Mr Traditional: Except for one thing

He said all the right things until...

There were only three selfies on his profile. One at a beach, one at park and one in his car.

He wasn’t conventionally handsome but had a masculine face and friendly eyes. His most attractive trait at this point was not wasting any time setting up our date in his first message.

“You like books? You can tell me about the latest one you’ve read when we meet for coffee. When are you free this week?”

He was referring to one of my photos where I was standing in front of a bookshelf in one of my favourite bookstores.

Within twenty of matching, we already chose a cafe and a time to meet. I was surprised when he asked for my address to pick me up.

“I asked you out, so I should take you out, pick you up and drop you off. I insist.”

I declined, explaining that I’d be out before our date anyway so it would be more convenient to meet at the café. More convenient and less awkward.

Imagine meeting someone for the first time in a car. I appreciated his traditional approach but at the same time, I don’t want a stranger to know where I lived.

He could be a stalker or serial killer, obviously.

First Date

He was dressed casual smart, in a lavender t-shirt with a small logo I didn’t recognise, dark denim jeans and clean sneakers. He stood up as I approached, shook my hand with both of his. He was shorter than average but broad and I could tell he worked out.

Time flew by. Conversation flowed seamlessly, guided by him in an organic way.

He worked in stocks – he sold and bought things online and it was all dependant on the “market.” None of it made sense to me.

He liked golf, enjoyed walking long distance, was passionate about working out and loved cooking - barbecues were his specialty. He grew up in different parts of the US and was more of a night owl (because of the stocks and markets and all that).

He also really wanted a family.

“It’s a beautiful thing to raise children with someone you trust and love. You know, buy a home together, have a wedding, all the traditional stuff we’re supposed to hate? I love and want it.”

I sipped on my green tea, nodding while I did somersaults in my head. 

Our second date was already planned out by the time the bill arrived – a walk in the park on Friday.

Second Date

We walked for three hours through the central city park, down to the markets and back up around the park and ended up in a café bookstore.

He told me about the different parts of the US he’d lived in and often visits because of work. Then he showed me an album of photos with all the houses he thought were beautiful (he’s into architecture).

“I can’t wait to build my own house, I have so many ideas, and these photos are my mood board.”

His taste veered toward 19th century Victorian homes with modern touches. Most of the houses were three stories with asymmetrical designs, large windows, and intricate woodwork.

Romantic, ornate and traditional.

He mentioned that he had been in a long term relationship that lasted seven years. It ended amicably.

“We couldn’t see eye to eye with what we wanted for our future. He wasn’t as traditional as me.”

When he asked me about my past relationships he added that he was surprised that I, “a catch” was struggling to find someone.

He quickly corrected himself.

“I get it, you have standards – and especially for guys like us who want to have lives like our parents and grandparents, the gay community can be really harsh.”

Look, I was sold. The guy had all the values that make sense to me, that I find attractive, that I want to live out with someone. 

In between all of this he kept getting messages on his phone. Eventually he turned it face down before it started to ring. He asked if it was OK to answer, and I told him of course.

“Hey Dave, yeah we’re still out, oh-“ looks at me – “Dave says hi. We’ll be out for another hour, yeah sure, I’ll let you know. Bye.”

I asked jokingly who Dave was and why he was saying hello to me.

“My roommate, we’re best friends. He was calling to see if he should wait for me for dinner. He’s a great cook – not as good as me of course. You want to come over for dinner? He asked if you wanted to come. I told him before I left that I was going on a date with you.”

It was a nice gesture. Note worthy he told his roommate about me. I declined the invitation though. I had plans for an early dinner with Miss O and I had a work deadline. 

Third Date

We met up again a few days later and this time he insisted on picking me up and my fear that he might be a stalker or serial killer had subsided.

We went out for dinner, nothing over the top, just his favourite Korean BBQ place.

As usually the conversation was easy, and he was wholesome, kind and interesting. He insisted on dropping me off after dinner and we ended up talking in his car for another hour.

He told me that his greatest fear were bees. He was allergic, not in a “I’m going to die” kind of way but a bee sting turned his face into a giant, red tomato. He showed me a photo of the last time it happened. He laughed when I said he looked like he was just extremely constipated.

Fourth Date

Mid-week we met up for a quick drink after work where he told me about his six-year-old nephew’s birthday. He showed me photos and videos of him dressed up like Batman to surprise his nephew. He asked me about how many children I wanted and what kind of parent I think I’d be.

I told him I have no idea how many children I wanted or what my parenting style would be. From what my friends with children have told me, you don’t know until you actually have a child.

“I think you’re right. I’d love three children though. I like to think I’d be one of those strict routine focused parents but would probably just be a push over. It’s hard for me to say no to people I love!”  

Fifth Date

The next weekend, we went out again, this time my choice, a grilled chicken place I’d heard a lot about on the other side of town.

We met there, and he apologised profusely for not being able to pick me up because he had to come straight from work. No problem, I told him.

Over dinner he attempted to explain his job to me for the hundredth time. I told him his work sounds like sorcery with numbers. He laughed and said my work sounds like sorcery with words.

We got into the topic of the gym, and I mentioned that I’d been working with a great personal trainer who’d moved to the city from Russia.

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“What?”

“Have you slept with him yet…” he hesitated. “Russian personal trainers are usually super hot and everyone sleeps with their personal trainers. No?”

“Would be strange to sleep with him since I’m paying him.”

