Category Archives: Gender differences

Singles night – Final part

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve had a complaint that you’ve been aggressive toward this gentleman,” I hear the venue manager say as I turn to face him. Next to him is the drunk who only minutes ago was making peace with me. I’m astounded, but before I say a word, half a dozen people spin around and start pointing fingers at the drunk, all talking at the same time telling the manager what had happened. Rarely have I felt so supported by total strangers. I didn’t have to say a word as the manager was filled in, who then turned to the drunk who started arguing with the manager who in turn eventually pulled a funny face and walked off.

I turned away from this lot, knowing that the less attention I gave this twat, the better for everybody. Why me? I was starting to wonder if he was jealous of me because the prettiest girl in the place was totally into me while no woman would even talk to him. He obviously has no idea what to say to women, thinks that splashing cash around will compensate for what he lacked (a personality) and has no self-control.

Conversation with the two sweet ladies before me resumed but they were nervous about his presence, their eyes constantly darting in his direction. They were not going to relax until he was gone. I was racking my brain about how to get rid of this guy.

Kaa-thud!

The drunk slams a bucket of ice with a bottle of Moet champagne on the table.

“Here you goes. Have this on me!” he bellows.

People turn to look, concern on their faces. I make make eye contact with some of them and smile, hoping it disarms them.

Again the drunk starts talking to me, saying I know not what because he can barely stand without swaying now. I’m not going to provoke anything, I’m going to let this play out and hopefully he gives me enough cause to get the manager to throw him out.

Instead he adopts his conciliatory tone again and keeps shaking my hand. “I’ll see you here in twenty years time,” he says again, but I don’t think anybody else watching understood a word that came out of his mouth. Eventually he stops repeatedly shaking my hand, grabs his bag and saunters off. Everyone around me heave sighs of relief, smile at each other and let their shoulders drop. People come up to me and congratulate me for keeping my cool. All I can think about is how the stunner feels about all this.

The good-hearted strangers leave me alone and I turn to my companions, half expecting them to have left amid the hubbub. They were still there smiling at me. The stunner’s eyes were twinkling. She’s lovely. That arsehole might actually have done me a favour of sorts.

A sense of normality returns to the night, to the table and the stunner is leaning in as close tot me as she can. After all the years of dating more women than most men ever dream of doing, well, I can read the signs when a woman is into me. The thing is that her being a smoker is a big obstacle to me. Maybe I can help her kick the habit by providing a little motivation?

The stunner starts hurling more probing questions my way and almost every time my answer results in her friend making an approving face as she turns to the stunner. The two of them live together and seem to know each other quite well. I’m enjoying their company. This night is starting to feel good again.

Out of the faceless crowd a drunken Irishman steps up to the friend and starts talking to her while pouring her a drink from the bottle that he has thoughtfully brought along for the glasses he’s carrying. The friend is shocked at his brazen audacity, her face screaming, “God no! Not another one!”

Is this the done thing with idiotic knobheads nowadays? They throw money and alcohol at disinterested women? I can see why so many of the women that I have dated have said that most of their dates have been horror shows. Ever since that very first ‘comedy night’ all those years ago it seems that my competition has not cleaned up their act. I feel sorry for women on the dating scene.

The stunner starts talking to her friend, in an attempt to rescue her from the unwelcome interloper. The guy’s speech is slurred and the friend has a new boyfriend. I feel sorry for her because she was being a dutiful wingman friend and was suffering for it. The stunner stops talking to her friend, leans over the table to me and says, “Please talk to her. She’s trapped.”

I think quickly and come up with a better solution.

“Now what would your boyfriend say if he saw you now?” I say loud enough for the latest drunken fool to hear.

My words hit him like a bolt of lightning, he seems to instantly sober up and stiffens his spine, collects the glasses and without a word walks off. At least he had the courtesy of leaving without any fanfare, pretty much like how he arrived.

The friend opens her mouth in amazement and we high-five. What is the stunner making of me I wonder.

I excuse myself and go to the gents. The guy standing next to me at the urinal starts complaining about how “hard these London women are”. Now that I know of which he speaks. My occasional peeks around the room showed me that some women had gone home first to get dressed up, which is not a bad thing, but it shows me how serious they are taking this event, like it’s a competition. I noticed very little hair flicking going on. I’ve only seen one woman making unnecessary physical contact with a guy by occasionally touching his shoulder if they laughed about something. I’m not getting the impression that any serious relationships are being forged tonight, which surprises me. I think it’s that ‘abundance’ thing of big cities, where people always think that they can do better than the person they have in front of them.

Returning to my table I’ve barely sat down when the stunner hits me with her latest question.

“Are you kinky?”

What?! Did she just ask me if I’m kinky? No, surely not. Did she say ‘thinking’? No, that makes no sense. Did she say ‘sinking’? No, that makes less sense. Her friend is looking at me with very serious eyes. This one matters; got to get it right.

“I’m sorry, it’s getting noisy in here. Can you repeat the question please?” I say.

She leans forward and says, “I want to know if you’re kinky,” with a deadly look in her eye.

Shit, I did hear right.

I think of a joke as a response. “Do you know the difference between kinky and perverted?”

“No,” they both say.

“Kinky is when you use a feather. Perverted is when you use the whole chicken,” I say, to which they laugh raucously. Job done?

“No. You’re not answering my question. Are you kinky?”

Bloody hell, she’s an intense little thing, but that means the sex will be good too. This is why I don’t drink much when on a date because it allows me to think clearly and quickly. I come up with, “I’m as kinky as you.”

That nothing answer seems to please her and she says, “Good, because I’m not kinky.”

I quickly introduce a new subject and lively banter between the three of us ensues. After a while the stunner looks at me and says, “So tell me, which one of us are you interested in?”

My strategy of giving most of my attention to her friend has worked perfectly. She can’t tell who I am interested in, which heightens the sense of intrigue in her. Seeing as her friend had a new boyfriend and would not be interested in me, it was illogical that I would be interested in the friend, but my deception was so complete that she couldn’t figure this out. I have learned to play women at their own game. The most important thing, however, is the fact that she asked this question, which confirms to me that she’s interested in me because she wouldn’t want to know otherwise if she wasn’t feeling some attraction to me. Right or wrong?

I look at her, I look at her friend, then say, “Well, she’s not available, so I guess I must be interested in you,” and look the stunner deep in the eye. In that moment all sound disappeared and everything that had transpired before in the evening was forgotten. We looked at each other like two tigers coming across one another in a clearing. Bubbles of oestrogen and testosterone collided and fused invisibly before us.

