I came to this realisation, after meeting a 27-year-old civil engineer by the name of Kyle. We met on a dating app one night when I was boredom-swiping. It had been 10 months since my marriage breakdown and, by this point, I’d slept with a work colleague, flown 900 kilometres to meet a stranger off the internet, and dated a stalker. And that was just the beginning of it.
Kyle was attractive, with a rugged beard, piercing blue eyes and a muscular frame, but there was something missing I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He was too… quiet, too… meek. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be particularly memorable in bed. TBH, he seemed like a bit of a pushover.
“Well, goodnight,” he said, leaning in awkwardly to give me a hug as we arrived at my front door from our date.
“You’re not coming in?” I asked.
“I want to. But I like you. And I want to see you again. So I don’t think I should come in,” he answered, his eyes bashfully darting away from me as he spoke.
“Okay, well how about a kiss then?” I asked, suddenly annoyed I wasn’t going to get any physical attention out of the evening.
“I’ll leave that for next time,” Kyle replied, with a sly smile.
“There won’t be a next time if we don’t kiss!” I countered back. “I need to know if we have chemistry. How am I supposed to tell that without a kiss?”
Kyle stood there silently for what felt like an eternity – his eyes fixed on his feet as he formulated a response, still taken aback by my directness. I finally gave in and cut the tension abruptly.
“Fine. I’m going to go inside. Goodnight,” I said, grabbing the door handle and turning away from him – half in frustration, half to conceal the tears I could feel prickling at my eyes as the feeling of rejection started to sink in.
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Suddenly a hand grabbed my shoulder roughly, and spun me around.
“How’s this for chemistry then?” Kyle asked, sliding an arm around my waist and drawing me in tightly, before kissing me deeply and passionately.
My knees went weak. The traffic humming on the street behind us went mute. My entire body tingled a strange, warm, delicious sensation.
NO ONE had ever kissed me like this. Kyle, who I’d literally written off as a Beta male just seconds earlier, was in full control. His muscular arms held me so tightly I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to pull away. His chest was hard and strong and his heart beat against mine as our lips explored one another.
“Okay. Goodnight!” He said, suddenly pulling away with a sly smile and heading off toward the street.
WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!! Who WAS this man?!!
I collapsed into bed that night elated, my phone still in my hand, awaiting his text as my eyes fell shut.
While waiting for my train the following afternoon, still no message from Kyle, I decided to bite the bullet and text him.
“So, you passed the chemistry test ☺” I wrote.
“Great! Are you free tonight?” Came back a response just seconds later.
I smiled broadly and shamelessly, standing on the crowded platform, attracting a few looks. I didn’t give a shit. I was going to enjoy this moment for now.
I want to tell you about our second date, except, I can’t.
I don’t remember it. It was remarkably unremarkable. Something at a Thai restaurant? Or maybe it was pizza? The assertive, sexy passionate glimmer Kyle had shown me of himself the previous night had gone, and back again was the mild-mannered doormat who seemed more like the sort of guy you keep around to cry over other guys with, than to fuck.
I do remember this though: at the end of the date, he walked me home again, this time coming inside for a makeout sesh on the couch, during which my lady parts tingled so good I accidentally let out a moan in erotic agony and noticed him smiling smugly in response.
So yeah, there was a third date.
That was when I learned I’d gotten Kyle all wrong. He told jokes, pulled out my chair at the restaurant, paid the bill at the end of the night without fuss, and held my hand confidently on the walk home, during which he impressed me by passionately describing all the different things he’d designed in his engineering career – everything from bridges to hospitals.
“Why were you so quiet the first couple of dates?” I asked, bewildered at the transformation.
“I was really shy. I’ve never been on a date before,” he confessed.
“Wait a minute – you’ve NEVER been on a date? And you’re 27?? I don’t believe you!” I responded, struggling to conceal my shock.
“Well, I’ve had girlfriends and lots of casual…er…things, but I’ve never dated. I met everyone I’ve been with through work and uni. Just kinda fell into relationships. There was never really a courtship like this,” he explained.
“And to be perfectly honest, when I saw your profile picture and you were so direct with me, I thought you were too good to be true. I honestly turned up mostly out of curiosity to see if you were some weird catfish!” he laughed.
I suddenly noticed how captivating Kyle’s eyes were; the kind of shimmering blue of the ocean at sunset. They sparkled when he laughed; his irises expanding quickly like blots of ink on paper. I was more turned on than I’d been in my life. I’d massively misjudged Kyle. He was not the vacant, dim-witted fuckboy I’d been so used to. He was… different, mysterious, intelligent, enchanting.
