42. Crazy Horses: The Italian Stallion

First of all, Merry Christmas everyone, I wish you all the best for the festive season.

Secondly, here’s a funny tale of past dating from before my 100 dates challenge:

I hinted a little about a previous public transport encounter in my last post so it’s about time I explained more to you about the “Crazy Italian Stallion”. Crazy_Horses

 

It all started when I was on my way home from the gym, I was walking to the tube station and was standing outside whilst I finished talking to a friend on the phone.  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted this tall dark Mediterranean looking man looking at me.  I thought nothing much more of it, finished my call and headed down to the subway.

Next thing I know he’s standing right next to me and asks politely if I can tell him the best way to get to Baker Street.  Being the helpful (is that gullible?) person that I am, I give him directions and we continue talking as we head to the train.  Eventually we end up exchanging numbers and arrange to meet up another time.

A couple of dates on and all was going well, we’d spent the day in Kew botanical gardens, had a date at the British museum and were getting along fine.  We both seemed to have a quirky sense of humour and would talk nonsense for hours – actually a lot of it was nonsense as his Sicilian was that strong I could barely make out what he said at the start.

Now as much as we got along to start I did have a couple of early concerns about Crazy Italian – namely his being almost 40 years old and still working as a temp barman – doesn’t exactly scream ambition.

Anyhow being the non-judgemental soul that I am, I put aside my qualms and decided to see what happened.

After a few dates, he invited me round for dinner… which of course meant sleeping over…

My first shock came when I saw where he was living – it was basically like a student house, a really run-down student house where the landlord hadn’t done any repairs in over a decade!  Again foregoing better judgement I tried to ignore the dilapidated décor and concentrate on the fact that a tall, dark Mediterranean man was cooking me dinner and I knew exactly what we were having for dessert.

Dinner was… forgettable – at least I can’t remember what the hell he cooked for me but dessert…. UN-FOR-FREAKIN-GETTABLE!!!

And for a number of reasons I might add.  You see my crazy Italian was particularly adept at a certain sexual technique – the man was an extremely cunnilinguist.

Never in my life before or since have I ever met a man who could do what this man could do with his tongue… he was like a freakin pneumatic drill… the rapidity and accuracy would have put a trigger happy sniper on speed to shame!

Seriously – I cannot emphasise enough how astoundingly amazing this guy was with his
tongue – I was almost in tears from the paroxysms of pleasure he was causing to washWoody over me.  It was like Woody Woodpecker having had an extremely fat line of the old magic dust, with a tongue instead of a beak just hammering away and hitting the bullseye every damned time! – it almost brings a tear to my eye at the mere memory, and certainly means I’ll be having a few pleasant dreams tonight😉

Once I’d recovered my composure and had slowed my gasping to a gentle pant, I asked him where in the hell he had learned such skills.  It turns out he had a lesbian friend who taught him everything he knew… I swear if I ever meet that woman I would firmly shake her by the hand and beg that she set up a school to teach every straight man in the world her genius skills.

But back to that evening and what puts the crazy into Crazy Italian…

After several hours of jackhammer inspired pleasure and a rather unfulfilling bout of ‘lovemaking’ – I now realised why he spent so much time on pleasuring me (not complaining of course).  Unfortunately my Italian Stallion had some issues with keeping his pecker up.

But this is not the crazy part, and in fact I think his pecker problem was probably connected to the crazy problem…

By now it was about 3am and we were in post-coital (well actually post-cunnilingual but why split hairs?), the discussion moved towards past significant exes and I noticed his face drop… warning bell number one.  My initial instinct was to let it drop, this was clearly a sensitive subject, but then something – let’s call it female intuition made me push for more information.

Crazy Italian, then proceeded to tell me of his tumultuous relationship with the Mother of his baby! Yep, news to me too!!!  The basically he’d ‘discovered’ that his girlfriend was cheating on him and ‘god forbid…’ with a black man… ohh the scandal (please note the British sarcasm here – to be clear I am not in any way indicating shock or disgust at her possibly having cheated with someone of a different race to him or her, it was more shocking that he seemed to me doubly offended and abused that she could sleep with a black guy – like the race that someone cheats with even matters).

