LIZ JONES'S DIARY: We had sex within ten minutes of him arriving. I didn’t have time to remove my hearing aid By Liz Jones For You Magazine Published: 08:00, 31 August 2024 | Updated: 08:00, 31 August 2024 e-mail View comments After my first night with the German, I texted him and said he is the first man I respect enough not to write about. That being in the media is ‘hellish’, has made me a pariah.
He replied he doesn’t care. He knows I won’t hurt him. Then he ghosted me for a week, and I was wailing that he must have read stuff online and backed off screaming.
So I wrote about our first meeting. Our week of frantic texting. And then he explained his silence (nothing to do with me, so I started to think, well, ‘Phew.
He’s too busy to read the papers!’). I asked if he was going to come the following weekend and he said, ‘I’m hoping.’ To which I replied, ‘Hope more!’ I was only insistent as my wax/threading/hair colour goes off by day ten.
Then, on Saturday, he texted to say he was on his way to King’s Cross. He would be with me at 5pm. Oh my god! I had pictured picking him up, showing him round my house, but never believed it would happen.
I drew a little map of the station, sent it to him. I took Missy with me to break the ice. I wore my new Navygrey sheer top and inky jeans.
When he finally found me, it was like Brief Encounter , only with more steam. At home, once past all the pointy collie noses, he was so appreciative of my hard work on the house. I noticed he left his bag by my office, not in the bedroom.
‘I’m waiting to be invited.’ I said, ‘Come and see the bedroom; I have a beautiful chandelier.’ Reader, I’m afraid we had sex within ten minutes of him arriving; I hadn’t had time to remove my hearing aids, so they kept whistling every time he kissed my neck.
Afterwards I made dinner while we talked. I find it hard to look attractive while cooking. I made patatas bravas, a green salad, and handed him two Riverford steaks to pan fry himself; I had bought more man food, on the off chance, but only things the dogs could eat if he failed to show.
We didn’t stop talking. Midnight, and we hadn’t even switched on the TV. We kept reminiscing about how we met.
I told him off for ignoring me at the party. He said he kept replaying how we kissed on the hotel terrace. I was relaxed but, come Sunday morning, and my first piece on him being published, I tensed up.
I considered disabling the wifi, stealing his phone. I shouldn’t have filed that column, but I also felt that, after 25 years, I owed it to my readers to let them know that good things do happen, if only we trust the universe. After breakfast, he said, ‘Let’s go back to bed,’ which we did, although I’m not great in bright sunlight.
He said he loves that I’m natural; I’d got up early, like Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids, to apply no-make-up make-up. We took Mini for a walk along the river. He slung an arm around my shoulders while I resisted the urge to scream, ‘Mini! Mini!’ every five seconds, which is what I usually do.
He had to be up early on Monday, so I drove him to the station. We kissed goodbye, and I could see people rushing past, thinking, ‘What a gorgeous couple, so in love.’ They couldn’t guess my inner turmoil, self-doubt, fear.
I got home, and he was already texting. He’d listened to my podcast about dating younger men, found it hilarious. Noo!!!! Stoppit!!! I hate the sound of my voice.
This must mean he’s googling. But it seemed OK. He said we’re good together, that he gets I’m older.
I tell him I’ve never been happy. ‘That changes today. You are lovable, sexy, kind, tactile.
All I can do is care genuinely and tell you how amazing you are.’ Later he wrote that he hopes he can add to my life. ‘We are going to love.
I just hope we can be together regularly. I don’t want a part-time thing. You have me.
I want you. Next time, we can talk about how to be together. I’m not into 12-month plans.
’ I went to bed, exhausted from all the sex*. I checked my WhatsApp. A text from David 2.
0, at whose summer party we met. He’d read my first column about the German. ‘So pleased I introduced you.
Thought you’d like him. So, I helped you with your house, and now a guy!’ I replied, ‘Don’t tell him!’ He replied, ‘Too late, he knows.’ Me: ‘Is he angry?’ David 2.
0 has yet to reply. *Three times! Jones Moans..
. What Liz loathes this week The three most dreaded phrases in the English language: Forgotten your password? Loved the article Unable to take payment (bloody Tesco; it’s all the man food!) Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find her @lizjonesgoddess Share or comment on this article: LIZ JONES'S DIARY: We had sex within ten minutes of him arriving.
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