I was browsing my Happy Humping Ground dating website in the middle of 2014 having just ended it with Busty Blonde when I spotted a face that equalled perfection in my mind. It was desire of all kinds at first sight. Her profile was short but enticing, I just knew that I’d be seeing her one day…I just knew. However, always the pragmatist I told myself that the likelihood of her writing back to me was small because she’s new on the site and probably swamped with emails from guys. I’ll give it a little time and then make more of an impact once she’s dealt with the clowns that descend on a new profile like piranhas to a swimming tapir.
I then become embroiled with The Brazilian, The Saffa, The Busty Czech and The Cockaholic and go on other dates. Time flies by and I still think of her every time I think of that dating site. Over Xmas 2014 the site gives me a free weekend of messaging and I decide to make contact with her. I was disappointed to see that her profile had disappeared. I make contact with a few other prospects but nothing comes of it.
It doesn’t matter because I’m still bewildered by my experience with The MILF of Xmas and all my raunchy but soul-sapping dating experiences before that. I drunkenly step up to verge of suicide and in splendid isolation fight my own demons for a while.
I forget about her and the site until one night at the end of January 2015 I spot her on Tinder, but we didn’t match. I’m surprised to see her on there, but I guess Tinder is mainstream now.
It’s now late February 2015 and I’m disenchanted with online dating, especially the free sites. Looking at my spreadsheet of my dating history, I can clearly see that 80% of my dates off free sites were bad ones and 80% off paid-for sites were good dates. I hide my free dating site profiles and unhide my profiles on Happy Humping Ground and the national newspaper’s dating site.
On the Happy Humping Ground I’m pleased to see that the profile that captured my attention is back online. I notice too that the website has introduced an innovation whereby users can ‘like’ each other’s photos. I ‘like’ her main photo, the one I find mesmerising, add her profile to my ‘favourites’ and leave it at that. There’s no guarantee she’ll notice my attention nor even act on it. I go exploring other profiles on the website, not expecting to hear anything from her.
A couple of hours later my blood turns cold and my face drops when I see that she’s sent me a message, but I can’t read it because I’m not a subscriber. I instantly decide to subscribe, but first I do a search to find a discount code because this site is getting pricey. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. I’ll always wonder what could have been.
Her message simply reads, “Thank you for liking my photo.”
I find it underwhelming, but I haven’t subscribed for nothing. I want to at least meet her, I’m that taken with her. I do a Google Images search and find out her name, her job and her Facebook account. She’s almost five years younger than me. A photo on Facebook hints that she has enormous breasts, g-cup minimum. All her photos of herself are of her with a tight-lipped smile. Does she have bad teeth, I wonder? Something that bothers me a little is that her eyes are almost lifeless and sad if I really study them. I think they suggest a history of hurt, so I know to proceed slowly with her. Is she another Misery?
I find out what kind of art she specializes in and it’s not too far removed from my own passing interest in that genre. She even lectures on the subject in London. So, she’s a teacher of kinds; that means she’ll be a bit intense if my other experiences with teachers are anything to go by. I decide to message her and ask what art she is into and tell her of my passing interest in something similar.
I think of her as The Artist.
My ruse works, she’s intrigued and a flurry of messages ping-pong across the internet all Sunday afternoon. Every time one of her messages comes in, my heart skips a beat. It feels almost like I’m starting dating again and it feels good. I suggest meeting up and she agrees, so we fix a day and swap phone numbers. I send her a text message and she quickly responds. We’re set to meet on Wednesday, which feels like an eternity away. Conversing with her feels good. I can’t wait to meet her.
On Monday morning I get the idea in my head to talk to her on the phone. I’m aware that I might be getting carried away here so I want a reality check. I send her a text message suggesting that we talk in the evening. I’ve never been a fan of a so-called ‘screening call’. In my dating experience nothing good has ever come from it, yet I feel the need to do so with The Artist.
An hour later she responds with a firm “I’m not a fan of phone-calls with strangers.” Her response surprises me and reminds me of Baltic Babe in its directness and frankness. Not necessarily a bad thing in my book as it shows some strength of character. I back-peddle, make a joke about wanting to see if she had a deeper voice than me and press on with fixing a place to meet on Wednesday. Have I blown it?
No, she’s still interested and asks me to suggest where to meet. I take the lead and suggest my tried and tested spot outside Tower Hill Tube station. I’ve taken so many other dates to St Katharine Docks, why not her too? It’ll help my performance if it’s on familiar ground. I respond with, “I’m going to take you to my favourite place in the world…”
Her response starts with “That sounds exciting…”
Is she as sweet as she seems or is she bored and just using dating as a social outlet, pampering her ego by having men buy her meals and drinks, like many women on the dating scene seem to do? Time will tell.
Am I seeing what’s there, or am I projecting what I want? In recent dates I’ve paid more attention to the build-up to the first date. I’ve tried to make it feel more like a romance that is is unfolding, trying to make a fairytale come true, just in case whoever I’m interacting with is The One.
I keep telling myself that she’s highly unlikely to be The One, that she’s too artsy-fartsy for me. That she’s too high-brow for me and I’m just a bit of rough in her world. However, the heart wants what the heart wants. The last time I was this excited about meeting someone was Krazy Girl, almost two years ago to this day.
It feels like I’ve come full circle, going to the dating website where it all began 32 months ago. I’m concerned that I’m becoming desperate to find love. I know I’m in the danger zone where it’s easy to make a mistake, a mistake to get involved with somebody all wrong for me or a mistake while pursuing someone so right for me. I know that tomorrow I’ll need to draw on all my skills and experience to deliver the correct image of a polished man. I must at all costs avoid coming across as desperate.
For some reason this feels like a date with destiny. It’s possibly desperation on my part kicking in, but I like to think that I know a good thing when I see it.
Could she be The One?
To be continued…
I’ve been seeing someone I haven’t told you about, someone I used to know. Over the course of just over a year my ex-girlfriend (Exgf) and I have met for coffee and a chat; that’s all. It has always occurred at her request and I’ve always gone along with it because I still have a lot of money tied up in the house we used to call home. I’ve given of my time because it has been in my interest to do so, in a vain, almost desperate hope that one day that money will be returned to me. I’d rather have nothing to do with her, but our catch-ups (as I think of them) has turned out to serve the purpose of furthering my education about women, relationships and myself.
Ever since the date with the English Shrink and the resulting epiphany that my ex-girlfriend is the archetypical psychopath I have seen her as something of an experiment, an opportunity to learn more about the inner workings of a psychopath by being able to go behind the scenes. I have been careful to not let her unpredictable appearances influence me in any way. My seeing her as a stone-cold manipulator makes it easier to feel nothing for her and believe very little that she says. I’ve been pleased by how little sway she has had with me, especially when I was having serious doubts about Busty Blonde or absolutely single.
I was seeing Busty Blonde until June 2014, then a plethora of short-term flings that you have read about in detail afterwards. Not once did I initiate contact with Exgf.
Here’s what transpired in that year.
17th February 2014
Just had my Exgf on phone telling me that a boyfriend from when she was 21 has made a reappearance and wants to see where things lead. I offered to check him out online for her, but I find very little. I feel she deserves happiness like anyone else. I happen to know what happened when they were a young couple; it all unravelled because of her. My concern is that the leopard has not changed its spots. She tells me that he has just come out of a long-term marriage. To my mind he’s on the rebound and regressing emotionally, hence seeking her out. Nothing can come of it in the long run because both their motivations are bad and not the same.