Now at first I listened thinking – ok the man was clearly hurt and betrayed, understandable.  But then his tale continued, he explained how he knew, just knew that she had been fucking this other guy whilst heavily pregnant with possibly his child.  When I asked him how he’d found out he became rather vague and started telling me how she had then thrown him out and threatened to call the police.

The next part of his tale was to tell me how he hid in her apartment when he’d come to pick up his things and how she had at some point thereafter contacted the police, had a restraining order put on him and had told the police she feared for her own safety.  All the way through this tale he protested his innocence and anger that she feared for her life.

“I have pictures of us together where she’s smiling, how can she have been scared if she was smiling?”  All I kept thinking was of a woman with a fixed smile on her face but fear in her eyes.  It just didn’t ring true… I also kept thinking, ok getting a restraining order is no easy matter.  I was more inclined to think this poor woman whoever she was, really was in fear of her life and that this guy was slightly unhinged – it was something in the way he spoke about her and his paranoia about the child not being his, even though it clearly wasn’t mixed race.

Again my women’s intuition, aka survival instinct kicked in and I just knew this guy was clearly a few salami slices short of a Panini.   But given the hour I had to play it safe…  lying naked next to a guy you’ve just been intimate with and now fear is a bit of a psycho-obsessive with a restraining order, does not make for a restful night I’ll tell you that much!Pretend_asleep

I spent the next few hours feigning sleep until I ‘awoke’ and had to return home… “busy day today and all, but thank you so much for a wonderful evening…”

I beat a hasty retreat home feeling thankful that I’d pushed my line of enquiry and truly believe I had a lucky escape.

My lesson in all this? Well I thought I had taken the time to get to know him before moving onto the next step, but sometimes things come out later rather than sooner.  But the main point is trust your instincts, if it doesn’t sound right and you’re getting that crazy freak vibe, then get the hell away as safely and as quickly as you can!

The other key lesson here – No type of crazy tongue skills, no matter how earth-shattering they are is worth the other type of crazy this guy was packing.

But not all random train guys are loopy as the circle line, I have met some lovely people on the tube too, some of them are still friends and as far as I know none of them have any restraining orders…yet

41. Mr Big By Name…

So last time I left off I was faced with a dilemma – whether to meet Mr Big again or not, given his marital status.

Well the short answer is I did.

We met up for a quick drink in a bar not far from where we both work.  The bar in question is well known as a bit of a meat market – the type of place where women from a certain area east of London associated with the TV show TOWIE, come to find a nice gentleman with a steady wage.  What am I saying – they go there because it’s where all the City Boys hang out on a Thursday (it’s the new Friday) and get absolutely wankered, easy pickings on both sides.

I was a bit surprised and I’ll admit dismayed with his suggestion but put it down to his not being in the country long, so I bit my tongue and met him there.  Again he was dressed in standard City Trader attire with his monogrammed shirtsleeves (cringe), but he carries it well.

We chatted for a while and I found out a bit more about what he does for a living – trading in some sort of agri-business…  And I told him about my passion in life – pole dancing. I know I know I shouldn’t, but he seemed like an adult so I thought he might not assume the usual sleazy leer.  He assumed a slight momentary leer.

He also spent an inordinate amount of time staring at me and saying how attractive I am.  Now compliments are great and of course I’m grateful, it’s just that they make me a bit uncomfortable at the same time.  I always try the be gracious and say thank you, but the honest truth is it kind of embarrasses me.

We’d been standing chatting at the bar for an hour or so chatting (him gazing at me – a bit staring_cat-2like my insecure cat does when he tries to out-stare me, he usually wins), which is a tough gig when you’re wearing 3.5 inch stilettos.  Seeing my pain he suggests we sit down and he guides me to a secluded corner where he then proceeds to kiss me.

If you’ve read many of my previous posts you’ll know I’m not a prude by any means, but this still felt a little fast for my liking.  But it wasn’t like I didn’t want to kiss him, it’s just that given his circumstances I wanted to proceed with caution.  The next thing I knew he had his hand on my thigh and was trying to guide my hand to his formidable cock.

WTF???

Where the hell did that come from?  And I’m not just talking about the dick proportioned baby-Weightliftinglike the arm of a well-built baby that does weight-lifting – on steroids… How had we gone from gentle flirting  to ” here’s my giant cock, wanna feel?” in the space of an hour?

