Love revisited

In my two years on the dating scene I’ve come a long way, but I don’t feel any closer to my final destination: true love. I’ve had tremendous up and downs and not just in the bedroom. I’m older and wiser, but still don’t have what I want and, as I am discovering about myself, need. What exactly is this thing that I want and need so badly, this thing known as love?

Some time ago I wrote about love ( ) and since then my thoughts about love have evolved.

I think we all have our own idea of what love is. That’s part of the problem: finding someone who shares our idea of love. The love I offer is unlimited in quantity, devoid of conditions and free of boundaries. I’ve come to realize that finding someone who offers the same is incredibly rare.

There are quotes about love that resonate with me.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Don’t settle for the one you can live with…wait for the one you can’t live without.

The first quote speaks of a life together, a more mature love, while the second speaks of meaning.

I’ve come to realize that what I am seeking is meaning to my life. I am not a selfish person and that is a problem in the world I find myself in because it seems to me that ninety percent of people are selfish by nature. Yes, I know that’s the way it has been and always will be, but I find it sad. Being a Giver in a world of Takers is a lonely, frustrating experience.

I’ve also realized that my need to give love is greater than my desire to receive it. It has been why I have become embroiled with women who are patently unsuitable to me. My greed for love overwhelmed my fear of hurt and failure. My greed blinded me to danger which, when love is concerned, must be eminently better than being paralysed by fear. So many of the women I’ve met have been controlled by their fears, looking backwards when they should be looking forwards, looking at the person they have before them and not punishing them for someone else’s mistakes.

The love I seek isn’t driven by fear. I don’t fear growing old alone. I don’t fear not knowing what being a father is all about. I don’t fear never loving someone again.

I just want to spend what’s left of my life feeling loved and loving that person too. Our love for each other would be so strong that, even after I’ve died, when she has lunch or dinner, she will prop up a photo of me next to her plate. I would do the same.

When I’m with her I want to feel like the luckiest man in the world because I’m with her. I want to see it in her eyes, I want to feel it in her touch, that she loves me. It would be nice to meet someone who, when she looks at me then closes her eyes, she likes what she sees.

Billy Joel put it best, “I don’t need clever conversation, I never want to work that hard”. I want and need good conversation; I offer it too. We make each other laugh, we make each other think, our words make each other feel good. With me she’ll never have wrinkles, only laughter lines.

Physical attraction is common, but a mental connection is rare.

Physical attraction is common, but a mental connection is rare.

I can’t wait to have Her sitting by my side, complaining of sore feet from all the walking we’ve done that day. I’ll go get some moisturiser, flop her onto her back, take her shoes off, rub the lotion warm in my hands and give her a foot massage that relaxes her. I want to do this not because I want anything in return, no, I’ll do this because I love her. Her pleasure is my pleasure.

However, I have unresolved issues, reservations and questions about love.

Is my idea of love sound? Is what I am looking for possible? Am I deluded in some way? Am I wasting my time? Do I really know what love is? Not for a moment do I think I have all the answers, but I certainly have a lot of questions.

And what of when it goes wrong? Where does love go to die? Does it evaporate up into the heavens, eventually falling back to earth as rain, so that the sky cries with us? If so, then when it rains, does it mean someone’s heart is breaking?

As much as I want to share my life with someone special, I know that I value my sense of freedom that I’m enjoying at the moment. Do I have to trade one for the other? Does a woman’s sense of security come at the price of a man’s sense of freedom? I’m in no hurry to want to live with someone, but do want to spend a good amount of time with her. Do we have to live together? I think not. I hope she’s of a like mind.

I wonder if I am destined to roam freely from one kind of fling to another, experiencing more than any man can hope to experience in his lifetime, getting to know in gritty detail all the sins of the flesh, learning all there is to know about womankind, but like a tormented ghost, to never succumb to the greatest thing that life has to offer: love.

Perhaps the fault all along has lain on my side in that my expectations are greater than what is possible or likely? Was I too hasty with The Brazilian? Should I have met Baltic Babe halfway and had a child with her? Should I have taken things easier and slower with Krazy Girl? Should I have stayed with Sweet Thing and Busty Blonde? The answer to all these questions is a resounding ‘no!’.

The love that was on offer with all those women just wasn’t good enough. Any relationship would not have worked in the long run. The eternal conundrum of either trying harder to make it work or walking away always had an obvious answer to me, but I took too long with Busty Blonde. Sadly it was her turn to be a victim of love.

I’m starting to think that I am capable of a greater love than anybody I have ever met. I don’t want to be anybody’s true north or the one who completes them. I don’t want that responsibility. All I want is for her to see the real me, appreciate all that she sees in me and just love me. In return I shall do the same…as a minimum.

The famous astronomer, Sir Patrick Moore, had a secret side to him. We all do, but his must have been beautiful. During World War Two he was a navigator on a British bomber, regularly flying to Germany to drop bombs on people. It was only a matter of time before he was killed; all bomber crews knew this, but they went anyway. Heroes every one of them. Because of the short life expectancy, people in those times threw themselves with gusto at life. They knew that every day could, literally, be their last. He became engaged to marry a girl that he had fallen in love with. In a German air raid over London she was killed. I wonder if the irony of him being bomber crew played on his mind. He survived the war, but was never known to show an interest in another woman. Apparently that part of him died with her. He went to his grave recently, never having loved again. Now that is true love…or true heartbreak. I think I know how he could have felt.

I watched “A Message in a Bottle” by myself last night. I had tears in my eyes at the end. The Brazilian would like that movie because it ends in disappointment, an outcome and feeling that she is comfortable with. The female protagonist in the movie is the sort of woman I want to meet. She has a big heart, attractive, and willing to do anything for love. Does such a woman exist? I guess seeing as it’s derived from a fictional book that the characters are symbolic of what men and women aspire to in the opposite gender but never find. The thing is that Kevin Costner’s character, Garret Blake, is so much like me. I too would have dived into the sea to rescue total strangers.

I guess I’m a fool for love, a love-fool and I don’t care if it makes a fool of me.

I also don’t care what price I have to pay because I’m looking for my last first kiss.

Where are you?

Raindrops on windows, my thoughts are of you
The teardrops on my pillow look like dew.
This loneliness is becoming too much to bear
I just want someone I love to equally care.

I see you when I’m out and about
Across the crowd I want to shout.
“I’m over here, all this time, right here!”
If I did their looks will be of fear.

So instead we stare with sly eyes
And we go home alone to fantasize.
We think there’s something wrong with us
Too scared to talk to that stranger on the bus.

This life with no meaning, this walking alone
Am I being punished for a deed I must atone?
I have met so many, yet wanted so few
Is every step taking me closer to you?

I look forward to us being two
Oh, where are you?

Foreigner – I Want To Know What Love Is

Bitch profile dissected

I came across a pretty face on PoF, read her words then laughed to myself. I was having a moment of deja moo: I’ve seen this bullshit before. First I’ll show you her words, then I’ll show them again with the subtext garnered from my years of experience. This might be shocking to some but these are the things I’ve learned after having conversed with hundreds of women, dated almost fifty and tried to have a relationship with a few.


About Me

I am here beacuse my friend says it’s fun. We shall see. ;)

I am looking for someone who doesn’t like to make drama.

I ride my blue bike wearing my Vans shoes and my Burberry trench coat on my way to work, I hate public transport!

I always say what I want in general but sometimes I think first.

If all you can talk about is sex or if your lookig for a booty call, don’t even bother to message. I will find you boring straight away.

I work for a luxury fashion retail. I love good food, movies and talking to intelligent ppl.

First Date
Out for a drink or dinner when we could have a proper conversation. :)


Seems sweet, fun and harmless, right? Not so. Here’s what two years of interacting with women like her has taught me what lurks beneath the surface of her hastily contrived online facade.


About Me

I am here beacuse my friend says it’s fun. We shall see. ;)
[Spelling error indicates her disdain for all this; can't be bothered to check her writing. Doesn't really want to be doing this; it's half-hearted to appease a friend. The only way people get her to do anything is to nag her. Willing to deceive a friend. Judgemental – will swap endless emails with a guy and never go on a date with him. She will be picky and high maintenance.]

I am looking for someone who doesn’t like to make drama.
[Because she'll provide it all, I assure you. Has a turbulent history with men. English might not be her first language.]

I ride my blue bike wearing my Vans shoes and my Burberry trench coat on my way to work, I hate public transport!
[Fashion-slave; abhors practicality, snob; likely to die in cycling accident on way to work because she's always right.]

I always say what I want in general but sometimes I think first.
[Tactless, outspoken loudmouth who will embarrass anybody and everybody anywhere. Opinionated and headstrong. Major reasons for her being single.]

If all you can talk about is sex or if your lookig for a booty call, don’t even bother to message. I will find you boring straight away.
[She's getting irritated by having to write this, it's so beneath her, hence another spelling error. Eventually finds all men boring, another reason she's single. Hasn't had sex in a while, hence her bringing it up and being on this site. Probably needs a regular good shagging to calm her down.]

I work for a luxury fashion retail. I love good food, movies and talking to intelligent ppl.
[I'm demanding, hard work. My job defines who I am. Social status is important in my world, so you better have a good job. She doesn't earn that much hence being on a free site. Will ultimately be disappointed by calibre of men on PoF and will speak badly of online dating because of it. Bad grammar and text speak confirm her not being English. If you're good-looking, have money, can cook and are intelligent, I'll spread my legs for you.]

First Date
Out for a drink or dinner when we could have a proper conversation. :)
[You're paying mister but only after countless silly emails spanning weeks but will dash off to meet a guy if he's really good looking because she's shallow. She loves getting stuck into a good debate, probably likes to argue as a form of foreplay. On the positive side, she's clearly a sapiophile, so a brainy hunk will get her wet in a matter of minutes.]


Her only email setting contact criteria is that the man has a photo; looks matter a lot to her. This setting also hints at her not really expecting a long-lasting relationship, just a fling. This superficial airhead has no redeeming value to men other than as a brief sex toy, which will quickly become predictable and boring because she knows what she likes and that’s all she’ll do. She probably won’t give oral but will gladly accept it.

She has eight photos to her profile; the typical woman has just four. The more photos a woman has the higher the opinion of herself and vice versa. Self-esteem has bubbled over into self-obsessed with this girl. Any kind of relationship will be all about her. She’s a classic Taker.

Two years ago I would have thought her a sweet-hearted neophyte gingerly feeling her way through the world. She’s probably a recent arrival in London looking to broaden her social circle. Her job and its trappings have wowed her and she’s revelling in the experience of luxury. She knows what she likes and won’t be easily swayed. She has a mind of her own and isn’t afraid of expressing herself.

Such a naïve outlook has been replaced by my current more educated view of a woman such as her. There was a time when I would have approached her, but I’m wiser now and give such women a wide berth. Depending on the website, a quarter to a half of profiles will be like hers. This is not indicative of womankind, but says more about dating sites because women like her linger longer.

She’s becoming a typical London girl, portraying herself to anyone who will listen that she’s a “strong, independent woman.” There’s a special aisle in a supermarket designed just for her. It has wine, ready-meals and cat food, all located together for her convenience.

Undateable singleton aisle.

Undateable singleton aisle.

If I woke up next to this girl and she was sleeping on my arm, I would rather gnaw my arm off than wake her.

I find it interesting that the same world I have known for so long I am now seeing through different eyes. My education continues and I know it’s not complete.

Depeche Mode – World in My Eyes

Previous dates and near misses

The disappointment of The Brazilian has taken the wind out of my sales. As I write this, I’m trying to have a galia melon for breakfast, but I’m struggling to swallow it, such is my emotional state at the moment. Stupid me had high hopes for her.

A week after sending her my goodbye text message , driven by a sense of curiosity, I sent her another message. I figured I had nothing to lose and if she answered I would have more of an idea about what was going on in her head. I wasn’t hoping for a reconciliation in the way her favourite movie storylines go, but wanted to further my education about women. My message read, “I’m really curious about something: what was it that I said or did that put you off me?

To my amazement her reply came within half an hour and it read, “Nothing much really apart from your last text!! Unfortunately then that made me think about distance, work, commitments I’m not ready to have, lifestyle and so on. Maybe we shared too much information too soon as well, but that doesn’t matter. I was very put off by your last text. And I don’t think I can deal with that at all.

From that message I took it that she was scared and commitment was her issue. I also deduce that she wasn’t so taken by me that her fears and issues were overwhelmed. Her loss. I’ve learned that the two strongest human emotions are fear and greed. Fear has kept our species alive. Our greed has kept us evolving. In my experience when someone says ‘not ready’ it means they are being governed by their fear(s). It takes someone who taps into their greed for something – lust, intimacy, acceptance, love, whatever because it varies – to make them ignore their fear.

The Brazilian’s heart is fragile and scared. She’s in passive-defensive mode, waiting for any man to say or do one wrong thing and she’s gone. It’s an example of the Grey Knight’s First Law of Dating Physics: for every male action there is a disproportionate female over-reaction.

I am also firmly of the opinion that there was at least one other person on the scene, the person whom she was seeing on Wednesday nights far away from her home.

It occurs to me that it is two years since I went online dating. This gives me pause to remember and wonder what has happened to some of the women I’ve met, as well as the ones I wanted to meet but didn’t get to.

First, the women I did get to meet…

Tech Titan I’m still in touch with, but strictly as friends. She and her boyfriend have just got back from two weeks in the Seychelles, where he proposed to her. I’m happy for her, but he only got divorced a year ago.

Baltic Babe has married her Frenchman. LinkedIn sent me an update with her new surname, so I check out her Facebook page, but she has tightened her security settings and I garner nothing new. I find his Facebook and LinkedIn profile. Let’s just say that he has a face for radio. He must be able to lick his eyebrows. Good luck to them both.

As I sit writing about my dates with The Model, looking back over our email and text conversations, it’s now – yes, only now because I’ve had no reason to think about this – becoming apparent to me that she was dating at least one other person. There were the classic lies/excuses of being at the gym, falling asleep in front of the tv, always getting her voicemail. I was totally blind to it at the time; it was my early days of dating. Apparently all’s fair in love and war. I’m starting to understand what that means.

Krazy Gal got herself a new job then lost it three months later. She’s unemployed again and still living with her parents it seems.

I come across Delicate Flower on Plenty of Fish (PoF). She uses the same photos from when we met 2 years ago. I know that she is now 37 going on 38, but she says on her profile she’s 33. She’s also decided that she wants kids. We swap some emails, but when I suggested that we meet for coffee it seems she blocked me because the message history disappeared. I just wanted to chat with her because I enjoy her company. I wasn’t interested in sex because she is an awful lay. I leave matters there.

PoF also tells me that Angry Yank has changed her location to Greater Boston. Does that mean her visa was running out when we met?

I noticed on the national newspaper’s dating site that Musician Gal has blocked me from contacting her. I find that funny. She was recently active on the site.

I search online for Lusty Lass and can’t find her anywhere. Her Facebook page that I have seen before has disappeared. Our LinkedIn connection has been disconnected and her profile is gone. I do a Google search and find out she had declared herself bankrupt in 2010, probably because of her divorce. When we met in July 2013 she was working for a firm on the outskirts of London, but in early 2014 she had a so-called ‘condition’ set against her by her industry’s governing body that she could not work with client monies. Then latterly she had the same condition set against her but this time she was working for a firm on the opposite end of London. The new firm doesn’t have her on their website as a staff member. Doing a search on her profession’s register returns a blank. Has she been silly and lost her accreditation? She has a penchant for bringing drama into her life.

Cat Lady has acquired a second cat and from the photos she posts on Facebook is spending her evenings knitting things for the kitten.

Busty Blonde has landed her dream job and is still active on the dating site where we met. I hope she meets someone better than me.

Now for the women I didn’t get to meet, the near-misses as I now think of them. These are only some of the women whom I spent time swapping messages with but who couldn’t bring themselves to actually meet me for a date.

A New Zealander whom I was very keen to meet but disappeared when I suggested a date has updated her location on PoF as now being in Sydney, Australia. We interacted a month ago, just before I met The Brazilian.

A local lady and I struck up a great online conversation and agreed to a date. On the Saturday in question she sent me a message at 5am saying that she couldn’t bring herself to meet me that day. I see on PoF that she has changed her profile to say that she “wants to get married”. I would have met her for a date if she suggested rescheduling, but now that I know what her agenda is, I’m put off her.

Last night I was flipping through Tinder when I recognised a pretty blonde whom I had seen on my Happy Humping Ground dating site. On Tinder it shows her name and that she is 41. I find her dating profile where she claims to be 35 and looking to meet men aged 26 to 34! I guess she’s just looking for mindless sex. She’s just the sort of woman I’m visually attracted to; perhaps more proof that the look I like is the wrong sort of person for me.

I love a good, shocking surprise…a woman I noticed on one dating site reveals on another site that she is bisexual.

A lady in my town who approached me and was very keen to meet up, but ended up flaking on me an hour before we were supposed to meet in a local pub has updated her location as being in the north of the country now.

I got an approach email on PoF from someone who looked interesting. Then I noticed that she said that she does drugs on a social basis. I pointed that out to her and said that if it wasn’t for that I would have been happy to meet her for a date. I hear nothing but check her profile the next day to see that she’s changed it to “no drugs”. I write to her but the PoF system says that she has blocked me. She is now someone else’s nightmare in the making.

A woman I’ve swapped messages with in the past responds with “I’m in lurker mode.” What the fuck is that? It’s a woman playing games. There are so many of them on dating sites. They love the attention, will swap endless emails but will never agree to meet for a date. They are not emotionally ready for a relationship. They draw power from the emails, they feel better about themselves for being on a dating site, but they are not relationship material. They’re too fucked up. They eventually acquire cats and their brains are addled with toxoplasmosis. They agree to meet within 6 emails or they’re history.

I’m starting to think that flaky women are just a waste of time. The best encounters, the smoothest experiences have started well and gone well from there. Bad or broken communication is a warning sign; it’s how they operate and will do so in a relationship too.

I’ve realized something: For much of my early dating experiences I was in a mild state of delirium. The disappointment of the Exgf destabilised me, Baltic Babe knocked me over and Krazy Girl stomped me into the ground.

All these women have taken something from me. I don’t exactly know what it is, but I know I lack it. Whatever it was, I want it back. Through Busty Blonde I’m getting to see that an innocence and naiveté I had is gone. That hasn’t made me a better person, instead a more cynical one. I don’t think its that, however. I think it’s a goodness that gave me an arrogant strength is what is gone. It gave me the notion that when it came to relationships, I was better than most men. Now that I have experienced what I have, I feel like I am like other men carrying the same weariness and delusion that they do. I am no longer as special as I once was. Can I be that again, or is the best that I can hope for a different me, built on the ruins of the old? Time will tell.

For the first time ever, the thought of another first date makes my stomach turn. I’m struggling to believe that The One is out there. I’m fully aware that these are my salad days and that I should be out there, mixing and mingling, because I’ve never going to be as good looking and energetic as I am now. Yesterday I found a grey hair in a sideburn; it’s life reminding me that old age is creeping up on me. At the moment I’m just not interested in women.

Thunder is beating its drum and lightning is crackling across the sky outside my window. My window on life. I’ve spent much time looking out that window, wondering about what is and about what could be, even what should be, but the latter only causes me pain. Of course I would love to lie on my lounge floor with Her by my side, whoever Her might be, the one that I am longing to meet, longing so much that at times it hurts. I’ve never had a problem with being alone, but lately I’ve been feeling lonely. That horrible old feeling is back again, to tease and torment me.

After this short and slightly nasty experience with The Brazilian that has left a bitter taste in my mouth, I’ve come to accept that I’m destined to be alone for some time yet. I’ll see it as paying my dues, serving my apprenticeship, hoping that one day I shall be rewarded. Of course there’s no way of knowing what the future holds and it might just be a massive, echoing nothingness for me. A dried up empty husk, devoid of life and of no use to anyone – that is what my love life might hold. It’s a fate that I choose not to think too much about for fear of it depressing and then paralysing me.

My friend, you’re a tourist in the jail that is my dating life, I’m a prisoner here.

Michael Buble – Haven’t Met You Yet

Brazilian adeus

After fantastic sex on Saturday we indulged in pillow talk during which The Brazilian hinted that she has a fear of commitment. It stemmed from her childhood and her parent’s unhappy marriage. That’s not too unusual as I’ve met several woman on my dates with similar stories, but I want to proceed with caution and my eyes wide open. I realize that I don’t really know much about her history, so on Monday I decide to go digging. We keep repeating our history until we learn from it.

I found The Brazilian’s Facebook page and saw that her favourite male character from ‘Sex and the City’ (her treasured show) was Aidan. Strangely, that’s my second name. I read up on this character and other than him making furniture and having a kid, I am Aidan in character but less of a doormat. It’s freaky.

She listed on Facebook her two favourite movies as being ‘Out of Africa’ and ‘The Way We Were’. The stories both end in a similar fashion: the relationships fail and the woman is left feeling abandoned. I find that quite telling and take it as something of a red flag. However, I notice something about both storylines: the protagonists are separated for a while before being re-united and their romance resumes before ultimately failing.

Is this her style of relationship? Is this what she likes doing to men? Is this why she asked me on our second date what my favourite type of movie ending is?

When it got to that time of night when Busty Blonde and I would talk on the phone, a little part of me would dread it and then be relieved when the call was over. With The Brazilian I can’t wait to call her; I feel like a pimple-faced teenager all over again. I can’t wait to hear her voice, but I don’t know what we’ll talk about and I don’t really care. We’ll start off with “Hello…” and take it from there.

I have to draw on all the skills that I’ve acquired over the past two years in order to keep The Brazilian. She’s a massive challenge because of her commitment fear, something I can really do without, but hopefully it’s temporary. I don’t want it to become the focus of our relationship; I want mutual love and respect to be our axis.

I phoned her on Monday night, we had a pleasant enough chat – well, it was her venting about a bad customer mostly. I spoke to her about the Farnborough Air Show, something I had mentioned the previous day and her response seemed lukewarm at best. I then asked about getting together the coming weekend. Her response was, “Well, I’ve been invited to a birthday party on the Saturday night, so I’ll probably go to that. I’ve also been invited to a kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. I usually don’t go to those, but this one I might.”

This kiddies party was different because a customer who had stopped doing business was going to be there and The Brazilian wanted this person to feel awkward. Now if she would rather do that than see me, then that tells me loads; she’s vindictive and can be confrontational. She also doesn’t know who or what is good for her. It also tells me that I’m not a high priority. Of course I’m accepting at face value that she’s telling me the truth. Ah, my good ol’ trust demon furrows his hairy brow, his dark eyes glow as he grips the bars of his cage and starts tugging at them…

“Okay, no problem, “ I say. Of course it was a problem. I want to see her again but I get the impression from her words and their tone that she isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to see me again. I’m making that old mistake of getting too invested in a woman I liked too quickly. Old habits die hard, but I can’t help getting carried away like an excited little boy on Xmas eve. I know what I want and I want it as quickly as possible. Seen logically, the prudent thing to do is to re-activate my dating profiles and keep my options open. That way I don’t allow myself to become too attached too soon which might spook her and result in pain for me.

I ended the call on Monday night saying that it was her turn to call me. Let’s see how long it takes before she calls me. I’m going to give her time and space to miss me. I won’t initiate any kind of communication on Tuesday. If I don’t hear from her at all on Tuesday, then late that night I’ll go on to the dating sites where I switched my profiles off last week and start creating options. I use that word ‘option’ because that is exactly how I’m starting to feel to her.

I would love to have the chance to say to her, “Isn’t time you let go of an idea you told yourself to believe a long time ago when you were a little girl? We all hold on to ideas that actually hold us back from getting what we want. Your ideas about commitment are wrong and redundant. They have not served you well. Don’t you think it’s time to leave them behind and move onto something more useful?”

Tuesday and I’m writing about Krazy Girl for my blog. A part of me is becoming very aware of the similarities between Krazy Girl and The Brazilian: coming on all fiery and excited in the beginning then suddenly blowing cold and then disappearing. Is the excellent sex impairing my judgement again? I’m struck by another similarity between the two in that Krazy Girl went to great pains to keep my existence secret and, although it’s only been ten days with The Brazilian, she told me that she has informed nobody of my existence too. I need to proceed slowly and with caution, not just to avoid scaring her off, but to protect myself.

I go on to Tinder to re-read my messages with The Brazilian, looking for clues and see that she was active on it 3 days ago and had removed one photo and replaced it with another. Why do that if you think you’ve met somebody? You wouldn’t. I have to accept that her fear of commitment is a massive problem and that I should start taking steps to protect myself from possible harm. I’ll cool it with her, let her do more of the running by way of initiating contact and see what happens.

It dawned on me today that so far she has not said anything or done anything that indicates that she’s interested in a relationship. Over the course of the day there was absolutely no contact between us. I was determined to not initiate communication. She can make an effort too.

Relationships and effort.

Relationships and effort.

I’m wondering if she was unimpressed by my place. It didn’t fit in with her expectation. Most women have an idea that they generate in their own heads about what a guy’s place will be like, because it’s part and parcel with their fantasy of the perfect man coming along out of nowhere and, of course, he’s rich too. It’s a great fantasy and most women buy into it and many live their lives according to it. My place is basic, it’s not fancy or flash in any way. Has it done it’s job of warding off another gold-digger?

Late on Tuesday night, during the World Cup game in which Brazil was losing five nil at half-time to Germany, she sent me a Whatsapp message that said, “You do know that I’m half German?” I left it a few minutes and responded with “Call me.” She didn’t call.

I remember her saying that she wants an easygoing, drama-free relationship. I took that to mean that she has only known the opposite of this. I now see that she is the cause of the drama. This hot-cold treatment I’ve seen before and I don’t like it. I’m too old for silly fucking games.

I’m starting to think her primary interest in me is sexual. Anything else is just noise. So be it; as long as I know the score. I won’t go getting my hopes up; the likelihood of disappointment is high. A pity, because I really like her.

Wednesday and I’ve seen that she’s been active on Whatsapp over the course of the day when I’ve gone on it to chat with friends. Yes, I would check when last she had logged on too and it was as often as me at a minimum. So, no real communication in two days. I’m feeling angry and I go onto Tinder, reactivate it and get a match within minutes and started swapping messages. I go on to a few of my trusted free dating sites and reactivate my profiles. I write to two new women on PoF.

I’ve started to subscribe to the expression that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. My instincts now tell me that it is going to just be the first reason with The Brazilian. The fact that she had not lived with a boyfriend since 2002, when she was 26, I should have taken as a massive red flag. She clearly has issues about commitment and relationships because I think it’s only natural to want to live with somebody if you love them.

The Brazilian’s obviously not relationship material. Does she revel in self-sabotage so that she can get her kicks out of feeling scorned? How many men has she done this to and how many more will experience this?

How many more women like her will I encounter? What percentage of women are like her? The mistake was obviously mine in that I still emotionally believe that having sex with someone is an act of commitment. I should know better by now. I have an increased need to want to visit a STD clinic now.

Thursday and I resolve that if I do hear from her again, I’ll wait that amount of time to get back to her. I’ve been so bothered by her behaviour, the blowing hot then cold, that I’ve done some research on the internet about it. The common advice is to leave her be, then only contact her as often as she contacts me. An interesting article contended that physical attraction has a very short use-by date and should best be exploited as quickly as possible.

However, I have to face facts. Nobody’s that busy that they can’t call or text me. She’s just not that into me. The way I feel about her now is largely disappointment. I’m also feeling a little foolish in myself. Connecting with someone on Tinder seems to be just about the sex. If I never hear from her again I won’t be too surprised or disappointed. I shouldn’t have got my hopes up like I did. Stupid Boy. Stupid, stupid boy…

Friday drifts by and I don’t look at anything involving The Brazilian. Swapping messages with other prospects feels tedious; I’ve had the wind knocked out of my sails. On Saturday morning, out of boredom and frustration, I go on to Tinder to see who was out there. I flick over to The Brazilian’s profile to see that she had logged on at 11pm the previous night.

Monday night and to my great surprise The Brazilian phones me at 9.30pm. She tells me that a troublesome customer had really upset her the previous week and she was having sleepless nights because of it. To boot she also had a cold and spent most of Saturday sleeping, not going to her friend’s party on the Saturday night nor the kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. The conversation was mostly her venting about her bad customer and unthinking staff. I found it boring, but had mastered the art of saying “uh-huh” with other women many years ago. She seemed still keen to go to the Farnborough Air Show on the coming weekend. The conversation ended after an hour – our longest chat via phone yet – with her saying twice, “We’ll speak soon, yes?”

I was pleased to hear from her and very surprised because I thought she was lost to me. I’m sure that there’s lots that she’s not telling me. I think this period of silence between us will do me a lot of good. I am looking forward to seeing her again.

I think I’ll surprise her with my red sports car and then we’ll have a nice barbecue with my friends. Depending on the weather we’ll either see the airshow on the Saturday or the Sunday. I hope it’s the former because I’ll then have an excuse to sleep over. I don’t expect sex, but it would be nice to feel her fall asleep in my arms.

If my reading of the situation is correct, then her phoning me was a massive act of commitment on her part. The way she said “speak soon”, the almost pleading tone, which surprised me, is a sign that she really wants to see more of me. I’m very happy to oblige. I’m already thinking of taking her to the Bristol Balloon Festival.

I didn’t phone her on the Tuesday as I didn’t want to seem too keen again, but besides that, there was little new to discuss. On the Wednesday night I spoke to my friend about the upcoming Farnborough Air Show and the weather forecast is rainy, except for the Sunday afternoon. I called The Brazilian at 8.15pm and ended up leaving a voice message. I then sent her a Whatsapp message just to make sure. Then I realised it was a Wednesday night, it’s when she seems to disappear. Peter Sarstedt said it best, “Where do you go to my lovely?”

I saw on Whatsapp that she logged on at 10.15pm and saw my message. I was tempted to phone her, not expecting her to answer because I would probably hear train noise in the background or a restaurant scene. My trust demon insists that she was on a date with another guy.

I now don’t trust The Brazilian at all. This is going to fizzle out quickly so I need to make the most of what’s on offer. If I do get to spend a night with her again, I’m going to slip on a condom and fuck her in the arse because that’s all she’s showing herself to be good for. If I’m really lucky and naughty, I might film this with my phone as a keepsake. I didn’t get to do that with Krazy Girl and so badly would have loved to have a video of me fucking her.

The similarity of this situation is not lost on me. Sweet Thing was followed by Krazy Girl, almost two identical sets of relationship styles – submissive and compliant followed by unavailable and difficult. Is Life playing games with me too? Is there something that I’m being shown for a second time for a reason? Is there a vital life-lesson somewhere in all of this that I’m missing?

On Thursday The Brazilian sends me a message on Whatsapp saying that she had developed tonsillitis and that it is very contagious so we won’t be going anywhere on the weekend. I texted her back asking if she would like any company over the weekend. No response for several hours. Then it dawned on me; she’s not interested in me. All the silence, the excuses were just her way of trying to brush me off. I know what a woman is like when she is interested in me and this isn’t it. I feel like an unwanted puppet on the end of her string.

I send her this Whatsapp message: “Sorry, I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake…message understood…you won’t be hearing from me again…good luck and goodbye.

It is the shortest and most brutal message of its kind I’ve ever sent, but it reflects my mood. I feel cold and numb inside, a familiar numbness that was starting to feel like an old acquaintance that will never be a friend.

Alone again…

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) It is now a fact to me that only by the end of the third date will you know if there will be a relationship. If there’s any doubt, then there’s no doubt. 2) We all have our own relationship style and for some people it is a negative one. 3) Tinder appears to be a hook-up app for people only interested in sex.

For anyone who is experiencing this hot/cold behaviour from someone then the following article will help:

Barbra Streisand – Memories (from ‘The Way We Were’)

Sweaty third date

It’s Saturday afternoon as I meet The Brazilian at my town’s station. I’m uncertain about how today will turn out. We kiss politely, I shoulder her bag and then we walk to my local supermarket to get ingredients for our dinner. She barely looks at my town; she just has eyes for me and is very talkative. It feels good to be with her again and everyone else seemed to disappear from my sight, so I guess I only have eyes for her too. I’m filled with a sense of relief by her positivity.

Back at my place I get to work making us a Thai massaman curry. That dish takes almost two hours to simmer so I introduce her to Californication which she absolutely loves and can’t get enough of. An episode ends and we start kissing. It was like we had never kissed before and it felt like I had my own private little fireworks display going off above my head.

It isn’t long before we are both naked on my sofa and in missionary position. She grabs the back of my neck, looks deep into my eyes and with clenched teeth says, “I want you to fuck me!”

I duly oblige.

It’s spontaneous sex on my sofa, the best kind of sex, the type that gets sweat, cum and pussy juices all over the covers. It is glorious.

“Hey, the balcony door is still open! The neighbours can hear us,” I say, uncomfortable with what I had just noticed.

“So what. Let them listen. Now fuck me,” she says.

It’s a hot July day and I’m starting to sweat as I heave into her slippery little pussy. The Brazilian is holding on tight, her fingernails are starting to sink into my skin. I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my neck, down my throat, stopping momentarily, then it falls onto her forehead. She feels it land and closes her eyes, opening her mouth in appreciation and letting out a breath of air through her nostrils. She liked that drop. She likes everything we’re doing right now. More droplets of sweat periodically gather and fall onto her face, each time landing somewhere new. Some women like that, some don’t.

Suddenly she starts wriggling under me and I sense that she wants to change position. Maybe she didn’t like my sweat hitting her in the face after all. Without a word I withdraw from her and she scrambles up. Almost instinctively we assume cowgirl position. The Brazilian is lithe and she expertly balances herself on me, straddling me, with just her vagina the only part of her touching me. She bounces rhythmically on my cock, her hands on her knees, a self-satisfied look on her face.

It’s quite a sight seeing a woman doing this. Very few have the physical ability to do this position. Only my Exgf ever did this to me. Krazy Girl tried it but had one foot on the ground which, by comparison, is a bit of cheating. I didn’t complain then and I certainly have no reason to now either.

I watch as The Brazilian closes her eyes and enjoys herself on me. My eyes can’t help but wander to her breasts. She’s at least a D-cup, which is unusual for such a petite frame and thus they look bigger than they actually feel in my hands.

“Aai, paapie,” is let off a few times as she enjoys herself on me. Some women indulge in a shift of power during sex, either giving it by submitting or seizing it. Right now The Brazilian is experiencing the latter. She certainly is quite fit and I think she makes herself cum; it’s the change in tempo, the anguished face and staccato breathing at one point that makes me think so. I guess she doesn’t want my neighbours to hear her cumming. Despite this she keeps going.

It isn’t long before I cum too. I can count on one hand how many times a woman has made me orgasm like this. I stifle my roar and The Brazilian looks down at me, a smug look on her face. She settles down on my groin and grinds herself on me. My sperm must be everywhere in her pussy now. Shit, I hope I don’t get her pregnant. She might not be telling the truth about being on the pill. Ah, there’s my suspicious mind again.

I suggest that we go for a walk because it’s too hot inside, so still in the afterglow we quickly find ourselves in a nearby park. Conversation is driven by the Brazilian who is still chatty. I had decided not to broach the issue of her whereabouts on Wednesday night, but she says something that piques my interest and I have to ask about it. Again it involves her being honest or dishonest.

“So you were born in 1977, weren’t you?” I tapped into what I suspected was unfinished business. I was right.

“Erm…uhm…no. I was born in 76. I lied about my age on my Facebook profile because it’s nobody’s business how old I am,” she says with a touch of defiance mixed with concern.

I look at her and just smile. I heard almost those exact words from the Irish Cougar. It didn’t matter to me how old she was. She could have been much older than me and it wouldn’t have changed how I felt about her. Before I get a chance to say anything, which I didn’t really see the need to, she says, “I suppose you want to leave me now?”

Where the hell does that come from? Is there some insecurity that I’ve touched on? Does she have a suspicious mind?

I stop walking and she does too. I face her, take her hands in mine and say, “No, your age is not an issue. I’m only interested in what you have in there,” gently putting an index finger on her heart. Then moving the finger to her head I say, “What’s in there has been taught and can be changed, but what’s in your heart will always stay the same.”

Her eyes widen and I take that as a sign that she likes what I just said.

Before she feels the need to say anything I turn and continue our walk, leading her. Without looking at her I reach out and hold her hand. She squeezes mine.

An older couple approach us, they are coming down the incline, but they didn’t seem to notice us because they are engrossed in their own conversation which involves some light laughter. After they pass us the Brazilian speaks.

“That couple have such as easy-going relationship,” she says, not realizing that she had just given me the keys to her queendom.

“You know all those other men you’ve been involved with? I’m not them,” I say with a serious look in my eye and smile on my face.

The Brazilian smiles back at me.

Silence breaks out for a few moments before I feel the need to share something with her.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you this weekend,” I say.

“You nearly didn’t,” she replies with a steely look in her eyes. I notice her shoulders stiffen.

“Why?” I have to ask. Here’s a chance to see what’s going on in her head.

“Thursday and Friday I was scared,” she replies.

“And now you see that there was nothing to be scared of,” I say with a smile. Her shoulders relax.

Got you. You know I caught you out lying, that’s why you were scared. Just having her know that I know she’s lied to me is good enough for now. I won’t say any more of it because that might come across as an attack, to which she’ll literally run away from me. No, discretion is part of my valour still, so I’ll leave it be. This knight has learned to stay his sword and only unsheathe it for the battles that matter. She can take this as a warning that I’m not stupid and she shouldn’t try it again.

We go back to my place where we enjoy my Thai curry and spend the night watching Californication. The Brazilian is addicted to that show, which pleases me. As a raunchy episode ends we look at each other in that knowing way. Words aren’t necessary.

I pick her up and carried her to my bedroom. She doesn’t weigh much so it’s easy for me and she’s petite so I don’t bang her elbows or feet on doors or walls. She wraps an arm around my neck and doesn’t seemed concerned that I could drop her, so I guess she has faith in my strength. I notice as I carry her that she is giving me a peculiar look with a wry smile; I would say it is one of admiration and definitely approval.

I lower her gently onto my bed and undress her before reaching for a bottle of massage oil. Her body and skin feel good under my hands and she seems to like my touch.

“He cooks and he massages. What more could a girl want?” I ask jokingly.

“Yes, I know,” she murmurs as I push my hands up her back, alongside her spine, forcing the stress and negative energy out of her body. I give her the best massage I know how.

With the massage over she is totally relaxed and I say, “There’s something I’ve been looking forward to,” as I gently turned her over onto her back. She looks at me with puppy-dog eyes and I can see that I can do whatever I want with her in that moment.

I stand up, get undressed and half lie down on the foot of the bed. I carefully prise her legs open and begin kissing the inside of one thigh and delicately work my way up to her groin before stopping and then starting all over again at her other knee. This time when I get to her pussy I just run my tongue up the centre of her pussy, feeling her lips parting either side of the rough side of my tongue and I feel her clit which is quite fleshy.

Frenetic intense, passionate sex ensues. It felt like we hadn’t fucked for weeks although it was less than eight hours ago. She came twice again, silently as usual but I’m getting to recognize the judders and shudders that her body gives off when she climaxes. This time I was more careful and hosed her down, pouring my more watery sperm onto her chest which she proceeded to rub into herself. It’s quite a sight seeing a woman doing that.

We lay awake until 2 in the morning, just talking to each other. It felt great to look at someone I desired and to hang on her every word. This is what I want, this is what was missing with Busty Blonde.

I awake sporting my usual massive morning glory and I just have to have her one more time. She was dozing in a half-awake state. I rolled her onto her back, being careful to balance most of my weight on my arms, and started to rub my cock between her legs, which as luck or nature would have it, fitted perfectly between her legs and rubbed between her lips and over her clit. She never said a word nor resisted and it didn’t take long before she was turned on and thrusting her hips up towards me, inviting me to put my cock in her. I rolled her over and slid my cock into her slightly moist pussy and started fucking her doggy style which, as I knew from our first night together the previous week, was her favourite position. Most women can’t handle doggy style with me because they find it uncomfortable, but The Brazilian loves it.

She became fully awake and pushed herself up to assume the full position and I just loved watching her hands grip the bedsheets as I forced myself deeper into her and increased my tempo. I gripped her buttcheeks with my hands and forced them apart to take a good look at her cute, pink little arsehole. Did she really want to take my cock in that little hole? My cock is more than four times the thickness of my thumb and my thumb barely squeezes into her arse. The thought of that acts as naughty inspiration. I suck on a thumb and slide it up her bum.

“Aai, paapie, yes, do it,” she exclaims, wriggling her arse as my thumb slides in.

The Brazilian keeps jiggling her butt, seemingly enjoying having something in it. Maybe it’s time to give her what she wants?

I take a moment in mid-fuck to look down and take in the sight before me. Here was a sexy little woman, natural blonde hair, milky white skin with few blemishes, her back to me, her head down, her breasts flopping about, giving off sounds of pleasure as my cock rammed deep into her pussy. THIS is what I wanted. THIS was perfection. In that moment I felt happier than I had in a very long time.

The power of those powerful thoughts and feelings leads to me having my orgasm, somewhat prematurely in my opinion. The brain is indeed the most powerful sexual organ. I can’t pull out in time and end up squirting my load into her pussy. She stops wriggling as she feels me cumming.

“Aai, yes,” is all she says as my warm, sticky cum floods her tight little pussy.

While she showered I did the washing up from the previous day. When she came out of the shower and was ready for the day she came into the kitchen intent on doing the dishes. I cannot describe to you how that simple, everyday act of washing dishes and having a woman offer to do so in my home makes my stomach turn to mush. I take it to not just be an act of respect and appreciation, but a small act of love. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but a woman offering to do that floors me every time. Of all the women who have been in my home, only three have actually done the dishes: Tech Titan, Krazy Girl and Busty Blonde.

We went for an alfresco breakfast at a breakfast bar on my town’s high street. The Brazilian wasn’t quite her normal chatty self and she preferred to bury her nose in a Sunday newspaper that someone had left at our table. I tried to make small-talk but she wasn’t interested. It felt as if a wall had gone up between us; a strong, silent, impenetrable wall. It’s as if she had made up her mind about something or was trying to. This felt horribly familiar to me. I’ve felt it before on the last date with The Model, Country Girl and Musician Gal.

I hate this feeling, this atmosphere. I hope that this doesn’t turn out the same way. I really like this one. Got to hope for the best, keep calm, play it cool.

We eat our full English breakfasts in near silence. I give her space and time, but our normally lively banter doesn’t return. I sit racking my brain about what could have happened to cause this change in attitude. I find the silence almost unbearable. Was it something I said or did? Or was it something I didn’t say or do? Why do some women do this to men?

Mercifully breakfast ends which The Brazilian insists on paying for. Then she announces that she has to go home. At the station we share a polite kiss that is an anti-climax to how the last day has been. Her train departs at midday and I’m left standing on the platform, feeling somewhat confused.

I had resolved to make no mention of The Brazilian’s lie I had found out about. This decision was vital because it set me free to enjoy the weekend and it was the right decision. If I had allowed myself to dwell on that issue I would have come across as pre-occupied and unfriendly even, constantly casting a suspicious eye on her words. She would have picked up on this and she would naturally have turned defensive in her thoughts and deeds. It would have been a dead-end weekend and would have strangled our relationship in its infancy. Instead we had a wonderful weekend and I’m better for it in many ways. It’s just a pity that it ended on the flat note like it did.

Later The Brazilian texts me that the train broke down and it ended up taking her 3 hours to get home.

I’m not going to try to get inside her heart. That won’t work. Instead I’ll patiently wait for her heart to wrap itself around mine.

Elvis Presley – Suspicious Minds

Brazilian rumbled

As I sit here writing this, having got home just over an hour ago after our first night together, I feel a long-forgotten sensation that I like: light-headed, butterflies in my tummy and a warm glow all around me. Could The Brazilian really be The One?

What is it that I’m so drawn to? Aside from having a common wanderlust and, so far, a few other important things such as an enjoyment of sex, it’s how I feel when I’m with her. She has a passion for and outlook on life that is very similar to mine and I think that will serve as the basis for our relationship. She has a zest for life that I feel I once had and have lost, so I appreciate that in her. It’s not since Krazy Girl that I’ve met someone who, when we look at each other, we have a mutual desire to jump each other.

That animal magnetism that was so sorely lacking with Busty Blonde has appeared out of the internet and it counts for a lot. After just one weekend with The Brazilian I’m infatuated with her; in all six months with Busty Blonde not for a moment did I feel this way. I can see that I can forgive a lot of things in The Brazilian because I desire her, lust after her and, after last night, our first night together, I know that no matter what, we’ll both want to fuck each other even after a fight.

I marvel at the simplicity of this carnal urge that will forgive all manner of sins, but I do wonder about the sensibility of it. I’m not talking about being like a dog in heat, my always wanting to fuck, just waiting to be let off the leash. I’m talking about a quieter, more powerful sense that resides deep within me, that gives me equal measure of comfort and concern. Comfort because it makes me feel alive, a virile man, capable of and actively coupling with a woman whom he desires.

The concern and question of sensibility is of a self-aware man knowing that it could get him into trouble, leading to yet another heartache. With age does it become harder to deal with disappointment and even harder to still believe in true love and to keep trying to find it?

I think it’s the beauty of the structure, that the obvious risk and potential fallout is necessary to heighten the sensation, the euphoria, of what it is to be in love. Knowing that it could end very badly, is the thing that makes us subconsciously pay that extra little bit of attention, to make that effort, not just in the hope of avoiding disaster, but in making the most of what is on offer.

At the moment I would say that The Brazilian and I have similar hearts. We seem to both yearn for a drama-free relationship. I think that if you trust, value and respect each other then there’ll be very little drama.

She has an innocence, a vulnerability in her heart that I can sense, because it is there in mine too. She’s like a little girl who wants somebody to take her hand and lead her to her tea-party in the garden, then to sit and play with her.

I’m starting to think more of her as a little bird. She wants to feel safe and protected while at the same time being filled with a sense of freedom. I have to learn to gently hold her heart in my hands and savour those moments, because there is no telling when she’ll suddenly flit away, perhaps one day never to return. I know already, after just two dates and one night together, that that is how it will be between us and I have no choice but to accept it as such.

I’m infatuated with her, intoxicated by her. I can’t stop thinking about her, remembering all the things we’ve said and done and not just our first night together. I’m looking forward to taking her to all the same old places that I’ve taken all my other dates over the years, largely because I know it’ll be fun with her and it’ll be different with her.

I see elements of some of the other women that I’ve encountered in the past two years. There’s the fun factor of Tech Titan, the cheekiness of Baltic Babe, the sexuality of Krazy Girl and the goodness of Sweet Thing and Busty Blonde, all rolled into one person. Looking at the sentence I’ve just written, I realize that those are the factors that encapsulate what I am looking for in a woman and why I am so taken with The Brazilian. Most importantly, there’s chemistry between us.

It’s now Tuesday and as I write about Krazy Girl for my blog, I find myself wondering if this might turn out to be a repeat of that; starts off all fiery and frenetic and then she runs away. Or it could be like Baltic Babe, all sweet and light in the beginning, then the crazy comes out? Time will tell.

Wednesday night and I’ve spent the day writing about Krazy Girl. I’m starting to see a lot of similarities. The previous night The Brazilian had said to me that for the Wednesday and Thursday night she would be attending a government training session for her industry. She mentioned that it was in London, somewhere near her.

Just before going to bed, something at the back of my brain (my trust demon, perhaps?) told me to check her profile on Tinder. Her profile said that 4 hours previously, at 7pm, she was 70 miles away from me. Every other time I visited her profile it said that she was 28 miles from me. She wasn’t in London, far from it, literally.

I feel so deflated. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. My every instinct tells me that she was with another man, probably on a date, possibly more. It feels like cupid has fired a flaming arrow through the balloon that was my hopes for a relationship with The Brazilian.

Of course I’ll see what she says, but it’s not looking good. I have an old decision to make now: do I confront her and probably never see her again after having it out on the phone with her or do I live in hope that there’s an explanation, or do I string her along and see how long the sex lasts?

I hope I’m misunderstanding this, but I’m pretty upset at the moment.

The thought has just occurred to me that this is life repaying me for having hurt Busty Blonde so much.

It’s Thursday night and I’ve just got off the phone from The Brazilian. I had played it cool all day, only sending her one Whatsapp message at lunchtime asking how she was. She answered just before 6pm. I decide to call her at 8pm to speak in person instead, not because I hate fingering a device or because it’s nicer to hear the other person’s voice, but because I want to have a chance of catching her out if she has lied about her whereabouts. People change their tone of voice when lying.

We make idle chit-chat then I slip into the conversation her “course” of the previous night. She said it was boring. I ask where it was, but she ignores my question and starts talking about something else. I ask again where it was and there is a momentary silence before she mentions an adjoining suburb in a slow, hushed tone. My stomach falls around my feet and blood from my upper body races off after it.

It was only a split second, of course, but it felt like such a lonely, empty eternity, as the gravitas of the disappointing lie set in.

“Why, were you checking up on me?” she asks, breaking the momentary silence. Has she realized that I know she was lying? It’s a strange thing to ask, don’t you think? If she had nothing to hide she wouldn’t have asked that.

I ignore her question and move the conversation on, just like she tried to do. How does she like it now? She’s not stupid, she now knows I suspect something. Does she think I’ll like her lies? How can I love her lies? What’s next: games?

If you forgive one lie you instantly commission hundreds more. A relationship beset with lies is something I can and will not tolerate. Complete trust and honesty is essential to a healthy relationship. Only a fool or an inveterate liar believes otherwise.

My trust demon is going berserk in his cage. He’s straining at the bars, trying to force them apart. He’s swearing unspeakable words at The Brazilian. How dare she do this!

My gut reaction is to call her back and have it out on the phone with her, but I’m older and wiser now. This could all be a misunderstanding on my part, but my instincts tell me otherwise. Nevertheless I know to keep my options open. I consult a friend of mine who is an expert in these matters. She earns her living from helping people deal with matters of the heart. With the help of her ideas and words I came up with a course of action.

It’s a Friday night in early July and it’s hot. The Brazilian is due to visit me tomorrow and I think that whatever happens will either make or break us. While I was cleaning my home in anticipation of her visit, words and feelings inside me met and this poem was the outcome.

    The hot Friday night before you came

It’s a July Friday night
It’s hot and it’s still light.
I so badly want you by my side
Your every word I would abide.

We have serious issues to discuss
I could really do without a fuss.
If we argued, early you would leave
Another wasted chance I’d grieve.

If finding you are made of deceit
From you I shall retreat.
But if you are The One for me
Talking it through will set us free.

The way will be clear
To find love
Free of fear
Each other’s glove.

I’ll be everything I know I can be
You’ll just have to wait and see
I can’t wait to take your hand
I hope tomorrow goes as planned.

Yello – Of Course I’m Lying

Online dating, dates, internet dating, romance, love, sex, relationships

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