My Exgf called me up at lunchtime, just like she did the day before. The previous day’s call had no real point to it other than to chat it seemed. Today’s call was to suggest meeting up in my town for a quick coffee. Out of curiosity I oblige and we meet outside my apartment and go to the local Costa. She is chatty about her new job and the training she has just started. I’m paying close attention to what questions she asks, and unsurprisingly, it is about Busty Blonde. I can’t believe my bad luck when my nosey ex-neighbour walks into the coffee-shop. The neighbour’s face when she sees with my Exgf is priceless.
The discussion turns at my Exgf’s insistence towards women and their sexuality. She asks me how I reconcile myself to the fact that I want to do nasty things, like have a woman use a bottle as a dildo on herself, but am disapproving of a woman who has done such things with another guy. It’s a fair question and one that I do not answer because I am more curious about why she is asking this. I don’t ask about her motivations nor did I give the answer to her question. The unspoken answer to her question is thus: I feel no desire for a defiled woman, but I do feel attraction for a woman that I can defile and defiling her is an exquisite sensation. Why? Simple, just like so many sexual encounters, there is a transfer of power, from the one allowing herself to be defiled to the one in control of what is happening. It’s a glorious ego-trip, plain and simple. That good ol’ male ego is alive and well within me still.
My Exgf told me that she had two platonic male friends, both of whom have recently tried their luck with her, but she swatted them off. She tells me that she is still holding out for an encounter with her ex-boyfriend from over 20 years ago. I feel nothing emotionally upon hearing that, whereas I think she was checking me for a reaction. My Exgf and I went for a walk around the high street and then go our separate ways, neither of us making noises about meeting again.
My Exgf phones me, telling me that she started her new job as a flight attendant and then drops by innuendo the fact she has started seeing a guy – an Irish hotelier – and it involves sex. I feel absolutely nothing. I think all the negative feelings that I harboured for her are gone. She is truly nobody to me now. If she was hoping to hear a jealous or shocked response from me she must have been bitterly disappointed.
1st June 2014
My Exgf phones me out of the blue; her usual work situation had come about. After only two weeks as an air stewardess she was at odds with everybody and going to senior management about it. She’s a very slow learner; this happens wherever she works. It’s all part of her psychopathic being in that everything is always someone else’s fault.
She tells me that she hadn’t seen her new boyfriend in over a week. They had been on five dates and slept together on one of them. The most recent date was a breakfast meeting only because she was summoned to work at short notice after having invited him over. Less than an hour after arriving at her place she had to go to work. She hasn’t heard from him since and can’t figure out why.
He mentioned to her that he was going to a jazz club in London that week, but that he only had one ticket which he was grateful to have got. Exgf didn’t believe him and phoned the club, asking about the ticket sales for the event that he was attending. The club confirmed that ticket sales had been brisk and sold out quickly. She’ll never change, her own tricky nature causes her to see the same in other people.
17th June 2014
Just had Exgf sitting on my sofa telling me about her new shitty job and how good her new boyfriend is in bed but how ugly he is. Listening to this shit I wondered to myself, “What the hell did I ever see in you? What was the massive attraction? Why did I feel the things that I did for you?”
If I were to come across her profile today I wouldn’t even read it. I really can’t remember why I felt that she was The One; the person I would spend the rest of my life with. Tonight I couldn’t wait for her to leave, so much has my disdain for her grown.
I think that with time we all move on emotionally, imperceptibly, but we do. I now seriously doubt that it is normal for a couple to have a permanent relationship that lasts all their lives. It’s just not natural.
11th August 2014
Whenever I interact with Exgf via my phone, to me it feels like I’m dealing with a prostitute. I was curious to hear what she had been up to, a form of cheap thrills for me and more lessons in my never-ending education about women, love and relationships.
2nd September 2014
I get a call at ten in the morning from my Exgf as she woke up. She has a hair appointment in my town and wants to catch up. I’m suspicious about her motives but wonder if she is bringing me a birthday present. She comes to my place and uses the toilet, making mention of all the long blonde hairs that are on the bathroom wall. I made a mental note to wash those walls down before another woman comes to visit me.
We go to a Costa Coffee and I’m happy to let her buy me the biggest coffee I can order. It is nice to get some money back off her. Exgf sat and ate while I regale her with my shenanigans with the Busty Czech and The Saffa. I do this to tease her, toy with her, like she used to with me, except I was too blind to see it when we were a couple. Then it was her turn to tell me of her dating exploits. The Irish hotelier was still on the scene, but she knows it’s never going to amount to anything. After a bit of badgering by me she agreed that, in effect, he was just a friend with benefits.
When Exgf arrived, it was obvious to me from how she was dressed that she was on her way to a date. So I chide her about it. She tells me it was indeed a date, happening in a few hour’s time. It’s with a guy she has seen twice before. She likes him as a person but wouldn’t have sex with him. I pointed out that her boobs were noticeably on display, to which she responded, “Well, that’s just to show him what he won’t be getting”.
Even now I find her breasts very attractive. I’ve forgotten how they felt in my hands; it’s been almost a year. When I’m feeling horny, instead of watching porn, I watch the two videos I made with her. I still find them incredibly arousing.
Exgf tells me more about her date, speaking glowingly about their common interests, how loaded he was, how he had rich family in my town, how we was a prize catch for someone who fancied him. It was interesting to see her speaking of this guy in terms of being a material prize. She was more about the money than I had realized. Exgf claimed that her issue with him was that he was somewhat low-class and not very intelligent, but she enjoyed his company nevertheless. She says that, but I could see her letting him fuck her anyway; a pity-fuck. Perhaps she’d let him finger her; she always liked that. In a reciprocal gesture she’d probably suck him off because she wouldn’t think twice about doing that. I know her better now.
We parted ways and to my surprise she hugs and kisses me. A couple of times earlier, walking from my place and in the shop, she had made unnecessary physical contact. My hours in the gym are having an effect; she likes my muscles, but they’re not meant for her.
Back home I later started baiting her with suggestive text messages. I suggested that she was very welcome to come back to avail herself of the champagne bottle that she had used as a dildo the previous year. Her responses were one of indignation, but I know that they had an effect, not that she liked them, but that she would be thinking about it for days to come. After our years together I know how to turn her on and it involves days of planting naughty ideas in her head that she eventually had to fulfil. Turn a woman’s mind on and her body will follow.
I asked her what show she would be giving me this year for my birthday. Would I want to watch her doing something sexual with an object or another man – and film it? Yes, such is my disregard for her and showing just how much I see her as merely a sexual object in my world.
Exgf and her Irish boyfriend had met the Queen at Windsor castle at a soiree there. Exgf told me a few months earlier that once this event was over that she would dump him. I reminded her of this and she replied that things were getting interesting and that “he knew many, many people”. I chided her with, “So you’re using him for contacts and he’s using you for sex?” She replied with “what makes you think I’m not using him for sex too?” So, she doesn’t fancy him and knows that there is no long-term future, but she’s still shagging him and looking to exploit his contacts. Charming.
After that conversation I sat thinking of my experience with The Brazilian and how disappointed I was with that outcome. I wondered if she was just using me for a quick roll in the hay; probably. Is The Saffa doing the same with me?
