I wrote this blog back in July, when the event occured. I have decided now to post it:
The reason I am writing this post is because the man I've called France has come back to town. We've been keeping in touch and he's been trying to come back to see me since the day he left. He's finally come back!
The thing about one night stands that makes the next "date" the hardest is that you never know what to expect, or what you SHOULD expect. I'll be honest that I'm writing this part of the blog previous to seeing him again. I got a text this morning at 7am saying that he would text me when he lands in Toronto. I have a nervous disposition today because I'm not sure what to expect tonight. Obviously some things are to be expected, but how does one behave towards the man who is flying across the planet for her? I still don't know this man very well, as most of our messages back and forth have been short text messages about where on the planet he is, or what I'm up to that weekend. There hasn't been anything more than small talk since the night we met. I'm excited to see him again, but I'm also extremely nervous.
...
Well, my 20 hour interlude with France is over and I'm back home again to think about every minute and write about him. My friend Caroline (the one who was with me the first time I met him) and I met him in the same bar as last time at exactly 8pm. I suppose I could mention that this was probably the first time in a year I've actually been nervous when going to meet up with someone. The moment we walked in, I saw him standing by the bar. He kissed me on the cheek, as the French do, and I completely relaxed. We got a table and sat to eat and drink. A few more friends joined us and it wasn't until France got up to use the restroom that he leaned over and kissed me. He had held my hand across the table for a few minutes, but the kiss was delightful. The evening continued with more drinks and chatting about everything and anything. At 10 p.m. our time, France had been awake for 24 hours, but he didnt complain. He must have known that I wanted to be out with my friends and that if he wanted to see me, that's where he would see me.
At 1 a.m. I asked France if he'd like to go. He said he would and so we said our goodbyes to my friends and left together. Caroline and I had already decided that she would hold my key in case such an event were to happen that I would not be coming home with her (which clearly we had already admitted that I would not be coming home with her). France and I left the bar and crossed the street and entered his hotel in the same cool manner in which we had done three months ago. It was really quite easy, which may sound strange, but seeing as how I'm still not "one of those girls", admitting to myself that I was going back to someone's hotel room whom I had only met once before (even given the outcome of that chance encounter) is a completely foreign concept to me. I would never do this otherwise. The first time, I had not even known if I woud ever see him again. This time, I am certain that I will.
Again, I will kiss and tell, but details are not necessary. I will say that we enjoyed each other's company and fell asleep beside one another. When we woke up in the morning, we talked and talked. Eventually, we fell back asleep for a little while and then it was time to get up and go have breakfast. I went home to shower, change and pick up Caroline. She and I went back to the hotel to pick up France and we all went for breakfast. It was lovely out, and very hot. After breakfast, Caroline left to go back home and France and I decided to take a walk down to the lake. We walked along the boardwalk holding hands and talking about everything we could think of. It was very... couply. I found myself wanting to run into someone I knew. I'm still not sure why, and I have no idea how I would have explained who France is and how I really know him, but I think I just wanted to be seen with him. I have nothing left of him at this moment other than the memories in my head; nothing to awknowledge that he was really here. We both kept pinching ourselves to make sure it wasn't a dream!
When I left him at his hotel this afternoon at 4 p.m. it was not because I wanted to go, but because I hate goodbyes. I couldn't bear to drag it out. He was getting ready to leave and I didn't want to watch him pack. It's not that I've fallen for him or anything, it's only that I really enjoyed spending time with him (much more time than last time) and he is such an affectionate person that I could really get used to that. Watching him go is like waiting for a slap in the face to remind me that most North American men are not affectionate, and are really rather more raging sexual creatures than they are sensual romantics.
I know that in my future, I will see him again, and I look forward to that day.
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