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

36. They Think it’s All Over…

So last time I left off I’d strangely agreed to a third date with my Palestinian Premiership Guy.   And I’ll explain why now… although the second date had not been a raging success and conversation had been far from scintillating; it had gone well on the first date so I thought it only fair to give it another shot.

To be honest sometimes I fear that I don’t give the guys I meet enough opportunity to win me over or vice-versa even.  The problem is when you’re looking for love, who knows how long you give someone before deciding whether there’s something there or not?  Now granted sometimes you just have to see them enter a room and you know it’s never gonna happen, like when they’re rude and obnoxious from the start, have poor personal hygene, or just don’t look a thing like their profile.  But what about those other times, when they look ok, the conversation is fine but there’s no immediate spark?

Now in the course of meeting someone in the usual manner – through friends, work or going to the same activity or bar – you can get to know someone gradually.  You may not dirty-dancingfancy them, in fact you may not even view them as a prospective lover at all.  But time and circumstance allow feelings to grow and you eventually end up fancying the arse off them and imagining doing the horizontal salsa/bogle/conga-line (in fact just insert whatever dirty dancing you want here) with them whenever they glance your way.

I know this happens, I’ve even seen it happen in real life, but the thing is when you’re dating online, time just doesn’t allow.  The circumstances within which you meet are always artificial, you’re meeting with the sole purpose of interviewing for the prospective role of shag partner, life partner, or partner for the time being until something better comes along.  And for that reason you can’t afford the luxury of hanging out for the next few months just to see if you might end up crushing on them eventually.

So on that basis, I decided to work on a three date rule, if I was undecided after two dates 3rd Date Rulebut could see some vague possibility of fancying them, they get one more throw of the dice.  For Premiership Guy’s third attempt we decided to go to the park again but this time it was during the day and we organised a picnic, followed by the cinema.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and he was looking good in a tight t-shirt again – I’ll give him this much, he knows how to work with his assets!  We chatted a bit about what we’d been up to since we last met, ate a bit and then lay down to enjoy the sun.  It was all very chilled like last time, and again just like last time, the conversation was flowing as sluggishly as the blood-flow of a clinically obese man having a nap after eating three burgers, five servings of fries and a gallon of strawberry thick-shake – on sedatives.

Having talked ourselves dry yet again within half an hour of meeting, he proceeded to try and get off with me in the middle of the park.  Now I’m no prude – I’ll even admit to having had al-fresco sex on a common, in the long grass in the middle of the day.  Slightly embarrassingly a dog walker came by at a rather inopportune moment, but being the troopers that we were (overly horny and young), we soldiered on.  But when it came to Premiership Guy in a very public park with no long grass in view… well let’s just say I’m not as young, and I wasn’t as horny for him at least.

The other problem was I was getting distracted by all the other hot guys in the park – not a good sign when you’re on a date.  Eventually when it was looking like I was about to doze off – which he didn’t seem at all perturbed by (in fact he took it as an indication of how comfortable I was around him rather than how mind-numbingly bored I was), we decided to head to the cinema.

I chose a comedy rather than anything too romantic or heavy, I’m not a fan of rom-coms and as much as I do enjoy a good drama, I felt like we needed to lighten the mood.   He did the gentlemanly thing and bought the tickets and I bought the snacks and proceeded to our seats.

The film was hilarious! I couldn’t stop laughing the whole way through, so much so that my sides were hurting from laughing so much.  The only thing was, every time I looked over at Premiership Guy he was barely even cracking a smile!  Now admittedly some of the humour was a bit crass in places, but still… not even a smirk or a slight giggle???

For me this was the definite final whistle.

If I can’t converse easily with a guy, the kiss feels passionless and we don’t even have theMichelangelo's David same sense of humour in the slightest? Well it’s a no–go for me, even if the guy does have the most beautiful green eyes in the world and a chiselled physique that would make Michelangelo blush.

So sadly I’ve called it a day with Premiership Guy, but it wasn’t for want of trying.

What’s next?  I hear you cry…

Well there are two more contenders – A primary school teacher, and a stockbroker… you couldn’t get much more polarised opposites if you tried!

I’ll tell you more in the next post….

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 😉

31. The Pornstar

I know I left a bit of a teaser in my last post regarding my night out with a pornstar and I know I owe you an explanation.
After my putting Football Guy on the bench, or is it the transfer list? (I’m not sure which analogy is the most fitting but basically he’s out of bounds for me now) Well I needed some cheering up and a friend of mine from my pole dance classes asked if I wanted to join her on a girls night out with a difference.
My friend (we’ll call her Phoenix as she’s the one who taught me how to eat fire for Public School Boy – see my earlier posts if you don’t know already) is actually a professional dancer and as such has worked dancing amongst other places, on cruise ships.  The girl’s night out was actually because of a past gig she’d had on a cruise ship the year before, it was kind of an unofficial reunion night out that I got to tag along on.   We were also going to see one of the dancers perform that night, a guy we’ll call Chico – always gotta protect the innocent 😉 who also happens to be a male stripper.

Chico was performing in his regular show in a club in town which is famous for having an indoor swimming pool in one of the rooms, as well as a Full Monty male strip show every Friday night.

We got there just before the show started and found ourselves an area away from the main audience which was 100% made up of ladies dressed in variously themed outfits (mostly Grease Pink Ladies, ‘slutty policewomen/nurses/army girls or eighties neon leggings & matching tutus).

