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.


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

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.

35. Premiership Guy – The Semi-Finals

For My second date with Premiership guy, we decided to go for a picnic in the park after work.  It was a beautiful sunny day so I thought what better than to chill out in the sunshine.  It started off fine enough, we found a good spot in the sun and sat down.  He was wearing a tight fitting t-shirt and I could see his beautifully toned arms and further proof of his very flat and toned stomach – made me feel slightly ashamed of my rather soft mid-region.

Us women have a real hang-up about having any type of belly, but the sad truth is, once you get past a certain age it becomes harder and harder to get back to that magical flat stomach some of us (if we were lucky) had in our teens and early twenties.  My magic metabolism disappeared around the age of 23 with my first office job.  It was quite a blow when I realised that could no longer “eat all the pies” without fear of having a mini pie-baby for the next week and a half.

Back then Carbs and I were fleeting bedfellows, now we’re fast friends, as the minute any kind of refined sugar or flour passes my lips, they seem to weld themselves lovingly to my midriff.  Oh and whilst I’m ranting, why oh, why is it that the fat always leaves my not-so-ample bosom first, then my ass and last, and mostly definitely the very least – it leaves my belly!

I’ve been told by some of my kinder male friends that guys actually like a little softness round the middle – pffft!  Apparently they don’t like a rock hard flat stomach, they want a more cushiony belly to rest their head or hands on.  Whether that’s because if we have a belly it takes the pressure off them to have a perfectly toned, you could wash a month’s worth of laundry stomach, or whether they actually do find it more feminine I truly don’t know, I just hope it’s true.

I remember about a year ago when I was seeing a PT with muscles so cut my eyes bled just looking at him.  He was stood behind me with his arms around me when he placed his hands on my little food-baby and jiggled it…

“Whhhat are you doing?” I asked as calmly as I could.

“Ohh I just love your belly, it’s so soft and jiggly!”

Needless to say he did not get any sex that night, instead I spent the next ten minutes explaining to him that although he may indeed love a “belly that jiggles” this was not conducive sexy-talk for any woman.  I then spent the rest of the evening resisting the urge to comfort eat and feeling guilty about all the pies I know I shouldn’t have eaten over the preceeding three months.

Anyway as often happens, I digress… so here I was in a lovely park eating all my favourite carb friends with my handsome Palestinian Premiership Prince.  It was very relaxed, very peaceful… in fact it was a little too peaceful.  It seemed that the conversation that had flowed so easily a couple of days previously was now more like a stagnant pool of small-talk.

I had nothing to say, and it would seem neither did he.

We tried several times to start conversations, but either it was the warm sunshine that melted our brains, or more likely we’d just talked ourselves dry on the previous date.  We relaxed in the park for an hour or so until it started to get chilly and I’d really had enough of surreptitiously envying/ogling his toned body and beautiful green eyes.  We then decided to take a stroll to Trafalgar Square, partly in the vain hope that a change of scenery would stimulate conversation again, but alas it was not to be.  After yet another so pregnant it was about to give birth pause, he turned to me and said.

“It’s so great that I feel so comfortable with you that we don’t need to talk, I’m just really enjoying being with you”

Ass so sweet I hear you cry…. Oooh so boring I heard myself lament.  You see for me conversation is pretty important, mental stimulation is a massive turn-on for me.  If you haven’t already worked it out I’m pretty wordy – and as much as I am drawn to the quiet “mysterious” types, I do like a modicum of communication.

But it wasn’t solely his fault, I wasn’t able to contribute much either and I realise now that this was a direct consequence of arranging a second date too soon after the first – not enough had happened in the last few days to talk about and we clearly had very little in common.

So I decided to call it a night and head off home, and that’s when he went in for the long awaited kiss…

It was… to be quite honest… a letdown, any chemistry I’d felt on the first date had long since evaporated in the drought of our conversational desert.  It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser, not at all, there just wasn’t much in the way of feeling or emotion – more like a practice kiss, like when you’re a kid learning how to french kiss without knocking out your front teeth.

Post-kiss, we said our goodbyes and I went home feeling slightly deflated, which makes me wonder why I agreed to go on a third date – I’ll tell you all about it in the next post 😉

28. Tiger Ears, Potential Stalkers and a Date with No Smell – Part 3

It’s a day later than promised I know – but dear readers, I suspect by now you are used to my usual tardiness in posting when I say I will…

I started this three-part post with a tale of a date that didn’t happen, so it only seems appropriate that I conclude with my most recent mis-adventure that ended up coming to nothing too.

