Tag Archives: Country Girl

Date #52 – Lovely Lawyer

When I was seeing Busty Blonde, Travel Gal and going on one-off dates with the two Russians at the end of 2013, I got an email off the newspaper site from an intriguing blonde. I had enough to contend with, so I responded with “Sorry, I’m not looking for anyone right now.” The biggest problems I had with her was that she was two years older than me and seemed a little flat-chested; other than that she met the paper-based criteria I have. As I write this it’s a year ago all that was happening.

A couple of months after I had finished with Busty Blonde I remembered this intriguing blonde as I clicked through the newspaper website, seeing who’s new and what’s changed. Her profile was exactly the same as before and she had recently been online. It had recently occurred to me that the dates who contacted me first tended to result in a higher quality of interaction. I used the free one-liner chat-up facility to see if she might still be single and interested in lil’ ol’ me. The next day she checked out my profile but didn’t respond. Hers was the only profile on the site that was of interest to me, but her lack of response told me that there was no point in subscribing.

Now fast forward six months to just after Christmas 2014 and matters between me and the MILF of Xmas have ground to a shuddering halt. The newspaper dating site has given me a free one week subscription and the intriguing blonde was the first thought that popped into my mind. I had nothing to lose so I wrote a polite approach email, not really expecting to hear back from her.

The next day she writes back with a lengthy, wordy response that I like the tone of. She even has the foresight to provide an email address, which impresses me. It also tells me that she really wants to be in touch with me. Just from her choice of words I can tell that we’ll get along, at least in the conversation stakes. Will we have chemistry? Will that all-important lust factor be there?

She only has three photographs in her profile, one of which stirs something in my soul, no, not my loins. It’s a photo of her in a light-blue cardigan, her golden blonde hair loose around her shoulders and a daring look in her eyes. It’s a wholesome her with a hint of naughtiness. That photo makes me want to step up to her, put a hand on her hip and with my other hand cup the back of her head, feeling her hair resting on the back of my hand and then stoop down to give her a gentle kiss that makes her body go weak.

Her primary photo is of her dressed in formal attire, presumably heading off for a day at the races and it makes her look so prim and proper that she looks dorky. Not as good look. The third photo is of her holding up a wine glass at some Xmas party or industry awards event. She’s smartly dressed, but her face is partially obscured behind the glass. The tone of that picture tells me that she is social but can be guarded. Are those the most prominent sides to her personality? Does one of those prevail and if so, which one?

The content in her profile speaks of someone who likes variety (same as me) and has an interest in high-brow matters. Her favourite television show is a political satire. She claims to like a good debate, something that doesn’t sit too well with me, but I can hold my own. In the past this has indicated an argumentative personality. I wonder if she’s a sapiophile – a woman whose knickers get wet when talking to an intelligent man?

I write to her personal email address and she responds. All very positive so far, but at the time I’m contemplating suicide. Not the best of mindsets to be in when meeting someone new. My heart isn’t in it really, I’m just going through the motions to an extent.

It’s New Year’s Eve, so I don’t write back, having learned that it’s best to pace things slowly at first, then to increase the level of attention as the day of the first date draws near. She then writes again, on New Year’s Day, asking if I had got her previous email. She’s either really keen or a little intense with OCD tendencies. There’s a reason she’s single, after all, so what might it be?

I give her my mobile number in an email and she responds with hers. We’ve agreed to meet this coming Saturday and I’m looking forward to it. I’m intrigued by her. I connect with her on WhatsApp and suggest we chat. It’s been a while since I’ve done that and I’m thinking nowadays that it’s still a good screening mechanism. I’ll treat this as an experiment. Given that she is Date #52, the harsh reality is that she’s unlikely to be The One.

Her email address has her full name so I Google that; it’s a popular name. There’s a lack of photos and through a process of elimination and findings on the internet I arrive at the conclusion that she’s a lawyer. That doesn’t sit well with me. Baltic Babe and Lusty Lass were both lawyers and Miss Indecisive worked in law. All were intense, rigid-minded individuals for whom fun was a luxury. Could she be different? Time will tell.

I’m really looking forward to this date. Could she be The One?

Not likely, but one day it’ll happen. It could be said that it’s overdue. However, if I am right in that she’s a lawyer, then I’m a little uneasy because I’ve seen her type before. Country Girl, Musician Gal and Pretty Teacher come to mind in that they were all ‘independent’ and married to their jobs. She is likely to be what I call a ‘London girl’, someone brought up on the idea of being an independent woman, secretly carrying an adversarial attitude towards men, bordering on disrespectful.

I’m going to make a concerted effort to lean back in my seat at the dinner table and see how long it takes for her to lean forward. That’s my little challenge for myself, just to keep my dating skills sharp and fresh.

The night before our date she cancels, citing work. I take her explanation with a pinch of salt. Nevertheless she makes a concerted effort to keep in touch via email and text messages. Apparently she’s working on a big deal at work. I noticed in the business news that her employer is involved in one of the biggest takeovers in British corporate history. My faith in her is restored.

Weeks of excuses go by, but I’m not bothered about this because I’m getting my own act together. I need to be in a better frame of mind if I am to find and makes the most of what and who I am looking for. Perhaps all of these delays are happening as part of a greater divine scheme so that when we meet it’s all just perfect? It might be a case of my suffering is going to be rewarded?

Towards the end of January we eventually meet. Some things will never change it seems.

Her photos are at least five years old. I wouldn’t have recognised her if it wasn’t for her walking up to me outside Tower Hill Tube station. That familiar feeling of deflation took its usual place in my being. As we walk to St. Katharine Dock I am struck by how upbeat and lively she is, a pleasant surprise, but I guess my spending weeks by myself in a morose state will eventually have an effect. I’m pretty sure that she likes the look of me given how friendly and tactile she is. We sit down to lunch in the Dickens Inn, but she isn’t interested in food or drink, only in talking to me. It feels like a replay of that first date with Brazilian.

