Irish Eyes were smiling?! Oh yeah?!

I was trying to come to terms with what had happened with Baltic Babe a few days earlier and feeling lonely on that Sunday night when her email arrived. Her profile on the Happy Humping Ground website had no pictures and her words were feisty. I was intrigued to see where I could push any conversation, to see what I could learn. This outlook, coupled with a growing sense of frustration after months of unsuccessful dating, lead me to not expect much. Her profile said that she was Irish and living in Paddington, London. This is how it started out.

Irish Eyes:

Honest, nice smile, traveller, nearly as witty as myself…..mmmm perhaps!


Hello Mystery Lady

Oh goodie, my own online stalker – I haven’t had one of those in years. 🙂

So you want to play games, heh? Ok. Let’s play.

There are literally thousands of beautiful and pretty women on this site. Welcome to the club.

I’ve let 8 of them meet me. I found them lacking in the personality stakes. So far, your profile is light on personality. I respect the notion of not having someone be with you because of your appearance, but if you want somebody to be with you for who you are, your profile is going to need serious elaboration. 🙂

I’m not photogenic either. It always makes me laugh when I meet a woman for the first time and she makes the gesture that all women make when they fancy a man. All women can’t help but do this. Want to know more?

We are both so much more than a few words on a profile could ever convey.

“Always up for a challenge”? You’ve found one. 🙂

Within minutes she responded and emails started flying backward at forwards at a ferocious speed. It turned out that she wasn’t sitting down the road from me, but was in fact in Iraq. She was working for the United Nations and would be for another 6 months at least.

I was surprised but not disappointed. I couldn’t get my hopes up over someone I didn’t know the look of and whose profile was basic. We swapped witty, barbed comments about life, dating, past relationships and our jobs.

Then she surprised me and asked for more photos of me. I had nothing to lose, so we swapped email addresses and I asked for one photo in return. What I got was a picture of a set of young, brown Caucasian eyes shrouded in a green birqa. They had a naughty glint to them. I decided to call her Irish Eyes. It was nearing midnight for her, so we said goodnight. I didn’t expect to hear from her again.

The next morning there was an email from her waiting for me when I got up. We swapped a few emails then I had to go to work. When I got home there were more emails from her waiting for me. It seemed that she had a fascination with who I worked for, something that I just wouldn’t reveal to her and it drove her crazy not knowing. While I had her attention and favour, I asked about something that had been bothering me.

Question: why is a woman sitting in Iraq, popping back to Ireland for Xmas and then a few days in London, spending time on a dating site for Londoners?

She answered that it was always her dream to live in London, but that took money, so as a detour to raise money, she had taken a job in Iraq. Then I addressed her by her name, which until now she had refused to give. She was alarmed that I knew her name and demanded to know how I knew. It was her email address that told me. I didn’t tell her that I had Googled her in search of photos of her, that might have spooked her totally. Telling her that courtesy of my email address she had my full name too calmed her. Then I plied her with some more soothing small-talk before asking her for a proper picture of herself.

She sent me a picture that showed her to be a truly beautiful brunette. I was stunned, but made no mention of it. A woman like her would be used to men fawning over her which would immediately make me just like other men in her mind, so I decided to experiment and not pay her any compliment because that would evoke a different kind of reaction in her.

We swapped more mindless banter until she said she badly needed a massage. I saw the opportunity and I went for it…


I know how to slowly spread warm massage oil across the back… slowly moving the skin around with my warm hands… gently rubbing the oil in to the skin as I slowly roll my hands over weary shoulder blades… then slide my fingers carefully down along either side of the spine down to the buttocks… then more forcefully push up with my open hands toward the neck… feeling tired, sore muscles give way under my touch….

Shall I continue?….

Irish Eyes:


And the neck, don’t forget…


I know how to slide my oily hands along a woman’s biceps so that she feels pleasure and pain at the same time… I can use the strength in my arms to stretch hers so that little bones crack back in to place…I then grip her wrists and and slide my hands firmly up along her arms towards her shoulders…I gently lean in and blow wayward hairs out of my way… as I caress her taught shoulders, warmly moving her neck muscles…


Irish Eyes:

Ohhhh yes… 


With my thumb and index finger I roll the muscles in her neck…she makes approving sounds that stem from deep within her… I notice that her breathing has speeded up, but I don’t stop…my hands and fingers engage every little muscle in her neck…they become softer and more supple with my every touch…her body is relaxing and going limp, but her breathing is becoming heavier…I take her right arm and spread it behind her back…her shoulder blade is more pronounced and protrudes…my left hand grips her right wrist…my right hand clasps her right shoulder blade…I slowly, gently, carefully force my fingers under her shoulder blade…I gently massage all that makes contact with my fingers…her body goes totally limp… 

To be continued…

Baltic Babe shows her true colours? Or do I finally see clearly?

