There he was; a puma back pack slung over one shoulder, thongs and aviators. He was on his way to Bunnings for something which I obviously didn’t care for or remember. He was mildly sweaty, excitable, and I was deeply infatuated. That was the first of many times I’ve looked at Ollie and thought; he’s a man.
I was impressed that a twenty-something was spending his Saturday morning at Bunnings, with a goal to build something. To work on a project. In hindsight, he was probably just going for the sausage sizzle. But there and then, I knew I wanted to date this man.
Up until this point I hadn’t really dated men. Guys, yes. Dudes, definitely. Blokes, only a few. But mainly overzealous boys, who at times, I thought had more of a vagina than me. Boys who would write me songs, paint me pictures, tell me stories, and gush sweet nothings profusely. And I think I needed that. I needed that at time when I was still coming into myself and wanted to be the centre of someone’s world; a muse, their everything.
But something clicked, and all of a sudden I was craving something else. Something which is hard to put into words. I wanted strength. Stability. I wanted to be guided, just as far as I wanted to be guided. I wanted a partner, who was less of a comrade/fan boy and more of a challenge.
The next time I saw Ollie he was brewing beer; methodically shifting heavy bags and boiling water. He reminded me of my Dad, I know that sounds weird, but he was strong and confident. Tinkering away, solving problems. I was taken by his physicality; his broad strong shoulders, shapely calves and self-assured gaze. I guess it must go back to some primitive/innate human chemistry shit because without rhyme or reason I was totally at his whim.
I found this a little puzzling, I remember thinking but I’m a self-sufficient woman; I pump tires, change light bulbs and hang paintings. I don’t need a man. And, when did I start liking calves? My type had shifted from slight frames, skinny jeans, band tees and messy hair to burly builds, chino shorts, buttoned shirts, and something called a fade.
I’m not going to lie, it’s not all smooth sailing dating a man. They can be shit at communicating, expressing those mushy feelings – and sometimes that makes me miss the boys.
But like all things, it just takes a little work. And it’s worth it. I still have butterfly moments inextricably tied to Ol’s masculinity. When he picks me up and grabs me, when he smashes ice, carries a case, or opens a jar. Phwoarrr.
It’s deeply comforting to know that all that power, that strength and brute force which resides within him – is there now to protect and serve me.
All this from a Bunnings trip.
I like to think it’s the best Bunnings trip he ever made.