Tag Archives: Tall Gal

Date #55 – The Nurse

I recognize a pretty face on Plenty of Fish (PoF) that I haven’t seen for a while. It’s not unusual for me to see faces disappear and reappear on PoF because I’ve been using it for over two years and people do embark on relationships that don’t work out. I’ve been there, done that too.

This returning face and I had swapped a few brief messages more than a year ago but she seemed evasive and I didn’t pursue matters because she was undecided about having children. Now on the back of discovering a hack for PoF, I’m getting more messages than ever before and while dealing with these I notice her memorable face. She seems to have moved from a town to the north of me to a town closer to the south of me. Most importantly in the process she has also decided that she doesn’t want children. Her profile is witty and she has a homely look about her that makes her seem different to the other faces on this dating site.

On a Wednesday night I write to her, commenting on a witticism in her profile and quite honestly expecting to hear back from her. After all this time and all these messages I’ve developed a feeling for when I know that I’ll get an answer. To my surprise she doesn’t answer.

Late on Friday afternoon I get a message from her, saying that she had responded on Wednesday night using her phone but then checking her PoF email on a computer she sees that her response was never sent. I find her story plausible but am also struck by her determination to be in contact with me. A little keenness on a woman’s part is always a good thing in my burgeoning dating book.

We start swapping messages and by Saturday lunchtime we’re talking on the phone. I’ve never been a fan of the so-called ‘screening call’ on the phone because I think that so much of communication is non-verbal that even a phonecall can be ambiguous. Also accents get exaggerated on a call, which might put some people off me. However, this one goes well and we seem to connect, discovering that she works in my town and that her father used to live in my apartment complex.

It also surprises me to learn that she works as a nurse in a school a couple of blocks from me. I thus think of her as The Nurse.

She tells me that when we first swapped messages on Pof that she was also in contact with a guy whom she ended up having a relationship with for a year. I ask about her now not wanting children and she says that that was always the case, but her friends had told her to put ‘undecided’. Just how much of her profile was created by this committee of well-meaning friends?

We talk for over an hour and there’s no shortage of banter, but I realize that The Nurse seems to attach a negative slant to every topic of conversation. I end the call by suggesting that we meet up one night in my town after work. She responds affirmatively and I leave it there, slightly concerned that she’s a Misery, but my curiosity is in charge.

The previous night I had met Tall Gal and tomorrow I’m meeting Cultural Allsorts, so my dating fortunes are still favourable. I’m not allowing my hopes to venture further than mild interest in The Nurse.

On Monday morning I get a text message asking if we can meet after work, at 4.30pm, to which I agree. I’m less than ecstatic, but at least its local and shouldn’t be too expensive. I’m not expecting much, it’s just unfinished business.

Could The Nurse be the One?

I walk the mile to the pub and it’s early February, so it’s chilly out. I hope that The Nurse offers to give me lift home. She’s there before me, sitting at a table for two and from the get-go I don’t like the look of her. The Nurse is a lot older than her photos; they’re at least five years old. I now think it the norm that women use old photos on their profiles, but I’ll never like it. When will this shit end?!

She’s got many wrinkles around her eyes whilst in her photos she has none. The Nurse is also gaunt and doesn’t look healthy. Despite this she has a remarkable rack, e-cup minimum, but ignoring this latter facet I’m underwhelmed. I know enough about women’s hair habits to know that she is probably largely grey under that carefully worked on, unnaturally glossy head of uniformly dark blonde hair.

I sit down at the table she has chosen and banter flows easily. I think my being relaxed makes chit-chat easy because I know that there’s no physical attraction from my side and therefore little hope of any kind of relationship. I’m treating this as a social outing now and my demeanour must put her at ease.

Exactly as I expected The Nurse attaches a negative slant to everything. She doesn’t moan but can’t help but present the negative side to any topic of conversation. The novelty of that wears off very quickly; ho-hum. She’s also a naturally highly-strung and intense person. Nevertheless her body language is positive, open and relaxed, occasionally she leans forward when talking to me. I’m sitting back in my seat and I know that I’m passive disinterested, leading proceedings by initiating topics of conversation and suggesting drinks or something to eat.