As usual she comes to my town for a plausible reason which I suspect is one of her endless lies. She can not get through a day without telling a lie, whereas I go years without lying. We go to a local pub where I buy us pizzas and beers. We sit on a sofa and chat like a normal couple would. She tells me about her money troubles and problems with colleagues at work; some things will never change with her. She has always chewed the skin on her thumbs to pieces when stressed so I try to take a thumb in my hand. I was expecting her to pull away or look shocked, but instead she turns and looks at me with tenderness in her eyes and grips my hand affectionately with hers. She quickly lets go when she realizes what she had done. “I just want to look at the state of your thumb,” I said. She still wants me, but I don’t feel the same way. She’s just a source of amusement to me now.
Later in the encounter she proudly tells me that she is seeing four guys, but only sleeping with the Irishman. One guy she fancies, one she likes as a person and the other gets no mention. She asks me if she still gives the best blowjob in my opinion. I find that question strange.
She phones me to say that she’s down in the dumps and can do with some cheering up. We meet outside my block and walk to a nearby coffee shop. She’s tense, but I know she’s stressed, as usual, so I decide to be polite and civil. I have no agenda for the encounter. We talk about nothing in particular, I think she badly wanted to be distracted; she gets bored very easily. I think it’s a contributing factor to her promiscuous past. She tells me that she finally dumped the Irishman.
We end up back at my place where I make us lunch because she had mentioned not having any food in her house. I feel sorry for her, for a variety of reasons. She wolfs the curry down and I can see that she’s intent on just wasting time with me, while I have work that I’d rather be getting on with. I orchestrate movements such that she feels compelled to leave. If she wanted to suck me off, I would have let her, but she’s made it very plain that that’s “never going to happen again”. The way I know her, the fact she keeps saying it, means she’s thinking about it.
Later in the day she sends me two text messages, “Thank you for cheering me up. I do appreciate it,” followed by, “But you’re still not getting in my knickers”. I respond with, “You need to get yourself tested and ask me for it before you get that privilege,” which I know will focus her mind. I know it also gives me the upper hand.
The next night, a Friday night, she phones to ask if I’d like to go away to Sharm el Sheikh with her. She can get very cheap flights and knows how to get cheap hotels there. If I wasn’t keen on The Cockaholic or seeing anyone else, I’d be tempted. I know we’d end up fucking but that would complicate life between us. So I decline her offer, citing a lack of money, but I can hear that she’s disappointed. She retorts by saying that she’ll ask the guy she dumped a few days ago if he’d like to go.
4th January 2015
The past few months have seen little interaction with the Exgf, which has suited me. I’m finding each encounter with her increasingly pointless other than to remind me of how wrong about someone I can be. She comes around randomly when she has time off and probably bored. She kept seeing the Irishman with connections, using him, not ever feeling anything for him. They were just friends with benefits. She valued the fact that he used a condom when fucking her, but moaned about the fact that he refused to manscape and would often just lie there and she had to do the work.
She stayed on several dating sites, notably Plenty of Fish (PoF), which she claimed just kept options open and gave her something of a social life. I can see the similarities with her early adult years in that she loved the attention. She kept dating a guy who was a keen gardener, something that she appreciated, but wasn’t attracted to him. She dated several other guys at the same time, but was just being fucked by the Irishman and enjoyed the company of the gardener.
Eventually she tired of both of them, citing incompatible work schedules with the Irishman and lack of desire with the other. She said that she did get off with the gardener a few times and would feel his cock, but it was too small for her liking. She claimed only to have felt it, never more than that. I don’t believe her; she’ll have sucked it, especially if he fingered her. Apparently he was quite upset when she ended it as it came as a total surprise to him. What drove matters to a head was him suggesting that they go away together.
Then she came across a guy on PoF who seemed to tick all her boxes. Let’s call him ‘Dick’. She was quite taken with him and told me that he was the first guy that she ever felt anything for since me. It occurred to me that it is in my interest to see her happy and matched, perhaps her new beau will buy me out of the house. I encouraged her to see where things led with her new flame.
They had been on only a couple of dates before Dick suggested that they go away together. She was coming up to the busy time of the year doing demo work in shops now that her air stewardess days were over. She wanted to know if they were sexually compatible; time was a factor in whether or not she wanted to keep seeing him. So a few weeks later they went to a hotel in Stratford-upon-avon where they shagged the night away. Apparently as first times go it was good.
A few weeks later she starts telling me of her reservations about Dick. He doesn’t like holding hands, something that she expects to do and it really bothers her. He is quite selfish in that he always expects her to fall in line with whatever suits him. The thing that bothers her most is that Dick doesn’t lavish her with attention. She likes and wants a man to pursue her, to send her text messages and emails every day. She tells me that she doesn’t want this because its romantic, it’s because it tells her that he wants her more than she wants him, a feeling that gives her a sense of power. I find her honesty refreshing and I also pause to remember that that was exactly how our early days together were.
She says that she’ll give it time, something I encourage her to do because it’s in my interest that she finds someone as foolish as me. Apparently Dick’s a fitness fanatic and fucks her for hours on end. He can cum once an hour, which I find impressive as does she. He must be enjoying fucking her and sucking on her big fat tits; I would if I were him.
Monday 5th January 2015
At 9pm she phones me; her car’s has broken down. She’s sitting in the car park of a pub waiting for a tow-truck. She starts telling me as usual how shit her life is and the topic wonders over to Xmas and New Year’s. She tells me that she’s “met somebody”. A Spaniard off Tinder who, on the third date, came to her place and cooked Xmas lunch. I ask if Dick is history and she says ‘no’. She’s keeping him around because the sex is great. I ask if she’s slept with the Spaniard and she says not. I ask why and she says it’s because he hasn’t made a move on her and she’s on her period. She doesn’t find him physically attractive either and says that he’s a little pudgy. She did spend a night in bed with him on New Year’s, but nothing happened. She’s concerned that he has sexual hangups and won’t be any good in that department. So, just like the MILF of Xmas, she wants it both ways.
Tuesday 11th January 2015
She phones me during the day, just before noon, asking for advice about a software problem. Then she gets choked up and starts crying on the phone, telling me she’s struggling with life before ending the call. She calls back later at 3pm asking if I could come around and help her move her desk and computer to another room of the house. Out of kindness, feeling sorry for her and with no agenda whatsoever, I go around after 6pm. As I go about moving everything and fixing her myriad of problems she tells me that after she rang off she sent a booty call to her stud. He came around, they fucked and she swallowed his load. After he left is when she phoned me. Charming.
She tells me that she has felt so guilty about stringing along the Spaniard that she is avoiding interacting with him. I find that rather prescient because that’s probably what has happened with me and the MILF of Xmas. She’s hoping that this Spaniard will stop sending her flowers and messaging her. I remember her saying that that is what she wants, but seemingly only from a guy that she wants. I ask if the turn-off is that he is too keen, to which she agrees. She’s hoping that he just gets the message and goes away.
Exgf is still intent on keeping Dick around, but only for the sexual benefits as he can shag for hours she says. She knows that they have no long-term future together because she finds him totally selfish.
The conversation gets heavily sentimental and we reminisce about us. She tells me that she has come to realize that I’m the only man she has ever loved, but has resolved that she’ll never allow herself to feel that way again because the pain afterwards is just too much for her. A back-handed compliment that I find tinged with sadness.
More than anything else, what I got from this interaction, is a stark demonstration of how she uses men. It also shows that a man can be too nice to a woman and can get kicked in the teeth for it. I include myself still in that category; I won’t be helping her with anything again.
