Jazz, sex, poetry and cheese.

April 4, 2014 § 10 Comments

Last night was another date with Frank, and I think we all knew how this was going to go.

I must say I had an incredibly wonderful evening, despite my assumptions. I think after our last awkward encounter I was slightly nervous as to how our second ‘date’ would go. As mentioned before, I was feeling still slightly vulnerable in having already given up the sex card, but I was pleasantly surprised.

We went to a jazz bar which Frank frequents (I think he rather likes taking me to places where everybody knows him), where he made a bit of a show with the barman about choosing a whisky, going on about brewery age or something. It felt a little ostentatious, which was putting me off slightly, but after a ‘Saskia special’ and a glass of red, I’d forgotten all about it. (Should I start to worry about how often alcohol dictates my love life?)

We were then serenaded by a group very smooth musicians, our enjoyment accentuated by our intoxication, and whispered pretentious comments to each other about the use of rhythm and instrumental technique. After the show, we continued drinking and hung out with some of the staff, me being drunk enough to reel off a number or two on the piano before we hopped in a taxi headed to casa del Frank.

What ensued next was another rather spectacular affair, although I feel it was somewhat diminished by the fact I think we both knew it was going to happen. Even so, I had a bloody good time. Between sessions we drank lemon tea, read Keat’s poetry and ate expensive cheese. You can’t make this shit up.

The series of emergency alarms which had been set to ensure my return home well before work the next day worked like a treat, and I was tucked up at home by 4am, immensely satisfied. The question slightly begs now, however, what is this? I hate having to define the relationship, preferring just to enjoy things for what they are, but sometimes I think it’s an unfortunate necessity.

I’ve been told that ‘fuck buddies’ are meant to keep things strictly sex, which isn’t really what we’re doing. This is like dating, but without the commitment. Does that make us friends with benefits? I remember him specifically telling me that we “couldn’t be friends”. So are we dating? That implies there’s a commitment in the future, but given the circumstances (the fact that we’re both only here a few more months) I don’t feel like that’s the case either. I’m thoroughly enjoying our little affair, and it’s helping me retain my sanity a little in this ridiculous, albeit amazing, country, so maybe we can just enjoy a nice casual fling, without having to put a label on it.


What do you think, is this a bad idea? Do we need to define exactly what we’re doing, or is it possible to simply enjoy ourselves without having to explain it?


Want more disgustingly honest renditions of the mess that I call my lovelife? Come join me on Facebook and Twitter.


Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

§ 10 Responses to Jazz, sex, poetry and cheese.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Jazz, sex, poetry and cheese. at - Young Love - (or lack thereof).


%d bloggers like this: