I'm looking for a man in yachting, 6'5, blue eyes
this is the rhythm of the night, the rhythm of my life...
"Oh shit, what time is it?"
That thought stops me mid-get-ready dance as I swipe my final touch of gloss to complete my date night look. Damn, I look pretty good.
I’m also about to be pretty fucking late for my date. My very sweet—and admittedly very sexy—yacht chef is waiting.
Sailing and yacht life are huge in Fort Lauderdale. Like, really huge.
Fort Lauderdale is dubbed the "Venice of America" due to its 165 miles of inland waterways, including the Intracoastal Waterway—a network of long canals. With over 100 marinas, it's the third-largest cruise port in the world and home to more than 50,000 registered yachts and boats ranging from small runabouts to large superyachts.
So, meeting a yachtie here isn’t unusual. The beauty of a yachtie is, you know exactly what you’re getting.
There’s usually a carefree, wandering spirit behind a good-time loving guy with sun-bronzed skin and a ridiculously hot body. My yacht chef was no exception.
While my dream has always been a loving and meaningful partnership, after years of heartbreak, healing, and hibernation, I was ready for some fucking fun!
At this point, I’ve had a pretty, how do I say this—active summer. After a year of celibacy and my re-awakening in Portugal, I’m back, bitches.
Enter my yacht chef, only in port for two weeks. Perfect.
He wasn't my usual type—he was very pretty. Tall, athletic, ashy blonde hair naturally highlighted by the sun, and piercing blue eyes. Devastatingly handsome. Oh, and did I mention British?
I tend to gravitate towards more unusual characters.
We had an unspoken understanding that this might be a casual and fleeting arrangement, should we both be intrigued enough to pursue it. Despite that, he really delivered on the romance factor during our time together.
He made a reservation at my favorite waterfront restaurant, a happy coincidence but a welcome one nonetheless.
Oh shit, time check? I need to get dressed!
I shake off my robe and frantically search my closet...
Red dress? No, too try-hard...
Jeans? Too hot...
Pleated skirt? What, am I going to a tennis match?
Leather leggings? Okay, giving Grease Lightning.
Then, I reach a hanger I can barely see in the back of my closet, ohhhhh…
It was she. The effortless satin slip dress. Yup, that one. The one that had been living in the back of my closet since the fat, disgusting pig incident over a year ago.
I had resolved not to let that vile human affect how I felt in that dress, but I hadn’t worn it since. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it either.
I stared at it reflectively for a moment in a very "hello, old friend" gaze. The slippery satin slid off the hanger and into my hands. I scoffed to myself, okay, well, I guess this is what I’m wearing tonight.
Slipping into the dress, it draped more perfectly than I remembered. Okay, enough reflection, time to go.
I walked into the restaurant where he was already waiting for me and his face lit up with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen, “Bloody hell, now that’s a dress! You look fantastic.” His accent felt like home. For context, since we're still getting to know each other, my immediate family on my mom’s side is British, and I lived in the UK briefly as a child.
He stood up and proudly escorted me to our table, overlooking the water. A couple of drinks in and endless laughter later, I was pleasantly surprised by his charm and, more importantly, his wit. I live for good banter, a skill not many possess and even fewer enjoy.
We discussed history, travel, our mutual love of food and delicacies, our backgrounds from the UK, and I discovered that he wasn't just a wandering free spirit but also owned multiple properties across Latin America and Europe.
He also showed a great deal of interest in my business, my career, my family and hobbies practically everything about me.
Intrigued by the intellectual stimulation, I found myself distracted by the thought of other ways this man might be stimulating.
While my desire for a committed partnership remains strong, I had spent recent years avoiding intimacy to focus on my healing, break limiting patterns, and restore my self-trust in romantic relationships. My choices in past committed relationships have a theme: I settled.
As my brilliant friend, and former flame, David said to me recently, "Choosing to accept loneliness when you desire a partner is also settling."
Let me be clear: I fully support choosing to be single, as I have for many years. After multiple long-term relationships, I'm certain I would rather be single than settle in an unhealthy or mediocre relationship.
Two things can be true simultaneously, and David’s words ring true. Avoidance of intimacy also doesn't serve me.
We’ve developed "ick" lists we brag about online, hyper-vigilant in dissecting every word that leaves our date’s lips, over-identifying with therapy jargon, creating narratives from limited information. In short, we’ve become judgmentally rigid, demanding others accept us as we are—flaws, quirks, and all—yet we often fail to extend the same grace to others when they don’t meet our expectations.
Which brings me back to something my therapist said that continues to haunt and empower me on a daily basis: "What are you willing to struggle for?" Choosing to live life untethered should be your choice, and if it is, you deserve to celebrate it. But, even a life untethered has struggles. Just as dating with intention and relationships have their struggles. What are you willing to struggle for? That choice is yours and yours alone.
Initially, my choice to step back was to prioritize myself, to reflect on my past missteps and how I could improve in relationships. But, I became disconnected, perhaps even a bit hopeless. This led to a reliance on fate for romantic pursuits, resulting in exactly zero dates—a laughable, yet predictable outcome since very few positive outcomes in my life have happened by mere chance. If I want it, I’m going to have to put in work. Booooo, okay!
Thanks for listening to my Ted Talk. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, I was feeling stimulated.
My handful of experiences in casual relationships have been incredibly empowering. Maybe I'm an exception, maybe I have strong boundaries, or maybe I’m just 50 shades of fucked up...but, I don’t think so. In this moment, I feel confident in this fling because by this point, I trust myself. As I sat across from my sexy yacht chef, I remembered what I love about myself, rediscovered during my healing journey. I love the energy I bring on dates, the insights I gain about myself and from others. Gasp—can it be that I actually enjoy dating?
Feeling beautiful as I left for the date—confident and feminine—felt exhilarating. Making him laugh, sharing my achievements, being vulnerable about my challenges, and expressing my quirky, vibrant personality reignited a fire within me.
“So, I was thinking we could pop over to this bar around the corner...if you’re up to it?” he suggested casually as he signed the check.
“I was thinking we could head to my place instead, which is also around the corner...if you’re up to it?” I replied confidently, with a playful smirk.
He smiled, visibly excited but suddenly a bit flustered. Adorable.
“Well, let’s get the hell out of here then!”
He offered his hand, and we walked hand in hand back to my place. As we approached my building, he paused and said, “Wait a second…”
“I’m having a great time; you are quite a surprise,” he complimented as he ran his hands up my arms and pulled me in for a kiss.
Now, I’ve been blessed with some memorable kisses, but this one was intense—so intense that our lips actually sparked, startling us both. It didn't stop us for more than a second.
“Well, that’s going to be a problem,” I remarked after a few minutes—or perhaps fifteen—of making many passersby on the street incredibly uncomfortable… or maybe incredibly turned on; I can't say for sure. I was too preoccupied.
“Yeah, you are definitely trouble,” he replied with a grin, gesturing toward the door.
“Yes, I am,” I said, stepping inside, “Now, let's see if you can keep up.”
“or, I’ll die trying…” he quipped back. I fucking love the Brits.
Let’s keep in touch
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I REALLY like him!!!