End of January 2015
Exgf tells me that she has no trust or respect for the guy she thought could be her One. She does enjoy sex with him because it’s raw. He also does as she asks and uses a condom every time. Then she tells me that she’s seeing the Spaniard on the weekend.
After the weekend she phones me up to pick my brain about something to do with psychometric tests for a job application. Then she tells me that she saw the Spaniard on the weekend, but didn’t sleep with him and has no desire to do so. He seems unwilling, unable or too inept to make that happen. She says that she’s happy to keep seeing him as a social outlet. The user keeps on using.
I loved her intensely. Every day my heart pounded from my feelings for her. It was an illusion and the illusion was all mine, but carefully crafted and delivered by her. The reality, a hard, cold reality of what was really going on was all hers. The person I loved became, when the illusion was shattered, somebody that I used to know. Of course that person didn’t really exist.
If I were to meet my Exgf today, not that I would ever even approach her on a dating site, I would not think her anything special, nor would I find her that unique.
My Exgf is living proof of my now-lost naivety.
Gotye – Somebody That I Used To Know
I phone The Cockaholic late in the morning and she sounds upbeat. Although her flight only got in at 1am, she is keen to see me. I need to get to the bottom of whether or not she was with her mother on her trip, or with some other guy or an ex-boyfriend. I’ve decided I’m also going to have fun with my phone. I’m going to film her as she sucks on me and I’m going to indulge in dirty talk. Then I’ll start asking her questions about her sexual history and see what ensues. Yes, I have a voyeuristic streak and having video mementos of lovers in action is something to be experienced to be fully appreciated. Of course nobody else will ever see my growing collection.
Going round to The Cockaholic’s is easy, taking less than ten minutes to drive there. I’ve never had anybody as quick to get to before. It might be a blessing and a curse; the latter because it will be tempting to visit each other. She is pleased to see me and I notice that her one eye is larger than the other; it must be what happens when she’s excited. I have seen that before when she was sucking my cock, just like with The Brazilian.
We eat and chat and the hours fly by. We have chemistry, that’s for sure. There’s that rare energy between us and we key off each other. I don’t feel bored like I did with Busty Blonde or exasperated like I did at times with The Saffa. I am aware that it’s still very early days and time will tell how compatible we are. I must say that it is very pleasant interacting with somebody as positive as her…and she does love sucking my cock for hours on end, literally.
After lunch we go for a walk and end up going through her town’s centre. She has never been into a pound-shop before, so I take her into a few. She marvels at the low prices, but disses the clientele. I detect a bit of a snob in her, which I find ironic considering her humble origins; her father was in the army and was stationed around Europe, so she grew up in army housing. So many of us are trying to get away from our childhood.
In situ I decide not to confront her about who her companion was last week. I might be getting paranoid after all my bad dating experiences and accusing her, even slightly, might derail things between us. This knight decides that silence is the best path to the truth. She might come clean if there is a reason to do so, or she might let more clues or details slip. I’ll bite my tongue while she bites my cock.
Back at her place we chatter away and before we know it darkness has descended on the world. At about 7pm she starts pulling my trousers off.
“I didn’t think we’d make it until 2 o’clock before I did this,” she says laughingly. She totally fancies me and it feels good.
Again she does the licking of my arse thing, but this time for much longer and making approving sounds. She does like licking arses it seems. We end up in her bedroom where she happily sucks away at my cock for hours. She’s insatiable. I end up giving her the biggest orgasm yet. She’s a shivering, sweaty heap when I finish her off and lie half on top of her.
She goes down on me again and this time I get my phone out and start videoing everything, being sure to indulge in copious amounts of dirty talk that she participates in. She’s fully aware of what I’m doing.
“You like sucking cock, don’t you?” I say.
“I love sucking your cock,” she answers, looking at the camera.
“How old were you when you sucked your first cock?” I ask.
She thinks about it for a few seconds, drops my cock out of her mouth, says “Twenty three” and resumes sucking.
“Did you make him cum?” I ask.
She shakes her head, keeping my cock in her mouth.
“Do you like making a cock cum in your mouth?” I ask.
She replies with a satisfied “Mmm” sound.
“Do you like the feeling of cum in your mouth?” I continue, curious as to how she’ll answer.
“I love having your cum in my mouth,” she says.
“Do you like swallowing cum?”
“I love swallowing your cum,” she replies, looking at the camera, then resumes sucking away on my cock with renewed gusto.
After a few seconds of her slurping and gurgling on me I decide to see if I can get on camera something naughty.
“Do you want to lick my arse?” I ask her.
“Definitely!” she answers,
I raise my knees and she lowers her head. Somehow I’m able to lower and hold my phone down next to her head, capturing her first sucking then licking my arse.
“That’s it, lick my arse,” I exclaim.
The Cockaholic rhythmically and slowly licks away at my anus, as if she’s licking an ice-cream on a hot day.
“That’s what you like doing. Do you like licking my arse?” I ask.
“I do,” she purrs.
“Stick your tongue in my arse,” I instruct and she instantly complies.
After a couple of seconds she repositions herself onto her side and gets comfortable; she’s intent on doing this for a while. I feel her lips suctioning onto the perimeter of my anus, then her tongue starts pushing into it.
“That’s it, stick your tongue into my arsehole,” I say for some unknown reason. People say the silliest, weirdest stuff during sex.
For about a minute she keeps doing this, then detaches her lips and starts licking my butthole like a puppy licks a jam-coated finger. She’s in her own private Nirvana, a place only she understands, a place she enjoys more than anything else.
“You love licking my arse, don’t you? You love sticking your tongue in my arse, don’t you?” I say to her.
A lustful, deep-throated “Mmm,” is her response.
After just over a minute of this tongue-in-arse routine, she pulls away and starts licking and kissing my balls. The thought of faecal bacteria on my manhood makes me shiver inside, but what’s going on outside me is more enticing.
“Do you want to be my cock-sucking slut?” I ask in a moment of oxytocin-driven rudeness.
“Oh, yes!” she answers and latches onto my cock..
“That’s it, suck my cock. Make it bigger, then I’ll fuck you with it,” I say.
“Mmm,” is all she says as she eagerly sucks on my penis.
“I’ll fuck you doggy-style,” I murmur.
“Mmm,” she utters.
“Do you want me to fuck you doggy-style?” I ask, not sure how she’ll respond. She might be turned off by all this and react negatively, so I have to proceed cautiously with my naughty talk.
“Yeah, now,” she implores.
I take a moment to think about how I want this encounter to end.
“Do I have to beg you?” she asks.
Huh? Where did that come from? What’s that about? I don’t know what to make of it, I’m so taken by surprise. I move on, passing on the opportunity to find out more about her psyche.
“Do you want me to put a thumb in your arse while I fuck you doggy-style?”
“Mmm,” The Cockaholic moans.
“Or do you want me to put my cock in your arse?” I ask, pushing my luck here, wondering how she’ll react to that idea. So much of sex involves the brain, getting the other person mentally turned on too, getting them to imagine things they ordinarily might not, or even better, suggesting a secret desire or fantasy of theirs.
“Let’s save that for next time,” she replies, catching me by surprise again.
“I think you want it,” I say, recovering quickly.
“Not when I’ve just had such a big orgasm,” she counters, continuing to suck my cock.
Huh? I thought she hasn’t done anal before? How would she know what’s right or wrong after an orgasm? She just became more intriguing.
“I think you’re looking forward to feeling my cock in your arse,” I say, continuing to push my luck.
