Baltic Babe is kryptonite?! – Final part

She was turned on, I was ready to fuck, but neither one dared.

If we ended up making love, I knew that afterwards I would feel like a little insect that had become ensnared in a big spider’s web. I so badly wanted to feel and share passion with her, but knew the price would be high, much too high. I would be confused for days and fearful of getting hurt again.

“I think I should go now,” I said, finding the strength from somewhere to actually do so.

“Yes. You go!” Baltic Babe said angrily.

I was surprised by her reaction. Was she angry because of what had been happening and now felt embarrassed? Was she angry because she was hoping to make love and now felt snubbed? Or was it her separation anxiety kicking in? My instincts told me it was the latter. I knew that she sometimes felt all alone in London, having no family and just a few friends, and probably felt vulnerable at times too. Had I caught her at a time when she felt like that, with a touch of loneliness to make it more bitter? I sensed that she must have enjoyed the day and evening with me, why else had we been together so long? However, in doing so she had let her guard down and my leaving must have made her feel foolish for having done so. I couldn’t do anything about any of that; I wasn’t responsible for her feelings.

I went to the hallway to put my shoes on and when I lifted my head Baltic Babe had walked in to the kitchen, as far away from me as possible, was leaning with her back against the sink, had her arms crossed and wore a pissed off look on her face, glaring at me.

“Come here, Trouble,” I said with a smile and opened my arms wide, offering a hug.

She looked at me, thought about it for a second and then came over to me.

Her arms around my waist felt so good. I enveloped her and she made an approving sound that I can still hear.

“You’re so close to being perfect for me, but yet so far,” I couldn’t help but say. My thoughts and feelings somehow became my words.

I felt her grip on me tighten.

“I have to go now,” I said, with my heart in my throat. Every ounce of me wanted to scoop her up in my arms, carry her upstairs and make love to her until the sun came up, which wasn’t that long to go.

Baltic Babe let go of me and again angrily said, “Yes! You go now!” and backed off a few paces, frowning at me.

I knew that in her emotional reasoning, feeling like she had kicked me out made her feel better, stronger, safer, still in control. I understood her well enough to know that such an intense reaction was merely a mask for another emotion, of equal intensity and the two balanced each other out.

“Hey, don’t be upset. We’ve had a good time today. Don’t spoil it. It doesn’t have to be a bad goodbye,” I said as soothingly as I knew how.

Her face softened, her shoulders sagged and her vibe told me that she felt lost. Was she as confused about me as I was about her?

“Come here,” I said, opening my arms again.

She quickly stepped forward this time, threw her arms around me and held on tight.

I had a tear in my eye. I wanted to be with her forever, but knew that forever was impossible. We wanted very different things from the future, incompatible things…children.

“So close, yet so far,” I heard myself say again. I felt her exhale.

I kissed her on the forehead and let go of her. She held on to me for a few seconds longer before releasing.

“You can go to bed and play with yourself now,” I said with a smile and it made her give off a weak laugh. I drank in that little laugh.

I got in my car at half past three in the morning and drove home in a daze, slightly horny and very confused. I was at least proud of myself that I had found the strength to walk away before things got out of control and we made a mistake of some kind. When I got home I switched on my phone and a text message was waiting for me.

Baltic Babe at 03.52 – I hope this text finds you well! I can now go to the bed :) sweet dreams

Me at 04.48 – I shall call you later, need to think about what just happened. Don’t dream of me.

Baltic Babe at 11.55 – I had a very restless night..It was not such a good idea to watch what we watched. You are not meant to do that with friends. :) By the way, you took my rake away!

How could someone so wrong for me feel so right, so good?

She was my kryptonite…

Baltic Babe is kryptonite?! – Part 3

She sat back down next to me without making eye contact. That was a good thing because she might have laughed at my mouth hanging open. Also, something in my groin had stirred.