We are definitely an intellectual match and I enjoy talking to her, but I just don’t fancy her. She is too old and wrinkly for me to feel physically attracted to her. We have much in common, want the same things from life – someone to hold hands with when we’re really old and decrepit – both love to travel, exploring strange lands, learning interesting things for ourselves, cooking exotic foods, etc.

Yes, I was right, she is a corporate lawyer, but I didn’t let that stand in the way of anything. She is also very flat-chested, something that would probably bother me more and more as time went by. In terms of personality she is wonderful: open, gregarious, fair-minded and funny.

I think of her as the Lovely Lawyer.

Conversation flows easily, but at times I feel myself getting a little too negative in terms of what we are discussing. She didn’t seem to mind and is often flicking her hair which denotes physical attraction and playing with her ears which speaks of intellectual pleasure. She is indeed a sapiophile and loves getting to the crux of a topic. I spot her nipples hardening under her pale blue cardigan as we discuss the state of the economy. I would have been happy to spend the rest of the day talking to her, but I think that speaks more of my loneliness than anything else.

The Lovely Lawyers starts telling me about her relationship history. It’s quite similar to mine in that she has had a weakness for and a knack of becoming involved with people who are wrong for her. In essence our issue is the same: we want to be loved more than anything else. I sense that she is capable of the kind of love I have to offer and seek in return. Like me, she can revel in love at the expense of everything else, usually at great expense. She could very much be the quintessential woman in love; a rarity in my experience.

It’s such a shame that I don’t fancy her, otherwise she’d be perfect. I really like her personality, but I’ve tried with Sweet Thing and Busty Blonde to look past the lack of lust and it just doesn’t work for me. It’s so sad and I get a little choked up about it. Perfectly good, decent women I am having to pass over knowing full well that I can trust and respect them.

That wow factor HAS to be there, it doesn’t work for me otherwise. I don’t want to go hurting and damaging a great person by trying to do what I know I can’t do. So, Stupid Boy here is growing up and learning to resist what he knows is wrong for him. I’m not going to hurt another innocent woman; I’ve done more than enough of that.

I can tell that she’s happy to spend the rest of the day with me and an earlier version of me would have done so, but I’m more mindful of the other person I’m meeting nowadays. I don’t want to give her the wrong idea and let her get her hopes up. I’m also not at my best right now, so even if I did fancy her, she would run the risk of becoming enamoured with someone who is going to change in the near-future.

Lunch ends and Lovely Lawyers suggests going across the way to a comfortable-looking coffee shop, but I take the opportunity to end the encounter. Her face shows her disappointment, but I think that is better than her becoming embroiled with me. I’ll be a cannonball that she’s dodged, she just doesn’t know it.

The next day I send her my standard ‘thanks, but no thanks’ email message. She responds with words of disappointment.

Meeting her has restored my faith in women to a small extent.

My search continues.

Barbra Streisand-Woman In Love

Decision Time

I can’t continue like this. I feel that I’m being dishonest with two women who deserve honesty. I’m sneaking around behind their backs and I don’t like how that makes me feel. This is not me at my best, more like me at the worst I’ve been with people. I’m looking for love and this isn’t the way to find it. I have to make a decision before one of them finds out about the other and I might lose what I’m looking for. It’s decision time.

Busty Blonde: She is very considerate and sweet. I trust and respect her. I have a wonderful sense of tranquillity when I’m with her, a calmness that feeds my soul. Does she feel like “The One”? No. Well, not at the moment. However, on paper she is almost everything that I need: positive, fun, devoid of drama, same taste in almost everything, gets my humour. The only thing “wrong” with her is that she isn’t as pretty as I would like. With time all our looks fade, so I’m not letting a fresh face influence me like it used to. I know and accept that there are imperfections about me in her mind too, but she’s decided to live with them.

Travel Gal: Her positives are that we share a love of travel and dogs. She’s a great cook and I enjoy eating good food. I feel intellectually stimulated when I’m with her. I trust and respect her too. However, her negatives weigh more. Her way of speaking irritates me. She’s starting to feel like a ‘Misery’, someone prone to being down in the dumps. Our last date was no fun at all; I drove for two hours to be bored for over a day. I sense that her mask reserved for early dates is starting to slide and I’m getting to see the real her. A major issue for me is that she just won’t suck my cock. I love getting a blowjob and a lifetime of no suction would feel like a prison sentence to me. I think that most men would feel that way.

There’s something else going on inside me that is influencing my thinking. I’m tired of reading women’s profiles that bear little resemblance to themselves in real life. I’m tired of meeting women who are more than five years older than their photos. I’m tired of wasting time, money and effort on oddballs, baby-brainers, gold-diggers, Miseries, psychopaths, confused cuties and emotional black holes.

I’m tired of internet dating.

I’m tired of a dating life that feels like an emotional roller-coaster. Yes, it’s given me some great life experiences, taught me necessary lessons and delivered good and bad sexual adventures, but I’ve had enough of it. I really want to lose myself in the warm, fuzzy cocoon of a committed relationship, especially one characterized by mutual love. I want to hold hands with and face the same future with someone who, for once, has my best interests at heart. I want to feel like I’ve found the best person I could be with. I want to share life with someone who would push me around in a wheelchair if need be and wouldn’t abandon me, because she’s with me for who I am and not what I can do for her.

