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Do you know this person?

I’m toying with the idea of getting my story to the mass-market of readers who don’t follow blogs. My first choice outlet is conventional book format, but failing that I’m prepared to pursue the ebook format, self-publishing if I can’t find someone who shares my vision and can help make it happen. I’m looking for that one person who might be a literary agent or perhaps even a publisher who might be interested in what I have written.

Do you know such a person?

Apart from that I’d welcome any ideas, tips or criticism of what I have written that you care to share with me. The more brutally honest the better.

I think my story archetypical of the modern dating scene and others might benefit from my experience. Many of you have written to me privately voicing your thoughts about finding love via online dating and how my blog has helped them. I’d like to keep this positive momentum going and maybe even get back some of the money I’ve spent on bad dates.

Feel free to drop me a message on: greyknight [at] meanddating [dot] com

Thank you, I’ve appreciated every single comment I’ve ever received. Yours will be no different.

Announcing: New hosting and design to aid your reading pleasure

Greetings and salutations!

Today I upgraded this blog to a self-hosted website, bidding a sad farewell to the generosity of because I want the freedom to do so much more with my blog. is now with us.

Please bookmark it and tell your friends about it.

If you are a regular follower, then I hope you like the new look.

If this is your first visit to my blog, then a wet, warm welcome to you. (No need to curtsy.) Here you can learn how a White Knight in shining armour became a Grey Knight…

The transition has not been without it’s challenges and setbacks. All the previous ‘likes’ so graciously bestowed upon me by you can not be ported across to the new website! Alas and alack…of foresight on somebody’s part.

Your naughty comments, however, have been rescued and are across the moat and safely in the castle keep.

You can now also follow my jousts, defeats and conquests on Twitter at:

I hope that new design makes it easier to find the kind of bawdy fun you’re looking for here…

If you spot anything wrong or wish to suggest something, I not only have an open mind, I have an open comment system too. Add a comment if you wish, I shall be happy to hear from you.

On to better battles (dates) I must go…Tally ho!


Your Grey Knight

silver glossyknight

Monday – The Perfect Dick – Final part

“No, nobody could see. I put my hand in her panties and felt her pubic hair. I had never done this before. By now I also had a massive hard-on. This girl just kept looking straight in front of her, as did I. My fingers pushed down and I slid my middle finger up her. She jolted slightly. I had no idea what I was doing. Just then the bell went for break-time. Everybody stood up to leave and I had to hide my erection with my school blazer.”

“You were literally saved by the bell. But what happened?”

“She followed me home after school. I lived near the school and my mother was at work. I let her in and we stood in the lounge talking. I hadn’t spoken to her much in our school days. It was always a friend-of-a-friend kind of thing. In a moment of daring-do, I kissed her. Now this will surprise you, but I had never kissed a girl before.”

“What?! No, I don’t believe you,” Baltic Babe said in all seriousness.

“It’s true, I hadn’t. This girl then put her tongue in my mouth. I didn’t know what that was and I got a fright, lost my balance and knocked her over on to a chair. I don’t know why I did this, but I picked her up and carried her to my bedroom where I gently lowered her on to my bed. I was curious to see how far she would let me go with her. I took her school dress off and she lay there in her underwear smiling at me, daring me, while I stood there in my school uniform. Without taking any of my clothes off, I stood at the foot of the bed and pulled her panties off. I expected her to shriek and run away. She didn’t, she opened her legs. I had never seen a pussy in real life before, so I took a good look. Most of my sex education had come from Cosmopolitan magazine. In the heat of the moment, without much thinking involved, I lay down on my stomach and started licking her pussy. I had never ever felt a desire to do that, but in that moment it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“This was your first time in so many ways and you did that? I don’t believe you,” Baltic Babe interrupted. I ignored her interruption and bloody trust issues and continued with the true account of my first time.

“This girl wriggled and writhed and enjoyed me eating her out. I didn’t really know where her clitoris was. As you can imagine I had a huge hard-on. I reached up with a free hand and slipped my hand under her back, trying to unclasp her bra. The girl laughed at me and unclipped her bra which had its clasp at the front. I didn’t even know such bras existed. So there I was, seventeen years old, a naked girl on my bed, me in my school uniform, eating her out while one hand played with her breasts.”

