The Arrival Of Arms – Part 1 of 2


Offering to play tour guide for two Kiwi guys who were in town for a couple of days, I knew it wasn’t going to be the most conventional of Tinder dates but I’m not sure I could have imagined just how unexpectedly it would turn out…

I matched with this super fit Maori Kiwi guy on Tinder that turned out was living in Calgary, far far out of my preset distance radius of 10km – what can I say? I want to meet a man but I don’t want to travel far to do it! He explained he’d used the feature on Tinder where you can swipe in other cities, to meet some “people” before a road trip he was planning to take with his friend in a few months, but let’s call it what it was, it was to meet girls, not people! We chatted a little but it never came to much and, despite his washboard-stomach-filled pics, I quickly forgot about him.

Until, that is, he turned up in my Bumble search a few months later and we matched again. Being that the female has to start the convo on Bumble, I opened with the classic “I might be wrong but I think we’ve matched before on Tinder – the joy of being on multiple dating apps!” He responded pretty quickly and said he thought so too but unlike last time he was now in Vancouver on his road trip.

It was a random Wednesday night and I’d just had a couple of girlfriends round to watch a naked dating show from back home (if you haven’t seen Naked Attraction, google that shit) when he asked what I was doing night. I said I wasn’t up for going out but we could maybe arrange to meet up the next day. And when I say we, I mean “we three”, yup his friend was going to come too… At first it seemed like it could be a little weird but actually it felt like it might take the pressure off in a strange way.

So we made plans to go for drinks that next night and, after waiting for what seemed like AN AGE for them both to get ready at their hotel (which happened to be in the dodgiest part of town), they finally made their way to meet me by my apartment, with just one slight misunderstanding of directions enroute.

Prior to arriving, he told me that he was wearing a shirt that was too tight for him and not to laugh when I saw him. Hmm…interesting tactic to make sure I fully checked out the tightness of said shirt the minute I saw him. In fairness, as soon as I came through the doors of my building out onto the street, even if he hadn’t mentioned his shirt beforehand, I’m pretty sure my eyes would have still gone straight to the arms.


As I think I’ve mentioned before on here, I have a thing for arms. It’s been getting progressively “worse” as the years have passed. A bicep you can really grab onto? Bliss. A shirt just slightly straining to contain the muscle? Heaven. I have to seriously restrain myself from just reaching out and touching a good one. Like a lot of people do with pregnant women’s bellies? I’m like that with arms, just wanna reach out and have a stroke.

Ok, anyway, the arms were great but you see how they sidetrack me? And I knew instantly he would forever be referred to as Kiwi Arms. Not least because his actual name wasn’t too far from Arms, so it all made sense.

As the three of us started to make our way to the bar I’d suggested for drinks, Kiwi Arms declared he didn’t actually drink. He’s a Crossfit coach and lives a pretty healthy lifestyle. Um.. ok, well this should be… interesting (read boring)? Thankfully his friend piped up with “well he maybe doesn’t drink but I sure as hell do” and with that we became like 3 mates just going out for drinks.

And that was kind of how I felt the night was going as we were having some drinks (alcoholic for two of us, non for the other one), sharing life stories and grilling Kiwi Arms’ mate about his dating life. I’m pretty sure the waitress probably thought I had two friends visiting from New Zealand and not that I was kinda, sorta, not really on a Tinder date with the one I was sat next to.

At least that was how it felt, and what it likely appeared as, until I felt a hand slide up my leg under the table. At first I couldn’t tell if it was an accidental graze but after the second or third lingering touch I decided it was maybe a little more purposeful than I first thought. And for the first time on the “date” I actually thought there might have been a chance of something happening.