Worryingly I suspect that I’m not entirely ready for what I seek. My trust issues have abated but are still present. I feel somewhat brutalized by my online dating experiences. Baltic Babe and Krazy Girl were massive disappointments to me. I was falling for both of them when it abruptly ended and the surprise of that exacerbated the pain. I’m concerned that in some ways I might be on the rebound. My shenanigans with other women has rocked my faith in womankind. Country Girl and Musician Gal were bitter experiences. Realizing that my Exgf is a cold-hard psychopath was a stunning revelation that has made me doubt my ability to know what someone is about. Feeling emotionally safe with a woman is something I yearn for but am finding increasingly rare to experience. I’m terrified of being taken for a ride by another woman. I’m scared of making another mistake; I don’t think I can deal with that. I need someone who can be patient with me. I’m not sure of much in the relationship department at the moment.

Yet a life without love is a life not worth leading, that I am sure of. I’m just not a selfish person and perhaps that will always be my undoing. I have to share my life with someone because any other kind of life is just not good enough. In order for that to happen I need to be with someone who wants the same things as me. I need to proceed with caution, I need to be with someone who makes me feel safe.

Busty Blonde is the most honest, decent and positive woman I’ve met through online dating. She is remarkable for that alone. Is that a good enough foundation from which love can grow? Perhaps. I need to be patient for that to happen because I know that love can’t be hurried. Patience, yes, that’s what I need…and also have to give.

Decision made: I going to see where things lead with Busty Blonde.

I phone Travel Gal, emboldened by my decision, but I still hate this part of dating. This crazy little thing called life is so much easier when you have a plan because you know what you need to do and you know what doesn’t suit the plan. Sometimes other people are not part of the plan, I know this, but it will always pain me to tell them this.

Travel Gal answers in a demure tone. Has she been expecting this call?

“Are you feeling better today?” I ask because of her cold, trying to soften the impending blow with a bit of common courtesy beforehand.

“No. I had to put my dog to sleep today,” she answers.

Instantly I feel like shit. I’m calling to dump her and she’s upset over the death of her loyal companion. He’s been more faithful to her than I have been. There’s no way I can dump her now. I’ll give it a few days and then try again. Maybe I’ll just make myself scarce and let her phone me when she feels better?

“I’m sorry to hear that. He was magnificent, possessing the sweetest personality I’ve ever encountered in a dog,” I say, meaning every word of it. Shit, that’s going to make her feel worse.

Travel Gal starts crying. I fall silent. Idiot.

I hate it when a woman cries. It takes me back to when I was little boy and I’d catch my mother crying after yet another fight with my father. Acidic, sepia-coloured memories of those dramatic days of my childhood mix with my feelings about having decided to dump Travel Gal, then they blend with the sound of her snorting back tears over the phone. I get a lump in my throat and my bottom lip quivers; I fall silent again. It’s the best I can do right now.

There’s no way I can dump her on this call.

After a minute of stifled sobbing Travel Gal regains her composure. I’m struggling to think of ways to make this call more pleasant for her without raising her hopes about me. My brain has slowed down too much under the weight of her news. I’m struggling to think of a way out.

“I get the impression that you’re calling me for a reason of your own,” Travel Gal says, breaking the heavy silence.

Shit, is she a mind-reader? I’ve hardly said anything. What does she mean exactly? Have I missed something?

“Uh…uh…,” I stammer like a horny, virgin teenager arriving at his date’s front door only to have it opened by her father.

“C’mon, out with it,” Travel Gal orders.

Wow, is aggression part of her grieving process? Fuckit, this is awkward. I don’t know what to say right now. Shit, let’s get this over and done with.

“I’ve been thinking about us. I’m sorry to say but I’m not convinced that we’re right for each other,” I say as compassionately as I know how. Well, she asked for it.

“Why?” she says directly without any hint of tearfulness. I’m surprised by her sudden change in attitude.

“Um, I think that we’re in different emotional places right now. Being more than two hours driving time apart is proving more of a pain than I had anticipated. I also think that in bed we’re not that well matched,” I say.

Too much honesty? I hope that she doesn’t ask for details. This could get messy. I’ve given her enough truths and more will only add to her hurt. Please don’t say “why” again…

“I see,” she says icily.

I don’t know what to say next. This call hasn’t gone anything like what I expected or am used to. I’ve still got so much to learn.

“Can I tell you something?” Travel Gal says after a few seconds of silence.

“Sure.”

What the hell is coming my way now?! Am I about to lambasted with a verbal tirade of man-hating nonsense? Is she going to tell me something that will crush my world? Is there another guy on the scene? Has she seen me with another woman? Did she crack the password on my phone?

“You need to get some new underwear,” she says snottily.

“Sorry, what?” I blurt out. Where the hell has that come from?

“The first time we got intimate I was put off by your undies,” Travel Gal says.

“Well, they weren’t brand new and I wasn’t expecting anything to happen between us that day so I didn’t give it much thought” I say.

“That’s good to know,” she retorts.

Silence.

“I guess there’s nothing much else left to say,” I proffer.

“Yes, you’re right. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

That was unpleasant but I don’t deserve better. I’ve been a shit with her although she doesn’t know this. I must and can do better in my conduct.

Deep breath.

Okay Busty Blonde and patience, over to you…it’s time for a relationship.

I must be patient…

Take That – Patience

Fucking Irish Cougar

An Autumnal drizzle is trying to douse the embers of anger in my being as I arrive at The Irish Cougar’s friend’s home. I’m helping The Irish Cougar move today to her rich friend’s pad in central London. I’ve driven in motorway traffic during rush-hour for well over an hour. I’ve pre-paid the London Congestion Charge of £11, a toll-charge for driving through the centre of London on a weekday; she better not change her mind or not have the keys for her new place.