Baltic Babe didn’t know what to say to this, her eyes still wide as she rested her head on the sun-lounger.

“I knew that it was time for me to get undressed, so I did. As I stood there naked, about to climb on top of her as all the magazines suggested, the girl wriggled towards me and sat on the end of the bed. She grabbed my cock with one hand, looked me in the eye and then leaned forward and started sucking on it. I had never felt this before and my knees nearly gave way.”

Baltic Babe giggled. What was her deal with blowjobs, I wondered, seeing as she refused to go down on me.

“She seemed to enjoy sucking and licking and I didn’t mind. After a minute she crawled backwards on to the bed and spread her legs, deftly resting her arms above her head on my pillow. I had no intention to take things this far. If I didn’t follow through I’d be the laughing stock of the school, was my fear. So I climbed on top of her and tried to find her hole, but couldn’t because I didn’t know , so she used a hand to guide me in. I had never felt anything like it in my life. To this day I don’t know how I didn’t cum within seconds.”

Baltic Babe burst out laughing. Did an ex-boyfriend of hers have a premature ejaculation problem, I wondered.

“But wait, there’s more. So I fucked her for what must have been many minutes. I kept looking at her face. Her eyes were big and she didn’t say a word. All through this neither of us had said a word. Strange, huh? I didn’t know what was going on, but she started breathing heavily and wrapped her arms and legs around me and her body shook as she scratched my back with her nails. Jesus that hurt. Afterwards I saw that she had drawn blood.”

“You gave a girl an orgasm on your first time?” Baltic Babe asked.

“Well, I know that now, but at the time I wasn’t too sure what had happened. The whole time that I was in her I had my mother’s words in my head, “I don’t want another girl’s mother coming to me to tell me you had got her daughter pregnant,”. I wasn’t using a condom, I had never even seen one then and I didn’t want to get her pregnant, so I withdrew. She asked what was wrong and I told her that I didn’t want to get her pregnant. She said, “okay, I understand” and pushed me on to my back and very eagerly sucked me off, happily swallowing my cum. I was in a state of shock for days afterwards.”

“Did you see her again?”

“Yes, we started a relationship that lasted for six months. Our final exams happened over that time; how we passed I don’t know. In the mornings she would wait outside my place before school until my mother went to work, then we’d have a morning session. Then in the middle of the day when it was break-time at school we’d go back to my place and have another session. Then after school, if neither of us had sport, then we’d have another session. The relationship was based entirely on sex, but at the time I thought it was love. I still think of her as my first love.”

“That’s quite a sweet story,” Baltic Babe said softly.

That night, our last in Sunny Beach, we found ourselves sitting in a cocktail bar watching the waitresses dancing on the counter. In a fit of twisted romanticism, I turned to Baltic Babe and said, “I don’t know all the bad things that have happened in your life, but I am glad that they have happened because they have helped make who you are and I really like who you are.”

Baltic Babe did not like that comment…

Sunday – Sun + sea + sex = satisfaction – Final part

Suddenly Baltic Babe let out a shriek and ran away faster than I had seen anyone move in a long time. She cowered behind a tall rubbish bin, her eyes like saucers. I saw what had freaked her out. A man was walking slowly along the promenade with a very large snake draped over his shoulders and arms. Baltic Babe was absolutely terrified. I went over to her and put an arm around her. She instantly put an arm around me and clung tight around my waist.

“See? He’s walking away. The snake is going away,” I said as soothingly as possible. It was as if I was dealing with a child.

“I can’t stand snakes,” she feverishly blurted out, her body shaking.

As the snake-charmer disappeared in the crowd, I took Baltic Babe’s hand and led her in the opposite direction. Along the promenade there were other ‘entertainers’ with live animals; a gang of what looked like gypsies had a monkey on the end of a chain. Further along there was another group of gypsies with a baby bear firmly tethered to a lamppost. The poor little guy’s eyes were sad and bewildered, occasionally bellowing out a strangled plea for its mother. Before Baltic Babe could become upset I moved us further along to another attraction on the promenade.