His friend looking across the table at us made me rethink that in an instant though. How exactly was this going to work? Dear god, I hope they didn’t expect a threesome…

We moved from the first bar to more of a club type place but it turns out we were one of only two groups in there – it’s fair to say I don’t normally go out on a Thursday night. Having said that the tunes were 90’s classics and despite not drinking anything Kiwi Arms was more than happy to bust out some moves. For such a random night, which had the potential to be ridiculously awkward, it was incredibly fun.

Not enough fun to keep us in that bar though, and after one round I suggested we went back to mine for our next drink. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth I quickly followed it up with “but seriously, just for a drink, there’s no three-way stuff happening.’ I didn’t think it needed to be said but you never know and I figured it was better to state my case before I ended up with 2 strange men in my apartment looking for a threesome. Ya know? Or maybe you don’t..

Anyway! After they had a quick chat with each other (the content of that conversation I would’ve loved to have been privy to), we headed back to mine and Kiwi Arm’s friend and I had another drink. After the one beer, his friend made his excuses and asked me to call him a cab. There wasn’t much of a discussion other than some comment from his friend along the lines of “I’ll leave you two kids to it”.

The door had barely closed behind him when Kiwi Arms clearly decided to make up for all the wasted time during the first part of the night and let’s just say I was much more sure of his intent than with the first under-the-table leg graze… For someone I wasn’t sure had any interest in me a couple of hours ago, he was now making things crystal clear.

To say things escalated quickly is an understatement. The catalyst was a single question which has haunted me since – “have you ever done it on your balcony?” My answer to that was no, and at that time it was truthful. But since that night, I’ve been asked that same question by a number of other men and have always had to deflect it in anyway possible. Because honestly, they only want to hear the answer I was able to give Kiwi Arms that night. And I’ve never been able to give it again.

All I’ll say is sex with a view and fresh air isn’t the worst. Would recommend. Add in glimpsing those arms gripping onto the handrail in front of me and you have yourself a party. A balcony sex party that is.

From the balcony, to the bedroom, it was a long, and amazing, night. In fact so long that at one point we took a break and ended up in the kitchen cooking bacon in just our underwear – he needed protein and it was the only thing I had in my fridge that wasn’t alcohol. But it was at this point that the saying “never judge a book by it’s cover” presented itself in human form to me.

We talked about everything. He spoke about his family (he’s one of 13!), his previous drug problems, his decision to leave a well paying engineering job to pursue his passion of becoming a Crossfit coach, how he’d followed a girl out to Canada which was how he ended up in Calgary, his process for writing in his journal everyday. And he didn’t just speak. He asked.

He asked me about my marriage, about moving out to Canada by myself, how I dealt with the loss of that relationship, why I took so long to get back into dating, how gratitude had played a part in where I was now.

These were deep, raw, long, honest conversations. And he was no longer this muscle-head gym junkie that I’d maybe first assumed from his dating app profiles. He was this sweet, funny, sincere, genuine, emotionally sensitive, self aware guy.

Albeit with massive muscles, stood in my kitchen, now eating bacon in his underwear.

There wasn’t a lot of sleep had but their road trip was carrying onto the States the next day and I had an easy Friday ahead, so we made the most of it. There was a lot of sex. It was probably the most energetic sex I’d had up until that point of my dating life. And while at first I was a little intimidated by his clear and present hotness, it actually only made me feel better about myself. Neither of us hated the mirrors in my bedroom…

In the morning, after maybe 3 hours sleep, we rallied for some pre-work, pre-road trip fun. Though this time we kept to the confines of the bedroom, it was daylight after all and my balcony isn’t exactly out of view of the neighbouring buildings. What do you take me for?!

He commented afterwards that it was a good showing for our last time and I unthinkingly said “unless of course you’re still here at lunchtime and fancy a quick one.” Fast forward 4 hours, turns out he is still in Vancouver, he’s somewhere near my apartment (which in turn is near my office) and he does in fact fancy a quick one.

