This entry is a continuation of the previous post titled Boy Party Snack Bowl: Picking Through The Mix in which I dabbled in sexting, freedom, and picking my way through to the good bits (cheezies) in the party mix that is “the boys in my life.”

Best Friend:  Words of Encouragement 101 (Reasons I need to do this)

1. “WE need this!” (She has also been known to say, when asked if I should call a fella, “no…WE are playing hard to get).
2. He can be Googled. Okay Okay I know I know…but I googled him. And here’s the kicker. The spelling of his name is a little different than normal and when you type in his first name…google actually suggests his last name. There are links to articles about him in the Vancouver Sun (Vancouver’s biggest paper for ya’ll that don’t know).  She feels that makes him celebworthy and in her words, “one day [I'll] be able to be like…so this one time…yada yada yada…go ahead and google him.” and you’ll be able to. With ease lol. I heart her logic.

My Reasons of Discouragement aka Nervousness aka WTF Am I Doing?

1. I haven’t had sex since the closure sex with my last relationship in January and then not since 3 months before that when we first broke up.
2. I haven’t had sex with someone (new) in over 6 years.
3. I haven’t had sex with someone new (sober) in over 8 years.

I call my best friend. She assures me that this is going to be awesome. I tell her my bodily insecurities. She assures me that not only does EVERY girl have these same issues but that I’m all kinds of fabulous and have absolutely nothing to worry about. She asks if she should send texts or call so that I seem uber popular during my date. She usually does this for my first dates. This is a nice first date rule for women to follow, and we find it hilarious.  We find it awesome.  Don’t judge us. I say no though, because she’ll be in bed (mommy schedule style) by the time I’m really on the date. She promises to send texts of encouragement beforehand though.

Wednesday night I play ball. He calls while I’m at my car taking off my cleats. I like the checking in. Things are a go. I go to my cousin’s place downtown to shower, change and beautify. We girl chat and she encourages me, as I’m really nervous. Mostly about the having of the sex. The actual “meeting” for a date nervousness is virtually all gone (hooray! Look at me all confident to meet people now).

That being said.  There is no liquid courage in my future.  So I need verbal reinforcement.  I text my best friend.  Tell me this is going to be good.  Tell me sex is just like riding a bike.

She texts back.  It’s only like riding a bike if you like to lick the wheels!  You will be fab in so many ways.

Great best friend, eh?  Awesome!  I Heart You.

Final Push.  Go get em…I need this remember!  Lol.  Luv you too.

He picks a lounge place for us to meet. I get there first and get us a table. In the back. I order a diet coke. We don’t have diet coke. WTF? who doesn’t have diet coke? I order a cran and soda. He arrives. He’s been at the “army bar” with his cronies.

Sidebar:  The army bar is not as awesome as it sounds (mostly because it’s not easy access…to me).  It’s not like a bar off campus post where army guys tend to hang out (it’s no hump bar – Army Wives Reference).  It’s more like army guys pouring their own really cheap beer with their unit after work aka you have to be invited.  Damn!  But I digress…

He gets a beer. I’m sitting down when he arrives. He slides in beside me (very suave). He looks good. The height appears no biggie so far but then again I’m sitting. He smells delicious. He’s cuter than his pictures. And the pièce de résistance.

He’s wearing the double shirt.

Now for those that don’t know me. Or the double shirt. Allow me to explain. It’s quite simple. The double shirt is a long sleeve shirt with a short sleeve shirt over top. I don’t know the logic. There’s no clear reason. But the double shirt to me, is I imagine what huge boobs are to men. Hot!

So he slides up close but not before noting my jeans.  My magic jeans.  Not unlike my magic hippie dress.  The dress I wear on all my first dates (and to important parties) as it makes my boobs look huge, my butt look round, and my tummy look tiny.  Magic dress.  My magic jeans are similar in that they make my legs look lovely, my butt look yummy and frankly has this design detail (not as 90s as it sounds) that catches boys’ eyes like glitter in the wind.  My thighs sparkle in his eyes.  Things are looking good.  He is clearly pleased.  We joked a lot in the sexy-talk-texts about how long he’d be able to control himself around me when in public.  I went to unzip my hoodie-type-sweater and relax when his eyes bulged and I swear I saw a bit of drool.  He reached over and did up my hoodie stuttering something about not being able to control himself if I wasn’t done up like a mummy.