“Shall we see if there’s anything on tv?” Baltic Babe said as she thumbed a remote control. The television burped into life and she started panicking a little bit.

“Oh no, that ‘s still on the dvd channel. We don’t want to watch that,” she said hurriedly as she changed the channel.

“Why? What dvd were you watching?” I asked innocently while wondering why my tongue felt like it does after a visit to the dentist. Was I slurring my words?

“Never mind. Oh, look! Dancing on Ice is on. Let’s watch that!” As if I had any choice in the matter.

It was quite sweet sitting there like that in a dark room with candles for company as she watched with big eyes ice skaters do their thing. I knew that as an ex-ice skater she would be fascinated by what she saw. Baltic Babe seemed to slip away from me into a private dream world all of her own. I spent more time stealing glances at her than watching the screen. It was like seeing a child watch their very first Disney animated fairytale.

I wondered about the dvd that she had been watching the previous night. Why was she so defensive about it?

The ice-skating ended at the same time as the anti-virus scan. She had several viruses on her laptop which I removed for her. I know now that I should have left at that point. I didn’t and something inside me reached out metaphorically to her.

“There’s something I want to show you,” I said as I went on to YouTube on the laptop. Baltic Babe switched the television off.

I showed her the “Baby Come Back” by Player video. She read the lyrics and took them in. As the video finished I spoke.

“There was a time when I wanted to win you back. I decided that I was going to learn Russian and that I was going to get singing lessons. One night I would take you out to a restaurant where I would sing that song to you in public, as way of asking you if we could try again. But now we’re just friends and that’s not going to happen,” I said with a fake smile.

In the faint light I saw her eyes grow wide and Baltic Babe took a deep breath as she slowly sat upright.

The laptop was perched on my lap. She looked down at it. I swallowed hard and held my breath.

She reached down and lifted the laptop off my lap and placed it neatly on hers…and started typing away at the keyboard.

She found a YouTube video that she wanted to show me. It was of a Russian crooner singing a song that she liked. For the next two hours we sat taking turns showing each other videos and songs and explaining the significance of them to each other. Our cultural exchanges had bound us together from the day we met. At one point her shoulder was resting against mine and her arm lay on my leg as we watched a music video. Her touch felt as good as I remembered.

My subconscious worked away while we played. It came up with the possibility that the mysterious dvd had been a naughty one. I was curious to find out.

“Tell me, Trouble, what kind of dvd is in there?” I motioned towards the tv with my eyes.

“I’m not telling you,” Baltic Babe said with a mixture of mock outrage, consternation and laughter.

“Is it like one of these?” I asked, taking the laptop off her lap, putting it on mine and typing in a website that serves as a directory of all sorts of pornography, listed by genre. I showed it to her, not sure what her reaction would be. The night might be ending there and then.

She took the laptop and clicked on one of the genres. Her eyes lit up. It was if I had opened a door to a secret cave full of treasures. Her breathing had slowed.

“Choose one,” I said and she did. A porno video started playing. It didn’t surprise me that she chose one of my favourite categories. What surprised me was that this was happening. As she watched, I noticed that her breathing was picking up. We didn’t say a word.

The video finished and I took the laptop away to which she gave me an anguished look that said, “No! Don’t take it away! I was having fun!”, the same look my godson gives me when I switch his x-box off when he plays too long. I clicked on another video in the same genre and put the laptop on the coffee table in front of us.

I was getting more turned on by the situation and by watching her more than anything on the small screen. Baltic Babe, however, was transfixed by the screen. By the time I clicked on the third video I had noticed that she had slouched in her seat and her knees had separated. As poor as the lighting in the room was, I saw with certainty that there was a darker colouring to her white panties as I stole a glance between her legs. Her pussy was dripping wet.

“Do you want to play with yourself?” I half-asked, half-suggested in a soft voice.

“No,” she wheezed, putting a fingernail in her mouth as she kept her eyes on the screen. I could imagine that her little pink nipples were standing to attention. My cock was rock hard and ready for action.