I’d started talking to the newest online contender about a week or so ago. He seemed nice, a decent enough looking professional in his mid-30s, his profile said that he had no children and a good steady job – yep all the things that usually have me running for the hills. What could go wrong? Well clearly something did as we never actually met in the end.

How did it end up being a non-date?

To start off with our email conversations through the site were fine, we’d succeeded in jumping through all the communication hoops of likes/dislikes and questions such as, what would you prefer; death by rabid werewolves or rabid zombies?

I was comfortable enough that I felt happy giving him my phone number and we started texting. Now this first text seems pretty innocuous and to start off with it is, it’s just the context.

At about 7.30 in the morning I get a text from him asking how I’d slept – okay it’s not that weird I’ll grant you that, but given that I hadn’t met him yet, it just seemed… a tad too familiar. It wasn’t like I’d had a crazy night out before, and it wasn’t a morning after a date text so I couldn’t quite get why he was asking.

Ok so maybe he’s just a nice guy who is concerned about my sleep patterns, that could happen couldn’t it? So I ignore the first tingle of my spidey senses and put it down to a very newfound fear of intimacy on my part.

The next thing to set alarm bells for me was his request to befriend me on Facebook… huh??? Ok, again not so strange if we’d actually met, but hell I don’t give out my personal Facebook details to anyone I’ve just met… I’m not one of those people who collect ‘friends’ just to reassure themselves that they’re popular… I don’t need to – I know I’m not that popular and I’m quite comfortable with that. But to give out my details (and access to my personal life and my pictures) to a guy I’ve never even met? Hell No!

So as not to hurt his feelings I claimed not to have a Facebook account and neatly dodged the issue. He then started asking exactly where I worked and where I lived and at this point I was really not comfortable. It was something about his overall tone and over-eagerness that smelt suspiciously like clingy stalker material.

Given his over-familiarity, and I’ll be honest a lot of it was just female intuition, I decided that I was no longer comfortable going on a date with this guy. I could’ve taken the coward’s way out, I could’ve made my excuses, explained I had a highly contagious disease that meant all my limbs were gradually dropping off, or that I’d recently discovered God and converted to life of abstinence as a nun.

But no, I thought, I’ll be honest, I’ll tell him that I no longer want to meet him – and why, who knows, perhaps he’s had other women drop him faster than a leper’s desiccated hand. Perhaps he’ll even thank me for being refreshingly honest and pointing out to him the error of his ways?

Or perhaps not.

Yes I’ll admit to being ever so slightly naive in thinking he would take my politely phrased explanation for not wanting to meet him as anything other than a direct insult to his whole being. But seriously… the tirade of abuse I got from him was… well to be frank it was rather petty and quite a lot vicious.

I’d tried to be delicate in my email, I’d even said perhaps I was being a little over precautious, that he may well be a lovely guy but that he was just coming on a little too strong for my liking. His reply was just pure abuse and vitriol, I’d obviously struck a rather sensitive nerve.

And well yes, to be fair I was asking for it really, lesson learned – and if in future I meet a weirdo guy who give me that freak vibe, well I’ll do as I’ve always done in the past, delete them from my contacts, block them completely, and should I have the misfortune to run into them again? – claim total amnesia.

27. Tiger Ears, Potential Stalkers and a Date with No Smell – Part 2

Hello Lovely Readers,

I meant to update this a couple of days ago but my social live caught up with me and I’ve been catching up with friends the last few evenings rather than dating for a change.

My second cautionary tale is of a date that did happen and what I like to think was a lucky escape. Again this harks back to my early adventures on Match.com.

I had already been on one date with Psycho Boy (you’ll find out why he is so named later on) several weeks before. It had been a pretty good first date, we’d got on pretty well, had a couple of drinks and ended up continuing on to a club nearby.

At the end of the night we kissed and there was a definite spark between us. But then… radio silence… It seemed odd, as he’d appeared so keen to the point where he was trying to persuade me to stay over.

Yes I admit I was pretty naive still, and I hadn’t realised that my refusal could be precisely why he’d dropped me faster than an epileptic guy trying to juggle hot coals in an eighties strobe-lit roller disco.

Several weeks later I get a call from Psycho Boy, it turned out he’d had an accident and been in hospital for some time with concussion.

Yes, it actually happened – the excuse that I always imagine is the real reason why a guy just disappears into the ether from whence he came, never to be heard from again, actually came into being.