We came across a guy with a shooting range for all sorts of crossbows and regular archery bows. I had never done archery before and had always been curious. In my National Service days in South Africa I had been one of the best shots in the regiment so I was quietly confident in my ability to hit a target with any weapon. I remembered that Baltic Babe had raised an eyebrow in disbelief on one of our first dates when I said that I had military experience and here was an opportunity to prove it to her.

The shooting range extended 30 yards back from the public path. I bought some arrows off the Bulgarian archer and quickly all six found the bulls-eye, despite my never having touched a bow before. Baltic Babe pursed her lips as if to say, “Not bad.” Then the archer challenged me with something tougher: a moving target.

He tied a big apple to the end of string, got it swaying and came back to give me another arrow. The swinging apple didn’t shatter as I pinned it to the board behind it.

“Hey, you’re a natural,” said the archer. I felt inclined to agree, as my father’s side of the family had a long history of using weapons and perhaps it was in my blood.

“Let’s see what you can do with a crossbow. This is much harder,” said the friendly Bulgarian, waving away my offers of more money. I was impressed by his English.

The crossbow is a very different weapon from a bow and is surprisingly similar to a modern-day assault rifle. It had been more than twenty years since I had used the latter. I felt very comfortable with it as my bolts found the bull’s eye.

“You’ve got military training,” said the archer.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The way you position your right elbow and hold your breath before releasing,” he said with a smile. Him knowing that told me that he had received military training too. We gave each other a knowing look. Baltic Babe heard that exchange and I was glad. Was she learning that everything I had told her had been the truth?

“Ah, ok. Now let’s put you to the test,” said the Bulgarian as he tied his smallest apple to a piece of string and got it swaying in the sea breeze.

This was a much tougher target to hit, so I took my time…and got it.

“Very impressive,” said the Bulgarian. We shook hands and he refused to take money from me.

I was pleased with my success and relieved that it hadn’t back-fired on me. As we walked back to our hotel, I looked at Baltic Babe, not having to say a word.

“Ya, it is important to me that my man is able to do things like that,” is all she said with a straight face.

Sunday – Sun + sea + sex = Satisfaction

The sun was shining and I was sporting an enormous morning glory. Baltic Babe awoke and our eyes met. Before a word was said, I put her hand on my warm, throbbing cock. Her eyes widened, she bit her bottom lip, let out a deep breath and I knew words weren’t necessary.

We kissed passionately and the explosive fireworks-like first-time that I had been looking forward to happened. Luckily I had a condom in my wallet and we got down to what can only be described as sweet, gentle lovemaking. Baltic Babe asked if we could only do missionary position because of her back problem. I had no choice but to agree and was as gentle as I could be. Her pussy didn’t feel as tight as the other night and I was able to go deeper, despite there having been less foreplay.

“With me the lady always cums first” is a mantra I had held on to for many years and it doesn’t take long if a woman’s pussy is as tight as hers was. I held off from cumming for as long as I could so that she could enjoy the sensation of my cock filling her up. When she came it was if she didn’t know whether to push me off of her or to pull me closer. I do love it when a woman sinks her fingers in to my back, just like she did.

Having satisfied her, I felt the way was clear for me to cum too. To me it’s not just a physical thing, it’s more of an oneness thing. That feeling of us doing something so intimate, so personal and so mutually submissive with all barriers down, but never degrading, is priceless to me.

It had been many months since I had last cum in a woman and I had forgotten just how good it felt when it happened. It was a shame to be using a condom because to me it diminishes the emotional closeness that comes with being bareback. That physical union, unencumbered by the intervention of a piece of rubber, is simply wonderful.

After disposing of the condom in the bathroom, I climbed back in to bed. I cuddled her as we lay motionless in the afterglow. We still hadn’t said much to each other other than her asking that we only do missionary. Having caught her breath, eventually she spoke.

“That was quite rough,” she said with a surprised look on her face.

“I was as gentle as I could be,” was my honest reply. If she thought that that was rough, the gentlest I had ever been with a woman, good grief, what would she say if I ever did decide to get rough with her?

We spent the day on the beach; yes, again. It had been many years since either of us had had a beach holiday and we were equally determined to overdose on vitamin D. When would we be able to do this again? Who knew what the future held?