The friend then looks at the time on her phone and it’s almost 11pm. It’s been quite a night for all of us. Despite the drunken arseholes, it has turned out well, or so it feels. Now just the matter of closing the deal.

I say to the friend who is checking her phone, “Do you want to take my number down?”

The stunner immediately intervenes and says, “No!” so emphatically that I’m taken aback. The friend’s face falls and her eyes go big, she says”Whaat?!”

The stunner looks at me and says, “I’m old-fashioned. You must take my number.”

“Okay, I respect that because I’m old-fashioned too,” I say as I reach for my phone. Typically, for the first time ever, my phone’s battery is dead. I show this to the stunner and I say to her, “Sorry, but you’re going to have to take my number.”

She gives me a stare and I just smile back. Eventually she relents and gets her phone out. I give her my number and ask to check that she got it right. She phones it and gets my voicemail.

“There. Now you have my number too,” she says haughtily.

We gather our belongings and get ready to brace ourselves for the cold that is waiting for us outside. I lead the way, intending on walking them to their nearest Tube station. As we make our way through the crowd, strangers are patting me on the back, shaking my hand and saying nice things to me about how I handled myself earlier with the drunk. I’m not used to playing the conquering hero, but the timing is fortuitous because I’ve just met somebody unique who I am already looking forward to seeing again.

I feel a sense of appreciation towards the dating website because despite my years of subscribing and only having a few dates, they laid on something that I feel I got more than my money’s worth. I had a memorable evening for good and bad reasons, but I have no doubt that the good will be the prevailing memory.

Outside I offer to accompany the two ladies, but the stunner asks me, “Where is your station?”

“It’s one block behind me,” I say.

“No. Then you must go to that one.”

“I’m kind of old-fashioned too,” I respond, looking deep into her perfect eyes.

“Thank you, but it is not necessary.”

“Okay,” I say and watch them walk off.

The way the interaction ended, with her asking me not to come along tells me that I’ll never be seeing her again. I have enough experience now to know that somewhere towards the end she decided that she was no longer interested in me.

Was the evening a disaster and a total waste of time? No, I’m actually glad that I went. Firstly, I got to see what one of these events is like and although I’m no longer intimidated by such a setting, I have no interest in experiencing it again. Secondly, I got to see just how far my people skills in terms of conflict handling has evolved. Thirdly, I got far more attention from women than what I was expecting. Over the course of the evening I did notice several women repeatedly smiling at me, a come-on-over signal, but I wasn’t too interested because the stunner had my attention. There was a short, chubby little blonde who in particular stood out as being desirous of my attention. I’m still marketable, which is good to know.

The next day I go onto the dating website and find the stunner’s profile. Notably she has the premium subscription which tells me that she is being very picky and perhaps has trust issues because she has chosen to hide her online activity record so that nobody can see when she was last online. Why do that? The only other person who I knew did that was my best friend and he certainly was not relationship material. She has also told a few lies on her profile, such as her age and nationality. In truth I find her profile boring and uninteresting. If I was after a brunette, no matter how attractive she is, her profile would have put me off.

Nevertheless I send her a text message inviting her out.

She never replied.

Roxy Music – Same Old Scene

Realizations

As I sit contemplating suicide it occurs to me that my greatest successes in life were preceded by intense struggle and total uncertainty. Each time when I had got to a point where anyone else would have given up, I made more of an effort and I broke through to the other side known as success. Perhaps I was now at such a point in my life, that now was the time to try one more time, to keep going when there seems no point.

I remember two people’s stories who have inspired me over the years: Abraham Lincoln and U.S. Grant. It’s not their presidencies that impressed me, but more the story of their lives before they were famous. Lincoln had lost every election he stood for before becoming president. Grant was an alcoholic failure who drifted around until he saw his time and opportunity.

Was it a case of their having true grit or just no alternative? I think it’s the latter. Courtesy of my depressed state I can clearly see that they too must have arrived at a point whereby it seems that all is lost, so there is nothing to lose by keeping on trying. If that’s the case, I can do it too!

Thus I resolve to take a deep breath, put the boxes of ibuprofen away and think things through, trying to find clarity that somewhere along the way got lost amidst an unblinking computer screen and copious amounts of sex. I switch off all my dating profiles and stay away from dating sites for days on end until I have things straightened out in my head and, more importantly, in my heart.

Over the course of a week’s focussed, intense contemplation I make a series of realizations.

Firstly, everything I have done in my adult life has been for love. All aspects of my life are layers to a pyramid that has love as its pinnacle. That might not be the best approach to life and I think it’s driven in part by my Avoidant Personality Disorder. However, I am too old to change. There just isn’t time for cognitive behaviour therapy that lasts years. Much better to just proceed as normal and hope for the best, hope for The One.

My second insight is that I’ve been looking for love in the wrong places. The type of women I have met through dating sites is not the typical woman. The typical woman I have encountered is emotionally messed up and not capable of a relationship. Very few of them have love in their hearts. These are lesser women; it’s why they’re on these sites and are there for so long. No man will put up with their craziness, bitchiness and/or selfishness.

I am now thoroughly disenchanted with online dating. It seems to be the domain of deranged, emotionally unhealthy women. It has so negatively affected my view of women that I find myself wondering if any good women exist, instead of all these self-seeking charlatans.

I review and analyze my history of dates on my dating spreadsheet that I primarily created to help me with my writing. It becomes obvious that my best dates came off the national newspaper’s dating site with my Happy Humping Ground site second-best. I realize that Plenty of Fish in particular is where the most undesirable women end up. That and other free sites is where the bulk of my bad dating experiences have come from. It has distorted my view of women.

Thirdly, reflecting on my own behaviour towards women, I feel ashamed. I am used to being better than I have been. However, some lessons have been learned. Only a man who doesn’t respect women and will therefore treat them badly, will be with a woman that he doesn’t respect. A man who respects woman will only be with a woman he respects. I can not attach value to a woman who does not value herself, a woman who cheapens herself by doing anything with any guy. I am worth a lot, I have a lot to offer and only to someone deserving, because otherwise they will only squander what I have to give them.

Fourthly, I have greater insights about women that should better prepare me for the future. I’ve learned that when a woman says that she is “fussy”, it means that she’s not seriously looking for a relationship and more than anything else is on a big ego-trip. All those men running after her and getting them to do things to please her. Wow, that must be wonderful for the ego!