Having re-lived many, many of the previous evening’s events in my head while sat mindlessly at my desk since getting into the office, I weighed up the fact I’d never had lunchtime sex, I was never going to see him again and, as they say, a girl’s gotta eat. Jokes. That’s disgusting. Full disclosure – that exact saying did run through my head and I did laugh.

In the midst of this one of my colleagues had been messaging me about maybe going for lunch but as soon as I got the text from Kiwi Arms saying “I’ll be at yours in 10”, my Brazilian colleague must have wondered where my appetite had disappeared to as I grabbed my keys and my bag and practically ran for the door, while shouting something about having to move our lunch to Monday.

We arrived at my apartment building at about the same time and, unsurprisingly(?), today’s shirt didn’t seem that much looser than last night’s. Albeit maroon and last night’s was white, the muscles were still being effortlessly well presented where the cotton met the skin, mid-bicep.

Whether it was tiredness, ill-preparedness or the lunchtime rush, our middle of the day session wasn’t without its difficulties. But the ease with which we laughed through it and managed to eventually get it to “work” had us actually high five each other afterwards. And, if my memory serves me right, I’m pretty sure he called me “champ”. We were all romance.

And with that high five, and a cursory kiss and hug in my building lobby, 10 minutes later I was on my way back to the office. Tired, every so slightly sensitive in certain areas and wondering what the hell had just happened in the past 20 hours…

Next post…

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The Tourist


It had taken a while but by midsummer I was starting to feel like I was a little more comfortable with dating and meeting people. It had been truly enlightening – whether it be learning about my preferences, my boundaries, my turn-offs or even just a better understanding of the opposite sex in today’s dating world – which, combined with my growing confidence from a shit tonne of work on myself both mentally and physically, led to me feeling more brave, more bold. And it was fun.

I was also being a little more picky about who I was swiping for on the dating apps and as I was updating my profile pics to better reflect my sunnier, slimmer disposition there was a definite shift in the type of guys I was matching with, and they weren’t bad to look at.

The first one I really noticed the difference with happened to be a tourist. In Vancouver from England for a couple of weeks to visit a friend, he was a hot blonde 29 year old. Hot Tourist (his nickname probably could have used a little work) and I had been messaging for a few days and at first I was a little reluctant to meet him considering he was only in town for a holiday. Was I happy just to have a short lived fling or should I be holding out for a potential relationship like I thought I wanted? But I figured it couldn’t hurt to get a few more dates under my belt, they were all learning experiences right?

So after some very funny, flirtatious and suggestive texting, we eventually found a time that worked for my work schedule and for his vacation schedule (who the hell is so busy when they’re on holiday?) – the night before he flew home. So that short fling had just become a very, very short fling. Oh well. I decided I’d go meet him and see how it was, if I wasn’t feeling it I’d leave. But essentially I went in knowing that is was pretty much going to be a sex date.

I wasn’t sure how that felt, the sex date part. I inherently felt like it should be wrong, that I should feel guilty, as if somehow it made me a bad person. But what was the harm in going to meet a hopefully nice guy, spend some time with him and maybe enjoy some extra curricular activities? Why was that a bad thing? Provided we were both on the same page, and careful in terms of protection, it didn’t seem like it should come with the same social stigma that somehow seemed ingrained in me. That feeling that sex, particularly sex with a stranger that had no potential of developing into a relationship, was dirty and irresponsible – where did that come from? At what age or where in life are we, particularly as women, taught to think that sex is such a bad thing.

I decided to push past those thoughts and figured if anyone actually gave me attitude about it I’d be likely to scream “I WAS CELIBATE FOR THREE YEARS, AND I WANT TO HAVE SEX! LEAVE ME ALONE.”

So with that put to bed, as it were, I met up with him after a work event I was at with a girlfriend. He was out with his friend so I decided to take my friend too and, when another friend texted me about drinks, the five of us ended up meeting up around 6pm on the patio of a local bar. It was a pretty random start to a sex date, but it eased me into it at least.