Again her friend greets me at the door and as I enter I see boxes crowding the hallway. Good, today’s move seems to be happening. Again the friend ushers me into the kitchen and makes me a coffee. After a few minutes of banter The Irish Cougar joins us and we kiss each other hello on the lips, which makes the friend smile.

Within minutes I’m carrying boxes out to my car in the rain while The Irish Cougar finishes up a few loose ends. Not once does she come out in the rain as I single-handedly pack my car to the gills. I’m a little disappointed in her lack of offering to help me. This serves to feed the seething sensation I have inside me.

We say goodbye to the friend and I squeeze The Irish Cougar into my heavily-laden car. She’s overly chatty and I guess it must be because she’s moving onto a place more private. After almost two hours of dealing with London traffic on a rainy day we arrive at the millionaire’s apartment overlooking Hyde Park. We eventually find a parking spot near the property and I begin unloading the car while The Irish Cougar goes to check the property out, to make sure it is as she expected and that no unwelcome surprises await us.

All is in order and I load as many boxes and whatnot into the lift, unloading again when we get to the upper floor where the three-bedroom apartment is. The Irish Cougar starts unpacking in the apartment while I go off to make another trip with the lift. I really am starting to feel like a hired hand being used for my body. My seething becomes simmering.

Parking in the area is by resident’s permit only so I drive a few miles to go park at a friend’s place. I’m counting on my car being there overnight, because tonight I intend to fuck this woman. Her deceit and selfishness typifies what I feel I have been enduring at the hands of women for years now. I feel justified in exacting a revenge that might just appease my overwhelming sense of outrage that I am beginning to feel towards women.

I catch a bus back to the apartment and that journey takes an hour, so by the time I see The Irish Cougar again she has pretty much finished unpacking. She gives me a tour of this apartment that is easily worth more than a million Pounds, possibly twice that. The lounge alone is bigger than my apartment and it has a raised ceiling, so there’s an impressive feeling of space. The furnishings are new, tasteful contemporary and obviously expensive. The centrepiece is the biggest television I’ve ever seen mounted into a wall and an enormous, plush tan sofa faces it. The adjoining open-plan kitchen is filled with expensive integrated mod-cons that I can only dream of having. Everything is shiny, new and white. The two large bathrooms are floor to ceiling Italian marble, each having a bath big enough for two adults as well as a large shower cubicle. A third smaller bathroom leads off from the main bedroom. The two “smaller” bedrooms are bigger than my bedroom; each has a kingsize bed with built-in wardrobes and ample space for two people to get dressed and not be able to touch each other. The main bedroom has a super-kingsize bed and enough space around it to play a game of badminton. That’s not the game that I have in mind for later though.

“I’m starving. Let’s go have an early dinner,” Irish Cougar squeaks.

Only then do I realize that it’s mid-afternoon; we’ve both been on the go all day. Must keep my energy level up for later I tell myself. The Irish Cougar and I walk along a street that runs parallel with bustling Oxford Street so as to avoid the mindless crowds. As we wait to cross a street I feel that someone is looking at me and my eyes meet a pretty face that I recognize. The woman staring at me is someone I’ve swapped messages with on a dating site but she couldn’t bring herself to actually meet face-to-face. Maybe when I’m done with The Irish Cougar I’ll contact her again. We cross the street and give each other knowing looks and suppressed smiles.

The Irish Cougar wants Italian food so we end up in a little-known side-street littered with quaint eateries and pricey clothing boutiques. It’s after the lunchtime rush and before the evening stampede, so we have the place to ourselves. As she starts telling me more about her friends who have loaned her this amazing property free of charge, it dawns on me that not once today has she said thank you for anything that I’ve done for her.

A small fire of anger sparks in me and it glows while she talks. I’m now not much in the mood for talking. She’s very talkative so she doesn’t notice that I’ve gone quiet. Anybody who truly knows me will tell you that if I go quiet, well, something’s going to happen.

Dessert ends and she asks for the bill. Ah, this must be how she’s going to say thank you, by buying me a meal. It’s the least she can do, right? After all, I laid on a vehicle, petrol, paid the congestion charge, did all the carrying, drove elsewhere to park my car for the night and caught a bus back. I could have spent my day doing other things.

The bill lay on the table, like a piece of shit that nobody wanted to acknowledge. It felt like a showdown between us as to who would blink first, like in a stand-off scene out of a spaghetti Western. The Irish Cougar’s green eyes occasionally peek at the bill from under her dusty sombrero. I chew on a piece of invisible straw, trying to keep my hand away from my wallet that is my side-arm. Shoppers scurry away and a tense silence descends. A plastic bag rolls by like a tumble-weed. A waiter raises his eyes from behind a counter to see if a card has been presented, then slowly lowers his head.

Like that we sit for several minutes, not speaking, barely making eye contact. Nothing and nobody around us is moving. The forlorn bill must feel as welcome as a fart in a space-suit.

Taker!

She’s a fucking Taker!

Why did I not spot this sooner? How did I miss this? My mind races and I realize that all along I’ve been paying for almost everything. Even if someone might have money problems, it’s just a common courtesy to at least say “thank you”.

I decide to end the stand-off, to move the day along, so I pull my wallet out and pay with a credit card. As the waiter leaves The Irish Cougar becomes chatty again. Bitch. That’s what resonates in my mind. Bitch. Shall I say something? Before I get a chance she speaks.

“Can we quickly pop into a Marks and Spencer’s to get some groceries?” she asks.

“There’s also a Tesco nearby,” I respond, testing for any budgetary issue. Tesco is almost half-price by comparison.

“Oh no. I don’t shop at places like that,” she says as we stand and leave.