After a couple of hours of conversation it occurs to me that The Nurse is a mixture of three women whom I have dated in the past: Wild Child in appearance with a similar face and big tits, Lusty Lass in negative outlook and Pretty Teacher in intensity.

Having been on more dates than most people go on in their lives, after listening to The Nurse’s account of her upbringing, I can conclusively say that if a little girl goes through a turbulent childhood, her relationship history in adult life will be the same.

Her father was a philanderer and her own longest relationship has only lasted three years; most seemed to last less than a year. She speaks about some of her exe’s with an acidic bitterness, especially one whom she lived with for eight months of their three year relationship.

I think there must be a particular personality type that is attracted to nursing, or nursing turns women into this type. The Nurse is intense and highly strung, while the similarity in personality to The Pretty Teacher is striking. I wonder if she is OCD too?

I’ve come to expect some nervousness or guardedness in the first hour or two before a woman lets herself relax in my company, but this woman is being herself. The vast majority of people can not put on a positive, relaxed physical posture while being emotionally uncomfortable. Tonight’s date is physically at ease, so this is how she is when emotionally comfortable. No wonder she’s single again and had so many relationships. She’s what I call a Misery – she puts a negative spin on everything, chooses to share negative stories, has a generally dark atmosphere about her, it’s as if ominous rain-clouds perpetually follow her.

There is a growing collection of metaphorical red flags draping the table between us; you can’t see any wood. There isn’t any cause for optimism with her in any sense. I’m getting bored, such is my disdain for this person and, remembering the words of The English Shrink, I feel jaded by yet another disappointing date.

I decide to turn the conversation interesting over dessert. Well, interesting for me.

“Do you like spicy food?” I ask, not sure what her answer will be.

“I love spicy food. The spicier the better!”

I’m surprised, her answer tells me that she’s exciting in bed. She has a good body and nice tits, but I still have no interest in shagging her.

Like so many women on a first date, she declines having any dessert, but I decide to be naughty. I have a mouthful of the chocolatey tiramisu, she watches me slowly put the spoon in my mouth. I scoop some more up and rest my elbow on the table, extending the spoon just over halfway across the table towards her. She smiles and shakes her head, saying “No, thank you.” I ignore her words and keep my arm steady…and make sly eyes at her. She notices this and we’re at a little standoff, a clash of wills. I don’t move and we maintain eye contact without saying a word.

After a few more seconds she slowly leans forward, still looking into my eyes and puts her mouth around the spoon, closes it and gives me the kind of look with her blue eyes that I think she would if she had just taken my cock in her mouth. Slowly pulling her head back she releases the spoon and it’s clean. We keep strong eye-contact and don’t say a word. I can see she’s running her tongue around inside her mouth, savouring the taste of all that chocolate and cream, then without blinking slowly swallows, all the while maintaining strong eye-contact with me.

I love moments like that. I’ve done it with several other women and it is a turn-on for me in so many ways. First, it says that her will is weaker than mine. Second, she is prepared to submit to me. Third, it tells me that she probably has a naughty side. Fourth, it is clearly a simulation of oral sex and her doing that tells me she doesn’t mind or perhaps even enjoys doing that. I think it also stirs something inside a woman; some might get turned on.

We’re the last people left in the pub and the staff are starting to close up. “Shall we call it a night?” I ask.

“I think we’d better. I’ve got school in the morning,” she says.

I think we’re both surprised as to how long this first date has lasted. I go to the counter and settle the bill, which was £60, a lot more than I thought this evening would cost me. I go back to The Nurse and help her put her coat on.

“Aaw, you’re trying to be a gentleman,” she says with surprise.

“I’m not trying, I am,” I retort. She’s obviously not used to this kind of consideration by a man.

I escort The Nurse to her car which is parked next to another small car. There are no other cars around in the car park.

“Which of these is yours?” I ask, wondering if she’ll realize that I walked here.

“That one,” she answers, gesturing to the smaller, older one. “Look, there’s frost on the windows,” she says and gets a scraper out her car and begins cleaning her windows.

“Would you like me to do that for you?” I ask, again being the gentleman that my mother raised me to be. I’m also feeling a little surplus to requirements.