In the evening after dinner, we walked along the promenade where there were stalls selling all sorts of tourist souvenirs. Baltic Babe wanted to buy funny t-shirts for her mother and niece. Oh my god! How long did it take to choose a t-shirt?

However, it gave me an insight in to how she operated, how her mind worked when it came to decision-making. Almost any other man would have walked off, said something or died of boredom. Not me. I saw the opportunity to learn some things about her.

She liked to see all that was on offer, then go through a pain-staking process of elimination, working her way through to a few contenders, then take her time to make a choice. This behaviour played out in her life in many ways, no doubt.

In the same way that she inspected a t-shirt to see what it was made of and assess how long it would last, she was doing that to me too. I felt flattered that she was spending time with me like she had been. I realized that she was sizing me up too, hence the drama of the previous days. A skilled interviewer at a job interview throws the candidate being interviewed a tough, unpleasant question to see how they deal with adversity; Baltic Babe had been doing the same to me, consciously or unconsciously.

Was she as intelligent and cunning to be doing that to me consciously? Surely not…

To be continued…

Prague pandemonium – Part 1

My best friend had just come through a nasty divorce and was somewhat confused about…well, everything frankly. I was much further down the road of recuperation than him, but it was Summer and fun should be had. I thought we could both do with some lifting of spirits. We had a high-school friend living in Prague who was forever inviting us over to visit him. At the beginning of the year he had found out that his wife had been cheating on him, he had separated from her and launched divorce proceedings. I thought it a good idea if my best mate and I visited our friend in Prague. The three of us could sit around, talk shit, catch up, have some laughs and maybe figure out the way forward together.

We flew out on the Saturday morning, meeting up with our friend before lunchtime at the airport. He came to fetch us with his son and we were all going to spend the weekend at his parent’s country house. They were away in South Africa where they spent most of their retirement years avoiding the Czech Winter. The house was a large multi-storeyed alpine-style house on a big piece of ground shielded from neighbouring properties by a mature, lush hedge. The sun was blazing overhead and the swimming pool looked very inviting.

For a few days we lazed around, had a barbecue with our host’s friends and relaxed. It takes about 3 days for the body to unwind sufficiently so that a holiday can be enjoyed. Once we had reached that point we decamped to central Prague and set up base in our friend’s city pad. His son went back to his mother as the school holiday was ending. The three divorced or divorcing guys sat around downing good, cheap Czech beers, bitching about women and relationships.

It was interesting to me to hear some of the things that my friends were saying as I had felt the same way when I was getting divorced six years earlier. They were embarking on a long road that was alien to them; all I could do was offer words of encouragement along the lines of “I got through it, you will too.” Nothing in our teenage years prepared us for being in this situation 25 years later.

My best friend and I spent a day sight-seeing together as he had never been to Prague before while I had in 2006. If you’re into architecture and history, then you have to visit Prague. If, like me, you have a thing for pretty blondes, then Prague is a must-see. On any street corner I could stand rooted to a spot and swivel around gawking at one stunning blonde after another for hours. It’s like an all-day procession of lookers coming off of a conveyor belt. I have never been to anywhere quite like it. There must be something in the beer that causes most little Czech girls to grow up to be blonde beauties. Don’t believe me? Go see for yourself.

With such an abundance of attractive women, it isn’t too surprising that Prague has something of a busy nightlife…the naughty, seedy nightlife. You know that Christmas carol about “good king Wenceslas”? Well, there is a square (which is more of a long boulevard) named after him that has the vast majority of Prague’s “gentleman’s clubs”. There are about a dozen strip clubs cited in and around this square. From dusk touts start appearing, pestering passing men with leaflets extolling the virtues of the shows and girls that their club, which is always the best club, offers.

I had been to a strip club once as part of my best friend’s stag do. That was years ago, 1998 to be exact, back when we were both getting married and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about everything. We had both enjoyed that night, so I thought “Why the hell not do that again in Prague?” It might lift my friend’s spirits out from the dark well of despair that they were drowning in. Suggesting my idea one night resulted in a muted response, the two of them just looked at each other, blinking and smiling. It didn’t take much coaxing and cajoling from me to get them to agree to give this a go. We agreed to sample this side of life the following night.