Places like that? What the hell does that mean? That you’re a snob to boot?

We find the local Marks and Spencer’s and I carry the basket for her. As we go around the store not once does The Irish Cougar ask me if there is anything that I would like. It is my understanding that I’ll be spending the night, so a little breakfast might be called for? Nope, she’s only shopping for herself. As I carry the three little carrier bags that came to seventy Pounds, it occurs to me this is more than the meal I just paid for. The meal I paid for? Hang on, she didn’t say thank you for that either!

Selfish fucking bitch.

It dawns on me that I have felt exactly this way before. It was with Country Girl. I wined and dined her, took her to a concert and she didn’t say thank you either. I should have taken Country Girl back to my place and fucked her. At least then I would have got something for my efforts and money.

Hmm, I’m learning. Fucking an ungrateful bitch is exactly what I’m going to do now. The Irish Cougar has shown me scant respect, consideration and appreciation. I’m going to give her the same. I’m going to do exactly what I want with her. She deserves it.

We pack her groceries away and I start to wonder if The Irish Cougar’s now going to show me the door. After all, she’s done with me now; my purpose for today is served. It has been implied that I’d be spending the night but now I’m not so sure given that I know for certain that she’s a Taker.

“How about we have a bath together?” she says with a naughty look in her eyes.

Game on! It’s playtime!

The Irish Cougar starts running a bath but the water isn’t hot because, as I discover, the hot water cylinder had been switched off. It was going to be a while before the water heated. It’s already dark outside and nightlife in London has started. I’m tired of wasting time, it’s time for action.

I’m standing behind her in the bathroom and pull her towards me, resting her back against my stomach. I start slowly running my hands up and down her body as she tilts her head back and rests it against a shoulder. An earlobe is in easy reach so I kiss it, then lightly suck it, but I resist the urge to give it a little nibble; too early for that, she needs to be more turned on.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Country Girl turns Schizo

It’s noon on Saturday and Country Girl is about to arrive at my place. I’m so excited about today and seeing her, spending it with her, having good, clean fun with her, enjoying a great day together. This is what I want my life to be like. This could the start of everything I’ve been hoping for.

The Killers concert is later tonight, but I’ve got a whole day of running wild in London with Country Girl planned. At the back of my mind is the idea that we might end up spending the night together, but I’m not counting on it as I feel it’s too soon for us. That’s also balanced out by the Apartment Test, where I get to see if she’s interested in me or after a man with money, but I’m not focussing on that. A day of fun beckons!

Her town doesn’t have a train service into London, while mine has a fast service, so she agrees to drive to my town and we’ll catch a train into London. At the appointed time my doorbell goes and I’m pleased to see her. She gives me an angelic smile as I open my door for her. My heart skips a beat at the sight of her.

“Your place isn’t easy to find,” she says cursorily.

“Yes, perhaps I should have said for you to text me when you get here and I’ll come fetch you,” I say, giving her a polite kiss on the lips and gesturing for her to enter my apartment.

“I just need to put my shoes on and then we can get going,” I tell her.

I fiddle with my shoes in the hallway and watch with interest as she walks into my lounge. I see her facial complexion change, she bites down and I see her jaw clench. She’s unimpressed by what she sees. I notice her shoulders drop a little too.

She doesn’t say another word and I can see on her face that she’s not happy. I’m a little surprised and disappointed at her reaction to my home. I wonder what she was expecting? A millionaire’s penthouse?

I just smile, knowing what I’m capable of and that this place is just a temporary stepping stone. I’m used to far better and I’ll get there again, but until then it’s serving a surprise purpose of pointing out gold-diggers to me.

Is Country Girl a gold-digger? Is she a Taker?

We walk to my train station where I buy us tickets that allow us unlimited train travel around London. Country Girl doesn’t say a word, no “thank you” I note. We sit next to each other on the train and conversation is scarce. She’s more interested in looking out the window. I tell myself she’s taking in more countryside, it’s her thing after all.

Once in London we make our way to the first destination that I have lined up. It’s at a newly-opened Hilton hotel next the Thames in central London. While walking I try to make small-talk but Country girl isn’t interested. In fact, she’s starting to seem a little withdrawn.

At the reception to the restaurant where we’ll be having lunch, the manager finds the booking I had made during the week and mentions that it’s “for the Groupon deal”. I notice Country Girl clench her jaw. I really didn’t need him mentioning that but now the cat’s out the bag. Maybe he’s done me a favour?

Once seated I try to strike up conversation but Country Girl only answers with short sentences. It seems words are expensive today. As we make our way through a truly sumptuous, luxurious seafood platter and a bottle of Italian wine, I sit there thinking what I might have said or done, or not said or not done to have upset her. I cannot think of a single thing that might have caused her umbrage.

Lunch over and I say to her with a smile, “Right, now onto the next stop on our magical mystery tour.”

Her response? Silence.

As I lead her along the South Bank to our next experience, it occurs to me that she didn’t say thank you for lunch either. We walk in silence and I tell myself that she’s just taking it all in. Maybe she’s forgotten what London’s like, she’s spending so much time with the birds, bees and trees. I make excuses for her behaviour.

We sit down a while later in a quaint, quirky, brightly-coloured coffee and tea shop hidden away on the South Bank. We didn’t have dessert in the Hilton and I thought this a nice way of killing time until the Killers concert at Wembley Stadium. In my mind’s eye earlier in the week when I was planning all this, I envisaged us sitting and chatting away merrily, getting to know one another, having a good time.

Instead we sit in stony silence, hardly making eye contact, pretending to be people-watching. I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out what to do here. Should I politely ask if something is the matter? Should I tackle the crisis head-on or should I uncharacteristically be patient and wait for her to warm up, to become the person I was so excited about meeting that first night? I decide to play it cool and be patient.