From young women are told that they are the weaker sex and that they’re not as strong as men. That sets off a life-long desire for power over men in many a young mind. It’s inherent in human nature that anything gained easily is not valued. So, any man who easily gives a woman her sense of power, he is quickly discarded. Play hard to get with a woman and she wants you. I’m starting think that for a relationship to work, the woman must want the man more than he wants her.

Some women seem to think that to get a husband all they need to do is open their legs. What they don’t know is that, the sort of man who falls for that, will divorce her if she opens her mouth. To find a prince, a woman needs to kiss a few frogs, but not fuck the whole pond!

In this current younger generation of liberal democracies, girls have been told that they are the same as men and men have been told to be nice to women. So men come across as grovelling weaklings and women despise them for it. There is thus a bigger disconnect between the genders than ever before. Men are confused about their exact identity in society and women are told that they can have it all.

I watched ‘The Counselor’ the other day and Javier Bardem’s character says something profound:

Men are attracted to flawed women too of course, but their illusion is that they can fix them. Women don’t want to fix anything. They just want to be entertained. The truth about women is you can do anything to them except bore them.” ― Cormac McCarthy, The Counselor: A Screenplay

Lastly, from my own shameful experiences, as soon as a man thinks he’s being played, he takes it as permission to become a player. “Take me seriously and treat me respectfully, or I will look for someone who does and I shall treat you like a piece of meat in prison until then” is the resulting attitude. A gender difference related to this I’ve noted is that women have affairs to get back at their men, while men have affairs to get away from their women.

I’m left with a few questions bugging me. First, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever love someone else again. Second, just how many women’s lives do I want to fuck up? I suppose these questions will only be answered with time.

How am I to be from now on?

I’ve resigned myself to singledom for the foreseeable future. I’ve realized that I’m just not going to fall in love with anyone while I feel so shit about myself. I’ve based this on the understanding that I’m far more primitive than I had previously realized; I am a caveman. I only feel good about myself when my financial position is strong. The more money I have the better I feel about myself. It’s easy to dismiss this outlook as narcissistic, but the reality is far more complex. I can only feel that I am at my best, a real man, if my bank account is a source of pleasure. On the back of that I feel I shall have the confidence to be the best me I can. It’s hard to fall in love with someone else if you’re not in love with yourself first. It’s also hard to do the things in a relationship that require money when you’re worried about making the rent.

I’m so stressed about my financial situation that I have very little interest in sex right now. No desire, no urge, not a nothing. I’ve never been like this before. It’s a strange sensation. Is this what eunuchs or lesser men feel? Despite that, all this random sex with virtual strangers has got to end because it’s doing me no good. It’s been messing with my brain. I’m not going to have sex with another woman until my feelings for her are clear. Yes, the next woman I’m going to sleep with is going to be The One.

That’s it. I’m not running from myself any more. If I lose myself then it’s all been for nothing.

I need to fix my working life, get over my Avoidant Personality Disorder, look for love in the right places, not get sexual so quickly and somehow believe in a better future.

I’ve got nothing to lose, because I’ve pretty much lost everything already.

Naughty Boy – Runnin’ (Lose It All)

So f*cking depressed

I’m thoroughly miserable. Nothing gives me pleasure and I don’t yearn for anything, not even kinky sex with a new lover. I’ve lost my spark, my drive, my interest in everything. I don’t see the point of any of this any more. I’ve not had a history of a life-long battle with depression like some people have. Yes, I had some ups and downs as a teenager, but who didn’t? I’m feeling things that I’ve only ever felt once before.

I was on a 5-star luxury tour of Italy with my ex-wife and we were both between new contracts. On the last day of the tour we got an email from our landlord in which he gave us a month’s notice to vacate our home because he was selling it. The news hit my soul like a fiery sledgehammer and I was lurched into a deep depression that lasted for months. It was the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness that dragged me under. It was a paralysing Novocaine for my soul. Until then her and I had been through a lot of challenges together and we came out smiling every time. This time was different. What snapped me out of it was seeing her collapse to the floor, clutching my jeans at the knees, sobbing her eyes out as she begged me to get a job, any job. We had just finished moving into our new home, a rented one again and it had been an exhausting process for both of us. I did as she asked and things got better from there. Now that feeling was back and with a vengeance.

I think it’s only when we’re depressed that we see things clearly. When nothing and nobody gives us pleasure only then can we see what’s really going on around us. There’s a simplicity and clarity that is lacking at other times, those times when we’re like everyone else. We can see the everyday, mundane things and question their validity and usefulness. We can look at things we’ve repeatedly done and ask why we’ve done this, for the first time thinking about it, really thinking about and seeing the familiar in a new way. It’s not necessarily a better way or just an alternative viewpoint, it’s seeing everything in a different context that makes it all seem illogical to the point of insane.

You see people mindlessly, cheerily going about their lives, doing the same things over and over, hardly ever thinking about it. There is much to be said for blissful ignorance, for it frees you from the burden of true consciousness. Being fully aware of the absurdity of modern life can drive a thinking person crazy.

If you were to think about it, you would realize that there is no point to life. That realization hits us all at some point, but how we react to it is what matters. It can paralyze some people, liberate others and do absolutely nothing either way for some of us.

Life is the biggest joke going because no matter what you do, you die. Nobody survives life. Whether you do or you don’t, it doesn’t really matter because the end result is the same. You dream, you struggle, you sacrifice, you suffer, you hurt and, no matter what, the result is the same for all of us. It’s a difficult phase, that bit between birth and death.

The problem comes when you believe everything is futile, that there’s no point. Nothing gives you pleasure and nothing matters. That’s when a negative spiral kicks in and you get dragged under into a world that feels lonely, cold and overwhelmingly intense.

What has brought this on in me this time?

First, I’m feeling angry towards women. I feel that they’ve been toying with me, using me, wasting my time and money, exploiting me. Some of their bad ways have rubbed off on to me and I’ve hurt two good women: Busty Blonde and Busty Czech. I feel that my dating experiences have degraded me, made me into a worse person than I was before I started out. If I knew that things were going to turn out this way, would I have bothered? Probably not.

This latest episode with the MILF of Xmas is yet another disappointment in what has proven a lengthy procession of disappointments. It feels like the Cunt Carousel has spun me around one more time and thrown me off into a puddle of mud, a puddle made up of dog faeces, pussy juices and urine. It’s the type of puddle that dries in the park, then families come and sit on while I watch them when I’m in the gym. Shit everywhere; it’s all just shit.