Kyle became more confident in letting me know more about himself, and how much he was growing to like me, as time went on. It was surprisingly refreshing. For the first time since my marriage breakdown, I wasn’t in a fuckboy matrix of mindgames; I knew where I stood.
On our fifth date – at an upmarket vegetarian restaurant where Kyle proudly demonstrated his commitment to supporting my meat-free diet by eating what was essentially a colourfully decorated avocado as a main meal – I knew for sure I couldn’t wait any longer to sleep with him.
Back at my place, we fell into a tangle of sheets, where he explored every inch of my body slowly and delicately. It was… ecstasy.
Two weeks later, I arrived home to a bouquet of fragrant white lilies on my bed, with a note attached. “Will you be my girlfriend, Nadia?”
I grabbed my phone and immediately texted Kyle, “I’d love to ☺”.
Everything was perfect… Amazing! Magical! I was having the best sex of my life, I finally felt truly seen and cared for, and I’d found someone who continued to surprise me daily and seemed to genuinely click with me.
That should be the end of the story. Except, this is…
Over the months that followed, I slowly but surely fell apart.
I wanted to be everything for Kyle, because he was everything I’d ever needed or wanted, but my edges were starting to fray. I couldn’t relax into the relationship, convinced he would at any second leave me, like all the men who’d come before him.
And so I started acting like Jack Nicholson in that scene in The Shining where he starts losing his shit and hacking everything up with an axe (minus the murder and axe-wielding). I flew into sob-filled tantrums every time Kyle went to leave after we’d spent time together, questioned him constantly on his movements, and began feeling as though I couldn’t cope while we were apart. I was a mess almost every time he saw me, even though I should have been happier than I’d been in a long time.
I hadn’t told Kyle the truth about myself. Because I didn’t want to scare him off. But in reality, I was ill. I had been for many years. There was a storm brewing in my brain that often sent me into total darkness. I’d miss multiple days of work, lying in bed crying, and returning later with bandages over my arms – covering the punishment I’d inflicted on myself when the storm had raged. But I’d become expert at hiding it.
Until Kyle, that was. Kyle could sense something wasn’t right.
“You need help,” he said to me solemnly one day, his steel blue eyes turning glassy as I rocked on the floor sobbing, begging him not to leave.
“I can’t do this anymore…”
It’s been almost a year since then.
In that time, I spent a while in hospital where I learned about my issues with extreme co-dependency, depression and anxiety, and about my need to fill the emotional voids in my life with sex and attention. And I started healing.
I’m still healing. More and more, every day. I even spoke about my experiences on national TV. Who would have thunk I’d be telling Kylie Gillies and Larry Emdur (and all of Australia) about my adventures as a f*ckgirl?
And as for Kyle? He’s still here. (You totally thought he buggered off, didn’t you?)
He’s stayed by my side through the hospital trips, the therapist appointments and the emotional breakdowns. He’s even with me now – pottering away in the background, fixing the creaky hinge on my front door as I write this (perks of an engineer boyfriend!).
“When did you know you were in love with me? I mean, that I wasn’t just another girl you wanted to bang?” I ask him.
“Eight seconds after,” he tells me.
“Eight seconds after what?” I ask back.
“Eight seconds after you walked into that bar on our first date. I knew I was a gonner,” he replies with a chuckle.
And that’s when I realise it. That every douchebag I ever dated, every heartbreak I ever faced – even the agony of my marriage breakdown – was worth it, to get here, to this moment I’m in, right now.
Follow more of Nadia’s sex and dating misadventures on Instagram.
Want to catch up on the hilarious ‘Nadia Uncensored’ series from the start? Go here:
Nadia Uncensored 1: ‘I told my mum my marriage was over because I got wasted and made out with a DJ.’
Nadia Uncensored 2: ‘What happened when I flew 900 kilometres for a man I’d never met.’
Nadia Uncensored 3: ‘I went on two dates with a guy from the gym. The he asked me an X-rated question.’
Nadia Uncensored 4: ‘I woke up in a pool of my own vomit to a VERY unexpected text message.’
Nadia Uncensored 5: ‘My date mauled my face like a Labrador, then became…creepy.’
Nadia Uncensored 6: ‘My Bumble date said three words to me that made my ovaries explode.’
Nadia Uncensored 7: ‘Immediately after we had sex, he gave a six word excuse to leave.’
Nadia Uncensored 8: ‘Something felt weird inside me…I ran to the restroom, and found it.’
Nadia Uncensored 9: ‘The moment I was rejected by the work colleague I was sleeping with’.