I wasn’t giving him any overt sexual signals – believe me I know when I am as they’re pretty darned intentional.  In fact I was being what I thought was pretty coy… was it because I told him about my passion for pole (no pun intended – well ok maybe intended pun)?  Did he actually know the rep of the meat joint he’d taken us to and assumed that “well she must be up for it if she knows we’er going here…”?

Now I have to admit to being a bit crap here – any strong, self-respecting woman would have twatted him in the face after such lewd behaviour.  But I’m a total big girl’s blouse (aka lame-ass coward) when it comes to confrontations.  So I just made my excuses and left in an extreme hurry.

Jeeze I just seem to have terrible luck or otherwise I’m a horrendous judge of character, I just didn’t see any of that coming.  I assumed he was a gentleman, but what gentleman tries to get you to grab his knob in public on a Tuesday night after taking you out for a very civilized lunch date?

I’m beginning to wonder if I should steer clear of individuals who talk to strangers on public transport.  Which reminds me, I have to tell you all about Crazy Italian –  the Sicilian guy who asked me for directions….

I’ll explain all in the next post

UK Dating Awards 2014

UKDA new dating blog shortlist

As you may have noticed, I have a few new images on my website – that’s because I’ve been shortlisted for two categories for the UK Dating Awards later this month – that of Best New Dating Blog and Best Dating Blog!

The Awards ceremony dinner is on Thursday 13th of November and I’m so excited.  I’ve no idea what my chances are of winning but in all honesty I’m just thrilled and excited to have been UKDAbest blog shortlistshortlisted in one category let alone two!

There are several other categories at UKDA such as Matchmaker of the Year and Best Dating App.  There are also two publicly voted awards for Best Dating Website and Best Dating Advert.

Voting closes on Tuesday 11th November so get your vote in now:

1) Best Dating website

2) Best Dating Advert – take a look at the  five ads below and then vote for whichever you think is best:

Guardian Soulmates

Christian DatingLovestruck


Thanks Everyone,

Love Kissey

xx

40. The Dilemma, To Date or Not To Date?

So where did I leave off?

Oh yes I was about to have a date with London’s answer to Mr Big, my American stranger from the train.  He’d asked me to decide on where to meet for lunch as he claimed to be unfamiliar with the area – it turns out he’s only been in the country about 6 months.

We meet just near the restaurant and head upstairs, I’ve dressed in an extremely clingy but still somewhat professional looking dress.  It’s so tight I’ve had to deny myself any form of carbs for the past 48 hours, in fact I’ve had to avoid even thinking of carbs in case that shows up in this dress too.  So not wanting to waste the opportunity, I ensure that I walk in front of him up the stairs, removing my long coat as I do so.

It has the desired effect as when I turn around at the top I can see his eyes quickly come back up to face level.  He’s dressed very much as he was when I met him, sharp business suit and shiny shoes.  I then notice the shirt – checkered but with his initials embroidered into the cuffs.

It’s only because he’s a Yank that I can forgive him this fashion misdemeanor –  on a fellow Brit I would be mercilessly tearing him apart (unless he was a toff – they can’t be blamed as such, on the basis that they’re usually public/boarding school educated and have had their initials hand-embroidered into their nappies and every other item of clothing since birth).

But back to the date.

Conversation flows easily and I get over my initial nerves  – I was actually pretty terrified of this date as I’d managed to build him up into some amazing international, super-intelligent jet-setter in my head, and couldn’t think for the life of me how I was going to hold my own for an hour in his company.

It turns out he does do a fair bit of international travel with his job, travelling to Asia, South America and the USA visiting his company’s local offices there.  And he’s also pretty intelligent from what I can gather too.  So it seems I’m not far off the mark, but he has an easy manner and seems to be genuinely interested in me too.

So what else did I find out?

Well he’s in his 40s, studied at Harvard, half Italian half Caribbean, oh and has a wife and two kids.

DANMIT!!!   I should’ve known it was too good to be true.

He tells me that he’s in the midst of separating from his wife which he says is further complicated because of visa issues.  Ok I think, he could be telling the truth, but best to approach this whole situation with extreme caution. Heck, I’m not so wet behind the dating ears not to know that a lot of guys will say whatever comes into their heads if they think it’ll help ’em get laid.