Second, my working life is a disaster. It’s been almost a year and a half since I walked out of my job. The duplicitous nature of everyone I worked with has scarred me. I have no faith left in people. Mark Twain said, “The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog”. I agree with him although I don’t have a dog. I have no desire to get back into the so-called “formal” workplace. The thought of sitting in an office surrounded by snakes in suits makes my stomach turn. I’ve half-heartedly applied for dozens of jobs in the past year because I need the money but haven’t been called for an interview once, despite reworking my resume several times. It feels like my industry is done with me, more than I feel done with it.

On the back of that, while the job search was running in the background, I decided it prudent to start building a business of my own. Working for a salary provides a living, but making profits can lead to a fortune. I’ve poured my energy into resurrecting an online business, but that effort didn’t result in a fraction of the money that I am beginning to need. I had an idea for an eBay business that I threw myself into, but that also proved a fruitless waste of time. A sense of desperation started creeping in and I resorted to an old hobby of mine that has proven a financial roller-coaster: day-trading. I may as well have blown that money on Lotto tickets.

Women perceive themselves through all the roles that they fulfil in life and chastise themselves about the one that they are doing worst at. Men are very different. We largely see ourselves through our work. That thing we spend most of our waking time doing is what defines us. If we’re unhappy in our work, then we’re unhappy in our life. I’ve realized that many of the dates that I went on were doomed because I was using dating as a crutch for a frustrated working life.

Third, which is related to my aforementioned second point, is the fact that my finances are running low and I’m starting to panic about it. I’ve been living off my savings as frugally as I can since the day I quit my job because I knew it might be some time before I had money coming in again. That “some time” has proven longer than I can afford. I’ve only got money left to last me for a few months. The pressure of this is starting to rot my brain some days.

Fourth, I’ve had a falling out with my best friend. We’ve been the best of buddies since we were fourteen, or so I thought. Then one day I saw a posting on Facebook about fake friends. You might have seen it, it starts with “friends don’t get jealous…”. That stunned me because it encapsulated his behaviour towards me over the years. He was never to be seen or heard from when I was having a rough time, except the time I left my Exgf and he let me stay for two months. Other than that he was visibly missing when my life was shit. He is also the biggest liar I have ever known, a side to him that has grown over the years and has increasingly bothered me. In recent years the friendship had degenerated into him being an ask-hole in which he would phone me up to debate a problem he was having and then he would do exactly what I suggested should not be done. When his son was kidnapped a year ago by his ex-wife (the boy’s mother) I volunteered to fly at my own expense to snatch the boy back, then drive across two continents to return him home. That was the plan if the various legal routes failed, of which one didn’t. My “friend” would never have even thought of doing that, let alone have the balls and brains to make it happen. The final straw was an incident just before Christmas which showed me his true colours and his attitude towards me. This acidic revelation about his true nature felt as great a betrayal as my ex-wife’s lies. It has rocked my faith in all people. It has shaken my faith in myself because how could I have been so blind for so long?

True friends

True friends are never jealous of each other.

Lastly and perhaps most importantly, I’m now seriously doubting that The One exists. Why should she? Is it all just an illusion, a foolish notion that I’ve allowed to take on life-consuming importance? If I didn’t have this quest, what would I have applied myself to? I honestly don’t know. Trying to find Her gave my life some meaning. It gave me a reason to get out of bed each day. Scouring screens of pretty faces was often the highlight of my day. Now I don’t see the point in all that any more and I’m left feeling empty. My dating life has been a crutch to lean on when what truly ails me was left unattended. All along my life has lacked purpose, I can see that now, but I don’t know what to do about it. It’s hard to find a purpose when nothing gives you pleasure, people are a source of pain and you’re about to run out of money.

I’m tired of living a life predicated on being too dumb to steal and too proud to beg. I’m tired of aspiring to things that are not likely to happen for me. I totally get why some people resort to a life of crime, but that’s not for me. Apparently “hope to a man is like winding is to a clock”. I’ve run out of hope. This clock is broken. There’s no helping hand to put it back to working order. I feel totally and utterly defeated by life and now I hope for nothing.

I’ve hit an all-time low.

Today I bought boxes of ibuprofen after doing a circuit to the supermarkets in my town. Collected into a neat little pile they stand proud on the stool in front of my sofa, the stool that I’ve fucked so many women on. I’ve lost count of how many it was. What does it matter? What does all of this matter? If I do something or I don’t do something, what does it matter? It’s just me, this tottering tree in an unfeeling, deaf forest. Nobody cares. I don’t matter to anyone. If I’m here or not, it doesn’t matter; I don’t matter. I won’t be missed. I don’t think many people will attend my funeral.

I’ll leave my front door unlocked. The smell will eventually become too much for my neighbours. No, that’s not fair to them; they don’t deserve to find me like that. I know, I’ll leave a cryptic message on Facebook after midnight. The next morning somebody will figure it out and come around. Should I be like Benny Hill and surround myself in money or some things equally garish? Unused condoms? Should I be well-dressed? A gentleman should always look his best.

The boxes of pills before me silently shout at me, crying out for attention, imploring to be used in one reckless gush. They seem stronger than me.

Scraggly birds outside in a naked tree start making a noise under the dark sky. An angry magpie is arguing with an indignant pigeon. They must have an IQ of what, three? Collectively? What do they have to look forward to? Why do they bother? It’s near to freezing now and icy drops of rain are spitting on them, but they don’t notice or don’t care. They too seem stronger than me.

The boxes clamour for my attention…

The Wanted – All Time Low

Who can it be now?! – Final part

“Get undressed,” I order.

The Saffa complies without any hesitation. All that she is wearing now is the mask. I’m still sitting back in my chair and the camera is capturing everything, including the sound of Darth Vader finally cumming in the Princess’s mouth.

“Sit down,” I say, pointing to the footstool.

She sits down on the edge, facing me. Her nipples are hard. She smiles at me from under the mask.

“Lie back,” I say.

The Saffa lies back and drops her head down over the edge of the footstool.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can,” I command.

She obeys, moving her feet far apart and revealing a freshly shaven pussy. Hmm, she came here wanting to be fucked.

I get up and go over to her, getting down on my knees between her beckoning thighs. I’m not sure she can hear my movements because of the sounds of satisfaction emanating from the screen near her head. It turns out Princess Leia loves to swallow; who knew?

