Albert
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a first date – so don’t get your hopes up, guys. My daringly romantic ginger friend assures me this is an experience not to be missed. But he’s a hard act to follow. Having worked up an appetite at the prospect of a free dinner, I decided to break tradition and start the date sober. At least, that was the plan.I made an exception for a free wine at a poster evening on the way, threw on a blazer and arrived punctually at Di Lusso. I had hardly started drinking round two when she arrived. With a selection of food ordered, we kicked off with introductions: major, hometown … the usual. Almost immediately, it was fairly clear that, apart from being near-broke students and rather hungry, we had almost nothing in common.
But it didn’t matter. She was beautiful, friendly, and the conversation and drinks flowed easily. The bartender had a keen eye for an empty glass and served more food than either of us knew what do with. The drinks were a convenience rather than necessity; it wasn’t long before we were talking like reacquainted friends and I’d nearly completely forgotten it was a date.
My flatmates had arrived and made themselves comfortable at a nearby table, one even sporting a new, rather creepy, handlebar moustache. They had invited themselves to spy on me but it didn’t take long for them to turn their attention to the selection of Belgian beers. During the inevitable bathroom break, I told them they could leave when it suited them.
After light topics like our studies and travel experiences we somehow ended up discussing more sensitive topics without any apparent awkwardness. Having covered atheism, past relationships, and illnesses running in our families, inevitably, the bar tab ran dry and we gave up on the plethora of pub food. She was going to a friend’s place nearby so we walked there, exchanged numbers, and parted ways. Thanks for a surprisingly enjoyable evening.
Elsa
In deciding whether to get with a guy, I assess three things: sense of humour, height, and dick size (this can be done by observing his crotch). My date was nervous (red flag!); he kept swirling his wine glass. I couldn’t tell if this was an attempt at sophistication or to stop him shaking. It took him 45 minutes to drink this glass.We were opposites. Blind dates generally lend themselves to discussing exclusively sex – it’s like a fucked up sort of foreplay. You assess if the person is as sexual as you or, better, more. Sex was not hinted at or mentioned throughout our date. Essentially, I attended what felt like a Genetics lecture (but for three hours). I left the date feeling like I had enough knowledge to complete my own PhD in the subject.
I was impressed that he came in a suit. I wasn’t impressed that he was a vegetarian … I love meat more than pretty much anything. He mentioned his ex about four times … (red flag two!) He was a nice guy but sadly didn’t fall into the “nice guy, bad man” category. He talked more than me to the point that I felt like I was the male. You cannot have sex with a personality or your therapist and, quite frankly, I felt like his. He talked, I listened. It’s the most quiet I have ever been aside from when I have a dick in my mouth and physically cannot speak. He was intelligent and he walked me to the party I was later attending. All in all great food, drinks and yarns.
The night became more interesting after the date. At Alibi I was feeling pretty confident and managed to pash two members of an Otago cricket team. I took the second one home with me. His cologne was making me rather aroused. We ripped each other’s clothes off and got down to business. He was muscly as fuck. I sucked his ear – this drove him crazy. We went to sleep spooning as the sun came up. I was exhausted but finally satisfied.