A Swimsuit on a First Date?

A Swimsuit on a first date? Yep, a swimsuit on a first date, and I did it to myself. I met a very attractive guy on one of the online dating apps that I use.  He was smart, good-looking, had common interests.  He was intellectual yet mindful.  I was very interested in meeting him.

After we’d exchanged several email messages he suggested getting together, which I thought sounded like a fabulous idea.  He’s an outdoorsy guy so he suggested going for a hike on one of the hiking trails around town.  The particular hiking trail that he selected is gorgeous - I like to go for a hike there - but it's heavily wooded and there's plenty of places to easily get off the beaten path. 

Off in the woods with somebody you don’t know on a first date?  Nope, not me.   As a single woman I seek to go out and meet people, but to reasonably avoid a set-up such as this.   I had visions of being easily dragged off into the woods - not that I'm paranoid - but let’s be sensible and use some forethought.

I thought about what other outdoor activities existed in the same general area of town.  I suggested that instead of meeting in a wooded area for a first date that we meet at a local miniature golf place, Peter Pan Mini Golf that's been there for many, many years, or Barton Springs - another local iconic venue.  The latter is a spring-fed swimming hole that's popular, large and situated in Austin’s equivalent of Central Park.  He wrote me back and said “Barton Spring sounds great” and I thought, ‘okay wonderful’. 

We continued our chat and made plans – time and side of the pool (yes, it’s that big).  We decided that we would have a quiet, little picnic and that we would we would both bring some food and drink to share.  I wanted to bring some wine, but it being a local pool I knew I couldn’t bring any glass bottles so I decided perhaps a carton of wine with some fruit and cheese.

After our arrangements were made I had a realization – ‘I've just agreed to go on a first date in a swimsuit.’ Well.  Hell.  ‘I've just committed myself to that and I can’t get out of it now.’  I was sort of afraid that if I tried to get out of it, it would be the equivalent of cancelling and there was a good chance we’d end up not meeting.  I was interested in meeting this guy so I thought, ‘At least I look decent in a swimsuit.’ Huh.  I have several that fit me nicely and somewhere past, ‘yeah, I just did that to myself,’ I adjusted and came around to the idea of it being acceptable.   

Apparently, I can go on a first date in a swimsuit.  Yep, that was going to happen.  Okay.  I made sure I had a wax appointment that week and pushed onward.

The night of our date comes.  I drive home and I change into my cutest little bikini.  I go to the store for my part of our picnic.  The boxed wine just isn’t working for me, but I find a four pack of some sort of canned monkey wine – ‘why not?’ I think.  Yes, I really do buy it. I get some crackers and some cheese and some berries - all the makings for a nice little picnic.  Or so I think. 

He happens to be walking up as I park my car.  He’s cute - muscular, attractive, bearded, thirties.  Throw a rock and you can hit that anywhere in Austin, but most are taken or not looking for anything other than casual.  ‘This date has promise’ I think. 

We say hello and he gives me a hug.  He’s warm.  Not just physically temperature man warm, but a warm person.   We go up to the entry booth and he’s in front of me.  He pays for himself – silently resolving the question of whether he likes to pay on the first date or not – and I pay for my entry.  We mutually agree on a space under the shade of a large, old tree, even though it’s sunset, and lay our towels out next to each other.  

We sit down and start pulling out the things that we’ve brought to share.  He produces some olives, hummus with veggies, and water.  I set out my cheese and crackers and fruit.  He’s vegan.  So, no cheese and not the crackers I brought.  I despise olives.  Ok, moving on. 

I offer him some wine.  His expression turns to some kind of uncertainty about whether I should be in trouble.  “Alcohol can get us thrown out” he says. 

‘Take a risk’ I think, but I say, “Well, I didn’t bring anything else to drink.  It’s canned, I knew glass wasn’t allowed, I think it’ll be okay.”  

He’s hesitant.  “I’m not drinking right now,” he shares, then quickly adds “I’m just cleansing,” lest I think he’s an alcoholic, I guess. 

That’s strike three for my offerings.  He agrees I won’t get us kicked out as long as I’m covert.  We decide to just eat what we each brought as we sit together.

Once past the incompatible diets and my wine scandal, the conversation takes off.  He turns out to be a professor who is also building a business on the side.  He’s a fascinating person and the type of work he does is something that has been an interest of mine for years, but one that I’ve never had the right direction to explore.  He listens with interest as I explain what I do. 

After visiting and eating we decide to swim.  He stops at the water’s edge to ease in and I walk up to the edge full-stride and jump right in, choosing to ignore this mis-match in our approaches.  We swim around, me sort of floating and looking at the stars and him swimming next to me.  I’m guessing like most muscular men, the floating along is sort of not a possibility without an inflatable of some kind. 

Eventually we retire back to our towels to dry off and visit some more.  The in-depth conversation continues and covers a range of topics: religion, philosophy - things metaphysical to tangible.  He’s delightful, and I begin to steal sideways glances at him that allow me to appraise him and discover that I am attracted to him.  I start to wonder what it would be like to kiss him.  Unfortunately, I’m not picking up any desire from him to kiss me.  He’s relaxed and at ease, but not really engaging with me physically, and not leaning closer.   I wonder, ‘Maybe he’s just reserved?’

When we leave, he walks me as far as his car - it was slightly closer to the entrance than mine.  All of our messages had been via the dating site so we hadn’t exchanged phone numbers.  He reaches into his bag and gives me his business card.  Okay, this is a way of giving me his number – that’s a good sign, right?  The he gives me another quick hug, but doesn’t attempt to kiss me.  He wants me to have his number but he doesn’t want to kiss me.  I’m confused. 

I smile and say a parting and turn to walk to my car. 

I text him after I get home to reciprocate the sharing of numbers, and tell him that I had a lovely time.  He writes me back, but instead of saying he had a great time too, or anything similar, he suggests that I check out the website for the business.  Ah.  It appears that he is more interested in turning me into a client.  Cool.  Cool, but not what I was hoping for.  I was looking for something different, but it was nice to meet him and to spend an evening with a good man.

In the end, aside from a wonderfully engaging conversation with a great guy, all that came from that date were a couple of professional suggestions and a line of chigger bites down one leg.  Apparently our mis-matched selections weren’t the only thing on the menu that night.