The Saffa lets off a loud moan of pleasure as my tongue slides up her slit and makes contact with her nubby clit. Unsurprisingly her pussy is dripping wet. For someone who claims to have a dryness problem hence the KY jelly, I seem to have no problem getting and keeping her wet.

A copious amount of T.L.C. leads me to developing a mild case of lockjaw, so I pull away. The Saffa’s motor is running full speed now. With her head still dangling over the end of the footstool and surely a mild headache brewing from the rush of blood to her head, she nevertheless reaches towards her pussy with one hand and starts rubbing her clit.

I hold her legs open so that the camera can see this furious finger action, but it also has the effect of heightening what she’s feeling because restricted movement feeds her need for being dominated. Suddenly she stops playing with herself. I take the opportunity to slide a finger into her vagina, play with her g-spot for a few seconds, then slide another finger in. She’s moaning constantly, so I slide a third finger in.

Hang on, I’ve never been able to get three fingers in before. Has she been recently fucked by another cock?

Now is not the time for my trust issues.

I stand up and back away. This big-breasted blonde with her legs wide open makes for a magnificent sight. I should make the most of this; we’re perhaps not going to be together like this again. I want a memento.

My hands slide under her calves as I lift her toward me, then swivel her forty-five degrees so that she is almost vertical toward the camera, getting her head on an even surface on the sofa for her own well-being. I part her legs as wide as they can go.

“Play with yourself,” I instruct as I back away out of shot.

Instantly she reaches for her crotch and starts rubbing herself in a sideways motion which causes her to close her legs. That’s a shame, I was hoping for footage of her doing that, but now I’m busy getting undressed.

The Saffa keeps rubbing her clit and she brazenly open her legs as wide as she can. She knows the camera is filming her; she’s enjoying this now. Like all the other women I’ve filmed, she too starts off reluctantly but then gets into it, playing up to the camera, enjoying being an exhibitionist.

For half a minute I let her play with herself then I step over to the sofa, straddle her face and let my penis fill her vision. She sees it bobbing and pulls it down towards her mouth, commencing sucking on it. With one hand playing with her clit and the other gripping my cock The Saffa pleasures us both like that for several minutes.

I don’t want to cum too soon and I want different footage of her in action; I want to capture as many of her skills as possible. Without a word I get up and stand where I think it’s best for what I have in mind.

The Saffa stops playing with herself and she’s looking at me with uncertainty, her eyes begging for direction. I reckon she wants my cock in her now, but she’s just going to have to wait.

“Come over her and get on your knees,” I say.

She quickly wriggles up and off the sofa, throws the mask onto the floor, lands on her knees before me, my erect penis inches from her face.

“Suck,” is all I say and she eagerly complies.

After a second I take step back so that she has to lean forward, causing her breasts to dangle perfectly and sway as she gobbles my cock. After a minute of this it’s time to mix it up a little, so I grab the camera and hold it above her head, pointing it down towards her face. She has her eyes closed and doesn’t notice this. After another minute of expert cock-sucking she opens her eyes, notices the camera watching her, smiles a little then closes her eyes and resumes doing what she does best.

“Suck it like its Darth Vader’s cock,” I say, to which she laughs, keeping my cock in her mouth. Having a sound reverberate around the chambers of my cock is wonderful. I love it when women do that.

“Show me how you’d suck Darth Vader’s cock,” I say, just for the hell of it. Again she guffaws.

The Saffa now grips my shaft with both her hands and speeds up her head motion, keeping her lips locked around the head of my penis and the rest of the shaft that her hands can’t cover. No doubt her mouth tiring she opens her eyes, looks squarely into the camera and, just like Busty Czech did, she starts slapping her face on either side with my cock, smiling as she does so.

Now she starts flicking her tongue at and around my bell-end and shaft. She certainly knows what she’s doing. How many cocks has she sucked on, I wonder? Stop the negativity, just enjoy it!

She swallows as much of my cock as her mouth can handle and, impressively, she doesn’t choke. Most women who’ve done that invoked a gag-reflex. Now she’s looking up at me with pleading eyes. I think I know what she wants now.

“Do you want that cock in your arse?” I tease, knowing it will shock her.

“No, I want it in my pussy,” she answers.

“Do you want me to stretch your pussy?” I ask.

“Mmm…” is her reply.

“Get over there,” I bark, pointing to the footstool.

Instantly she jumps up and assumes doggy-style position on this over-used piece of furniture.

My cock slides into her pussy like it’s on rails. The Saffa lets off sounds of approval and I realize that she’s quite close to cumming. The foreplay has been hours for her.

I suck on a thumb and it glides into her arse. She let’s off sounds of pleasure as she feels the full force of being on The Hook. Less than twenty seconds later she’s squealing like a piglet as she cums, her body shuddering, her back arching and her pussy clamping tight onto my cock.

After ten seconds of this she relaxes, managing to stay in position. I’m close to cumming too but there’s an important order of business that needs addressing.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask, checking for naughtiness and safety at the same time. I’m not entirely sure where she is in her cycle, so it’s best to ask. She’s not the type to trap a man, but accidents do happen. That’s why I’m here, as my mother often told me.

“My period starts next week. Just cum on my back,” she answers, huffing and puffing as she does so.

My left thumb is still deep in her bum as my cock stiffens totally and my balls spring to attention, propelling a blast of baby-batter up the chamber. Just in time I pull out and watch as a salvo of creamy sperm flies out the tip of my penis and arcs through the air and lands on her back.

With the other hand that was on her hips I tug on my shaft a few times and lazier dollops of cum jump out and plop onto her back. She’s still on The Hook and doesn’t seem to mind, but makes “aah” sounds as she feels the warmth of my ejaculate sliding across her back as gravity does its thing, pulling smelly trickles down towards her ribs.

I let go of her once I get my breath back. Without looking at me she gets up and goes to the bathroom while I switch the camera off.

Once cleaned up she returns and we try to cuddle on the sofa, but my heart isn’t in it. I want her to leave, I need to process everything that has happened today. After all, hours ago I wanted to break up with her but good sex got in the way.

At the end of the encounter, as we are getting ready to return to the train station, she says, “It feels like all the romance is gone between us.”

In my heart I couldn’t agree more. I feign surprise and disappointment at her words, but I know she is right. Is she now starting to make noises indicating that she wants to end it? I too feel like the best days are already behind us; the bloom is off the blossom. We simply clash too much, it’s not a harmonious relationship, there’s far too much drama in it.

