Tag Archives: gold-digger

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

Wild Child and Temptation

Wild Child claims to be house-hunting again the following weekend. I say ‘claims’ because she tells me about everything else in her life in detail, no matter how frivolous or trivial, but never says a word about her home viewings on the weekends. I’m suspicious and it doesn’t sit well with my trust issues that I realize I have inherited from my previous relationships. However, I’m not overly concerned because I’m not sensing a serious relationship with her. I just want to fuck her and feel the weight of her breasts in my hands. Is that too much to ask? Whaaat?! No marks for honesty?!

It’s Friday evening straight after work and I meet Wild Child at my town’s train station. We go to a Chinese takeaway to get some msg-rich food. Then it’s time for my apartment test: where I get to see if a woman is put off by my home and if she is, I then take it that she’s after a man with money. I think Wild Child is because when she phoned me the previous night, it was her idea to visit me. I got the distinct impression that she wanted to see my home. I don’t care what she thinks of my place, but I do want to see if her behaviour towards me changes afterwards.

As we enter my lounge I make an effort to face her so that I can see her reaction. Her face falls; she’s unimpressed. I thought this would happen. Her opinion of me has now taken a turn for the worse. That’s fine, now I know. It just confirms that she’s not right for me. The One would not be phased by my current home.

“It’s kind of basic,” is what she can’t help but blurt out.

“I call it Spartan or minimalist myself,” I retort.

I realize that this might even be the last time we see each other. If she’s a gold-digger then she’s ready to run away. I had better see how far I can progress with my seduction.

We have dinner at my dining table from IKEA, eating with cutlery from there too. (The plates are very expensive though.) As usual she has a lot to say for herself. I try to interject but she talks over me. I don’t think that she means to interrupt people, but she does seem to randomly remember things and get really excited about them.

Afterwards we end up sitting on my sofa watching the first episodes of Californication. Wild Child has never even heard of it and instantly loves it. Mercifully it also causes her to shut up, something I wasn’t counting on. From my previous experiences I’ve learned that by the end of the second episode a woman is slightly turned on. I think it’s the whole sexual overtone of the series that, after an hour, leads to a woman feeling slightly frisky. That’s when it’s time for me to make my move.

I lean over to Wild Child and we start kissing, carrying on from where we had left off on Saturday night. I let this go on for a while because I’m learning that most women enjoy kissing; it’s foreplay to them. It gets them wet if you do it properly. Once turned on enough then I can lead them into temptation and I’ll take all the credit or blame for whatever happens. I think that women want to be seduced, to be ravished, taken advantage of, but they don’t want to initiate it. They want the man to lead so that they can preserve a sense of modesty after having done very immodest things with him.

To this end then I take Wild Child’s hand and place it on my crotch so that she can feel my now raging boner. She lets off one of her little girlish giggles, keeps kissing me and grips my cock a little harder through my work trousers. Her giving it little tugs only makes me hornier. She makes approving sounds as she lets her tongue run wild in my mouth. She certainly likes to use her tongue. If that’s her thing, if that’s what turns her on, I’ll gladly let her indulge herself.

After a minute or so (could be less, it feels like an eternity) I unzip my trousers and pull my cock out. Wild Child stops kissing me, grips it in her hand and takes a good long look at it. She doesn’t say a word and resumes giving a little, gentle tugjob. She didn’t seem uncomfortable or unperturbed at all. This is nothing unusual to her. French kissing is her first love and she resumes doing this. I was kind of hoping, neigh, expecting that she’d make like Krazy Girl and go down on my cock. No, she wants to assault my mouth with her tongue, like Baltic Babe used to.

Okay, I’ll see you your mouth-raping and raise you a bit of fondling. The moment I had been looking forward to had arrived. I put a hand on her waist and start slowly rubbing up and down, just for her to get used to my touch. I slide my hand towards me, crossing her stomach and then back up again. This makes her inhale, making her breasts more prominent. Excellent.

I slide a hand up and over one of her breasts and she giggles. She’s used to this, but I guess all big-breasted girls are. We men are predictable creatures; most of us like boobies and the bigger, the better. Sorry small-boobed ladies, it’s the truth, but please don’t go off getting implants because no man likes the feel of those. Take solace in the fact that in later life your mammaries will still be where they always were and not around your stomach. Also, you won’t have men dating you simply because they want to play with your funbags.

Wild Child’s breast is large and my hand doesn’t fully cup it. Impressive, but surely she suffers from back pain, or do I still have hearing all about that to look forward to? I wonder what size over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder she wears, so I ask.

“What cup size are you?”

“I’m a g-cup,” she replies with a knowing smile.

“G?! Jeezus, now those I have to see,” I say losing control and trying to lift up her top.

She swats my hand away playfully while keeping her other hand firmly on my cock. I’m not so easily dissuaded, so I slide my hand under her top and cup her breast in the bra. She giggles and I feel her boob wobble in my hand. It’s a wonderful sensation. I’m not stopping there though and I quickly slip my hand under her bra, lifting the cups above her boobs, but I can’t see anything because her top’s still in the way. I take the nearest exposed breast into my hand and it feels glorious. It is easily the biggest tit my hand has ever felt. Such a shame I can’t see them yet.

“Right, that’s all you’re getting mister,” Wild Child says, expertly pushing my hand down from her chest with her one hand and letting go of my cock with the other at the same time.

I lie next to her, not having given up hope of going all the way with her, just taking a breather, waiting for her to catch up. I notice her looking at my cock.

“Would you like to say hello to him?” I ask.

To be continued…