“You want to feel my cock cumming in your arse, don’t you?” I continue.
“Ooh, mmm,” she moans some more, indicating approval.
“Say please fuck me in the arse,” I instruct.
“Please fuck me,” she answers.
“No. Say please fuck me in the arse,” I repeat.
“Mmm,” is all she says.
“Do you want to feel me cum in your arse?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
“Do you want to feel my cock pumping cum in your arse?”
“Do you want to feel my cum, hot and sticky, in your arse?”
“You’re going to have to put it in me now,” she says.
I spin The Cockaholic into doggy-style position as it’s her favourite. She’s so turned on from going down on me and perhaps from the dirty talk that it takes less than a minute for her to cum again. Earlier she mentioned that she’s never had a facial, so I straddle her face as she sucks my cock and I finger her pussy and arse. She’s quite okay with my fingering her arse, claiming never to have had that done before me but enjoys it nevertheless.
After a while I cum all over her face and The Cockaholic laughs about it. She goes to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. It’s several days’ worth and her face is messy. After she washes it off we cuddle up in bed and I switch my phone off, noticing that its 2.49am.
Monday morning she and I wake at what seems like the same time, probably the sound of an ambulance’s wail disturbing us both. It’s 7.14am. She almost immediately rolls down to my crotch and starts giving me a blowjob that naturally leads to my cumming in her mouth and her gratefully swallowing my load. Not a typical start to my Mondays.
Minutes later she makes me a coffee and a flask of juice for my day ahead that I watch her prepare. The Cockaholic is a very giving person, so unlike the vast majority of women whom I’ve dated more than twice. I could get used to this, but I’m aware that as with The Saffa, with the passing of time her random acts of affection might diminish and be replaced by something less likeable.
Until then, if that were to happen, I like being with her. It feels good, but I’m aware that I’ve been in this position before. There’s another feeling, a hollow one, that I know all too well and it’s growing.
There’s something missing: love.
Yes, we’re having fun, yes, I like her, but there’s no sign of love on the horizon. I think it’s because there’s a trust issue that I need to resolve. Is it just in my head or is there something going on that I don’t know about?
Tina Turner – What’s love got to do with it
In my two years on the dating scene I’ve come a long way, but I don’t feel any closer to my final destination: true love. I’ve had tremendous up and downs and not just in the bedroom. I’m older and wiser, but still don’t have what I want and, as I am discovering about myself, need. What exactly is this thing that I want and need so badly, this thing known as love?
Some time ago I wrote about love ( http://www.meanddating.com/2015/05/monday-morning-blues-why-love/ ) and since then my thoughts about love have evolved.
I think we all have our own idea of what love is. That’s part of the problem: finding someone who shares our idea of love. The love I offer is unlimited in quantity, devoid of conditions and free of boundaries. I’ve come to realize that finding someone who offers the same is incredibly rare.
There are quotes about love that resonate with me.
“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“Don’t settle for the one you can live with…wait for the one you can’t live without.”
The first quote speaks of a life together, a more mature love, while the second speaks of meaning.
I’ve come to realize that what I am seeking is meaning to my life. I am not a selfish person and that is a problem in the world I find myself in because it seems to me that ninety percent of people are selfish by nature. Yes, I know that’s the way it has been and always will be, but I find it sad. Being a Giver in a world of Takers is a lonely, frustrating experience.
I’ve also realized that my need to give love is greater than my desire to receive it. It has been why I have become embroiled with women who are patently unsuitable to me. My greed for love overwhelmed my fear of hurt and failure. My greed blinded me to danger which, when love is concerned, must be eminently better than being paralysed by fear. So many of the women I’ve met have been controlled by their fears, looking backwards when they should be looking forwards, looking at the person they have before them and not punishing them for someone else’s mistakes.
The love I seek isn’t driven by fear. I don’t fear growing old alone. I don’t fear not knowing what being a father is all about. I don’t fear never loving someone again.
I just want to spend what’s left of my life feeling loved and loving that person too. Our love for each other would be so strong that, even after I’ve died, when she has lunch or dinner, she will prop up a photo of me next to her plate. I would do the same.
When I’m with her I want to feel like the luckiest man in the world because I’m with her. I want to see it in her eyes, I want to feel it in her touch, that she loves me. It would be nice to meet someone who, when she looks at me then closes her eyes, she likes what she sees.
Billy Joel put it best, “I don’t need clever conversation, I never want to work that hard”. I want and need good conversation; I offer it too. We make each other laugh, we make each other think, our words make each other feel good. With me she’ll never have wrinkles, only laughter lines.
I can’t wait to have Her sitting by my side, complaining of sore feet from all the walking we’ve done that day. I’ll go get some moisturiser, flop her onto her back, take her shoes off, rub the lotion warm in my hands and give her a foot massage that relaxes her. I want to do this not because I want anything in return, no, I’ll do this because I love her. Her pleasure is my pleasure.
However, I have unresolved issues, reservations and questions about love.
Is my idea of love sound? Is what I am looking for possible? Am I deluded in some way? Am I wasting my time? Do I really know what love is? Not for a moment do I think I have all the answers, but I certainly have a lot of questions.
And what of when it goes wrong? Where does love go to die? Does it evaporate up into the heavens, eventually falling back to earth as rain, so that the sky cries with us? If so, then when it rains, does it mean someone’s heart is breaking?
As much as I want to share my life with someone special, I know that I value my sense of freedom that I’m enjoying at the moment. Do I have to trade one for the other? Does a woman’s sense of security come at the price of a man’s sense of freedom? I’m in no hurry to want to live with someone, but do want to spend a good amount of time with her. Do we have to live together? I think not. I hope she’s of a like mind.
I wonder if I am destined to roam freely from one kind of fling to another, experiencing more than any man can hope to experience in his lifetime, getting to know in gritty detail all the sins of the flesh, learning all there is to know about womankind, but like a tormented ghost, to never succumb to the greatest thing that life has to offer: love.
Perhaps the fault all along has lain on my side in that my expectations are greater than what is possible or likely? Was I too hasty with The Brazilian? Should I have met Baltic Babe halfway and had a child with her? Should I have taken things easier and slower with Krazy Girl? Should I have stayed with Sweet Thing and Busty Blonde? The answer to all these questions is a resounding ‘no!’.
The love that was on offer with all those women just wasn’t good enough. Any relationship would not have worked in the long run. The eternal conundrum of either trying harder to make it work or walking away always had an obvious answer to me, but I took too long with Busty Blonde. Sadly it was her turn to be a victim of love.
I’m starting to think that I am capable of a greater love than anybody I have ever met. I don’t want to be anybody’s true north or the one who completes them. I don’t want that responsibility. All I want is for her to see the real me, appreciate all that she sees in me and just love me. In return I shall do the same…as a minimum.
The famous astronomer, Sir Patrick Moore, had a secret side to him. We all do, but his must have been beautiful. During World War Two he was a navigator on a British bomber, regularly flying to Germany to drop bombs on people. It was only a matter of time before he was killed; all bomber crews knew this, but they went anyway. Heroes every one of them. Because of the short life expectancy, people in those times threw themselves with gusto at life. They knew that every day could, literally, be their last. He became engaged to marry a girl that he had fallen in love with. In a German air raid over London she was killed. I wonder if the irony of him being bomber crew played on his mind. He survived the war, but was never known to show an interest in another woman. Apparently that part of him died with her. He went to his grave recently, never having loved again. Now that is true love…or true heartbreak. I think I know how he could have felt.