“No, I can manage,” she says. These thoroughly modern, independent English women insist on making life hard for themselves. “You really don’t need to wait around,” she chides.

“I’m not leaving until your car is running,” I respond with a smile.

Once she finishes clearing the frost she says, “Thank you for dinner. I’ll get the next one.”

I just smile and kiss her on each cheek. I don’t have the heart to say that there won’t be a next time. She obviously enjoyed the evening and wants to see me again, why spoil things now? I’d rather she fell asleep feeling good for a little while.

The Nurse gets in her car and closes the door. I watch her drive off into the black night. It’s at least -1C and I walk home.

She is a good person but not The One.

I’ve been here before, several times in fact. She is Tech Titan. She is Sweet Thing. She is Busty Blonde and Busty Czech. She is like all these woman who seemed promising while they thought I was their One. I know now that she isn’t going to be The One and that I should not go down a familiar road that leads to that dead-end of hurt and regret.

The next morning I send her my standard ‘thanks-but-no’ text message. At lunchtime she responds with “I enjoyed the evening with you too. That’s fine. Good luck.

The thought of The Nurse and her permanent negativity makes my spine shiver. I wriggle my shoulders to shake off the feeling of yuck that threatens to enshroud me.

I disable my profile on Plenty of Fish. I now think of it as ‘Plenty of Freaks’.

Diary of Dreams – Tears of Laughter

Date #53 – Tall Gal

It’s been more than two months since I’ve had sex and I’m as horny as hell. I know I pledged to only sleep with The One when I finally find her, but my resolve is being sorely tested by the ready supply of eager pussy to be found on the internet. I accidentally stumble across a way to game Plenty of Fish to get more traffic and approach emails from women. Consequently I get an email late on a Thursday night from a pretty brunette. I look at her profile and see that she’s 31 years-old and six feet tall. Those are two items on my Fuckit List, i.e. scandalously younger and how tall must a woman be to become impractical to fuck. I say thank you to Life for this opportunity and answer her email.

Witty, flirty emails ping-pong between us for an hour and it turns out that she has a thing for tall guys with my accent. She later makes a comment about “if you can keep me intrigued for that long” which tells me that she’s looking for fun and not a long relationship. I notice on her profile that her longest relationship has only lasted a year. She’s perfect one-night stand material and just in time too because I’m starting to forget what the warm wetness of a woman’s pussy wrapped around my cock feels like.

I end the interaction by challenging her to buy me a coffee in exchange for all the questions that she wants answers to. She claims to have plans for the Friday night and is going off to Spain for work on the weekend. We swap phone numbers and I leave it there, doubting I’ll ever hear from her again.

This interaction with her combines to make me think of the stunning brunette I encountered at the dating site’s drinks evening. Maybe my addiction to blondes has been the reason that I’m still single despite my best efforts. Maybe blondes and me just aren’t a good fit? Perhaps I should broaden my horizons a bit and see if the grass is better on the brunette side of the fence? At the same time I’m wondering if my belief that dates off free sites tend to be disappointing has any validity to it.

The next night, Friday, at seven o’clock she sends me a message on WhatsApp and I ask about her plans for the night and before I know it we agree to meet in a pub in my town in less than an hour’s time. I run around like a mad thing getting my place tidy in case we end up back here. As I’m getting dressed a good female friend contacts me via WhatsApp wanting relationship advice from me. In my current state I’m the last person to be giving anybody any kind of advice but I do my best. It’s amazing how there are bouts of silence, icy nothingness and then all these women come at once. I say this because there is another lady who made contact with me on Friday that I like the look and sound of, as well somebody else who I matched with late on Thursday night. Maybe there is something to astrology after all? Is my moon in Uranus?

Could tonight’s date be The One?

She gets to the pub before me and we find each other. Wow, she’s tall, the tallest girl I’ve ever met on a date. She’s wearing heels and is almost as tall as me. Fucking her might feel like copulating with a giraffe; long legs and limbs everywhere.

Naturally I think of her as Tall Gal.

She’s a pretty girl with blue-green eyes, round cheeks and a pleasant smile. We make a little small talk as we queue at the bar and after a couple of minutes pointless banter she says to me, “No, you still have your accent,” which pleases me because I know it’s something she finds attractive about me. Game on!