It was getting dark as my friends and I made our way on to Wenceslas Square on a Wednesday night. Tired tourists were enjoying their evening meal at pavement cafes and restaurants as another hot day gave way to what I hoped was going to be an even hotter night…in the strip clubs.

The three of us must have looked like the typical guys that go into strip clubs because within a minute a tout came bounding up to us, brandishing freshly printed leaflets. I asked “How much is entry and the drinks?” He was a black African guy, from Nigeria I think and he spoke good English. “Boss, for three hundred Crowns you get entry and three free drinks. Is cheeeap.” he implored.

So for less than ten Pounds Sterling we could get entry and a few free drinks – that was cheap. Perhaps too cheap. I was suspicious. “So what do the girls do?” I asked. “Anything except sex. Price depends on what you want. Everything negotiable. The womens is hot!” was the touts sweaty reply. My friends seemed shocked, even the one who lived in Prague.

We repeated this conversation with a few more touts, all of whom were illegal immigrants from Africa, all offering the same prices and deal as the first tout. All that differed was how “hot” they described the women to be. My friends were satisfied that they now knew the score and were comfortable choosing a club to start with. The nearest one had a clean, modern frontage so we decided to take our chances in there. It seemed safe.

The very first tout we spoke to sidled up to us and walked with us despite our ignoring him. We walked up to the doorway where a burly security guard was standing next to someone acting as a cashier. All this person had was a table and chair, with a metal cash box on the table and a stack of voucher books next to it. We handed over our money and were presented with a voucher booklet each in exchange. These were for our drinks, which was a selection of either beer, sodas or coffees; three pictures for each type which could be individually torn out. The security guard took our right hands and stamped a small ink emblem on the top, then waved us inside. The cashier, guard and tout then engaged in a conversation, which probably involved the tout getting some kind of commission.

The doorway lead down a flight of stairs that opened out in to a reception area dominated by a bar counter. We ordered our drinks and turned to our right, which was the only direction to head towards given that to our left were the toilets. Bright light shone into our eyes and our ears were suddenly bombarded by loud music. Undeterred I walked into the light and my friends followed me.

Through the offensive light I could see the hint of a table and chairs to my right and I headed for it, my mates in tow, our ears being assaulted by a constant rhythmic “Boom. Boom. Boom”. Out of the glare of the head-on lights I could see our surroundings clearly. We were in a large room laid out in a horse-shoe shape that could hold no more than 40 people. Around the outside of the horse-shoe was a terrace of tables with chairs and booths with bench-like padded seating. All of the seating was in a dusty red material and the wooden tables were painted black. In the centre of the horse-shoe was a catwalk stage with a shiny stainless steel pole at the end closest to the entrance.

There was only one other person sitting in the customer’s seats and it seemed that he was slightly drunk given how he was slouching in his seat, staring blankly with droopy eyes at the only girl on the stage. She was a brunette with a slender body and only wearing a bikini bottom. Her breasts were small and saggy, her nipples large, brown and hard. She was pretty enough, her face caked in make-up though, but constantly smiling as she went about her routine of endlessly gyrating up and down against the pole.

With drinks in hand I led my friends to a booth to the right side of the stage. I wanted a good view of all the proceedings in this alien environment, not just of the girls on the stage. I wanted to take in as much of this new, unfamiliar world as I could; to take it all in; digest it, analyse it, understand it. Titillation was a bonus for me, while it was the main event for my clinically depressed friends. On the other side of the room, close to the bar, I could see four women sitting talking and occasionally looking at us. They were in their twenties and thirties and I got the impression that they worked there, given the garish nature of their appearance: sequins, leather, plastered-on make-up, loud jewellery, high heeled shoes and overly-quaffed hair.

The club had obviously just opened and we were the first customers in for the night, except for the solitary drunk who was in danger of falling asleep in his seat. The brunette ended her routine by lying next to the pole, faced the drunk, splayed her legs in the air and ripping her bikini bottom off…and held that position for a few seconds. The drunk’s face lit up as he smiled. The dancer regained her composure and expertly leapt to her feet despite wearing high heels. She collected her scattered items of clothing and retreated to the dark side of the stage to disappear behind some curtains. The drunk lamely applauded.