I watched “A Message in a Bottle” by myself last night. I had tears in my eyes at the end. The Brazilian would like that movie because it ends in disappointment, an outcome and feeling that she is comfortable with. The female protagonist in the movie is the sort of woman I want to meet. She has a big heart, attractive, and willing to do anything for love. Does such a woman exist? I guess seeing as it’s derived from a fictional book that the characters are symbolic of what men and women aspire to in the opposite gender but never find. The thing is that Kevin Costner’s character, Garret Blake, is so much like me. I too would have dived into the sea to rescue total strangers.
I guess I’m a fool for love, a love-fool and I don’t care if it makes a fool of me.
I also don’t care what price I have to pay because I’m looking for my last first kiss.
Where are you?
Raindrops on windows, my thoughts are of you
The teardrops on my pillow look like dew.
This loneliness is becoming too much to bear
I just want someone I love to equally care.
I see you when I’m out and about
Across the crowd I want to shout.
“I’m over here, all this time, right here!”
If I did their looks will be of fear.
So instead we stare with sly eyes
And we go home alone to fantasize.
We think there’s something wrong with us
Too scared to talk to that stranger on the bus.
This life with no meaning, this walking alone
Am I being punished for a deed I must atone?
I have met so many, yet wanted so few
Is every step taking me closer to you?
I look forward to us being two
Oh, where are you?
Foreigner – I Want To Know What Love Is
The disappointment of The Brazilian has taken the wind out of my sales. As I write this, I’m trying to have a galia melon for breakfast, but I’m struggling to swallow it, such is my emotional state at the moment. Stupid me had high hopes for her.
A week after sending her my goodbye text message , driven by a sense of curiosity, I sent her another message. I figured I had nothing to lose and if she answered I would have more of an idea about what was going on in her head. I wasn’t hoping for a reconciliation in the way her favourite movie storylines go, but wanted to further my education about women. My message read, “I’m really curious about something: what was it that I said or did that put you off me?”
To my amazement her reply came within half an hour and it read, “Nothing much really apart from your last text!! Unfortunately then that made me think about distance, work, commitments I’m not ready to have, lifestyle and so on. Maybe we shared too much information too soon as well, but that doesn’t matter. I was very put off by your last text. And I don’t think I can deal with that at all.”
From that message I took it that she was scared and commitment was her issue. I also deduce that she wasn’t so taken by me that her fears and issues were overwhelmed. Her loss. I’ve learned that the two strongest human emotions are fear and greed. Fear has kept our species alive. Our greed has kept us evolving. In my experience when someone says ‘not ready’ it means they are being governed by their fear(s). It takes someone who taps into their greed for something – lust, intimacy, acceptance, love, whatever because it varies – to make them ignore their fear.
The Brazilian’s heart is fragile and scared. She’s in passive-defensive mode, waiting for any man to say or do one wrong thing and she’s gone. It’s an example of the Grey Knight’s First Law of Dating Physics: for every male action there is a disproportionate female over-reaction.
I am also firmly of the opinion that there was at least one other person on the scene, the person whom she was seeing on Wednesday nights far away from her home.
It occurs to me that it is two years since I went online dating. This gives me pause to remember and wonder what has happened to some of the women I’ve met, as well as the ones I wanted to meet but didn’t get to.
First, the women I did get to meet…
Tech Titan I’m still in touch with, but strictly as friends. She and her boyfriend have just got back from two weeks in the Seychelles, where he proposed to her. I’m happy for her, but he only got divorced a year ago.
Baltic Babe has married her Frenchman. LinkedIn sent me an update with her new surname, so I check out her Facebook page, but she has tightened her security settings and I garner nothing new. I find his Facebook and LinkedIn profile. Let’s just say that he has a face for radio. He must be able to lick his eyebrows. Good luck to them both.
As I sit writing about my dates with The Model, looking back over our email and text conversations, it’s now – yes, only now because I’ve had no reason to think about this – becoming apparent to me that she was dating at least one other person. There were the classic lies/excuses of being at the gym, falling asleep in front of the tv, always getting her voicemail. I was totally blind to it at the time; it was my early days of dating. Apparently all’s fair in love and war. I’m starting to understand what that means.
Krazy Gal got herself a new job then lost it three months later. She’s unemployed again and still living with her parents it seems.
I come across Delicate Flower on Plenty of Fish (PoF). She uses the same photos from when we met 2 years ago. I know that she is now 37 going on 38, but she says on her profile she’s 33. She’s also decided that she wants kids. We swap some emails, but when I suggested that we meet for coffee it seems she blocked me because the message history disappeared. I just wanted to chat with her because I enjoy her company. I wasn’t interested in sex because she is an awful lay. I leave matters there.
PoF also tells me that Angry Yank has changed her location to Greater Boston. Does that mean her visa was running out when we met?
I noticed on the national newspaper’s dating site that Musician Gal has blocked me from contacting her. I find that funny. She was recently active on the site.
I search online for Lusty Lass and can’t find her anywhere. Her Facebook page that I have seen before has disappeared. Our LinkedIn connection has been disconnected and her profile is gone. I do a Google search and find out she had declared herself bankrupt in 2010, probably because of her divorce. When we met in July 2013 she was working for a firm on the outskirts of London, but in early 2014 she had a so-called ‘condition’ set against her by her industry’s governing body that she could not work with client monies. Then latterly she had the same condition set against her but this time she was working for a firm on the opposite end of London. The new firm doesn’t have her on their website as a staff member. Doing a search on her profession’s register returns a blank. Has she been silly and lost her accreditation? She has a penchant for bringing drama into her life.
Cat Lady has acquired a second cat and from the photos she posts on Facebook is spending her evenings knitting things for the kitten.
Busty Blonde has landed her dream job and is still active on the dating site where we met. I hope she meets someone better than me.
Now for the women I didn’t get to meet, the near-misses as I now think of them. These are only some of the women whom I spent time swapping messages with but who couldn’t bring themselves to actually meet me for a date.
A New Zealander whom I was very keen to meet but disappeared when I suggested a date has updated her location on PoF as now being in Sydney, Australia. We interacted a month ago, just before I met The Brazilian.
A local lady and I struck up a great online conversation and agreed to a date. On the Saturday in question she sent me a message at 5am saying that she couldn’t bring herself to meet me that day. I see on PoF that she has changed her profile to say that she “wants to get married”. I would have met her for a date if she suggested rescheduling, but now that I know what her agenda is, I’m put off her.
Last night I was flipping through Tinder when I recognised a pretty blonde whom I had seen on my Happy Humping Ground dating site. On Tinder it shows her name and that she is 41. I find her dating profile where she claims to be 35 and looking to meet men aged 26 to 34! I guess she’s just looking for mindless sex. She’s just the sort of woman I’m visually attracted to; perhaps more proof that the look I like is the wrong sort of person for me.
I love a good, shocking surprise…a woman I noticed on one dating site reveals on another site that she is bisexual.
A lady in my town who approached me and was very keen to meet up, but ended up flaking on me an hour before we were supposed to meet in a local pub has updated her location as being in the north of the country now.
I got an approach email on PoF from someone who looked interesting. Then I noticed that she said that she does drugs on a social basis. I pointed that out to her and said that if it wasn’t for that I would have been happy to meet her for a date. I hear nothing but check her profile the next day to see that she’s changed it to “no drugs”. I write to her but the PoF system says that she has blocked me. She is now someone else’s nightmare in the making.