So we end our lunch with him saying that he really wants to see me again but will understand if I’d rather not….  So I’m now stuck with a dilemma, whether to give him the benefit of the doubt or not.

Actually, for a change I’ll ask you…  What do you think, would you believe him?

39. Mr Big

So I have lots to tell you all of my dating adventures including a wild trip to Barcelona and a random hot guy on a train.

I’ll start with the guy on the train.  Okay so I may have mentioned in the past how I’ve been picked up on London’s great public transport system.  I even managed to score a date on a bus once – a long time ago I hasten to add.  I was only 20 at the time and was still a relative newbie to the city (I’m a Northerner by birth).  I was still at that naive stage of smiling and talking to strangers, before reality sinks in and you learn that most people in London are freaks, and if you’re speaking to strangers – well you’re probably a freak too.

So there I was, a self-acknowledged young freak talking to a good-looking guy on a bus, so of course we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates.  Sadly nothing much came of him and I was left waiting for yet another metaphorical bus to arrive.MJ

Several years (a decade and a half – cough) there was Train
Guy 1 – the original.  A very tall slim guy, he looked like Michael Jackson sans Jerry Curl, when he was still relatively black and less creepy looking, that small window of time between Off the Wall and Thriller.  Before his nose looked like something he’d stolen from Mr Potato head.Potato Head

Train Guy used to get on the same carriage as me every morning.  For several weeks, possibly even months, we exchanged furtive glances and the odd half-disguised smile.  Eventually one morning he came over and spoke to me and after a few more morning conversations we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates.  But as you’ve probably already guessed it came to nought – well not totally, we stayed friends for a while until he moved away and I ended up having a very short-lived fling with his half-brother who I much preferred and had way more in common with.

Then there was Crazy Italian – He’s a story in itself – which I’ll have to divulge in full in a blog post all of it’s own – it is that weird and scary.  But just as a teaser intro, basically I was standing outside the tube station talking on the phone when I clocked a handsome tanned guy with short dark hair looking at me.  I then walked down to the ticket area where he approaches me and asks me with a comedically (is that even a word???) strong Italian accent, how he could get to Baker Street.  Eventually he admitted that he didn’t need directions at all but was just looking for an excuse to talk to me.

So another couple of years on and I’m on a crowded tube to work, pushed up against someone’s armpit on one side and with someone’s backpack pressed into the small of my back.  Clearly I had not learned that all-important lesson that so many of us ‘Londoners’ have learned about avoiding eye contact at all costs and I ended up aimlessly staring at the people luxuriously lounging on TFL’s finest plush seating.

It was a few seconds before I realised that the person I was staring at with that vacant, slightly haunted look of the terminal commuter was staring back at me.  In fact they weren’t just staring, they were grinning – and they weren’t half bad looking either!

I did my thing of looking away several times, but I could feel him still looking at me which of course made me look back like a kid that’s been told not to point and stare at the dwayne-johnsonfreakishly tall person standing directly in front of them.  And speaking of tall… at the next stop he stands up, gives up his seat and pushes through the crowd to speak to me… This
guy is at least 6F 2” of dark, skinned handsomeness.   He reminds me of a less muscle-bound version of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, and unsurprisingly he’s American.

Well, I mean come on!  How many English guys do you know who give up their seat on the tube willingly just to speak to a stranger?  Okay – you can’t include the pissed guys at 12 o’clock at night on the last tube home.

It turns out that he works in the same area as me and we get off at the next stop together where he hands me his business card and asks if I’d like to go to lunch with him some day…. Like OMG Hell Yeah!!!

But of course I smile demurely and say that that would be lovely and he laughs at my “quaint, English way of speaking”.  I then rush into the office and google/online stalk him and his company like any self-respecting horny, crazed single woman would. Mr Big

Jackpot! He’s handsome, presumably single and has a high-flying city job.  And promptly I start day-dreaming about him possibly being my “Mr Big” of SATC fame.

A couple of days later… I’m a busy lady don’t you know – Okay I’ll admit I had to be forcibly restrained… I contact him and we arrange to meet for lunch at a posh French restaurant nearby before he has to fly off to Brazil on business…

And that’s where I’ll have to leave it for now.  More on how the date went with Mr Big in the next post.

