The Lansdowne With the Tall South African

I was woken up by a text from the Tall South African, laughing at the jokes I'd recounted to him the night before.  Apparently I did at least make him laugh, and we spent much of the morning texting back-and-forth, and he promised he would call me at lunchtime to finalise our plans for the evening.

Yet it was the Young Dutchman who called me for a chat at 11 AM, which surprised me a bit but I was glad to talk to him.  Both of his parents were now in town, and he was planning to bring them to the club that evening.  I warned him that I was bringing the Tall South African, expecting a bit of a rebuke, but the Young Dutchman promised to be nice.  It's strange, as I know the Young Dutchman is not a big fan of the Tall South African, but I'm grateful he's willing to be friendly to him for my sake.

The Tall South African called at noon, and he told me that he'd be coming down, "If you still want me to."  What?  I'd been texting him all week saying that I missed him and he should come see me, and now he's asking if I still want him to come?  I was absolutely baffled by this, but at least recognised it for the insecurity it is.  After all, when you suspect somebody might be inviting you out of a sense of politeness or obligation, you always like to give them that out of "If you really want me to."  I have no idea what I'd done to give him any impression that I was just humouring him, that I didn't really want to see him, but obviously I needed to do more to stroke the fragile male ego.  Still, I just about snorted my head in disgust.  Here is a guy I talk to every day, who I've been insisting needs to visit me all week long, and he still can't figure out that I like him.  {Sigh!}

The Tall South African called me again at 5, and as we debated where to meet, he began to insist that walking from Oxford Circus Tube station would be faster than making the connection to the Victoria Line and going to Green Park.  This somehow led to a bet and an agreement to meet at the gates to the Oxford Circus station and to walk against each other.

Yet Oxford Circus is a weird station, in that when you go towards the exits, there are only escalators going up, and no way of getting back down again.  So, I was forced to exit the station and walk with him (despite my knee hurting, which like most people he'd forgotten about).

Still, it was nice to go for a walk with him.  Trusting him to know the way (such a mistake!) we got completely lost, wandered down charming-looking back alleyways, went to Grosvenor Square twice (where I realised we'd stumbled upon the American Embassy yet again), and finally got ourselves sorted out with the help of iPhones, arriving nearly an hour late at the club.  Yet, despite getting so totally lost, it was loads of fun to just walk and talk with him, my arm in his and just wandering the streets of London.

When we finally arrived at the club, the Young Dutchman spotted me from across the room, and jumped up, his face absolutely lighting up to see me.  As he approached, the Tall South African whispered in my ear, asking if I was going to get in trouble with the Young Dutchman for arriving with him.  I whispered back and assured him that I'd already told the Young Dutchman about him when the Young Dutchman had called earlier in the afternoon.  But I thought it cute that the Tall South African knew to be nervous...

Indeed, after embracing me and showering me with kisses, the Young Dutchman gave the Tall South African a hearty handshake and a warm welcome, introducing the both of us to everyone around the table.  (And the Young Dutchman said to me later, "Now wasn't I well-behaved and nice to the Tall South African?"  Yes, he was.  Perhaps only I could tell that the smile was fake and that he wasn't quite as warm to him as he is with most other people, but from an objective perspective, you could not fault the Young Dutchman's behaviour.  He was the picture of politeness with the Tall South African).

I sat with the Tall South African for a bit, trying to include him in the conversations with others, but luckily he is relatively social, and so when I saw he was doing fine in conversation by himself, got distracted by the arrival of my friend Michelle.  Then Lotte and her fiancee arrived and were shocked and thrilled to see the Tall South African, as he hadn't told anybody he was coming to London.  (This was a special visit just to see me, but why not catch up with other people as long as you are there?)

Admittedly, so many people I knew then arrived, that my attempts to keep an eye on the Tall South African were somewhat of a disaster.  I pretty much lost him for nearly the rest of the evening, as I kept getting pulled in one direction and he got pulled in another.  I got a chance to talk to the Young Dutchman's parents, and was pulled into a few conversations by the Young Dutchman himself wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close to him.  But I kept missing the one person I came with, the Tall South African.

Finally, after all of this socialising with other people, we finally got a chance to talk to each other on the couch, just the two of us. And the conversation turned to how impossible it is to separate sex from emotions. And I knew as a subtext, we were talking about why we can't sleep together. It kills me, because I know he's right, but yet I feel so frustrated by the whole situation anyway. I mean, does he think we're NOT forming an emotional connection by talking to each other every day?

{Sigh!} I guess my one hope is that the attraction will fade with time, that eventually I'll even wonder how we once saw each other naked. After all, I know I don't really connect with him on the level that I do with the Young Dutchman, although perhaps that is just a factor of having known the Young Dutchman longer.

Yet it's weird, this question of how you make your new "best friends". I love this blog, because it allows me to go back and read about the very day that I met the Young Dutchman. And there was a certain chemistry there at the time, that has persisted to this day.  I just "connected" with him instantly.  Which, to be fair, I do with the Tall South African.  But it's still a bit different somehow.

Finally the evening ended with everyone in the front hallway of the club as the staff attempted to close down the bar and scoot us out of the club.  I found myself chatting to the Young Dutchman's mother quite a bit, and then remembering my original admonishment to myself that I was going to pay more attention to the Tall South African to soothe his insecure ego.  Well I really screwed that one up, didn't I?

So I made my way away from everyone else, and just chatted to the Tall South African at the edges of the crowd.  The Young Dutchman insisted on pouring me yet another glass of champagne, and when the Tall South African insisted he would be driving in the morning and so couldn't drink any more, I made sure to get him a glass of water.

Finally, he insisted he had to get the last train, and it was late anyway, so I fetched my coat and he told everyone we were leaving.  He put a gentle hand on my back and guided me out of the club, and so we walked back to the train station.  Just a peck on the cheek as we parted for our respective trains, which was a bit disappointing, but in light of our earlier conversation and his sobriety, I suppose I should have expected that.

Although when I got home and texting him to let I know I was home safely, I was rewarded with my phone ringing.  And so I fell asleep with him talking to me on his whole train journey home, smiling and laughing, as his voice carried me off to sleep...