A woman I’ve swapped messages with in the past responds with “I’m in lurker mode.” What the fuck is that? It’s a woman playing games. There are so many of them on dating sites. They love the attention, will swap endless emails but will never agree to meet for a date. They are not emotionally ready for a relationship. They draw power from the emails, they feel better about themselves for being on a dating site, but they are not relationship material. They’re too fucked up. They eventually acquire cats and their brains are addled with toxoplasmosis. They agree to meet within 6 emails or they’re history.
I’m starting to think that flaky women are just a waste of time. The best encounters, the smoothest experiences have started well and gone well from there. Bad or broken communication is a warning sign; it’s how they operate and will do so in a relationship too.
I’ve realized something: For much of my early dating experiences I was in a mild state of delirium. The disappointment of the Exgf destabilised me, Baltic Babe knocked me over and Krazy Girl stomped me into the ground.
All these women have taken something from me. I don’t exactly know what it is, but I know I lack it. Whatever it was, I want it back. Through Busty Blonde I’m getting to see that an innocence and naiveté I had is gone. That hasn’t made me a better person, instead a more cynical one. I don’t think its that, however. I think it’s a goodness that gave me an arrogant strength is what is gone. It gave me the notion that when it came to relationships, I was better than most men. Now that I have experienced what I have, I feel like I am like other men carrying the same weariness and delusion that they do. I am no longer as special as I once was. Can I be that again, or is the best that I can hope for a different me, built on the ruins of the old? Time will tell.
For the first time ever, the thought of another first date makes my stomach turn. I’m struggling to believe that The One is out there. I’m fully aware that these are my salad days and that I should be out there, mixing and mingling, because I’ve never going to be as good looking and energetic as I am now. Yesterday I found a grey hair in a sideburn; it’s life reminding me that old age is creeping up on me. At the moment I’m just not interested in women.
Thunder is beating its drum and lightning is crackling across the sky outside my window. My window on life. I’ve spent much time looking out that window, wondering about what is and about what could be, even what should be, but the latter only causes me pain. Of course I would love to lie on my lounge floor with Her by my side, whoever Her might be, the one that I am longing to meet, longing so much that at times it hurts. I’ve never had a problem with being alone, but lately I’ve been feeling lonely. That horrible old feeling is back again, to tease and torment me.
After this short and slightly nasty experience with The Brazilian that has left a bitter taste in my mouth, I’ve come to accept that I’m destined to be alone for some time yet. I’ll see it as paying my dues, serving my apprenticeship, hoping that one day I shall be rewarded. Of course there’s no way of knowing what the future holds and it might just be a massive, echoing nothingness for me. A dried up empty husk, devoid of life and of no use to anyone – that is what my love life might hold. It’s a fate that I choose not to think too much about for fear of it depressing and then paralysing me.
My friend, you’re a tourist in the jail that is my dating life, I’m a prisoner here.
Michael Buble – Haven’t Met You Yet
After fantastic sex on Saturday we indulged in pillow talk during which The Brazilian hinted that she has a fear of commitment. It stemmed from her childhood and her parent’s unhappy marriage. That’s not too unusual as I’ve met several woman on my dates with similar stories, but I want to proceed with caution and my eyes wide open. I realize that I don’t really know much about her history, so on Monday I decide to go digging. We keep repeating our history until we learn from it.
I found The Brazilian’s Facebook page and saw that her favourite male character from ‘Sex and the City’ (her treasured show) was Aidan. Strangely, that’s my second name. I read up on this character and other than him making furniture and having a kid, I am Aidan in character but less of a doormat. It’s freaky.
She listed on Facebook her two favourite movies as being ‘Out of Africa’ and ‘The Way We Were’. The stories both end in a similar fashion: the relationships fail and the woman is left feeling abandoned. I find that quite telling and take it as something of a red flag. However, I notice something about both storylines: the protagonists are separated for a while before being re-united and their romance resumes before ultimately failing.
Is this her style of relationship? Is this what she likes doing to men? Is this why she asked me on our second date what my favourite type of movie ending is?
When it got to that time of night when Busty Blonde and I would talk on the phone, a little part of me would dread it and then be relieved when the call was over. With The Brazilian I can’t wait to call her; I feel like a pimple-faced teenager all over again. I can’t wait to hear her voice, but I don’t know what we’ll talk about and I don’t really care. We’ll start off with “Hello…” and take it from there.
I have to draw on all the skills that I’ve acquired over the past two years in order to keep The Brazilian. She’s a massive challenge because of her commitment fear, something I can really do without, but hopefully it’s temporary. I don’t want it to become the focus of our relationship; I want mutual love and respect to be our axis.
I phoned her on Monday night, we had a pleasant enough chat – well, it was her venting about a bad customer mostly. I spoke to her about the Farnborough Air Show, something I had mentioned the previous day and her response seemed lukewarm at best. I then asked about getting together the coming weekend. Her response was, “Well, I’ve been invited to a birthday party on the Saturday night, so I’ll probably go to that. I’ve also been invited to a kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. I usually don’t go to those, but this one I might.”
This kiddies party was different because a customer who had stopped doing business was going to be there and The Brazilian wanted this person to feel awkward. Now if she would rather do that than see me, then that tells me loads; she’s vindictive and can be confrontational. She also doesn’t know who or what is good for her. It also tells me that I’m not a high priority. Of course I’m accepting at face value that she’s telling me the truth. Ah, my good ol’ trust demon furrows his hairy brow, his dark eyes glow as he grips the bars of his cage and starts tugging at them…
“Okay, no problem, “ I say. Of course it was a problem. I want to see her again but I get the impression from her words and their tone that she isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to see me again. I’m making that old mistake of getting too invested in a woman I liked too quickly. Old habits die hard, but I can’t help getting carried away like an excited little boy on Xmas eve. I know what I want and I want it as quickly as possible. Seen logically, the prudent thing to do is to re-activate my dating profiles and keep my options open. That way I don’t allow myself to become too attached too soon which might spook her and result in pain for me.
I ended the call on Monday night saying that it was her turn to call me. Let’s see how long it takes before she calls me. I’m going to give her time and space to miss me. I won’t initiate any kind of communication on Tuesday. If I don’t hear from her at all on Tuesday, then late that night I’ll go on to the dating sites where I switched my profiles off last week and start creating options. I use that word ‘option’ because that is exactly how I’m starting to feel to her.
I would love to have the chance to say to her, “Isn’t time you let go of an idea you told yourself to believe a long time ago when you were a little girl? We all hold on to ideas that actually hold us back from getting what we want. Your ideas about commitment are wrong and redundant. They have not served you well. Don’t you think it’s time to leave them behind and move onto something more useful?”
Tuesday and I’m writing about Krazy Girl for my blog. A part of me is becoming very aware of the similarities between Krazy Girl and The Brazilian: coming on all fiery and excited in the beginning then suddenly blowing cold and then disappearing. Is the excellent sex impairing my judgement again? I’m struck by another similarity between the two in that Krazy Girl went to great pains to keep my existence secret and, although it’s only been ten days with The Brazilian, she told me that she has informed nobody of my existence too. I need to proceed slowly and with caution, not just to avoid scaring her off, but to protect myself.
I go on to Tinder to re-read my messages with The Brazilian, looking for clues and see that she was active on it 3 days ago and had removed one photo and replaced it with another. Why do that if you think you’ve met somebody? You wouldn’t. I have to accept that her fear of commitment is a massive problem and that I should start taking steps to protect myself from possible harm. I’ll cool it with her, let her do more of the running by way of initiating contact and see what happens.
