You know those times when you’ve decided what you need is some self care but somehow something/someone else takes your attention? Generally it frustrates me, but when it’s a pretty hot lumbersexual I guess I can let it slide.
After the setback of Canadian DJ, I needed more than just a little time to get back into actively dating. Most of that time was filled by going to kickboxing. I’d started earlier in the year and found that the immense satisfaction from landing a good roundhouse kick or the aggression you can release with a swift jab-cross does wonders when you’re having a bad day, reliving all the WTF moments from the most recent dating trauma. Not to mention the between-rounds chat with a couple of great girlfriends I’d made at class.
What I didn’t realise would also help was a hookup with a lumbersexual.
Wikipedia’s definition – “A ‘lumbersexual’ or ‘urban lumberjack’ is a man who has adopted style traits typical of a traditional lumberjack, namely a beard, plaid shirt, and/or scruffy hair, substituting otherwise clean-cut and fashionable style choices.” Vancouver is filled with them and there’s fine line between a lumbersexual and a hipster but this guy was definitely a lumbersexual.
I’d been having drinks with a girlfriend whose husband plays rugby and it was their rugby club’s end of year awards that night. After making our way through a few bottles of wine she was trying to motivate herself to go the two blocks from my place to the bar where the event was being held. She suggested it would be much easier for her to leave if I was going too. Now “technically” I wasn’t invited but who’s ever let a technicality get in the way of a good night out?
So we finish up our wine and twenty minutes later we’re there chatting to her husband and our other friends that play at the club and their girlfriends. It was a fun night with plenty of drinks, pretty good music and it was a better alternative to the post-wine pity party I’d have had if my girlfriend left me at home.
The night, and the wine, was wearing on me but as I was sidling my way up to the bar to start goodbyes, my girlfriend was chatting to this one player who I’d never properly spoken to as he’d always seemed so quiet. He was tall and dark and brooding. Maybe it was the beard, or the fact he’s almost 6 and a half foot and built to all the right standards, but I’d always found him sort of intimidating. Unbeknownst to me my girlfriend had just been having the “so are you still single?” chat with him. When he confirmed he was, she didn’t waste a minute to say “well I have someone you should meet”.
Despite him seeming fairly quiet when you actually get him talking, especially after a few beers, he’s pretty chatty. We spent the rest of the night talking work, rugby, Vancouver and all with a side of flirting. He’s clearly a well liked member of the rugby team, as was proven by the near constant interruptions to our chats so I decided I was going to go home and leave him to enjoy the rest of his night with the guys. The flirtation had been fun and it was nice to feel a little bit of excitement again but I was ready for my bed.
Turns out so was he.
However it happened, and I don’t quite remember the details, not too long later we were on the way back to my place. We’d gone from having a fairly polite, friendly conversation at the bar to now making out in my elevator. It was a swift change of tempo.
Back in my apartment, clothes were all of a sudden surplus to requirements. At this point, all the right standards he’d been built to that I mentioned earlier were incredibly apparent. I realised fairly quickly, this was probably the (physically) fittest guy I’d ever been with. After a momentary crash of body confidence, I was just thankful all the kickboxing had started to make positive changes to my body and decided to enjoy it. He was a big guy in great shape, especially his arms, which I’ve since found (developed?) a real thing for as a male body part.
It was fun and easy, and with that very fit frame came an incredible amount of stamina, even after all the beer he’d consumed. Those arms were also delightful to fall asleep in afterwards. Though between being so unused to sharing a bed and the wine I’d had, I didn’t sleep all that well.
The morning after a one night stand is always… interesting. Does anyone have regrets? Who’s the most hungover? How quickly will the guest try to leave? Is there going to be a morning encore? Does the host feel obliged to make breakfast?
Thankfully, much like the sex, the morning after was void of any awkwardness and instead we lay in bed having open and honest discussions about our dating lives. He told me about a girl he had been seeing in LA that he still really liked and I gave him the story of Canadian DJ. It was the first time I woke up next to someone knowing there would be nothing more to it and was able to just enjoy it for the fun it had been.
There was something incredibly liberating about that.
It was a conscious choice I’d made to sleep with him, I was comfortable with the fact it was only going to be a short lived coming together (pun fully intended), I knew what I wanted out of it and what it would provide me with. There’s a lot of judgement around one night stands, and I have definitely been on the judging end before. But judgements are a confession of character and society has made it appear that one night stands are understandable, necessary even, for men but somehow a sign of low self worth or “easiness” on the part of women.
It’s just another gender bias I was coming up against in the course of dating and one that couldn’t have been more different to my reality.
I’d also always previously needed some kind of emotional connection with a sexual partner, a basis of something more, something deeper. It had never occurred to me before that it could just be about sex, fulfilling those specific needs, and that there was nothing wrong with that. Provided both parties were on the same page.
These revelations were important lessons for me but I knew they weren’t opinions shared by all of society, including some of my friends, and this was probably the first dating story (sex dates still count) that I was a little more careful about who I shared the story with and what details were given. Having said that, most of my close friends loved every bit of the story and the girls that know Lumbersexual were especially excited to find out if all their fantasies about him were correct and the fact that I’d now slept with the guy they consider the hottest at the rugby club (their own partners aside, I’m sure). Do I get a medal?
We said our goodbyes after our morning in bed (to answer the earlier questions – neither of us had regrets, he was definitely the most hungover, he wasn’t too quick/slow to leave, there was indeed a morning encore and no I didn’t feel obliged to make breakfast) with no swap of numbers and a casual “see you around” and a hug.
As I was slowly getting my face prepared for the outside world and brunch with my girlfriend, who I’d gone to the party with, and her husband, I got a text from the husband “[Lumbersexual] has texted me asking for your number. He says he forgot something at yours. Can I give him your number?” I loved the fact he checked with me rather than giving it to him right away. I said yes and had a quick look round my place for what he might have left. My place isn’t huge and there’s not a whole lot of stuff in it so things don’t really get lost very easily. But I couldn’t see anything out of place so I started to panic that he’d lent me his jacket or something the night before and I’d left it in the bar… but I didn’t spend too much time worrying, there were mimosas waiting for me.
Walking to brunch my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number “Hi, it’s [Lumbersexual], from last night. I had a lot of fun but I just wanted to check, when were you last tested? I know we were careful but I just like to make sure I’m being responsible.”
Wow. Way to kill my buzz big guy.
One thought on “Lumbersexual Therapy”
I hope you replied with “never”. Joking but come on…