I so badly wanted to kneel in front of her, pull her flimsy tracksuit bottoms and soaked panties off, push her knees apart and go down on her sweet, tight little pussy with my tongue…while she watched the porn.

To be continued…

Baltic Babe is kryptonite?! – Part 2

At the fanciest Chinese restaurant in my town we had an elaborate meal. Baltic Babe didn’t like overly spicy foods, so I ordered a medley of dishes for her to try. It was apparent that she didn’t know much about Chinese food. My travels around China came in useful to explain to her what she was eating and how it was made. She loved information like that.

The conversation twisted and turned and my alter-ego, Stupid Boy, put in a surprise appearance. He made me tease and taunt her.

“You know, if we were to have a child, it would be a great one.”

She looked at me with a deadpan face, having stopped mid-chew. Stupid Boy and I were just getting started.

“Yes, I can see him now. He would have blonde hair and green eyes. Your eyes are yellow-green and mine are hazel, so his would be green. That makes sense don’t you think?”

She kept looking at me, but resumed chewing. I wasn’t done.

“He would be very athletic. I was a good sportsman in various sports when I was at school. You were an international athlete. I think it’s a given that he would be athletic, don’t you think so?”

She finished chewing and took a sip of wine. I was warmed up now.

“Yes, he would have our best traits. He would be very intelligent, speak several languages and get good grades at school. He would be very determined, but have a compassionate side to him. What do you think?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she replied calmly, nowhere near as ruffled as I thought she would be. Her reaction was almost non-existent. I expected indulging in baby-making talk would get her animated. It didn’t. Why not? Ah, because I said any child of ours would be a boy. Images from her playing with my friend’s daughter on my birthday three months previously came flooding back.

Baltic Babe wanted a daughter.

When we left the restaurant it was cold outside and I noticed her shiver. In attempt to share a little bit of body heat as we walked back to my car, I said, “Do you like chicken?” and offered her my arm. Until that moment physical contact between us was non-existent. She thought about it, remembered the line, smiled and then coupled her arm with mine.

However, I then noticed a look of confusion on her face. I too felt confused about what was happening between us and my sub-conscious worked quickly to come up with what I said next.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about something. I’ve never done this before, but I’d like to be friends with you. That way I get to have some laughs with you, but don’t have to put up with any of your shit like I would have to if we were a couple.”

“Interesting,” is all Baltic Babe said.

I drove her home and we chatted amiably all the way. Baltic Babe had bought a few things too so I helped carry them into her home. As I was about to go back to get the all-important rake, she offered me a coffee. I wasn’t expecting to be invited to stay for any length of time as it was now 8pm, so the offer surprised me. Of course I accepted and before I knew it we were sitting together on her sofa.

“I now have a favour to ask,” she began.

“Yes,” I said slowly, a sense of trepidation kicking in. Had she been working up to this all day?

“My laptop has been acting up. Can you have a look at it please?”

“Of course, but I can’t guarantee anything,” I said relieved that it wasn’t something I couldn’t do. Quite honestly, I was happy to have an excuse to spend more time with her.

I got to work on her laptop and while an anti-virus scan ran at the longest possible setting that I could find we sat and chatted.

You know how when you have two magnets in your hands, as you bring them closer to each other, you feel that wonderful, magical sensation of the two being drawn to each other? That’s how I was starting to feel inside me as I spent more time with her. I could feel a familiar pleasant, warm sensation at the back of my head.

“While that runs, I’m going to get changed,” she said as she got up and disappeared upstairs.

As I sat there I thought about leaving. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I had spent far more time with her than I expected. I didn’t want to run the risk of having a blow-up of some kind that would spoil the day with a bad ending. I also didn’t want to end up in bed with her because that would have turned my world upside down.

But dammit!…how can someone so wrong for me feel so right?!