The pub is busy and noisy because of a major rugby match being shown on the giant television screens and we find the last available seats against a pillar. Not ideal as this is too noisy for a decent conversation and calm enough for me to evoke emotions of lust in her. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

“Do you like spicy food?” I ask, curious about her sexual side.

“I love spicy food! The spicier the better,” she replies.

She likes the sound of her own voice and I just encourage her to keep talking. She’s probably nervous and it will put her at ease. I’m conscious of how little I feel; I’m like a cold-blooded Great White shark patrolling my turf out at sea. I smile politely and ask open-ended questions that sets her off. Over the course of the evening she hardly asks any questions of me.

“I worked on a resort that was popular with Russian tourists,” she says, recounting her work experience abroad.

“What did you think of them?” I ask.

“When they’re young, they’re stunning, but they’re all only after a man with money,” she rejoins.

It’s nice to hear someone else parrot the conclusion I have come to about Russian women.

“Don’t you think it’s understandable though that marrying up is their best chance of bettering themselves?” I ask, playing devil’s advocate in a test of her moral outlook.

“Yes, I do and I think that if I were in their shoes I would probably do the same thing,” she replies.

Her answer leaves me cold. She really couldn’t have said anything else to have put me off her. I still steadfastly believe that people should only marry for love, because that is what will make it work. Any other reason for marriage won’t last very long and if it does it won’t be a happy one. Why do people struggle to understand this?

On the plus side her answer just reinforces my initial idea that she either isn’t interested in a long-term relationship or just isn’t relationship material. This girl is just trouble, just dangerous for a man looking for love. I feel somewhat more justified in just wanting a one-night shag off her.

I change the subject slightly and she starts telling me about her longest relationship.

“He wasn’t from this country, he was much older than me and he had loads of money. We had a lot of good times together,” she says.

“Was the age gap a problem in any way at times?” I ask, wondering exactly what her pull towards older men is about.

“Yes, when we were out and about I was conscious of people staring at us. People probably thought that I was one of those Russian trophy girlfriends,” she says with a childish giggle.

“What was the attraction?” I ask, tying to get closer to the truth.

“We had a chemistry that I’ve never felt with anyone else before or since,” she answers, then continues,”I wonder if that amazing chemistry is what has kept me from meeting someone else? I can’t help but compare every guy I meet to my older guy,” she says with a frown.

My thoughts wonder over to the part of my brain reserved for Baltic Babe and the answer is ‘yes’. I’ve been guilty of that too and I realize that this Tall Gal is in no way causing me to feel another kind of attraction to her. It’s not because I find her unattractive – she is pretty – but I’m realizing that there’s also too much of an age-gap between us to give hope for a relationship. She speaks in a way about things that are new to her, but that I have already grown tired of.

“So what happened with your older guy?” I ask in an effort to complete the picture.

“He went back to his country,” she says with a sad face and looks away from me. Is she still hung up on him?

“Is that when you came back to the UK?”

“No, I stayed on but came back a year after that,” she replies with still a downcast look on her face and evading eye contact with me. I see what is obvious to me and press on it.

“Did you come back here because of another guy?” I ask as softly as I know how.

“Yes,” she says, still evading eye contact.

I change the topic by asking her about her favourite television shows and she starts rattling off a slew of depressing psychological dramas, murder mysteries and supernatural-themed shows. She starts telling me how she likes the gritty realism of the gory shows and the real-life application of horror moments. All that she speaks off is filled with negativity and the dark side of life. I could see that she could be a real drag to be around sometimes. Where have I felt this before?

Suddenly it hits me that Tall Gal is another Lusty Lass and Krazy Girl. A soft-hearted, sweet, well-intentioned young woman who is unlucky in love because she just doesn’t take a timeout for herself to get her emotions in order before embarking on a new relationship. She’s constantly on the rebound, carrying ever-increasing emotional baggage around with her. I start to feel sorry for her. Do I really want to be another guy who just uses her? Do I want to go back to being that self-appointed vengeful shit who avails himself of vulnerable women’s orifices? No.