I’m not going to dump her just yet. I don’t know where things might be headed with The Cockaholic, matters with The Saffa might improve and if they don’t I’ll just use her for sex. I suspect she’s doing the same with me.

Later in the evening I phone The Cockaholic. She seems pleased to hear from me and we have a pleasant, laughter-filled chat. She doesn’t ask too many questions about my day, but those that she did got little lies in reply. She doesn’t press for more; it looks like I got away with it.

It is so much more pleasant dealing with her than with the Saffa who, by comparison, is such hard work and slightly negative. The Cockaholic’s attitude reminds me of Busty Blonde in that nothing is too much and is very eager to please me.

I like that.

Again I’m having it both ways with two women; I like that too.

Who Can It Be Now? – Men At Work

Of Mothers and Fathers

There is something important that I have learned in my dating adventures. If you want an instant insight as to a woman’s relationship history and how a relationship with her will be going forward, you only need to ask her, “How would you describe your relationship with your father?” Whatever she answers will tell you everything you need to know.

The nature of my working life has revolved around my ability to quickly spot trends and patterns. I can’t help but do this when listening to people telling me about themselves. It’s a professional hazard, but one I enjoy. It feeds my analytical side, the part of me that helps make sense of the world around me. Other people might not like it, but it serves me well. Don’t worry, I carefully hide it when on dates.

After sitting across the table from almost fifty women in two years, this is what I have seen. Nature’s Grand Conspiracy has dictated that daughters are more influenced by their fathers and boys by their mothers. This cross-bonding sets that little person up for life when it comes to dealing with their love-life.

It has amazed me how common and accurate my observation has been. I feel that I have helped some women I’ve met when, only after deciding that I won’t be seeing them again, I use their words in response to my question and ask if it applies to their relationship history, that they then have their own epiphany. It’s as if a light-bulb has literally gone off above their heads.

We all have a relationship style, an unthinking way of how we expect things to be at the outset and over the course of a relationship. We get this from our parents. Sometimes we strive for the opposite of what our parents inadvertently teach us; I am of that mold but more about me later.

The beginning of any relationship is the exciting fun part, we all know that, but it’s the bit afterwards that we all struggle with. Some of us never get to the afterwards because of ideas we hold in our heads, feelings that we expect and cling to, so the change to a stable, predictable, almost boring relationship is too much to take on and we withdraw. I’ve seen that several times with the women I’ve dated. They just don’t know how to let things be and they cling to the romance phase. Some baulk at the first sign of change because with that comes the unknown, something us humans are pre-programmed to fear.

I’ve also seen in my own dating experience that the less interested in a girl I was, the more interested in me she was. If my internal attitude was one of, “Hmm, yes, I suppose you’re okay.” then a woman would do all the running and I would be in the driving seat in the relationship.

If I was very taken with a woman, then I couldn’t help but let it show. She then had all the power in the relationship, I did all the running. It became hard work and usually didn’t last very long. Baltic Babe and Krazy Girl taught me this.

So if I can contain my interest when I meet somebody I want, play it cool, then it’s more likely to work out in my favour, i.e. lead to a relationship.

I now find myself wondering if the feeling that this approach gives off to a woman reminds her of her father’s attitude to her. Always there, never dominating, letting her be and being there for her, physically and emotionally. So, are women looking for a man who makes them feel like their father’s did?

I’m inclined to say “yes”. However, it’s a qualified one because there are few other factors that influence proceedings, primarily ‘power’ in a relationship. That is something I’ll be sharing my thoughts on at another time. For the time being I’ll say my behaviour provides a feeling that gets their attention, while later seizing the power in the interaction keeps their attention.

About two-thirds of the women I have met through dating have admitted to having bad or terrible relationships with their fathers. Some don’t even know who their fathers are. Of course that’s not their fault but it has left them somewhat compromised in the relationship stakes. Baltic Babe had only recently started communicating with her father. Musician Gal told me never to even mention her father the first and only time I asked about him. My Exgf’s parents divorced when she was one and she didn’t have a male role-model in her life until she was seven.

For a while I thought my “aloof but interested” approach was causing a problem but then I realized that no approach would work with some of these women. They are just too messed up permanently or temporarily confused by a past traumatic relationship experience. Lusty Lass, Cat Lady and Krazy Girl were of the latter.

Something else I have learned is that if a woman has “daddy issues” then aside from a turbulent history with men, the sex is good if not crazy. If her relationship with her father is normal and healthy then, apart from relatively few relationships, the sex is average to bland.

These women with daddy issues seem destined to ride a Carousel of Cock, an endless stream of strangers that they use sex to attract but then become fearful of or lose interest in. The attention they garner makes them feel good about themselves for a short while, but then they need another fix from another guy. With so much sexual experience they pick up skills and fetishes that make playtime phenomenal fun, but they just can’t sustain a loving relationship. They drift from lover to lover, perpetuating the same sabotaged relationship style over and over. Krazy Girl and my Exgf are classic examples of this. They don’t know how many times they’ve been had nor do they know who’ll be next. I wonder how it ends for them. A song from Rodriguez comes to mind.

So how does any of this apply to me and my situation? A lot of what I’ve discovered applies to men too. I’ll use myself as an example.

First, I know that my own relationship style is a consequence of my upbringing. My relationship with my mother was terrible and has only in recent years progressed to bad. In the endless war between my parents my mother used me as a pawn against my father. I can count on my hands and have fingers left over the number of times my mother allowed me to be alone with my father. There was no real reason for this other her conceit and spite. I resented her for this.

When I was with my father I saw a side to him that very few people did. He was gentle, thoughtful and attentive to me. When he was with other people he was proud, imposing and loud. I didn’t like who he was then and have only come to terms with that side of him in recent years. He grew up during the Great Depression and it scarred his psyche because his was a poor upbringing. He once told me of eating pumpkin every night and his trousers his mother had made from torn Hessian bags that the pumpkins came in. Children at his school made fun of him for it. All his life he craved social respectability, status and acceptance, the things he never got in his formative years.

My mother is a poorly educated, unintelligent and stubborn person. In her twenties and thirties she was a perfect ten in appearance, but Nature’s Grand Conspiracy decrees that what it gives in abundance in one area it takes from another area. So many of the nines and tens that I’ve dated and bedded were great to look at but unpleasant to be around. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of your parents, but I’m just stating the facts. I’ll illustrate by way of an example.