We laughed.  We chatted.  It was cute and nervous.  Awkward in the very best way possible.  I find out the ex in Squamish is more like a friend that he had slept with.  Also, she’s usually only up there on weekends and often only every other weekend.  Noted.  We laugh more.  His sense of humor is like mine.  He looks nice in his two shirts.  He asks about why I don’t drink.  About time I’d say but there ya go.  I tell him.  He jokes that if he didn’t know I wasn’t drinking he’d think I was drunk (in a good cute bubbly way).  I laugh.  I thought the same thing earlier when I was getting ready.  I tell him there’s a reason my friends call me Fun.  He concurs.  The moment is taut.  We kiss.  It’s good.  Much better than Garbage Man.

I have to say, a lot of my concern also involved the “what if” that would follow all of our previous hot talk.  As in, what if I feel nothing.  In my lady parts.  For him.  This becomes a ridiculous notion.  We shut the place down.  He paid and we left.  We drive to his place in Kits (the one he’s moving out of).  I’m nervous that it’s not going to be up to par.  He once joked that he had a small bed.  I thought it was a joke.

So he turns into this driveway.  The only space in an otherwise completely surrounding fence.  I swear I see the word ”Defence” on a sign.  Weird.  Moving on.  We park.  I look at the building.  Looks.  Well.  Different than a regular apartment building.  He takes my hand and we go inside.  There are vending machines at the stairwell.  We walk up the stairs.  Straight ahead.  Is.  What looks like.  A college dorm lounge.  *Turns head to right to ponder*  And that’s when I see it.  A long hallway.  Lined with doors.  Much like.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  A college dorm.  But it’s not a college dorm.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  The boots.  The boots.  So, so many boots.  Lined up outside each door.  Like little soldiers all in a row.

I’m sure you could see the actual gears turning in my head.  I.  Am.  In.  An.  Army.  Barracks.  True Story.  We go into his room.  He was not joking about the bed.  It’s the rebirth of my uni dorm bed.  I obviously give him some good-natured ribbing.  I think he was mildly embarrassed but the funny thing is, I really thought it was awesome.  Like fucking brilliantly amazing awesome.  Hilarious and story-worthy.  Like sexy and manly.  Like army and college rolled into one.  Have I ever mentioned that some of my favorite memories of Uni involve the dorms?

Now folks.  Here is where we part ways.  While I’m going to take a moment to remember the awesomeness that was the rest of the evening/morning, I will be leaving you to your hot-sexy-liberal imaginations.  Though I will say this.  Turns out I had no need to worry.  After much sampling my review came in…I’ve been awarded the Lance Armstrong Seal of Approval (revisit bike riding metaphor for reference).  Awesome.

We left things good.  I didn’t stay to cuddle.  He walked me to my car.  Grabbed my hand.  Kissed me goodnight.  I drove off in a blaze of glory.  Okay well maybe not literally but metaphorically.  Will we have fun again?  Who knows.  Do I want to?  Sure! I had a really good time.  It’s a bit of a logistical locale nightmare.  We’ll see.  But that’s not really the point.

The point is that things are awesome!  I accomplished what I wanted to.  I came out of it and am no crazier (read:  first sex after ex has potential for being traumatic).  I had a good time.  I’ve lost all nerves about going on first dates.  I still have the butterflies which have happy connotations but I’ve lost the nerves that the TEDisaster really brought out in me.

So maybe I’ll spend the summer Enjoying the Intelligence Officer in between my other dating adventures.  The dating stories would be good, no? Maybe he’ll just be an awesome memory and some saucy reading material (uh…yeah…of course I’m keeping the texts…they were hot!).  Either way.  I’ve changed.  I’ve progressed.  And that my friends, is what’s really amazing.