It turned out to be a fun night. Four of us were Brits so there were shared cultural references aplenty and my Canadian girlfriend found the humour hysterical. Throughout the night I was trying to gauge what Hot Tourist was thinking, as it really was just like five friends sat round a table chatting and not a whole lot of chemistry between the two of us. In all honesty I was glad the other four were there, as Hot Tourist was pretty to look at but didn’t have a whole lot of chat. Slowly but surely, five became four, became three… until it was just Tourist and I.

Oh but before that happened, and I’m not even sure when or how but I ended up taking pics on my phone – I can’t help myself – including getting one taken of me and Hot Tourist. This would become a standing joke with my girlfriends, once I shared it with them the next day. From then on I was routinely asked if I had a “sex selfie” for them post-date. Weirdly I ended up with them way more of those types of pics than you would think reasonable.

Back to the night, Hot Tourist and I finished our drinks and headed back to mine. It’s strange how quickly you can become comfortable with someone you’d never met until a few hours ago. I always think that on dates. Though, obviously, I use the word “comfortable” loosely… But we definitely became comfortable in the elevator. It was like a switch. He’d made no attempt at physical interaction until the elevator doors closed.

There’s something about that elevator, honestly. Those elevator doors close and apparently all inhibitions/insecurities are left on the ground floor as we up head to my floor. I’m sure some of the guys would have left their clothes there as well if they could, such is the speed with which situations seem to change in that moving metal chamber.

We get into my apartment and by that point Hot Tourist had now found his balls after being fairly quiet all night and took charge. I didn’t hate it. It was more than just a little hot and I’ve come to learn that’s definitely my preference when it comes to the bedroom. I take charge in every other aspect of life and can find it hard to relinquish control. Not so in the bedroom. I’m sure there’s some psychoanalysis research into that but all I know is it’s the place that I’m the least bossy and actually want someone to tell me what to do.

Prior to this period in my life I had never even had these realisations about my sexual preferences. It just was. My sex life just was the way it was. I never thought much about what I really liked or didn’t, what I’d like to do more or less of. I’d have said I had a good sex life with my ex, but I realise now it was never something I truly had a good understanding of from my own personal perspective. Most of my sexually active life had been with him so you end up growing together in that respect rather than figuring out your own stuff in isolation. And that changes it for sure, or at least it did for me. So I was now finding these new found preferences fascinating.

Hot Tourist did a great job of taking charge. Swiftly followed by a great job of promptly falling asleep. Like, I mean out cold, dead asleep, right after, before I even came out of the bathroom, possibly before I even got into the bathroom which is ten feet away. I genuinely wondered if he had narcolepsy. And now thinking back that’s all I really remember, is just the whole thing being swift. Which I’m not sure any guy wants to be his lasting legacy.

Earlier in the evening it had been mentioned that he still had to pack before his flight the next day and as his friend had left from the bar he had thrown in a comment about “if you’re not back by 8am I’ll send a search party”. I’d laughed because at that point I wasn’t even sure the sex date was going to happen, let alone him staying out til 8am. But when I woke at 7am for work, Sleeping Beauty (he did have lovely, luscious blonde locks) was still dead to the world. So I had to do that awkward “hi, morning, remember me, yeah you’re in my bed, you need to get up”. After I’d had a shower and done my make up, of course (insert hair bob emoji here).

Somewhere in the midst of his sound sleep he’d changed back to his quiet and reserved self, not the persona he’d put forward in his pre-date texts or his post-elevator doors closing actions, so the whole ten minutes he took to get up and get out were slightly awkward, almost painful.

Once he’d finally gone, I went to put my rings and earrings on before leaving for the office and there on my dresser was a pile of loose change. His. Those coins stayed there for a good two or three weeks. I was reluctant to put them in my purse for fear it would feel slightly like payment.

And who wants to be worth $11.35?

Next post…

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Lumbersexual Therapy


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”.

Enter me.

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.

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