This was not what I was expecting, it was seemed somewhat silly and even bordered on pathetic. My friends were bemused not because of what they had just seen, but I think more from where they found themselves. They were both guys who, like myself, got serious too soon in their life and didn’t play around at all. They hadn’t bedded scores of girls and done crazy shit at parties in their teens and early twenties. We were all straight-laced and moralistic – boring basically. I was further out of a relationship than my friends and intent on having some fun. What fun exactly, I quite honestly had no idea, but was interested in finding out what was on offer.

The music ramped up, a voice said “Sasha!” and a stunning fair-haired girl appeared on stage. She had a very trim figure, a pretty face, was quite tall with hair in a pony-tail down almost to her waist and was wearing a gold trench-coat. I recognised her as being one of the four women that I had spotted at the back of the room. She couldn’t have been more than 25 years old, possibly still a teenager.

Her routine was something that I would describe as classic. If you’ve ever seen snippets of a striptease on television or in a movie then you will have seen what she did. Her body was very tight and she had perfectly rounded, dense b-cup breasts with cute, small pink nipples. Her breasts didn’t flap about as she moved, but rather merely gently wobbled. I liked the look of her. There was an innocent awkwardness about her that appealed to me. I think she had a problem with her high-heeled shoes and didn’t make as aggressive or flamboyant moves as her predecessor. Sasha ended her routine without the parting of the legs move and disappeared behind the curtain accompanied by rapturous applause from our table. Okay, it might just have been me.

As if it was timed, the brunette that had been doing her stuff on stage earlier suddenly appeared at our table. She immediately started speaking English to us. How did she know?! Once the fake pleasantries were over (amidst stupid boyish grins from us) she moved on to the topic of private dances.

“Would you like private dance?” she purred in a sexy Czech accent, looking each of us in the eye in turn.

All three of us swallowed our adam’s apples. The music seemed to die down just then so that all of Wenceslas Square outside could hear our conversation.

I spat out the obvious question, “How much?”

She smiled and said, “A thousand Crowns for dance with no touch and one thousand five hundred Crowns for dance with touch.”

I looked at my friends. They were like statues in their seats, frozen by her words and seemingly having been struck by lightning too. Their faces showed shock, surprise and consternation. I could tell that they didn’t have a fucking clue about what to do or say. Sensing that neither of them were interested in taking up her offer (I wasn’t either) I somehow found the necessary words.

“Thanks, we’ll think about it. Maybe later”.

She smiled gracefully and left our table. As I watched her leave I saw that a few more men had taken up seats around the room and that several more were at the bar getting their drinks, obviously newly arrived. The voice on the tannoy announced “Monica!” and the music ramped up to a crescendo again.

The new stripper took to the stage and, how shall I put it, she was slightly past her prime. She was at least in her late thirties, probably in her forties and possibly in her fifties. My friends and I let out a simultaneous, collective “Jesus”. She was also a brunette and a little bit short for her weight…she was chubby. Now I don’t mind a little “cushion for the pushin” but there are limits.

She went through her routine with an ease that indicated that she had done it a million times before. I found myself grimacing and bracing each time she teased that she was about to take an item of clothing off. My mates were letting out little chuckles of embarrassment now and again. By the time she was down to her knickers I was ready for the show to end. Her breasts were big and droopy. Her nipples were large and dark. I think she must have been a mother. I felt sorry for her.

Her routine ended with her also lying on her back, lifting her legs in the air, parting them impressively and then whipping her knickers off and holding that pose for a few seconds. The drunk, who was sitting closest, had her pussy in front of his face and the sight of it stirred him from his half-slumber. His face came to life with shock, his lips parted, his spine stiffened and his eyes widened. Monica sprang to her feet, gathered her gear and slipped behind the curtain. The drunk got up and walked out.

The music subsided and I looked around, spotting “Sasha” sitting alone at a table near the bar area. She looked like a secretary, having changed in to a black skirt and white blouse. I had never had a lap dance in my life, but she was ideal to be the first to show me what it involved. She was possibly the prettiest girl I had seen in Prague. Of course by now I might have been wearing beer goggles and infused with some Dutch courage. There was a rush of blood to my head (the upper one) and I stood up, noticed the look of surprise on my friend’s faces and said “I’m going for it.”