He laughed and said he was joking.

Throughout our dates so far, he hadn’t really cracked a joke. Being generally a calm and easy-going person, I thought it made sense that maybe his humour would be a little dark.

“I made the joke cause I have a friend who keeps having to change her personal trainers because she won’t stop sleeping with them. It’s a problem. She even slept with two at the same time once.”

“Sounds like quite the work out…” I said. 

“Wait, are you telling me you’ve never had a threesome? Never had two cocks?” He laughed again.

I did the whole quizzical brow thing and he laughed harder.

“Sorry, my humour is like a teenagers,” he said. “Dave always tells me that I need to grow up.”

Dave featured a fair bit in our conversations. They were best friends from what I gathered. Every time we hung out so far, Dave always messaged or called and asked him to ask me if I wanted to join them for dinner or drinks after our date.

I’d met so many guys at this point who had problematic or weird friends and it was nice that Dave seemed normal.

Sixth Date

It was Sunday and we went to a French pastry cafe. We sat outside in their beautiful garden by the fountain. I chose the place because they had a legendary chocolate filled giant croissant that Miss O said was amazing. I ordered that and he ordered a mille feuille.

When the waiter places the croissant on my table I almost gasped. It was a sculptural work of art worthy of placing on a marble pedestal in a gallery.

Speculation that Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith were in an open marriage had been circulating all week and he asked me my thoughts.

“I’ve always found them annoying as a couple. I also don’t get how the whole open marriage thing works.”

I was strategising how to break into the croissant without it flaking into a hundred pieces. Slowly I cut the tip off and chocolate sauce oozed out. I stuck my fork into the separated tip, soaking and moped up the chocolate sauce spilling out.

“It works. We opened up our relationship in the last two years.”

The fork heavy with croissant chocolate goodness frozen midway from the plate to my mouth.

It’s not like I haven’t met people who believed in open relationships. It’s a common scenario in the gay community. But him? It was probably one of his jokes.

“Sure,” I half laughed.

“After a few years the sex got stale and it affected other parts of our relationship so we thought we’d open it up to try and fix things,” he shrugged.

Oh, he was serious. I lowered the fork back to the plate.

“And did it fix things?”

“No,” he said. “But it makes sense to open up a relationship when the sex gets boring. Because it always does get boring after a while. Right?”

I wanted to be thoughtful and kind in my answer, but my chocolate croissant was bleeding out on my plate, I feared, as much as my time had bled out over the last two weeks.

“Maybe there were other problems in the relationship that were too difficult to sort out and sex with other people seemed like a quick fix. It’s a common mistake.”

He considered what I said and for a moment, sifting through memories he probably wasn’t going to share with me.

“Maybe,” he said. “But the sex was still getting stale. Me and Dave thought it would help because we’d been –“

“Dave… your roommate?”

“Yeah… I didn’t mention he’s my ex?”

“No, you didn’t.”

This was Dave who messaged and called every time we were out. Dave the ex-boyfriend, roommate best friend who was always extending out an invitation to hang out after our dates.

“I thought I mentioned it…” he said nodding and consuming a giant piece of his mille feuille.

“So yeah, we decided to open it up and we realized - I realized - that it makes a lot more sense to not have one sexual partner.”

“Wait… you don’t believe in monogamy?’ I asked.

“Not at all.”

“So then… why are we hanging out? You can’t tell that I’m not into any of that?”

“Into what?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe in monogamy,” I said. “It’s a deal breaker for me.”

“Oh, I know that,” he sighed. “I could tell from the first time we met.”

“So why did you keep wanting to see me?”

“I thought I could convince you.”

“Convince me?” I may have yelled here.

“Yeah. I mean I never thought about it, and then I tried it and it the only way that makes sense now. You don’t have to be so judgmental.”

Funny that my initial concern was that he might be a stalker or serial killer.

I’d never considered that he was pretending to be Mr. Traditional when in fact he was Mr. Traditional asshole.

“I’m not judgmental,” I said. “People can do what they like. If not being monogamist works for Will Smith and Jada then that’s great for them and anybody else who wants to jump on the polyamorous train, cool. I know it’s not for me and it’s insulting and funny that you thought you could convince me.”

“It’s just sex, it’s not a big deal,” he said “it’s like getting a hand job when you go get a massage. Everyone does it.”

I stared, he stared.

“You don’t get a hand job when you get a massage?” he asked.

“No.”

He stared, I stared. Then it hit me like whiplash.

“Are you and Dave still sleeping with each other?”

“Well… It’s complicated. We broke up in theory but we don’t mind-“

“You should leave,” I said.

He squinted and titled his head.

“Are you sure? Dave really wanted to meet you, I’ve been –“

“You have a lot of fucking nerve. You waited six dates to tell me this, whatever this is so I’m cool really never meeting Dave and never seeing you again. I’ll survive.”

He froze as if registering what I said over and over in ho head and then he smiled and said:

“Let me get the bill for us I can drop you off home, let me do that at least.”

“You can pay for the bill on your way out if you really want,” I said. “But I’d rather walk.”

I picked up my fork and ignored him while he lingered there for a few more seconds before he got up and left.

I enjoyed my giant chocolate croissant, which was magnificent. Turns out he left without paying the bill, which was fine, the croissant was worth it.

I walked home and imagined that somewhere a bee would find him, sting him dead centre of his smug face and he’d go home to Dave looking like a grump constipated tomato head.