It dawned on me today that so far she has not said anything or done anything that indicates that she’s interested in a relationship. Over the course of the day there was absolutely no contact between us. I was determined to not initiate communication. She can make an effort too.
I’m wondering if she was unimpressed by my place. It didn’t fit in with her expectation. Most women have an idea that they generate in their own heads about what a guy’s place will be like, because it’s part and parcel with their fantasy of the perfect man coming along out of nowhere and, of course, he’s rich too. It’s a great fantasy and most women buy into it and many live their lives according to it. My place is basic, it’s not fancy or flash in any way. Has it done it’s job of warding off another gold-digger?
Late on Tuesday night, during the World Cup game in which Brazil was losing five nil at half-time to Germany, she sent me a Whatsapp message that said, “You do know that I’m half German?” I left it a few minutes and responded with “Call me.” She didn’t call.
I remember her saying that she wants an easygoing, drama-free relationship. I took that to mean that she has only known the opposite of this. I now see that she is the cause of the drama. This hot-cold treatment I’ve seen before and I don’t like it. I’m too old for silly fucking games.
I’m starting to think her primary interest in me is sexual. Anything else is just noise. So be it; as long as I know the score. I won’t go getting my hopes up; the likelihood of disappointment is high. A pity, because I really like her.
Wednesday and I’ve seen that she’s been active on Whatsapp over the course of the day when I’ve gone on it to chat with friends. Yes, I would check when last she had logged on too and it was as often as me at a minimum. So, no real communication in two days. I’m feeling angry and I go onto Tinder, reactivate it and get a match within minutes and started swapping messages. I go on to a few of my trusted free dating sites and reactivate my profiles. I write to two new women on PoF.
I’ve started to subscribe to the expression that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. My instincts now tell me that it is going to just be the first reason with The Brazilian. The fact that she had not lived with a boyfriend since 2002, when she was 26, I should have taken as a massive red flag. She clearly has issues about commitment and relationships because I think it’s only natural to want to live with somebody if you love them.
The Brazilian’s obviously not relationship material. Does she revel in self-sabotage so that she can get her kicks out of feeling scorned? How many men has she done this to and how many more will experience this?
How many more women like her will I encounter? What percentage of women are like her? The mistake was obviously mine in that I still emotionally believe that having sex with someone is an act of commitment. I should know better by now. I have an increased need to want to visit a STD clinic now.
Thursday and I resolve that if I do hear from her again, I’ll wait that amount of time to get back to her. I’ve been so bothered by her behaviour, the blowing hot then cold, that I’ve done some research on the internet about it. The common advice is to leave her be, then only contact her as often as she contacts me. An interesting article contended that physical attraction has a very short use-by date and should best be exploited as quickly as possible.
However, I have to face facts. Nobody’s that busy that they can’t call or text me. She’s just not that into me. The way I feel about her now is largely disappointment. I’m also feeling a little foolish in myself. Connecting with someone on Tinder seems to be just about the sex. If I never hear from her again I won’t be too surprised or disappointed. I shouldn’t have got my hopes up like I did. Stupid Boy. Stupid, stupid boy…
Friday drifts by and I don’t look at anything involving The Brazilian. Swapping messages with other prospects feels tedious; I’ve had the wind knocked out of my sails. On Saturday morning, out of boredom and frustration, I go on to Tinder to see who was out there. I flick over to The Brazilian’s profile to see that she had logged on at 11pm the previous night.
Monday night and to my great surprise The Brazilian phones me at 9.30pm. She tells me that a troublesome customer had really upset her the previous week and she was having sleepless nights because of it. To boot she also had a cold and spent most of Saturday sleeping, not going to her friend’s party on the Saturday night nor the kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. The conversation was mostly her venting about her bad customer and unthinking staff. I found it boring, but had mastered the art of saying “uh-huh” with other women many years ago. She seemed still keen to go to the Farnborough Air Show on the coming weekend. The conversation ended after an hour – our longest chat via phone yet – with her saying twice, “We’ll speak soon, yes?”
I was pleased to hear from her and very surprised because I thought she was lost to me. I’m sure that there’s lots that she’s not telling me. I think this period of silence between us will do me a lot of good. I am looking forward to seeing her again.
I think I’ll surprise her with my red sports car and then we’ll have a nice barbecue with my friends. Depending on the weather we’ll either see the airshow on the Saturday or the Sunday. I hope it’s the former because I’ll then have an excuse to sleep over. I don’t expect sex, but it would be nice to feel her fall asleep in my arms.
If my reading of the situation is correct, then her phoning me was a massive act of commitment on her part. The way she said “speak soon”, the almost pleading tone, which surprised me, is a sign that she really wants to see more of me. I’m very happy to oblige. I’m already thinking of taking her to the Bristol Balloon Festival.
I didn’t phone her on the Tuesday as I didn’t want to seem too keen again, but besides that, there was little new to discuss. On the Wednesday night I spoke to my friend about the upcoming Farnborough Air Show and the weather forecast is rainy, except for the Sunday afternoon. I called The Brazilian at 8.15pm and ended up leaving a voice message. I then sent her a Whatsapp message just to make sure. Then I realised it was a Wednesday night, it’s when she seems to disappear. Peter Sarstedt said it best, “Where do you go to my lovely?”
I saw on Whatsapp that she logged on at 10.15pm and saw my message. I was tempted to phone her, not expecting her to answer because I would probably hear train noise in the background or a restaurant scene. My trust demon insists that she was on a date with another guy.
I now don’t trust The Brazilian at all. This is going to fizzle out quickly so I need to make the most of what’s on offer. If I do get to spend a night with her again, I’m going to slip on a condom and fuck her in the arse because that’s all she’s showing herself to be good for. If I’m really lucky and naughty, I might film this with my phone as a keepsake. I didn’t get to do that with Krazy Girl and so badly would have loved to have a video of me fucking her.
The similarity of this situation is not lost on me. Sweet Thing was followed by Krazy Girl, almost two identical sets of relationship styles – submissive and compliant followed by unavailable and difficult. Is Life playing games with me too? Is there something that I’m being shown for a second time for a reason? Is there a vital life-lesson somewhere in all of this that I’m missing?
On Thursday The Brazilian sends me a message on Whatsapp saying that she had developed tonsillitis and that it is very contagious so we won’t be going anywhere on the weekend. I texted her back asking if she would like any company over the weekend. No response for several hours. Then it dawned on me; she’s not interested in me. All the silence, the excuses were just her way of trying to brush me off. I know what a woman is like when she is interested in me and this isn’t it. I feel like an unwanted puppet on the end of her string.
I send her this Whatsapp message: “Sorry, I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake…message understood…you won’t be hearing from me again…good luck and goodbye.”
It is the shortest and most brutal message of its kind I’ve ever sent, but it reflects my mood. I feel cold and numb inside, a familiar numbness that was starting to feel like an old acquaintance that will never be a friend.
LESSONS LEARNED: 1) It is now a fact to me that only by the end of the third date will you know if there will be a relationship. If there’s any doubt, then there’s no doubt. 2) We all have our own relationship style and for some people it is a negative one. 3) Tinder appears to be a hook-up app for people only interested in sex.
For anyone who is experiencing this hot/cold behaviour from someone then the following article will help:
Barbra Streisand – Memories (from ‘The Way We Were’)