Perhaps something bad has happened and she’s still processing it? Perhaps I have indeed said or done something wrong and eventually she’ll talk to me about it? Perhaps she’s on her period and this is how she is when it’s that time of the month? My ex-girlfriend became a total bitch for three days a month, so much so that I would make a concerted effort to keep out of her way. On and on I go, making excuses for her.

The time arrives when we have to start making our way to Wembley Stadium. We leave the coffee and tea shop and again I notice that Country Girl doesn’t say thank you for my having bought everything there. She seems to have left her manners at home today.

On the train to Wembley we hardly say a word. She’s in her trench and I’m in no-man’s land, feeling slightly shell-shocked at her behaviour. Who is this person? I’m not feeling angry, just confused. What the hell is going on here?

Inside the stadium she says that she’s feeling cold, so I buy her a coffee…and she doesn’t say thank you.

My father was a great one for sayings. One of his favourites was, “The more you do for people, the less they appreciate it.” I had always disliked that saying of his, finding it rather cynical and distasteful. However, today I’m starting to agree with him.

We find our seats and the opening act is already under way. There’s a great atmosphere in the stadium and it’s an impressive sight, all those people thronging together, looking at an elaborate stage. Ever the optimist I try to make more small talk with Country Girl but still her answers comprise single words.

Now I’m starting to get fed up. I don’t know what her problem is, but I don’t like it. I don’t deserve this. I should be here with someone who is crazy about me and not silently crazy at me. Then I remember that I had bought these tickets in the belief that I would be here with Krazy Girl. I would so much more have preferred to be here with her, instead of with this sulky cow.

Another couple take up their seats next to us and the woman is sitting next to Country Girl. The opening act leaves the stage and an expectant hush fills the massive venue; everyone is ready to see The Killers. Country Girl turns to the woman next to her and starts a conversation with her. She’s animated and friendly towards this stranger, her normal self again, totally ignoring me.

The Killers come on stage in a blaze of lights, fireworks and special effects…Country Girl and the other woman continue with their excited little conversation. I can’t believe it. What have I done wrong to be experiencing this? As the concert gets going, their chat continues and I’m overcome by a strange feeling. I’m all alone and now feeling lonely, surrounded by 80 000 people…and a weirdo next to me.

All attraction I had felt for her is now gone. All the good feelings I had been feeling are now stone cold dead. All the things I have been hoping for from the future feel further away than ever before. Halfway through the concert and they’re still chatting, pausing occasionally to listen to a popular tune. Still she ignores me. I make up my mind that I won’t be seeing her again after tonight.

I look down amongst the crowd, looking to see if there’s anything to lift my now deflated mood. All I can see is happy couples, holding hands or bopping along together. I want to be like them. I want to be with someone that wants to do that with me, someone who wants to be with me. I don’t want to be with this horror-show by my side. Despite my best efforts, despite my plans, bookings and money spent, I feel like a failure because it was all for nothing.

The Killers start playing ‘Smile Like You Mean It’ and for some reason Country Girl turns to me and gives me a smile, a fake smile. Her eyes weren’t smiling. She turns away and strikes up a conversation with her new friend again. What the fuck was that about? Am I seeing the real her now? Am I finding out why she’s single? Is she schizo? Is this why she works in nature conservation, because she can’t get along with people? Is this why she was an accountant, she’s more comfortable with numbers?

After the concert we’re queuing to get on the train that would take us back to my town. We stand side by side and we don’t say a word to each other. She only speaks to complain about how long it’s all taking. There’s ample time and opportunity for her to thank me for taking her to the concert, but it isn’t forthcoming. I’ve had enough of her and I never want to see her again.

We sit in silence on the train back to my town. I can’t wait to get the hell away from her. I have no interest in even speaking to her. Her behaviour has been disgusting and appalling. I’m starting to feel angry. I can do much better than her; I deserve better than her. She’s a Taker and possibly a gold-digger too. Her attitude changed once she had seen my apartment, that’s the only thing I can say for sure.

Eventually we’re standing next to her car parked outside my place. She just stares at me blankly. I guess she must be all talked-out from the concert and her throat must be sore.

“Tell me, do you think we’re right for each other?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“I don’t think we are. Goodbye,” I say and walk off.

She seems to think that cold, aloof behaviour is acceptable, so how does she like it now?

What I really wanted to say is, “Fuck off, you ungrateful fucking little bitch!” but I have more class than that.

The next day I’m telling my best friend of my bitter disappointment. He laughs and trots out his mantra, “These bitches be crazy. Give it time. They’ll show you the crazy.” I’m starting to think he’s right.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Don’t get my hopes up until she’s passed the Apartment Test 2) Find a way of figuring out quickly if she’s a Giver or a Taker 3) By a third date the real person starts to come through.

The Killers – Smile Like You Mean It

Country Girl under the stars

It’s Tuesday and while I’m at work Country Girl texts me that it’s a beautiful Summer’s day. I’ve been wondering what to do for a second date and here’s my chance. I text her back, “Fancy a drink under the stars tonight?

What feels like a blink of an eye and by 7pm I’m sitting in the beer garden of one of the pubs in my town. Country Girl suggested meeting me there as there’s nowhere suitable in her town. I notice her car arrive and watch her park. She gets out and I take a long good look at her. She’s wearing brown three-quarter length trousers, a white blouse with a plunging neckline and high-heeled cork sandals. Our eyes meet and she smiles, a pretty smile.