Before I could decide about how and when to make my exit, Baltic Babe came back having changed in to “something more comfortable”. She was wearing a pink sweatshirt, white socks with little pink hearts on them … and very see-through white tracksuit bottoms so thin that I could see her little white panties.

My torso turned to putty, my head to candy-floss. My arms became lead weights and my legs were made of cast iron. My heart started pumping faster. I couldn’t move if I tried.

Baltic Babe went around the lounge lighting little candles and then switched the overhead lights off. The room fell into near darkness, except for the slow-dancing candlelight. What the fuck was going on here?! All that was missing was the sound of Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s get it on’ playing softly in the background.

 To be continued…

Baltic Babe is kryptonite?!

A few days after saying goodbye to Potty Mouth, out of nowhere, I got an email from Baltic Babe at the end of November. It had photos from our week in Sunny Beach and the following words:

“Hi, sorry for sending these so late. Hope you are enjoying your new job.”

It had been more than a month since I had last heard from her. Was this a sign that she was thinking of me? In a fit of excitement and curiosity I phoned her, but she didn’t answer and I left a message, never expecting to hear from her. I did, however, seize the opportunity to use as an excuse the fact that my employer was laying on a lavish Christmas party and I had nothing to wear. I’m colour-blind and buying new clothes is a particular hell, so I needed a woman’s eyes because women can’t be colour-blind. I asked her to help me. Of course I had other women that I could ask, but I wondered if she would take the bait.

The next morning I got the following response:

28th November 9.30am

“Morning Mr Small, got your voicemail. I have to confirm if I could do it this sat as I may need to do something else for my mom. Have a nice day!”

Baltic Babe and I got together two Saturdays later. I had constipated bees buzzing around in my stomach as I drove over to her house in London. I was expecting an initially awkward atmosphere to be followed by a few hours in a shopping centre and then perhaps a civil lunch. We might not get that far even. How long before she blew up over something trivial and threw a hissy-fit?

I wasn’t hoping to rekindle a romance. I wasn’t hoping to hear her apologise. I wasn’t hoping to take her to bed. What I wanted was to see if she was as great as I remembered. I wanted to hear the sound of her laugh. That was all.

Some things will never change. Baltic Babe came to her front door and she wasn’t ready.

“As you can see, I’m running late as usual. I need fifteen minutes. Make yourself a coffee if you want,” and off she scampered. It was if nothing had happened between us.

“You’ve run out of milk,” I shouted up the stairs after having been in to the strangely familiar kitchen that I thought I’d never see again. There was no sign of the magic coffee mug that I had sent her.

“There’s a shop down the road. You can leave the front door on the latch,” she shouted down over the din of a hair-dryer.

So like a good little boy doing as he was told, I went in search of the shop “down the road”. I took a wrong turn and walked past a very large school ground that served a primary and secondary school. Backtracking I eventually found the shop and bought milk.

Back in Baltic Babe’s kitchen, having made coffee for both of us, I said to her, “I noticed that there is a large combined school a couple of blocks away.”

“Now you know why I bought this house,” she said and sipped her coffee, maintaining eye contact with me. Her yellowy-green eyes were smiling.

We got in my car and I drove us to the shopping centre where I knew I could find clothing in my size. Within minutes we were laughing and stimulating each other mentally, spurring each other on to say something that made the other laugh. I had forgotten how good that felt.

At the shopping centre we agreed to split up and meet after an hour. Baltic Babe had some Christmas shopping to do and I wanted to scout the place out for what I wanted. She would then deliver a verdict on anything that caught my eye in the shops.

There was a very expensive jacket that I liked the look of and Baltic Babe approved of my choice. Then she started giving the sales assistant a hard time. She wanted to know everything there was to know about the jacket. How long it would last, how best to clean it, what to do if there was a mark. The questions seemed endless and reminded me of an interrogation. The poor guy was getting flustered at one point and I noticed him looking over to his colleague at the till with an expression that said, “Please help me!”

“Okay, I’ll take it,” I said, just to put an end to the poor fellow’s misery.

Baltic Babe dawdled off to the front of the shop while I paid. As I was leaving the doorway to the store, I heard the one shop assistant say to her harassed colleague, “Jesus, she really put you through the wringer with all her bloody questions. Who does she think she is?” I smiled to myself.

“Is there anything that you want that you can’t find?” I asked Baltic Babe.

“Yes. I want a rake for my garden, but it must have a short handle,” she said.

So off in search of a short-handled rake we went. After an hour of searching we couldn’t find one and decided to have lunch. We sat and chatted while we ate, with her telling me about how unpleasant her work situation had become and that she felt totally ostracised at work.

I suggested that we go to a nearby hardware store that would have a selection of rakes to which Baltic Babe agreed. Once there we found what she was looking for after having given a bemused assistant a barrage of questions about the rake.

Nearby was another shopping centre and I suggested that we visit it so that I could complete the look for my office party. I was pleased to hear her agree to this. I was enjoying interacting with her and, yes, she was as great as I remembered and, yes, I loved the sound of her laugh.

It felt good to see her blonde head bobbing alongside my shoulder as we walked. When I was with her it felt as if it was her and I versus the world and that we would win no matter what came our way.

After buying a few more things, I realized that it was getting late, the sun was setting, so I said to her, “We’re quite near to my town. As a thank you for helping me choose clothes today, I’d like to buy you dinner somewhere nice. Would you like that?”

“Yes, I would like that,” she said with a sly smile.

I didn’t want the day to end.

To be continued…

Potty Mouth opens the lid

My experience with the three other dates over the weekend made Potty Mouth look like a prize catch, so I decided to have another date with her. Perhaps on our first date she had been tired and it was the drink talking that contributed to her torrent of foul language? Stupid Boy. Before I contacted her, she emailed me to suggest another date. Oh goody, she must like me.

I had a Groupon voucher for a Spanish restaurant in the financial district of London and booked us a table, eager to learn more about Miss Potty Mouth. It was a chilly Thursday evening in November as I sat in the restaurant waiting when her text message came in. She told me that she was running a few minutes late because she went home to get changed.

After the mismatch in clothing after our initial date, this time I had come more dressed down in chinos, a shirt and a blazer…and I was freezing. Potty Mouth must have been aware of our mismatch in clothing because she arrived dressed to kill in a sparkly dress, heavily made up, gold jewellery and a full-length real fur white coat. I laughed to myself, while I think she was a little miffed.

She hadn’t touched her drink when the first f-words came flying out of her very lipsticked mouth. The excitement I had felt before seeing her again that had been sitting on the top of my lungs, instantly sank like a lead weight to the bottom of my stomach. My initial impression of her had been a correct one. She was a foul-mouthed woman by nature. The night ahead seemed very long.

Potty mouth

I made small-talk and she made swearing-talk. We ate our food and drank our drinks as I sat clenching my teeth. I wasn’t feeling any chemistry towards her whatsoever. I discovered that she was a bit of a party animal, even at the age of 36. Several times a week she would stagger home at dawn. That’s part and parcel of single life for women in their twenties living in London. I was never part of that scene. Potty Mouth must have had a liver like a teabag.

“Jesus, you Saffas are rough buggers,” she said. “Saffas” is what Australians (Ozzies) and New Zealanders (Kiwis) call South Africans.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pretending not to know what she was referring to. I was curious to learn what her perception of a Saffa was.

“Well, I’ve met a few Saffas through work and they all had some fucking military experience,” she said.

Okay, quite a tame perception then.

“Yes, it’s true that all the white guys had to do National Service,” I replied, trying to keep it neutral. I knew that discussing politics on a date is a big no-no.

“So what the fuck did you do?”

“I was involved in security in the Air Force,” was what I chose to say.

“So you weren’t a fucking mercenary then?” She knew a few things it seemed.

“Yes, I had papers to join a mercenary outfit. I had just finished my stint and entered the job market just as the recession of ’92 kicked off. It’s the only skills I had,” I said, giving her more than I was comfortable with.

“So what the fuck stopped you?”

“I met a sweet little girl and she talked me out of it. She probably saved my life. She’s my ex-wife now,” I said matter-of-factly, hoping she would drop it.

Mentioning an ex-wife worked and I moved the conversation on to a more pleasant topic. I noted that Potty Mouth didn’t seem too shocked or perturbed that I had contemplated being a mercenary, or ‘private security contractor’. She was a tough old bird, not easily shocked it seemed. Most women would have been uneasy upon hearing that snippet from my past.

While I settled the bill, she started using her phone to see what her friends were doing the rest of the night. I deliberately let Potty Mouth see me pay with a Groupon voucher. I didn’t care whether she liked it or not, I just wanted to see if the Gold Digger test idea had any validity. It did. She instantly said to me, “I can’t fucking believe that you paid for this with a fucking Groupon voucher.”

As easily as that I learned that she was interested in a man with money. The right woman for me wouldn’t care how I paid for her meal. She would be only too pleased to be with me, not my wallet. I decided to use this voucher ruse on future dates.

Potty Mouth had made plans to meet some friends in some club somewhere so we went our different ways at a Tube station. I had no interest in seeing her again.

It was approaching noon on the Saturday when I found the emotional energy to phone Potty Mouth to let her know that we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. Somehow I had got it in my head that this had to be done via phone.

Potty Mouth answered after a while and from her speech it was obvious that I had woken her.

“I’m sorry to have woken you,” I said.

“I fell into fucking bed at seven. Bit of a party at Spiffy’s place. What’s up?” she droned.

“I’m just calling to let you know that I think you’re terrific, but I don’t think we’re right for each other,” I said, relieved to spit it out, not caring a damn that she was hungover.

“Oh, that’s okay. I wasn’t that fucking crazy about you either,” was her instant reply.

Lessons learnt: 1) good banter via email beforehand doesn’t make for a great person. 2) first date impression after two hours is generally correct 3) Groupon voucher trick can filter out money-grabbers.


Date #10 – Quiet Katie killed me softly

I stood outside Tower Hill Tube station at noon on a Sunday going over in my mind the plan for the day when I sensed someone looking at me. I turned to see approaching me a tall, atrractive woman with auburn hair who was smiling at me; it was my date, the fourth in four days. She had bright, sparkly blue eyes and round, rosy cheeks. I kissed her hello on one of those cheeks. Let’s call her Katie.

As we neared the edge of the steep flight of stairs that lead down to the Tower of London, I said to Katie, “Do you like chicken?” and before she got a chance to answer or say anything, I continued with “Take a wing,” and offered her my bent arm which she accepted with a laugh.

Once at the bottom of the flight of stairs I moved my arm and she uncoupled hers. Yes, it might start with a cheesy line, but damn, does coupling arms break the ice! A lady can’t help but become more comfortable with me. I think the act also taps in to a deep-seated need in a woman’s psyche to know that her man is physically strong and can protect her. It also displays a dash of gentlemanliness and consideration. I might be wrong and deluded, but as delusions go, I like this one.

We walked around what would have been the moat to the Tower of London towards St Katharine’s Docks, past the restaurants and pubs that line the marina and towards the Dickens Inn. Once there we shared conversation over a pizza and some wine. Katie was a rare creature: a Londoner born and bred. I couldn’t help but ask how she perceived all the changes that had happened in the city. She didn’t seem to have an opinion.

I found myself broaching topic after topic and almost every time Katie’s response was a variation on “I don’t know”, “I’ve never thought about that” or “Let me think about it”.

That in a nutshell was the problem. She didn’t seem to have any ideas or opinions on anything. There was a vast intellectual gap between us so large that you could drive a London bus through it. For a while the state of the lighting overhead assumed a curious fascination and importance to me.

Snapping back into it, I was ever the gentleman and gave this date time to flourish. Perhaps she was slow to warm to people. Katie certainly seemed quite willing and able to smile a lot, but struggled to say a lot. I wanted to be with someone that I could share lively, funny banter with.

In my mind I decided to call her Quiet Katie.

I’m not a bad conversationalist and can talk to anybody about any topic. I’m quite well-travelled, having been to more than thirty countries on long vacations. I’ve even lived in three countries and hold two passports which I use regularly. I have a natural curiosity about our planet, its peoples, histories, cultures and cuisines. I like to think that I know how to keep a conversation going. I can find humour in pretty much any situation and I’m not backward in coming forward. In many ways Quiet Katie was the opposite of me.

Several months earlier I had bought a Groupon deal for a river cruise and high tea on the Thames. It was a surprise that I had been saving for Baltic Babe and had to be used by a certain date, so Quiet Katie was the unintended beneficiary. We walked down to the nearby Tower Pier and queued, waiting for the river cruiser. I don’t think she once started an avenue of conversation or asked a single question. Did she keep quiet because she didn’t want to interrupt me? To be fair, she did enthusiastically join in on any topic of conversation but it would peter out as she ran out of material to contribute.

Mercifully the river cruise came with a deafening audio commentary that pointed out all the sights as we travelled up the Thames to the Houses of Parliament and then down to the Millennium Dome and back. The booming cockney voice provided an excuse to not make conversation and be distracted by what we saw on the riverbank. The tea, coffee and sandwiches arrived and we ate in silence, politely smiling at each other when making eye contact.

Quiet Katie was a sweet, decent person who, much like me, was just looking for someone to love her. However, we were not a match. I was starting to think that if I gave her another brain-cell that the two would fight and that the battle would echo in her head.


Back on dry land I decided to cut my losses and end the date. She seemed ambivalent to this, but it had been several hours and it was getting dark. I walked her to the Tube station and bade her farewell. There was zero sign of emotion in her, nary a hint of relief neither.

The next night there was an email from Quiet Katie waiting in my inbox. All it said was, “Hi. How was your day?”

Oh lordy.

I hate the saying “no thanks and goodbye” part of dating. It’s just not in me to hurt someone else’s feelings. Well, a woman’s that is. I have no problem hurting men’s feelings; I actually like it. As an alpha-male, I always get away with it. I can bulldoze my way over men no problem, but I have utmost respect for women and treat them with kid gloves. Finding the right words to let a woman down is so difficult for me.

Revisiting the STD clinic would be more fun than another date with Quiet Katie. I decided to answer her email with a polite “no thank you”, but opted to also be honest with her because it was what she deserved. Doing so over the phone seemed like unnecessarily hard work, so I wrote to her saying that I found making conversation with her very difficult at times and therefore we didn’t have the kind of chemistry that I expect.

I have never heard from her again.

LESSON LEARNED: No matter how attractive, a lack of chemistry kills that initial attraction.

Date #9: The German Shrink…who analyzed me.

My Happy Humping Ground site had another profile that caught my attention. Attractive woman in clear photos, well-written profile that had things of interest such as her being a tennis player. As a teenager I played tennis to tournament level, so I thought that would serve as a great starting point for a conversation. I had to do so carefully though, because the last time I broached tennis in an email to someone on a dating site, I ended it with “I’ll bring the balls. We can play with mine” and for some reason I never heard back from her.

It was the third date of my four nights of dates and I had to forget about the disappointment of the previous two nights. I wasn’t too sure what to make of the upcoming date because the email exchange had been very brief and blunt. All that I knew about her was her name, that she was German and that she was a psychologist. You must think me mad for wanting to date a psychologist. However, that was part of the attraction because she was obviously intelligent and it was likely that the conversation would be good. Stupid Boy reporting for duty.

For the second night running I was standing outside Covent Garden Tube station waiting for a date. The novelty of dating so many women in row wasn’t lost on me, but I was hoping that meeting one of them would lead to a relationship.

When the German Shrink arrived I was delighted by how pretty she was and I think my smile might have made it obvious. She was smartly dressed and wearing a string of pearls, which I thought was a nice touch. She smiled politely as I kissed her on the cheek.

“Are you hungry or do you fancy a walk around Covent Garden to work up an appetite?” I asked.

“I’m not really hungry yet, so a walk would be nice,” she replied.

It was too soon to try my “Like chicken? Take a wing,” trick, so I bided my time intent on trying it later. It was already dark and people were scurrying about the piazza in the centre of Covent Garden, either on their way to a show, a restaurant or a pub while we took our time as we ambled around the square, making small talk as we went.

Making conversation with the German Shrink wasn’t easy. She kept her answers very short and didn’t give much detail away. There was very little material to build banter with. This date struggled to get out of first gear and into fun gear.

Her English was fluent and devoid of a German accent, so I diplomatically asked about this. My mischievous alter ego, Stupid Boy, was careful not to mention the war.

“I lived in Australia for five years and have lived in London for another four,” she answered.

“Oz? So was it for adventure, money or man?” I pried with a slight laugh to soften the inquisition.

“Man,” was all she said with a wry smile. I bit my tongue before Stupid Boy spoke.

We chose a Thai restaurant hidden away in a quiet arcade. I won’t forget the look of surprise on her face when I pulled her chair out for her to sit on and then pushed it in for her. Her look reminded me of the first time I held my car door open for my ex-girlfriend and the exact same look that she gave me. I think you can tell when a woman has been with a gentleman, or not, as the case may be.

I found myself constantly having to broach new topics of conversation. Don’t get me wrong, she was happy to talk, it was just that she was always reactive, never proactive. Then I remembered her profession.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you found that telling people you’re a psychologist kind of alters conversations or causes people to go on the defensive,” I asked, my words barely cold when I realized that Stupid Boy had taken control of my tongue.

“Yes, that does happen,” she said as her face became serious.

Stupid Boy wasn’t finished. He then started to ride me like I was a bucking bronco at a rodeo.

“So do you find yourself analyzing people even when you’re not a work?”

“Yes, that is a professional hazard,” she said without blinking.

“So what’s the most common condition or issue that you encounter in people?”

“Most people don’t seem to know when something or someone is good enough,” was her cold reply.

What was previously a very pleasant Chardonnay suddenly started to taste like vinegar. Stupid Boy had had his fun and left us to our pad thai, rice and curried meats, all of which seemed suddenly unappetizing. Why had the German Shrink said that? Was she trying to tell me something? Had she come to some kind of assessment of me? How exciting! Not.

I looked at my watch and it was only a quarter past nine. I wanted to get the hell out of there. With a bit of luck I could make it home in time for Match of the Day. I was bored, baby!

Bored baby

I thought about trying to rescue the evening somehow by coming up with something that would lift the mood or bring her to life, but I had come to the conclusion that the German Shrink was a serious little thinker and that there wasn’t much life to be had. The German Shrink was all head and very little heart. She could fail a personality test.

Hardly anything she said indicated a person capable of the kind of emotion that I can feel. We were a bad match in that regard. Consequently there was no chemistry between us, not a drop of anything like I felt when I was with Baltic Babe.

At the first opportunity I let the date come to an end by paying for the meal, which the German Shrink politely thanked me for. I walked her to a nearby Tube station and said, “It was nice to meet you. If you would like to see me again, feel free to send me a message. Good night.”

I’ve never heard from her again.

It didn’t matter, because there was another date waiting the next day…and she wasn’t blonde.

LESSONS LEARNT: 1) Bad or boring banter via email is a hint of a boring date or lack of chemistry. 2) Some people are boring and it might be why they’re single 3) There will be shit dates.

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