38. Nice Guy Eddie

Ok so before you ask, I should warn you that I did not just have a date with Chris Penn Nice Guy Eddieor anyone else from the cast of Reservoir Dogs.  And neither was there a Mexican stand-off at the end of my date – though there was some tequila involved.

Nice guy Eddie is so named as the guy I had a date with is just that – a totally nice guy.  He’s actually a primary school teacher, one of his profile pictures is of him graduating, an extremely tall, slim black guy surrounded by a host of newly qualified white female teachers who all look quite delighted to have him in their midst.

Nice Guy Eddie (not his real name I hasten to add) is a date from the website, and thankfully none of his text-talk strayed into the borderline sexting of his ill-fated predecessor.  This one seems like a real gent.  He’s 40 years old, about 6ft 4 and relatively good looking without being so handsome that he’d be trouble – he also seems really sweet.

We arranged to meet in Shoreditch at a bar that’s usually quite rowdy on a weekend or Friday, but midweek it’s pretty quiet – in fact we’re one of only two couples in the whole place!

Nice Guy Eddie, is on time and true to form looks like his pictures which is always a relief!  He’s very tall indeed, slim build and a quirky dresser – he’s dressed smart-casual in jeans with a flat cap which actually looks pretty hip.  He’s grinning like a little boy when I meet him and straight away I feel at ease.

We go up to the bar where he orders a pint and I order my usual drink of Havana rum & coke, to which he looks at me all shame-faced and apologises for not ordering a ‘more interesting drink than beer’.  He’s so sincere and endearing that I can’t help but smile at his worrying about what I think of his ‘unimaginative’ drink choices.  I tell him it’s fine and we sit down to chat.

It turns out that I am popping his dating cherry as he’s never been on an internet date up until now.  I promise him that I’ll be gentle and we continue chatting.  Nice Guy has been single for about a year or so after a long term relationship went downhill – from the sounds of things his ex was taking advantage of his nice guy ways.

As we continue to talk I find out he has a big brother, who he tells me is very concerned about his going on dates with strangers… at times it feels like I’m out on a date with aCute Kitten naive 14 year old boy.  He’s so sweet and innocent, all enthusiasm and excitement which makes me really like him – I just get the feeling I like him in the way one likes cute fluffy kitten videos on youtube.  There’s a real temptation to say ahh in a cutesey voice before tickling him on the belly till he squeals.

Fortunately for everyone, before I give in to temptation he rushes off to the bar to get a more ‘interesting’ drink for us.  He returns shortly with Patron XO café shots…. I am rendered momentarily speechless, before swiftly knocking our shots back (which are pretty darned good I might add).

I’ve never done shots on a first date in my life and I swiftly advise Nice Guy that it’s not standard dating practice as some girls might assume he’s trying to get them paralytic before having his wicked way with him – the mere thought of which in the context of Nice Guy Eddie could only mean staying out past curfew or possibly jaywalking – he’s just so unbelievably……nice.

And not even in a cringey way, he’s lovely, boyish, charming and endearing – which unfortunately doesn’t really scream MANLY.  But I have to admit he’s great company.  The whole time he’s like an excitable puppy dog that keeps chasing his tail and looks totally delighted at the prospect of seeing snow for the first time – not what you’d expect of a grown man turning 40.  I’m beginning to see why his brother is so protective of him.

For the rest of the date, it’s almost like I’m giving him a lesson in internet dating etiquette, as he asks whether he’s doing things right or if he’s saying the right things.  I assure him he’s doing fine – and he is, just not the right things for me (which I keep to myself – come on, I can’t be mean to this guy!).

At the end of the night Nice Guy Eddie walks me to the tube and I can see he’s hesitating over the whole do I kiss her before I go dilemma.  I have to say as a woman, it’s actually quite nice not having to worry about that one, we can afford to just stand back and wait if we want.  But what he does next really threw me.

We go in for the hug and it’s clear he’s decided to forego the awkward first kiss.  He walks away about five paces, before running back to me giving me a peck on the lips and running away again.

And I’m just standing there like a girl who’s just been caught playing catch-kiss for the first time – totally bewildered and blushing like a twelve-year-old.