See! It’s not just an urban myth (whilst we’re on the subject – I did once have a guy claim his long absence and lack off communication was because the Danish military police were interrogating him as a suspected spy – he was an actor and he seemed quite put out that I didn’t find his story that plausible).

Given that Psycho Boy’s excuse was 98% more believable than the Danish Actor’s, I decided that I would meet him for a second date. It turns out he’d been on a work night out, gotten totally smashed, fallen down some stairs and cracked the back of his head open – he even showed me the scar!

Unfortunately the blow had caused him to loose his sense of smell and taste. The net impact of this was that it changed his personality somewhat too. He wasn’t anywhere near as light-hearted as the first time I’d met him, and he admitted that he was really struggling to adapt a lifetime of bland food.

I actually felt a bit bad for him, and I was feeling the need for some physical affection too so I ended up going back to his place. It was only when we started to get intimate that he seemed to have a real problem with my confidence.

He asked me why I always felt the need to be in control and wanted me to lie back and let him take charge. Okay… so he clearly likes to be in control too, and that’s fine as long as we’re both comfortable with what’s going on.

The weird bit was what he said in the middle of us having sex… He looked me dead in the eye, put his hand round my throat and said:

“God, this feels so right! It feels like I own you… Doesn’t it feel like I own you?”

“Erm, not really no, it feels like I own me”

I left pretty sharpish after that as quite frankly he was creeping me out and I found his darker side pretty unnerving.

I really believe I dodged a bullet there and I don’t regret my over-cautiousness for a moment. There are plenty of nice guys out there who are not creepy at all and who don’t want to own or possess the woman they’re with and thankfully they are the rule rather than the exception.

If you’re getting the feeling that someone is a wrong-un, well you know what, they probably are. My spidey senses may not be right every time but I’d really rather be safer and single than end up in a dangerous relationship with a control freak.

Well that’s going to have to be it for now as I’m meeting up with Football Guy this evening and I need to prep…

But I will give you part 3 of this tale over the weekend.

14. Dull and Duller…?

So here I am, back in the lion pit.  I’ve dusted myself down from the newly christened ‘Frodo Feet’, AKA Public School Boy, renamed after those horrible appendages I was so willing to overlook whilst still wearing my jauntily set hat of optimism.  No I’m not bitter, but it’s just the new name was his all along, I was just being polite before.

Anyway, back to the point in hand, I have swiftly lined up two new dates to help me get back into the swing of things.  The first is with an accountant, he’s early thirties so my friends approve of him already.  His profile pics show he has short dreads in a bit of an 80’s Omar throwback way, and he seems to be hugging a monkey on one of his photos – well who doesn’t love an animal lover!

We arrange to meet in a pretty nondescript bar in the centre of town and I’m left standing at the bar waiting 10 minutes checking out the bar staff before he arrives.  When he does finally join me I notice he seems a little nervous so I use all my chatty skills to chill him out a bit.  Thankfully he did eventually relax, but perhaps not quite enough…  It would seem that no sooner has he taken a sip from his pint than he’s off to the loo for a piss break.   Ok no judgement here, but when he was about to go on his fifth visit to the bathroom in under an hour, I begin to wonder if he’s got some kind of condition…  I would have put it down to some other reason for the frequent visits, but it’s not like he was coming back each time sniffing vigorously or grinding his teeth, so thankfully that rules out a bad drug habit at least.

On the sixth trip, I begin to wonder if he’s meeting someone down there to feed him chat up lines like Cyrano de Bergerac, but that seems highly unlikely given that he is interminably boring!  Yes he has lived up to the stereotype of being a dull accountant.  In fact I’d be willing to wager that I’d be likely to have a more stimulating conversation with an amoeba if they could actually talk.

By the seventh trip I start thinking up exciting reasons why he had to go so much… maybe he ‘s an international spy and this date is in fact a rouse so that he could send special coded messages through the toilet cisterns.  But sadly even my fertile imagination could not entertain me sufficiently to make the passing millennia (it certainly felt like I’d slipped into a different time dimension where stuff happens really, really slowly) feel any less painful.  The problem was – correct that – one of the problems was that I totally led the conversation.  I asked him questions about his interests, his opinion on different topics, what books or films he liked etc.  I dutifully listened to his replies and asked more.  I even paused now and then to give him a chance to reciprocate, to ask me about my interests, opinions, preferences… God anything about me!  But no, whenever I paused, no question came, not one query, not even a “what’s your starsign”…  In fact I got so fed up with this one-sided conversation that after yet another awkward pause, I ended up answering my own unasked questions, to which he appeared oblivious.