I watch her make her way over the stony car park, her ankle occasionally almost twisting. It makes her breasts wobble. She’s quite fuckable. I’d love to pick her up, slide my hands under her buttocks, lift her onto a table, pull her trousers and knickers up to her knees that I’ll hold in the air as I fuck her. Appearance-wise she’s just right. Finally, I might have who I’ve been looking for.

Eventually she makes it over to my table and I stand to kiss her hello on a cheek. A waitress comes over and we order drinks. Country Girl’s even prettier than the other night which now feels like ages ago. Time stood still with the Deranged Dater.

Country Girl and I instantly re-engage in stimulating conversation, as if we had only stopped chatting a couple of hours ago. It all feels so easy and natural with her. Being with someone you consider your intellectual equal is a pleasant thing, especially when your last date was a thicko nightmare.

We talk about everything and anything, we seem to disagree on very little. The atmosphere between us varies from light-hearted to electric, the latter is perhaps lust, fuelled by touches of flirting. I’m learning that physical desire is a component of that elusive thing called ‘chemistry’.

As the sun slides away and the shadows claim the light, we order plates of finger food that we share. It seems we have very similar taste in food, which I think is a good thing as it makes going out together easier. It’s a cloudless sky and the stars come out to play as Country Girl and I chat away, getting to know one another.

She doesn’t appear to have had many relationships, but the few she spoke of lasted for several years at a time. I’ve learned to take a woman’s relationship history with a bucket of salt. Flings of a few months and the occasional one-night stand are rarely counted in a woman’s book as a relationship. Bit of a grey area that. Does it really matter? I still can’t decide.

Her relationship with her parents seems healthy and normal. Dutifully she visits them for Christmas and their birthdays, but she also seems to like her parents. In my dating experiences so far this seems rare, so I’m pleased for her. It also tells me that she might be emotionally healthy, not plagued by a variety of hangups acquired in childhood.

There’s something that I’ve been thinking about. It involves the nature of participants in a relationship and I’ve boiled it down to just two types: Givers and Takers. A ‘Giver’ is someone whose inherent personality lacks selfishness compared to a ‘Taker’. I’ve based my insights on my own relationship history and those of close friends whose relationships I know perhaps too much about. I ascribe no gender bias to either role.

It seems to me that every person is either a Giver or a Taker and that doesn’t change much in however many or what kind of relationship they are in i.e. friends, colleagues, family or spouse. I’m not saying that everyone is either extreme, but that where we fall between those extremes we do not move much from. In my life experience so far it seems that the vast majority of people gravitate towards the ‘Giver’ side of the spectrum, with a small minority being constantly utterly selfish pricks. It is rare to find someone who is half of each. This realization surprises and pleases me because, to my mind at least, it answers that age-old question: are humans inherently good or bad.

So how does this effect romantic relationships? With the case of two Takers getting together, their relationship can’t last long because everything between them gets consumed, because that’s what Takers do, they consume, destroy…just take. They usually only give enough back to keep the other person giving; that’s how Takers operate, out of enlightened self-interest. A Giver and a Taker getting together lasts until the Giver has nothing left to give. The best relationship has to be between two Givers. Nothing gets consumed or destroyed, only shared. Neither has reason to feel aggrieved or exploited because they come to realize that their partner has their best interests at heart too. With time two Givers grow stronger and better, together. I think that that must be the best kind of relationship to be in. Look around at the relationships in your social circle that you consider to be a success and see if they are both Givers. What you see might surprise you.

I’m a Giver, so much so that I consider my lack of selfishness a character flaw. My ex-wife was a Giver too, it’s perhaps why we were together for almost 15 years. My Exgf is a Taker and I think it is why we had such a turbulent relationship that only lasted 5 years. Nothing I did was good enough and she always wanted more. Only when I said “no more” through my actions did she relent and start giving things in return. Looking back on it now I realize that she is very transactional.

I’m mentioning this here because I’ve decided to include it as a criteria for finding The One. She has to be a ‘Giver’ too, otherwise we are both wasting our time. I want something that’s going to last. I realize that finding this out about someone takes time. I’m prepared to give the woman sitting before me, Country Girl, much more of my time. I sense serious potential with her and I’m excited by it.

I struggle inwardly to contain my excitement about her. It’s a determined effort on my part to maintain a cool, calm and unruffled exterior that is going counter to what I’m feeling inside. I feel like going everywhere and anywhere, doing everything and anything with her because I just know that the outcome will be good.

A few months ago I had bought tickets to see The Killers in concert at Wembley Stadium. It was going to be a surprise for Krazy Girl as it’s her favourite group. That’s not going to happen now and in a strange twist of fate I finally have someone who might be right for me, so her and I can go instead. Life’s looking up!

“I don’t know if you’re free this coming Saturday, but I don’t suppose you’d like to see The Killers at Wembley with me?” I ask Country Girl.

“I’d love to,” she instantly shoots back with delight in her eyes.

Fantastic! Saturday can’t come soon enough.

A warm Summer breeze caresses our necks as we drink chilled white wine and chat amiably under the stars. Suddenly I see that we’re the only people left outside and I can hear the staff clearing up inside the pub. Again we’re the last to leave, oblivious of everyone around us. I love it when that happens because it means I’m having a good time. I tell Country Girl that I need the gents and go off to settle our bill.

I walk Country Girl to her car and we stand next to it, kissing like lovestruck teenagers. Over the course of the evening the sexual tension between us has been building. Perpetual light flirting got us to the point where, when our lips meet again, there’s a passion between us that finds its way out through our kissing. She uses her tongue after about a minute and it’s a probing little one, not a hammer-drill like Baltic Babe or Wild Child that goes inspecting my fillings.