I’m a little boy, about eight years old and we’re out for a Sunday drive on a baking highway near our city. Suddenly smoke starts spewing out of the front of the car and my father pulls us over to the side of the road. It’s lunchtime and we haven’t seen a car for some time and none are to be seen in the distance where the unforgiving African sun is melting everything into a silvery shimmer. I sit in the back seat of our Mercedes as my father gets out and opens the bonnet. Steam covers him and my mother gets out to investigate too. My father owns a garage and a car dealership while my mother can’t park her car.

“Do you think it’s the battery?” she asks him as the steam from the broken radiator pipe abates.

“Why don’t you use your head?” he retorts.

“What?! I must use my head against the battery?! Don’t be so bloody stupid,” she snaps back. An argument commences.

That’s an humorous moment from a private war that saw nightly fights, upturned dinner tables, thrown objects, kicks, tears, bouts of drunkenness on his part and the occasional not coming home for several nights. I’d go hide in my bedroom, finding sanctuary with toy soldiers or comics. I remember many Summer nights lying on the grass in the backyard, using my dog as a pillow and staring up at the stars waiting an uneasy truce to break out. Neither of them ever came to look for me.

And so it was between the two of them, day in and day out, year after year until the stress of it all caused my father to have a fatal heart-attack a few years after that incident by the roadside.

My mother never once said or did anything that made matters better, only worse and that applies to everyone she interacts with. She couldn’t care less what anyone else feels and never for an instant stops to consider the consequences of her words. She has a serious attitude problem but will never change. I got through my teenage years not because of my mother’s efforts but despite them.

It doesn’t surprise me that I want the opposite of what they had. I want a loving relationship characterized by harmony, respect and co-operation. Those last three elements, I can see, are becoming increasingly central in my quest for love. I know now that my marriage was based on my need for this. I felt emotionally safe with my ex-wife. That is my relationship style.

My childhood has also played a role in my decision not to have children because I feel unequipped having never had good role models. Maintaining a loving relationship is hard enough, what are the odds of success by complicating it with a child or two?

Sadly The Saffa is starting to remind me of my mother. She is as stubborn and unwilling or unable to say or do anything to make things better. Hints of it came my way during the squabbles over lunch and pancakes. I can see it clearly in her handling of the dispute with her employers. I fear that she’ll soon be out of work and homeless and looking to me to help out. I don’t need or deserve that responsibility. I have money problems of my own, I have no room for charity. Besides it is also a dreadful way of coming to live with someone you’re seeing, especially someone new.

The Saffa’s parents divorced when she was little and her father moved to another country. She only saw him a few times a year when she was shipped off to him. Her mother didn’t remarry until later in her life. The Saffa has what can be best described as a turbulent relationship history. I doubt that there will be harmony with her while co-operation will be difficult to achieve at times. Each petty argument will be like an addition to death by a thousand paper cuts, eventually respect will die.

I’m also starting to suspect that she is bit of a drama queen. If there isn’t some kind of drama happening somewhere in her life, she’ll create it.

I have heard it said that a weak woman will drag a man under and a hard woman will drag a man around. I’ll add to that truism by saying that a stubborn woman or drama queen will drive a man crazy, perhaps even to an early grave.

I don’t feel emotionally safe with The Saffa. That’s what has been bothering me.

Rodriguez – I wonder

Online dating profiles

I’m taking an hiatus from online dating until someone remarkable catches my eye. I’m reflecting on my two years on the dating scene. Two years of drama, craziness, varying degrees of sex, times of learning, episodes of amazement and downright determination.

I have some tips that I’d like to share with you. This is going to be the first of some of the lessons I’ve learned about modern dating. Today deals with dating profiles and the build-up to a date.

Online dating has a visual bias, there is no denying this. With just one look we can form an impression of someone, or worse, an attachment. We are likely to click on someone we like the look of because that is how we are attracted to someone in the real world too. It is no surprise then that people whose profiles have no photos included have a quieter dating life. That’s to say I’m talking about a conventional dating site and not esoteric sexual niche websites. If you are on a regular site and you never get messages, then you might get the impression that nobody likes you.

Nobody likes me.

Nobody likes me.

It might be that your profile isn’t working for you and it needs some attention and thought. A sense of rejection on a dating site should not discourage anyone or give them reason to embark on desperate measures to entice someone into their life.

Van for offine dating. Sweets optional.

Van for offine dating. Sweets optional.

Once you’ve spruced up your dating profile you’ll start to get attention and eventually somebody will seem worthwhile to meet for a date. You’re not attracted to everyone so don’t expect everyone to be attracted to you. Attraction isn’t a choice and you might be surprised by who finds you attractive. An open mind is key.

First date potential.

First date potential.

It is vital to project the correct image, so give some thought to the photos you’ll be using. Often your favourite photo might send out the wrong message if you’re not careful. Many people like to include their cherished pet in their photos in a hope to attract someone who has a liking for the same creature. Sometimes this can backfire.

A man's favourite pet.

A man’s favourite pet.

At the same time it is good practice to scrutinize the photos that someone has chosen to post on their profile. Look away from their face and see what the surroundings can tell you. You might spot a few warning signs. For example, they claim to be a non-smoker but all their photos show them holding a cigarette.

Check details in photos.

Check details in photos.

As a general rule I would advise against meeting someone if you don’t know what they look like. This applies to men and women. A look of surprise or disappointment on your face might not be the best start to the date.

Your next blind date?

Your next blind date?

Because of the nature of the internet being a relatively anonymous medium, there are people who abuse dating sites for their own ends. Occasionally you’ll encounter people who are not even the gender they claim and often they are after money.

Anybody can pretend to be somebody online.

Anybody can pretend to be somebody online.

If you’re a guy looking for a gal, with time you’ll learn that there is a code that women use in their dating profiles. Their narratives after a while start to have similar terms. With a bit of dating practise you’ll crack the code.

Women code for dating profiles.

Women code for dating profiles.

If you’re a lady then I must inform you that, sadly, not all men on dating sites are as they portray themselves to be. Men are likely to lie about their jobs, height and relationship status. This is not the norm, so don’t let a few bad apples spoil the cider.

Some men lie on their dating profiles.

Some men lie on their dating profiles.

I have noticed that there are far more attractive women then attractive men on dating sites. That can work in a chap’s favour, not because he might be handsome, but because he has the confidence that women appreciate.

Nobody is out of your league.

Nobody is out of your league.

I have it on good authority that modern online dating is also prone to some rather unusual behaviour. Sexting, the swapping of intimate photos, is becoming commonplace, so much so that some men consider it standard practice. Don’t let anyone intimidate you into doing this.