Finally the date came to an end and he walked me to the station.  Ah well, they can’t all work out I thought, another one to chalk up to the long, and well graffitied blackboard of experience.  I figured that he would’ve  come to the same conclusion, so started saying my thanks for the lovely evening and that it was nice to mee-mmmmmphfffffffff…..!?!   He obviously thought the date had been a raving success… his kiss goodnight was not so much a gentle brush of the lips, as it was a full frontal assault!   He literally hijacked my mouth and thrust his tongue in.  I was in an absolute state of shock, so much so that when he eventually stopped kissing me and I attempted to speak again, I still wasn’t prepared for the second wave of attack…

Really! I struggle to think how anyone on that date could have come to such a differing conclusion but the man clearly thought there were sparks flying.  Trust me the only sparks flying were coming from my heels as I scarpered for my train at breakneck speed!  And so here endeth the tale of the Boring Accountant, needless to say we didn’t meet again – though something tells me that although he may have been as dull as a clutch (or whatever the appropriate collective noun is) of accountants conducting their centennial tax review over cheese and biscuits, I would be willing to bet that he’d be a bit of a demon in the bedroom.  There was fire there – it’s just that any chance of experiencing that fire would be mitigated by the strong chance that I would be sound asleep by the time we’d reach an appropriate, hell even an inappropriate place to consummate.

It does make me wonder though about how differently people can perceive the same shared experience.  It also helps explain those times when I’ve been on dates in the past where I’ve thought there’s been great chemistry, and yet I’ve heard nothing back.  Perhaps rather than fooling my delusional self, imagining a guy hasn’t called because he realises I’m too good for him after all, and that he doesn’t want to mess me around, isn’t the reason why they cut all contact so abruptly.  I guess chemistry can be one sided at times.  And to be honest, there have been plenty of times where I’ve felt little or nothing for a guy who’s been whole-heartedly convinced that I’m the one for him.

Take Train Guy for instance, a gorgeous tall guy – looked like Michael Jackson in the Thriller era but minus the dodgy Jerry Curl.  We’d taken the same train to work almost every day for several months, passed furtive glances at one another, only occasionally catching each other’s eye.  Over time we got to the stage of adding a nod and a smile, and finally to a half-mumbled “H-Hello”.  Eventually we started actually talking and he seemed quite nice, was a similar age, lived not far from the station and worked in the central part of the city.  We exchanged numbers and flirted a little more on text.

Over the next couple of weeks we chatted on the train each morning but although I found him extremely attractive and a lovely, intelligent guy, there were certain elements of his character that just rubbed me up the wrong way.  It was then that the ‘chase’ really began for him, I started to withdraw, thinking there wasn’t really anything there worth pursuing.  This of course meant he was all the more interested, he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t that interested.  But he clearly found my lack of communication and slow responses to his calls and texts intriguing.  And no I’m not being big-headed about that, he actually told me that was one of the things that made him infuriatingly drawn to me.  Why was I turning him away when so many other women actively pursued him?

I even remember having a conversation where he asked me why I took so long to get back to him “I text you and sometimes you don’t answer for days….”  Oh My God! I had turned into one of those guys!!!  The ones that keep you dangling by a thread…. The ones that for no logical reason, we want all the more for their lack of interest in us.  I finally understood what it was all about, you see I wasn’t intentionally keeping him hanging on as such, it was just that I wasn’t that into him.  Years of confusing mixed messages were finally explained by my being put in that same position as all those men I had felt so bitterly rejected by.

Eventually I did acquiesce and did go on a date with Train Guy, I felt after so many doggedly determined months of pursuance he deserved a real shot.  It’s fair to say that it was a lovely date, and the two more I had with him after that were too, but my initial feelings and concerns were left unchanged and I decided that it was not to be.

But on the upside, although love clearly didn’t blossom (if it had I wouldn’t be writing this blog…) I did gain a new friend in Train Guy.  We still see each other occasionally (he gets an earlier train since he changed jobs – at least that’s what he says) and sometimes I pop round for a cup of tea.  Mind you saying that, I did bump into him on the way home from a night out the other week and when we popped back to his for a cuppa and a catch-up he did try to go in for a snog…. Well you can’t blame him for trying!

But as often happens, I digress…back to the present day – The next date I’ve arranged is with a young Shoreditch-esque Graffiti Artist.  So far the online banter has been pretty good so I’m looking forward to meeting him and will tell all next time…