Seizing my chance to feel her body better I let my hands slide down her sides and around her back. She’s carrying a few extra pounds but I’d rather that than risk my crushing a stick insect of a woman. I feel her body tensing up, not from fright or discomfort, but from anticipation of what it wants to feel next.

Before things get out of hand and I’m tempted to have my way with her on the bonnet of her car – not that I ever would – I decide to end the evening there. I’m learning that a little bit of teasing is not a bad thing.

“I think it’s time to say goodnight, “ I say with a smile.

“Phew. Yes, I think you’re right,” she says and smiles back.

Was she thinking what I was thinking?

Country Girl gets in her car and I watch her drive off.

From what I’ve learned of her I’m convinced that she’s a Good Girl.

Is she a Giver or a Taker?

Time will tell.

Date #21 – Country Girl

I spotted a new profile on Plenty of Fish that I liked; she had the look I can’t resist and interesting words. She responds to my approach message the next day and we set up a date for the coming Thursday night without having to engage in email ping-pong. I’m learning that lengthy email exchanges rarely lead to a date. Either she’s interested in meeting or she’s not and no amount of messages flying backwards and forwards will change that.

We agree to meet in a town almost halfway between where we live and I suggest a great Italian restaurant that does perfect pizzas. I like the positive start to our interactions, I think it portends well.

Could she be The One?

It’s Thursday night and I’m sitting in my car when I spot her walk past; she’s early too. I resist the urge to run after her and choose instead to do something I’ve not done before – I’ll make her wait. Perhaps my luck will change if I do that? A few minutes later she texts me that she is sitting at a table, so I respond that I’m almost there.

She’s seated with her back to me as I walk around the side of her, stop next to the table and say her name. She looks up at me and instantly her eyes widen as her mouth falls open. I think it’s safe to say that she likes the look of me. I stoop down and kiss her hello on a cheek. I can’t help but smile to myself as I sit down while she regains her composure and sits more upright.

I like the look of her too. She’s pretty, has lovely brown eyes and golden blonde hair that touches her shoulders. She’s very smartly dressed in a dark blue dress and is wearing silver earrings and a matching necklace. She looks lovely and it’s pleasing to see a woman prepared to make an effort, unlike the Picky Pole. What a wonderful contrast. There’s a little bit of puppy fat on her, which I don’t mind and she comes with a hint of respectable boobage.

We ease into light-hearted banter and she tells me that she works in nature conservation. I think of her as Country Girl.

We hit it off in the conversation stakes and there’s a liveliness about her that I find refreshing. It feels like we’re evenly matched in that our energy levels seem similar, she’s not afraid to initiate topics of conversation and has a calm confidence about her.

Country Girl is 38 years-old and used to be an accountant, working her butt off over long days for many years until the call of the countryside became too much to resist. She’d made enough money for herself to be comfortable and do a job that she loves. I respect her choices and ability to make her wishes come true. She’s never been married nor felt the urge to have children. She’s perfect so far.

Before we know it we’re the last customers left in the restaurant; the staff are noisily getting ready to close. It’s approaching 11pm and we both have to work in the morning, but it feels like we could sit chatting and laughing until dawn. We have chemistry and I love the feeling of it, partly because I’m realising just how rare it is.

It’s been a good evening but all things, good and bad, have to come to an end. I pay the bill which she politely thanks me for. Her manners are impeccable. I offer to walk Country Girl to her car to which she just smiles. When we stand up it comes as a surprise as to just how much shorter than me she is. I like that feeling, it brings out my protective nature.

As we leave the restaurant I say to her, “Tell me something, do you like chicken?”

“Yes, why?” she asks with a puzzled look.

“Better take a wing then,” I say with a smile and extend a bowed arm towards her.

Country Girl scrunches up her face and says, “That’s terrible,” but couples an arm with mine nevertheless. Okay, so she fails that sense of humour test; no big deal.

We arrive at her car and she turns to face me.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight then. Thank you for a lovely evening,” she says.

Over the course of the encounter I had been sneaking little peaks at her mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I just had to know, so I leaned down towards her mouth, knowing full well that I might be making a fool of myself, knowing that I risk embarrassing rejection, risk killing off what could be the start of everything that I want, but I just had to do this.

The chess grand master Garry Kasparov said, “He who does not risk, does not drink champagne”. My version of that is, “I’m willing to suffer countless rejection so that one day I may know love.”

I stop my lips just short of Country Girl’s, hoping that I haven’t assessed the evening wrongly. Any fears that my reptilian brain can conjure up if it is given enough time are misplaced.

Her mouth comes forward and our lips make gentle contact that quickly becomes a warm embrace.

Our first kiss lasts almost half a minute I reckon; well it felt that long. As first kisses go it’s a good one. Neither of us use our tongue, but I could feel that she wanted to cut loose. Before she does I pull away, satisfied that my reading of how the evening has gone is correct. She likes me too.

Country Girl’s eyes sparkle at me and her rosy little cheeks are beaming. I decide to leave it there, to leave her breathless and wanting more. Yes, I know that I didn’t do my pussy-mouth test, but something tells me that there’ll be much more time for that.

Without another word she gets in her car and drives off. I go home with a fantastic warm feeling all over my body; my brain is buzzing with chemicals. I feel good…I also feel bad, because I have another date lined up for tomorrow night with someone else.

I couldn’t know that tonight’s date will be the closest thing to heaven as far as dates go, so I feel a bit guilty. Then I remind myself of a first date being like a bikini: what it suggests is provocative and what it conceals is vital.

Still, this was the best first date since Baltic Babe, that Friday lunchtime now almost a year ago. http://www.meanddating.com/2013/11/date-2-baltic-babe/

Kane Gang – Closest Thing To Heaven