Tall Gal unravels her scarf to reveal a bit of cleavage. It’s actually cold in here, so why did she do that? The pub erupts in celebration as a try is scored which causes her to look around. I take the opportunity to check her body out. She’s not as slim as in her photos with several rolls of puppy fat bulging under her white blouse. For a big girl and one carrying a few extra pounds her breasts are surprisingly small and no more than a B-cup. Am I that desperate to have sex that she’ll do? No.

I decide to employ my Golden Silence trick, in which I keep quiet for as long as it takes for my date to initiate a topic of conversation. Whatever they go with is usually what is on their minds lately. Tall Gal turns to me and I just smile, biding my time as I take a sip from my drink. As they all have, she eventually cracks and speaks.

“How many dates have you been on?” she asks. An interesting choice of topic. Is she genuinely interested in me that’s why she’s asking or does it bother her.

“I’ve been on more than most, I’m starting to realize. Why how many have you been on?” I retort before she realizes what I’ve done.

“I’ve been on five before tonight and that’s over three months,” she says proudly. Amateur, I think to myself.

“What have they been like?” I ask before she can say anything else. I’ve learned that no woman wants to hear that I’ve had more than fifty dates, so I avoid giving a direct answer.

“Well the second one was an absolute nightmare because he got totally drunk, but the others were okay. I was so nervous for my first one,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“That’s normal. Is this your first time you’ve been online dating?” I ask, suspecting I know the answer.

“Yes, I’ve always thought it an odd thing to do, but everyone is doing it nowadays so I thought I’d give it a go,” she replies.

Wow, you must be the last woman in the country not to have tried internet dating. And you’ve started off with Plenty of Fish?! Talk about a baptism of fire.

I start telling her of my memorable dates such as the Angry Yank and the Wild Animal Tickler. I tell her about the typical lies that women tell on their profiles (age, old photos, height, smoking, job) and she seems a little surprised at my words. I take her reaction to indicate surprise or curiosity. I’m wrong.

“Well, there is one thing I’ve lied about on my profile,” she says with a mischievous look in her eye. Here we go, what now?

“I’ve said that I’m a non-smoker, but I do, only a few a day, usually at the end of the day after work. I suppose I’m a social smoker,” she says matter-of-factly.

That’s it! I want to go home now!

I wasn’t feeling any chemistry with her, wasn’t exactly enjoying myself, didn’t really fancy her, didn’t want to have sex with her and now she turns out to be a smoker. Gross. Why am I wasting my time here?

She seems emotionally needy to me and that will eventually spill over into clingyness that leads to men rejecting her. She is going to keep getting hurt, but it doesn’t have to be at the hands of me. I don’t need more notches on my bedpost or stains on my conscience.

I decide that the best thing to do is to end the evening gracefully, not do her any harm emotionally and just let it be as positive an experience for her without her becoming invested in me. I want her to have the strength to keep dating because she might get lucky…and she’ll tie up some of my competition by keeping them busy or perhaps taking one of them off the market. All I need is an excuse.

She stifles a yawn and I call her out on it, for which she apologizes. Then she asks me what the time is and my exit is complete.

“It’s half ten. Shall we call it a night? You’re starting to yawn,” I suggest.

“Yes, I think we’d better,” she says.

Perfect. She now thinks it’s her idea to bring this date to an end. She feels she’s in control, just what I wanted, a nice way to end the encounter. I do my usual gentlemanly thing of helping her put her coat on and I escort her to her car. There’s an awkward silence between us and I get the impression that she’d rather I didn’t accompany her. I don’t think she wants to see me again.

We stand next to her car and I kiss her on a cheek and say, “It was nice to meet you,” and nothing more. I look at her and devilishly watch her squirm for words.

“Yes, it was nice to meet you too. I’ll be seeing you…you…” and she got caught up in her thoughts, thrashing about for something polite to say, definitely avoiding anything that sounded like commitment. I just keep quiet and smile.

“Some other time,” she says, her sentence trailing off on the vapours of her breath that drifted away into the cold February night air.

I say nothing, turn around and walk off.

That felt like a total waste of time, but if I didn’t go I’d always wonder.

Anyway, I have two more dates lined up.

Akon Ft Kardinal Official – Dangerous