The Turk

It seems there’s been a run of lacklustre experiences lately but on balance, more have been good than bad. And with every encounter, I learn something. About myself, about what I value, what I enjoy, and what I want more of. And I do enjoy learning. So I keep meeting new people, keep pushing the edges of what and who I’m open to.

The Turk had a good profile. It came across as sincere (and honesty is always attractive). In hindsight, I’m not quite sure why I replied as he’s only 5ft 9, and I tend to gravitate towards taller men despite telling myself height doesn’t matter all that much. Conversation was easy, and we ended up spontaneously arranging a social on my way home from work.

He had a quiet charm. Ordered an apple juice like me, with a warm smile.  He was a little disappointed I wouldn’t let him buy my drink. He was entirely respectful of my space which I usually appreciate but there’s a line between respectful awareness and that slightly patronising reverence some men give women. And when I found out he was Turkish, I caught myself making assumptions.

That’s on me. I have some amazing Turkish friends and also one very negative sexual experience from my youth. So this wasn’t about nationality, but about acknowledging cultural norms. Even Turks, by their own admission, will say the culture leans traditional: men work and provide, women nurture. And while I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that, I do believe in choice. And I’ve chosen a life that is far from traditional.

On the drive home, I found myself writing The Turk off. Perhaps unfairly.

Still, his messages stayed keen and warm. He wanted to meet again, even if just for another social. So I offered for him to meet me on my lunchbreak - him asking to buy my lunch and bring it!. We sat outside my office, under cover while it rained, and once again I explained why his offer to buy me lunch rubbed me the wrong way. I explained my reservations, including the cultural ones, and he listened with so much grace.

What followed was one of the most intense conversations I’ve had in a long time.

Neither of us avoided eye contact. Long, deep, and unbroken. It felt like we fucked ten times just with our eyes and words. There was no overt sexuality in the conversation, but the energy was electric. And when I looked down, the wet patch on his jeans confirmed it wasn’t just me feeling it.

After that lunch, I was sure we would meet again.

But then... Chunky happened. And he planted some doubt. The Turk isn’t someone I would usually go for visually. And maybe I let that sway me.

Who knows what will happen, although I know he is very keen to meet again.

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