking for a new place to live by myself at the moment.  She knows I am moving out and we don’t sleep together anymore.”

While this was a little unconventional, The Mauritian had been very open and honest about it so I went ahead with our plans.  Everyone has a past, right?  And he assured me she was in his past.  I just hoped she was on the same page.

I arrived at 7.30 at a bar and pool hall nearby (same place I went with The Sensitive Dad), and as I walked in he messaged to say he was late, but only five minutes away.  I told him I would buy him a beer so I sat at the bar and drank one with the bartender while I waited.

The bar was almost empty so he found me the second he walked in and I stood up to greet him.  He looked exactly like his pictures and he was indeed six feet tall (phew).  Caramel complexion and a full head of short cropped black hair, he was slender but not skinny, had a pierced eyebrow and ear, intense eyes and a sweet smile.

The Mauritian apologised, in his delightful accent, for his lateness and we chatted for a while over the beers before moving to a pool table.

I love a game of pool for a first date.

  1. Lots of bending over equals opportunities to check out each other’s butts and the occasional peek down my cleavage.
  2. Moving around the pool table, brushing past each other to get to the best angle.
  3. One bad shot and the laughter and teasing starts.  Bad tempers are swiftly revealed.
  4. You can talk at the same time, unlike a movie or dinner where you have long moments of silence.
  5. You can drink.
  6. There is music but it isn’t too loud for conversation and you can have a cheeky mini-dance or sing-a-long if a good song comes on.
  7. When I win I can see immediately how secure they are in their manhood.
  8. Cheap and cheerful but loads of fun (like me)!

As we played we talked about our jobs and pastimes, families and friends, all the usual things.  He told me golf was his favourite sport and he had played since childhood, but he had a wrist injury from a car accident which meant he now had to relearn how to hold and swing a club.

I asked him about the accident and he had me spellbound while he told me the story.

The Mauritian described a drizzly morning where he lost control of his car around a bend and hit a guard rail.  He wasn’t injured, it was just a minor collision and nobody else was involved.  But a couple of other motorists stopped to check on him and one called the emergency services.

Ambulance and police arrived to check him out and as they were talking on the side of the freeway, a semi trailer jackknifed and hurtled towards them.  The Mauritian, the paramedic, the police and the other motorists had a split second to run for their lives and as The Mauritian leapt out of the way he landed on his wrist, hurting it badly.

The truck hit the ambulance and his car and it was a miracle nobody was killed.  It made the news when it happened nine months ago, but I hadn’t seen it.  The Mauritian was a skilled story-teller and my eyes were wide with interest as he told me the story, and I could see on his face the trauma of it still replaying in his mind with vivid clarity.

Clearly the experience had altered his view on life and his open, accepting, friendly attitude was a testament to that.  I can relate.

He frequently checked with me to see if I was having fun and was keen to take me to dinner. So after I beat him (by one shot!) and he accepted defeat graciously, complimenting me on my win, I told him about a barbecue joint nearby that I had visited once before.  It was just around the corner so he followed me there and we sat outside at a picnic table and shared some spicy wings and poutine (delicious).

We talked until closing and he was a good conversationalist.  We talked about sex of course, and our various experiences and relationships and he was someone I could see myself seeing again. Like most men he spoke mainly about himself, only asking me a question every now and then, but I’ve found this to be common on a first date due to nerves and a desire to impress.

The Mauritian had be up at 4.30am the next day for work so I felt bad for keeping him out a little late, but he assured me he was having a good time and would be fine the next day.

He walked me to my car and stroked my arm as he asked me if I would like another date next weekend, when he didn’t have to work.  I said I would and he leaned in for a kiss.  We were standing right outside the restaurant and there was a group of about twenty people leaving, and if we had a passionate kiss we would surely have attracted the attention of the crowd.

The Mauritian gave me a small open-mouthed kiss on my lips.  His body was bent at the waist and he was literally bending over to kiss me.  It was a little odd but I figured he was as self conscious as I was in front of the crowd.  I would have preferred he pulled our bodies together instead of his butt sticking out away from me, but the kiss was sweet.

He insisted I drive home carefully and message him when I was home safe, which I did.

3 thoughts on “126. The NoShow (35) and The Mauritian (38)

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