I’m getting too old for climbing into bed at 5am, thus I slept until lunchtime. I spent the afternoon digesting what had happened between me and Baltic Babe. Was she reaching out to me? If so, did I want to do anything about it? Could we find a way forward? It was worth exploring. I called Baltic Babe on the Sunday night, but she didn’t answer. I felt strangely relieved that we didn’t talk because I hadn’t come to a firm emotional footing about her and I. Perhaps neither had she, that’s why she didn’t answer her phone.

On the Monday morning I got a cryptic text message from her that read:

“Sorry I missed your call last night. I was out with friends. You nearly got a call at midnight to come to my place.”

Was she trying to tell me that she wanted me…or just my body? If it was the latter, then I was surprised because that didn’t seem to be her style. I’d never been on the receiving end of a ‘booty call’ before, so that felt novel if that was the case. Would I have gone? Probably. What was it about her that made her so irresistible?

I was having lunch with colleagues in the canteen when my phone came to life indicating that Baltic Babe was calling. I quickly found a quiet stairwell to take her call. My colleagues had never seen me move so fast before.

After the initial pleasantries, she said, “When I went home last night, as I approached my house, I saw lights and movement upstairs. I was so frightened. I wasn’t sure whether I had too much to drink or had looked at the wrong window. I went in, switched off the alarm, checked the house and even looked in the attic. I was so scared, that’s why I nearly phoned you.”

She wanted me for my body, but not in the way I imagined.

“So where would I have slept?” I asked, being impish.

“Oh, I would have made up the bed in the spare room,” she said. I could hear her smiling.

There was another reason for her call.

“I have a favour to ask you,” she said trying to sound as sweet as possible.

I knew this feeling too well. When I was six years old and in first grade, the pretty little blonde girl who sat next to me, Nikki, would hold my hand and then ask me to help her with maths. She was the first girl ever to hold my hand; at that age it was very big deal. I know now that that’s where I get my type from: pretty blondes. It’s all because of Nikki. She was the first female to use me.

“Yes, what is it?” I asked, trying not to sound too displeased.

“I’ve been working on my resume because it hasn’t got me any interviews. Can you please review it? You have such an analytical eye and your English is better than mine,” she flattered.

“Oh, okay. Email it to me and I’ll get back to you. When do you need it by?”

“As soon as possible please. Thank you.”

I was expecting her to send it to my HotMail address, but she had the cheek to use my work email. I had a look at it and instantly saw many things wrong with it. Instead of doing my own work I spent hours reworking her resume which never stood a chance of being her salesman in print. I sent it back to her with a message saying that I would call her in the evening to discuss it.

Later that night when I phoned Baltic Babe, I wasn’t too sure where the conversation would lead because I had no agenda. I still hadn’t made up my mind about where I wanted to take our interactions. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to see her again until my head and heart were in agreement.

The conversation immediately began about her resume. She accepted that the version I had spent hours crafting for her, when I should have been working, was much better and more likely to open doors for her. However, she had very fixed ideas about how interviews come about and how she should conduct herself. Her closed-mindedness was astounding. In my working life as a freelance contractor I’ve learned so much about interviews that I’ve written and published a book about interview technique that can be bought around the world.

Baltic Babe knew better though. She even refused to have a LinkedIn profile, such was her mindset. She hadn’t been called for an interview after over a year of looking for a new job. She was too bloody obstinate to see and then accept that what she was doing wasn’t working. She was having difficulty in accepting anything that I said and was getting worked up.

“No! You’re not giving me what I want!” she exclaimed shrilly.

There I had it. That was all that she was interested in. As long as I gave her what she wanted, then I was welcome in her world. Once again I saw clearly that she wasn’t interested in me, but only in what I could do for her. My body went ice cold and I knew that we had no future together. She was an user and I was tired of being used by women.

“Okay, I’ve got to go now. We’ll talk again when you’re in a better mood,” I said and ended the call before she could utter another sound.

I felt so used, so deflated and totally disappointed.

I knew it was over for good.

The following evening, after having taken a day to think it over, I sent Baltic Babe the following email:

“I derive no pleasure in writing this email…

Our last telephone conversation spelled out very clearly just how any kind of relationship with you would always gravitate toward and revolve around you and your problems.

I spent 20 years with 2 women who were like that…

I’m sorry, but I can’t see you any more in any capacity.

Goodbye and good luck.”


Drama queen


Lessons learned: 1) Just because someone is on a dating site it doesn’t mean they’re after the same thing as you. Try to discover their dating motive asap. 2) There are givers and takers in the world. Discern where the person opposite you falls in the spectrum. 3) “Chemistry” is rare and valuable.



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.