Sexting extortion

Sexting extortion

In the same vein there are women who are pretty explicit about what their needs and wants are. A camera-phone and mirror is often involved.

Lick it. Women can be explicit too.

Lick it. Women can be explicit too.

It’s a common and easy mistake to develop an online crush on someone before you’ve met them. Don’t spend too much time swapping messages and phone-calls because you might create a false impression of someone who is radically different in real life.

Not everyone on the dating scene is sane.

Not everyone on the dating scene is sane.

What matters most when going dating is having a clear idea of what you’re about and who you want to meet. Keeping that in mind should keep you out of trouble…unless trouble is what you’re looking for. ;)

Your self-perception is vital.

Your self-perception is vital.

Just please be careful not to fall for someone on the basis of just one look at their dating profile.

Happy dating!

The Grey Knight

Doris Troy – Just one look

Anatomy of a break-up

It’s a Sunday morning at the end of May, a perfect sun is shining and I make Busty Blonde pancakes for breakfast in bed. Afterwards, following some cute banter, she cups my face with her hands and says to me, “You know I really love you, don’t you?”

I have been dreading this moment, hoping it never comes because what could I say in response. I had been thinking about it for weeks, but haven’t come to a satisfactory response in my mind. Yes, I have grown very fond of her, yes I enjoy her company, yes there have been times when I have looked forward to seeing her…but…she’s not The One.

I think quickly and say, “Aaw, that’s so sweet. I don’t know what to say. I’ve gone all soft inside.”

That seems to please her and she doesn’t say anything in response, but just smiles lovingly at me. I feel like such a cowardly shit. To my surprise she doesn’t seem disappointed that I don’t reciprocate with the same words. I think she is just pleased to have got it out of her system. She must have been storing it up for a while. I think this because I know that that’s what I did with my last girlfriend and ex-wife. I kept it in me until I couldn’t take it any more and just had to tell them.

It’s a landmark moment…I hear a heavy clock ticking louder…our demise is now approaching fast.

It’s Monday afternoon, the next day and I just can’t do this any more. Busty Blonde is in love with me, but I don’t feel anywhere near the same. I love being with her, but I’m never going to be in love with her; I know this for sure. She doesn’t deserve this and it would be criminal of me to string her along any more than I feel I have already done. I should have ended it long ago. It’s time to do the hard but right thing.

I decide to call her to end it now, so I go over my thoughts one last time, checking them, because I know that once the words have left my lips that there’s no going back. We can never ‘try again’ because any such attempt will be compromised from the outset. Her trust in me will be damaged and the foundations of any new relationship will always be quicksand. At the slightest sign of trouble we’d be starting all over again. Neither of us would deserve such a relationship.

I phone Busty Blonde and, as gently as I know how, let her know that we had come to an end. I was expecting tears and drama, but her response exceeded what I had expected. It all came as a shocking surprise to her. Towards the end of the hour-long conversation I have a lump in my throat and I’m fighting back the tears. I know I’ve hurt her.

We say goodbye one last time and a solitary tear traces my jawline before dropping into my lap. She must be crying her beautiful blue eyes out.

And so an innocent love lay mortally wounded, slowly bleeding to death at my hand, destined to never recover. Have I committed a crime against love? Probably.

Ironic

Ironic

Over the next few days Busty Blonde sent me the following text messages:

I just can’t understand why you would do this. It seemed so good. What did I do? Why don’t you care?

I feel sick and empty. You broke my heart and took my happiness.”

I still can’t quite believe I’m never going to see you again. It hurts.

I slow down the speed of my responses and give her time to talk to other people as women are prone to doing. By comparison men withdraw into their man-cave, hiding from any sense of vulnerability until they feel it’s safe to come out and face the world again. By the following Monday she seems to have accepted my decision because the text messages stopped coming.

I don’t like hurting women, especially one as good and decent as Busty Blonde. She doesn’t deserve the pain that I have inflicted on her and I feel ashamed of my conduct. I should never have let matters get as far as they did.

I wrote earlier that I have two regrets in my life. The first was quarrelling with my father the night before he died and not reconciling. This is my second: not breaking it off with Busty Blonde sooner. That’s how bad I feel about this episode.

My personal weakness is gut-wrenchingly disappointing to me. I am capable of far better treatment of others and will endeavour to do so. However, I might never shake off the sense of shame that I carry with me that gets triggered whenever I think of Busty Blonde or something I see or hear that reminds me of her.

I am surprised by her not in the slightest seeing this coming. I’m not trying to blame her, but didn’t certain things strike her as being odd? Didn’t she think it strange that she had not met any of my friends? Didn’t she wonder why I was never making long-term plans with her? When I declined to go away on holiday with her, did that not make her stop and think about things? Did nothing make her think ‘Darling, are you going to leave me?’

Man in love

Man in love

I think our relationship was a far better experience for her than for me. She got to fall in love and have a good time in doing so. I think it commendable that she still has the capability to do that. I’m starting to wonder if I have it in me to fall in love again.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Age is a complicated thing and it doesn’t become easier to resolve as we progress through life. I definitely want to be with someone younger than me. 2) I need to be in awe of the woman in my life. Never for a moment do I want to wonder if I can do better. 3) Physical attraction just has to be there for me. I’ve heard it countless times that it’s the person who matters, but for me that ‘hmm-yes, anywhere, anytime’ feeling has to exist. 4) If I have my doubts, then there is no doubt. Small imperfections at the outset of a relationship easily grow in stature and take centre-stage in proceedings. 5) Love is a matter of the heart, an irresistible response, not a logical choice of what seems perfect on paper.

For a couple of weeks after breaking up with Busty Blonde I felt pretty low about myself. There was bitter taste in my mouth that wouldn’t go away. I didn’t look at a dating profile for over a week, which is some kind of record for me. I was wrapped up in a feeling of mourning that felt like a soiled riding cape, hardened in places by mud, shabby and unsightly.

Eventually I realized that I have no choice but to shake off this feeling, to keep going, to keep looking, to keep sending off approach emails that go unanswered, to keep believing that The One is out there. Somewhere out there She’s waiting for me; it just has to be so. My quest must go on, largely because failure is not an option. I feel that a life without love is not a life worth living.

I’ve now dated 45 women in the last two years. I don’t care if I have to date another 45 before I find Her.

There was no way that I could have known then that I was about to embark on what I now think of as my time of Fire and Ice.

London Grammar – Darling Are You Gonna Leave Me