My First Beard / Christ Has Risen

What is the obsession with men and beards? I am really sorry but I just don’t get it. Give me a clean cut chin that I can slobber with kisses any day. Not a mouth full of hair! Urg! I’d make a terrible lesbian!

Mr Beard is an old friend from Twitter.  Some of you may recall his blog.  A fantastically sexy writer, he’d blog about his sexual exploits and his pursuit of the female variety.  I used to enjoy a little read on my way to work each day, leaving me wondering about how gorgeous and sexy he might be in the flesh.  We exchanged tweets for a while and then he asked me out on a date once I revealed changed my avi to the real me.  When we actually met, I was surprised that he wasn’t the beautiful man I was expecting to see.  He had a full on beard.  I’ve never been out with ‘man with beard’.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about thick facial hair. But I went with the flow and there was something about him that hooked me in.  He kept his gaze on me throughout our first date and he subtly touched my legs during conversation; this left me feeling slightly woozy by the end of the night.

Fast forward many months.  I hadn’t seen him in 12 months, in fact.  He’s a prolific online dater, Match, Guardian Soulmates, POF, Tinder, he’s done them all (and continues with the aforementioned).  So I wasn’t too fussed about seeing him again and I have been dating others myself, don’t you know?

Anyway, Sunday afternoon he messaged me whilst attending his granny’s 90^th birthday (why he thought of me at an old woman’s birthday, I’ll never know!).  It was a casual ‘I’m thinking I could come round tomorrow with a bottle of your favourite’.   And so I obliged.  I knew what the following night would entail and I was already getting excited.

We’d sent flirty texts all day whilst at work.  He told me to answer the door naked.  I would have done so but I have neighbours with children to think about.  Instead I told him, I’d leave the main door open to the flat and he could come upstairs and knock on my actual door and I’d let him in.  It worked.  But I wore a very nice underwear set with killer heels.  Once through the door, I wasn’t quite prepared for the sight in front of me!  A larger than life, basil brush-type broom sat on his face! Urggghhhhhh!  He had let it his beard grow waaaayyyy too long! I was quite repulsed! I just don’t do beards!

He lent down to kiss me and I shut my eyes and pursed my lips, whilst this wiry, fuzzball tickled around my lips. I could just about access his mouth.  Really, there is no need for it.  I told him off for growing his beard and that I was struggling to get my horn on.  But it was he who told me to close my eyes.  Soon enough his hands rid up and down my body and it wasn’t long that we christened my kitchen table.  Beard and all.

Let me resume.  Mr Beard did not leave me alone all night.  I have never had a man spend so much time on my own ‘beard’.  I have no idea what he was doing down there but can only imagine he groomed, pruned, gave me a short, back and sides with a head massage thrown in (sorry, couldn’t resist).

Later on, after I fed him (and probably assisted further beard growth with five-a -day), I laid next to him in bed (not a pillow but said beard, very comfortable) and said: ‘You know,  you are looking like a Greek priest and I am going to church this weekend for Greek Easter. Every time I see the priest, I am going to think about you and what you did it to me tonight’.  We both laughed.  I may be thinking ‘Christ has risen’ this weekend but I will have thoughts of other things having risen.  God, please forgive me in advance for any bad thoughts.  It’s not you, it’s your beard.

 

Was it the champagne, or something I said?

Some of you may have heard about Jersey boy.  He was a set up by one of my oldest and dearest friends and I trusted her totally.  He happened to deliver on all our dates.  A total gentleman, he was unassuming and thoughtful.  He sent me fabulously lengthy texts and they were always so well composed and witty.  I started to think that my luck had changed and that just maybe, he could out-do Mr Potentially 'The One' and actually be ‘The One’.

In person, Jersey boy did strike me as a fairly quiet one.  Me, a confident, overly expressive and bubbly individual; I was very aware of our personality differences.  However, I thought this was a good thing, taking me away from suave, cocky types with the gift of the gab.  I started to like his solemn, retrospective nature.  I thought this could be someone who can bring a calming influence to my erratic ways.  Opposites attract, as they say.

Up to date 3, we shared kisses on tube platforms, and he always waited for me to get on the train before he walked away.  He opened doors, let me walk on ahead, paid for dinner and drinks. Chivalry was not dead when he was around.

Last night (essentially, date 4), he came to see me performing for an amateur dramatics company. After the show, he presented me with a really good bottle of champagne to celebrate the run being over. I was somewhat over-awed by this gesture.  He was charming, talkative to other cast members and he looked HOT.  Even the gay cast members thought so.  I was beaming.  Here was this gorgeous, tall, broad-shouldered man standing next to me, making me feel like the cat who got the cream.  We shared the champagne and moved onto beer.  I was feeling giddy and we cuddled up to one another; looking like a genuine couple.

Was it the champagne?

Back at my flat, we kissed some more.  He somehow managed to unbuckle my bra with one hand and one flick.  I have to say, I have never seen anyone do it as fast as he did.  Was that an indication of having done that many times before or just a lucky fluke? Who knows? 

The plan was for him to stay on my sofa bed.  But me being ever so accommodating, I offered him my bed and said I would sleep on the sofa bed as he has very long legs.  But then, in my rather overly flirty way, I expressed that I also wanted to sleep in my own bed so it wasn’t long before I joined him under the duvet.  More delectable kissing, fondling under my pyjama top and wandering hands…oh dear, you know where this is heading! BUT, we didn’t have sex! We had SOME self-control.

From what I remember, we fell asleep holding hands.  But as night turned to day, I was conscious that he didn’t cuddle up or spoon me.  In fact, he slept facing away from me most of the time. 

I shall cut to the chase.  The morning after went like this: he got up and showered whilst I made breakfast.  My fire alarm was set off whilst cooking the bacon so he grabbed a copy of Time Out and fanned the smoke away from the alarm.  After he sat down, he started flicking through Time Out.  I thought, charming!  Am I that boring that he needed to see what was happening in London that week?  Where was the witty banter we had over text messaging?  I was at a loss but I blamed it on that ‘morning after feeling’  you get with added hangovers . No real conversation should ever take place in this state.

It was time for him to leave as he needed to get a specific train.  On my doorstep, he placed his hands around my waist and told me he had a really great night last night and that it was a lot of fun.  Then, he dropped a bombshell. ‘….But I don’t think I am feeling it with you’.  Errrr, what? After last night’s events, that was the last thing I was expecting.  He said, ‘believe me, I am just as upset as you are.’  I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.  With his hands still firmly on my waist, I thought I was having an out of body experience.  He’s saying one thing, but his actions were doing another.  I felt limp so I moved out of his grasp.  I didn’t know what to say apart from ‘Ok, well, you’d better leave or you’ll miss your train.

I am not entirely sure what had happened on my doorstep.  Had I got it so wrong? Was I just swept up in the fantasy of him being my romantic knight in shining armour but without a personality to match?  I hope he goes back to Jersey and stays there.  However, I really don't think the English Channel is big enough to keep him away from me.  Goodbye and good riddance.