I really don’t want to write this post. This is a story that I’m more anxious about sharing than any other as it leaves me feeling vulnerable and I’m still not sure to this day how I feel about this whole thing. My reluctance to start this blog lies almost entirely in this chapter.
My best friend messaged me part way through our first date, keen to talk to me and I responded, “can’t talk, on possibly the best date of my life right now”. It took only a few short days of exchanging lengthy messages for The Doctor and I to click, we had so many similar interests and traits, plus he thought I was funny! We hurriedly organised our first date and boy did I panic about what to wear! I ended up buying a whole new outfit (I swear I don’t usually care so much about my appearance) and was so nervous on my way to meet him. When I first saw him, I couldn’t believe my luck, he was even cuter than in his pictures and he had such a cheeky grin. He got there earlier and bought me a drink while he was waiting. Our conversation flowed and we moved from the first bar to a restaurant where we continued to eat and talk and drink. Once that closed, we searched for another bar, desperate for the night to not end. Given the more recent experiences I had had, I was determined to not sleep with him. But as the night carried on, I was carried away. His accent was captivating, he spoke so eloquently, he was attentive and genuinely interested in me. He kept telling me how pretty and clever he thought I was and I wholeheartedly believed him (a very attractive doctor thinks I am pretty and clever!). I relented and agreed to go back to his, once the third place we went to closed, and although I was adamant, and told him that I didn’t want to sleep with him that night, one thing lead to another and well…
The very next morning, as we went our separate ways, him to work, me home to get changed to go to work, he sent me a follow-up message. He was regretful that he couldn’t stay in bed with me and said he’d be mighty disappointed if we didn’t do it again. We went back and forth with availabilities and he was so keen to see me again, that I allowed him to come over to my apartment that very night for take away, but only because I was on call. The night went well again, so much so that I invited him over for dinner the next night and I was even going to cook for him.
This marks the start of ‘The Bike Saga’. The next night, The Doctor rode his bicycle over to my place for the dinner I had cooked us. He ended up staying the night and as it was raining the next day, he left his bike locked up outside my apartment. This bike became a point of reference for me for a long time. Anytime he didn’t respond to a message or he went AWOL for a bit, as long as his bike stayed chained up outside my place, he wasn’t completely gone. It was kind of like Schrödinger’s Bike; until the bike was gone, whatever it was that The Doctor and I had was both alive and dead. Anyway, I had work early that morning and he didn’t, so I let him stay in bed whilst I went to work. The only problem with that is the only way to lock my apartment is with a key, so I had to leave him with a key for the day (gulp). During the day I received a message from him that was a picture of my key on his keyring joking that we were now in love and official. I asked if he had left his key for me in return, which he told me he did, even though it was his only one. He also made me promise to not get mad because he had cleaned up – I later found out he’d done the dishes, tidied the kitchen and made my bed, which was beyond thoughtful.
The next night we were going to spend apart. After three in a row together, it seemed sensible, plus we both had sporting commitments. I ended up having a miserable night after a bad game of beach volleyball and a fight with my ex-boyfriend I found myself having had a few wines and was a bit emotional. The Doctor just so happened to message me and I told him what had happened. He was concerned that I was quite upset and urged me to go and see him. It was late at night and it took a fair bit of back and forth between, “you should come over” to “no it’s late, I feel bad” to “I wish I was with you” and, finally, “God I’m hung up on you”. That last one was the clincher. So I went and picked him up from his local pub and stayed the night. The next morning he told me he was having trouble leaving his bed because it smelled of me.
We went on our fourth date that night for Greek food, plenty of wine and more cocktails and returned back to my place to stay the night. On our way home, we had to stop off at his mate’s place to drop something off. We pulled up outside in the cab and his mate came out and said a quick hello and before we knew it we were on the road again. Shortly after our departure, The Doctor informed me that his mate had sent him a message that simply read “yes”, which was to say that I was appropriately attractive apparently. As superficial as the message was, I did take it as a compliment and it did boost my ego a bit, which was nice. At the time I was still struggling quite a lot with my self-confidence and body image, so it was refreshing to have some reaffirmation from an unbiased party.
The two days we continued to fervently exchange messages and made some generalised plans to meet up after our respective nights out. This is where I’m going to leave this chapter of ‘The Doctor’ for the time being. Things were going well and I was happy. I’d met someone who was content with keeping things casual, just as I was and who – without any stereotypical girly nagging, would regularly offer up the catchphrase of, “I know I’ve said this before, but, if whatever this is doesn’t work out, I’d still love for us to be friends”. Perfect, right?