So that was Nice Guy Eddie – a thoroughly enjoyable date, just not sure if he’s gonna come out to play again or not – but I’ll give you an update on that next time, along with a tale of my next date with destiny.

37. Desperately Sikhing Perverts

Okay so I’m probably giving away some of the game with the title of this post.  You may well have ascertained that this story has something to do with perverts and men of a particular religious persuasion.  Not to say that his religious inclination has anything to do with his level of pervyness, it’s more of a happy coincidence given the numerous puns that I could’ve gone with.

My Sikh perv came to me by way of the website rather than random circumstance. But why the pervert label? Well we’ll get to that very shortly.

I’ve dated people of various religious leanings from Muslim, Buddhist and Hindu, to various sub-sections of Christianity including  and not limited to the “Happy-Clappy” variety.  I can honestly say from experience that it makes very little difference in the dating world what religion one is, other than a varying level of religious hypocrisy, depending on how devout a follower they are and their views on sex before marriage.

From his profile this guy seemed like a good prospect, moderately handsome, into his fitness and a good job in the city.  'City Traders - The Complete Menagerie'Well that last one should’ve been a slight warning, the religion of your average City Trader does tend to err on the dark side and often involves selling one’s soul to the devil to make one’s yearly bonus.  And yes I am massively generalizing here, but even my flatmate would concur (and she’s dated more City boys than I care to shake a pointy stick at) that they tend to be vainer and more arrogant than your average bear (or bull depending on your trading position).

So for ease we’ll call our prospective love interest Trader-Boy – yes of course he’s younger than me! – but not by too much he’s only nine years my junior…

Trader-Boy and I had exchanged a few emails and were now progressing to text-talk.  We’d established that we worked nearby to each other and had a common interest in all things fitness.  We then started talking about meeting up and arranged to meet near to our workplaces in three days’ time.

And this is where it all took a strange turn for the worse.  At first his messages were friendly, light, humorous and mildly flirtatious, but gradually they became more and more suggestive.  No-Idea-of-What-Sexting-is-1Now I’m happy to flirt don’t get me wrong, but when a guy starts making sexual insinuations and asking if you have a lot of ‘energy’ and whether your previous partner was satisfied?  well I draw the line there – unless of course you’ve already crossed that sexual line in which case go crazy, talk dirty and Snapchat to your hearts content!

At first as I’m often prone to do, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he’s just joking I thought.  So I laughed it off and steered the conversation in a different direction.  Harmless deflection into a less sexually charged topic and a polite decline to send any pictures.

It didn’t work.

Again, me being a ‘nice’ person (also look up the definition of stupidly naive person who tries to see the good in everyone even when they have the redeeming qualities of a serial killer who likes to torture puppies for light entertainment), I decided that rather than cut him off completely I would just let him know that I found his language somewhat forward.  hqdefaultDon’t worry I said it more eloquently than that and managed to sound slightly less frumpy than a 76 year old Mormon virgin.

I just told him that as we had yet to meet I’d rather he reined in his ‘enthusiasm’ as I was ‘not that kind of girl’.  Okay okay, you know as well as I do that I can and indeed have been that type of girl, but not with a complete stranger!  Besides I really believe that if you set a certain tone before you meet someone, they can end up with the wrong idea – an idea that some unscrupulous characters will try and force upon you against your will.

But thankfully my straight-talking worked.

For all of about three text exchanges at which point he thought it perfectly acceptable to ask how good I was in bed, how long I could go for and if I got very wet or not.

At this point I decided that he didn’t even deserve the effort of a reply and blocked him on my whatsapp.  And that was that, except I then got a voicemail from him two days later wondering where I was as he was stood waiting for me at our pre-arranged meeting point.  The first and only time I have ever stood up a guy, but to my reckoning it was wholly warranted.

I really don’t understand how some guys think it’s ok to just jump straight in and start asking about your sexual ability before they’ve even met you.  Sure, if we’d met on a hook-up site I’d understand. But surely not when you’re on a site where you’re supposedly looking for a committed relationship???  But then again, maybe that’s just me being naive again.

So this week’s post is really a tale of a date that never happened, but to be honest I’m pretty glad it didn’t!

Onward and upwards though as they say, I have a date arranged next week with a very tall primary school teacher…fingers crossed he’s not a pervert too.