Dating in the Slow Lane

So last night was my third date with necking guy. For those of you who are just reading this blog for the first time, here’s the quick info on necking guy – good first date: fun, smart, interesting, cute (in a white bread kind of way that I don’t usually go for, but I’m trying to broaden my horizons), a little touchy and a quick kiss but all pretty innocent and sweet. Maybe too sweet. I kind of expected him to say, “Aw, shucks”.

Things heated up on our second date, but only slightly. We went out to dinner and had a nice conversation. He grabbed my hand and held it and played with it during dinner – sweet but again, almost too sweet. After dinner we went for a walk (we were a short walk from his apt, btw) and ended up at a local playground, swinging on a swingset. He pushed me on a swing for a good five minutes and then we ended up necking like a couple of kids, in the park with nowhere to go for privacy.

So last night was our third date. I had to be in my neighborhood until 8:30, prior obligations, and so I suggested we meet for a late dinner somewhere near my apt. We had a lovely dinner at a place of his choosing( I suggested he choose a place and that caused quite a mini drama of indecision on his part) and after dessert I suggested we go for a walk. I aimed us towards my apartment.

When we reached my building I stopped for a few minutes to see how he would react. He stood there, like a fool, a good two feet from me. So I had no choice, it was up to me. I asked him if he’d like to come up for a few minutes. I almost didn’t, since he wasn’t even making an effort (and I like my guys to be the ones to do that stuff) but I did.

We went upstairs and within a few minutes we were on my sofa kissing – very, very slowly. I’ll spare you most of the details, but here’s the summary. An hour and fifteen minutes later we were still on the sofa. Still kissing. Most of our clothes were still on (my shirt was gone but as I decided to dress kind of slutty, it was only a little, lacy tank top anyway). I was determined to let things proceed at his speed, as frustrating and bewildering as that was for me. An hour and fifteen minutes of making out on the sofa with most of our clothes on – that was his speed.

At that point it was 12:15 and I was tired. Just plain tired. So I told him it was time for me to ask him to leave. And he actually protested. Meekly, but he protested. A feeble, “are you sure you want me to go?” Jeez, he’d been there for over an hour already and we were still in the slow lane. When was he planning on making a move? I’d worn my slutty, I-want-to-get-laid tank top and then invited him up to my apartment and he was too clueless or slow or, lord knows what, to close the deal. Really, I don’t think it’s me. I wasn’t being unclear. I was sending out all the right signals.

Whatever the issue was, miscommunication or different expectations, I don’t think I’m cut out for dating in the slow lane. The guy’s sweet, sure. But all of his sweetness is getting on my last nerve.

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