The first couple of guys who came on were clearly new and were still working on their strip acts.  Generally speaking they all worked around the theme of uniformed guy, takes clothes off, embarrasses the bride-to-be and then finishes with a ‘helicopter’ finale.  The helicopter propeller in this case being represented by the extremely fast rotation of a semi-erect penis.

Sexy?  Most definitely not.  Ridiculously kitsch and hilarious after several glasses of over-priced and sickly sweet glasses of wine (kindly given to us by the management, so one can’t complain too much, gift horses and all that)? Most definitely a resounding Hell Yeah!

Halfway through the show there was a break, where a delightful buffet spread of Iceland’s finest lay before us (we’re talking Kerry Katona prawn rings, sausage rolls and the like rather than Icelandic gravadlax or horsemeat in case you’re wondering).  I’ll admit I chowed down on a few rolls and some highly questionable chicken on a stick, I’m not proud, but I was hungry.

After the break the performances resumed – I have to say it made me feel a little nostalgic for my Northern roots – there was something faintly reminiscent of working men’s clubs being taken over by the girls for the night, or the atmosphere in many of the pubs and clubs I’ve been to in the North East where I grew up. That atmosphere being one of sheer animalistic female hunger, like a pride of lionesses who’ve just spotted a lame gazelle quietly drinking at a watering hole, totally oblivious to it’s impending, blood-bath doom.

Saying that, there were times when you could see the fear in the eyes of the male strippers when one particularly enthusiastic and rather Rubenesque bride-to-be decided to literally throw herself on top of one of the younger, less experienced strippers.

Our friend Chico was the last to perform, the finale of the show, which ended wit him completely naked until he eventually covered himself in his national flag. Ay Ay Ay! – or whatever it is they say in Brazil.

After the show ended I was formally introduced to Chico, now fully clothed in extremely tight fitting jeans and a vest top.  He then introduced us to some of his stripper friends, one of whom was one of the early, newer acts who did a ‘lifesaving’ Baywatch pastiche as part of his pre-helicopter act.

It turned out that the baby-faced newbie (with a body that was anything but boyish!) came from the same area so we got chatting, and of course dancing.  He was actually an extremely good dancer and took my drunken twerking in his stride.  He also told me that prior to taking up stripping he’d been a porn actor for the last couple of years…

WOW!  Well thankfully I just managed to keep my jaw from bouncing on the rather dubiously sticky dancefloor and just raised an “Oh really, that’s interesting” eyebrow.

It was all rather odd, having seen him perform his special talent – part of his act involved poi spinning, or whatever the hell it is people do with poi – in the nude before finding out his real name.  And then to find out he used to have sex on film for a living???  Well it certainly made a change from the usual chat-up in a seedy night-club.

So of course it made sense for us all to head to the swimming pool and strip down further – to my bikini I hasten to add, I’m not that free-loving regardless of being the offspring of hippies.

Well I’ll fill you in on what happened in the pool later, it’s Friday night so of course I’m off out to have more fun…

22. IT Guys and Japanese Pancakes

Well I’ve stayed true to my word, I’ve started dating again and my next foray is with a guy who works in IT – Yes the friendly man at the end of the line who tells you to switch your PC on and off and to call you back if it’s still not working.  We’ve been texting and emailing each other for the past couple of weeks, and finally we’ve arranged to meet.  IT Guy is from the dating website rather than a random encounter so hopefully this means he’s got more potential as an actual boyfriend than Football Guy.  He caught my attention online as I noticed that a couple of his photos were clearly taken in Japan and having lived there myself, I thought we’d at least have that in common to talk about.  From his photos, he looks reasonably attractive – yes I’m trying to break type and steer clear of the devastatingly handsome men as they tend to do just that – leave you devastated and decimated like a beach resort after a tropical storm; all broken palm tree branches and empty condom wrappers strewn across a once idyllic stretch of golden sands… Okay so maybe I stretched that particular synonym a bit far, but you get my drift.   Hot men are by their very nature, destructive.

But back to the IT Guy, we get on well on text and we’ve chatted a lot online.  Normally I prefer to meet people relatively soon after establishing good communication rather than drag it out for weeks on end; after all I’m not looking for a pen pal.  But in this case he was just about to go on holiday to Morocco so we had to wait an extra week or so before we could actually meet.  Given our strong Japanese links (turns out he lived there for a year or so too), I suggested we go to a lovely Okonomiyaki restaurant for lunch; it’s fast and always busy so even if we didn’t get on as well in person as we do online, it wouldn’t be too long or painful a process.  By the way, for those of you who don’t know what Okonomiyaki is, it’s like a big omelette/pancake with cabbage and meat or seafood, with brown sauce and mayonnaise slathered all over it… totally delicious and great comfort food!

We agreed to meet at a station close to the restaurant, but before actually meeting him, I spent the morning with a girlfriend for a bit of a catch-up and some window shopping, oh and a brief run-down of my prospective date-in-waiting over coffee.  I also had my friend confirm if my smart/casual outfit (a clingy calf length printed dress with a woolly cropped jumper) was smart/casual enough for a Saturday lunchtime date. To be honest if it wasn’t, it was a bit late to do much about it but still always good to have confirmation Having had my outfit approved as first date-worthy I left the coffee shop for the station where my date awaited me.   Happily IT Guy is on time and dressed smart/casual too, though to be honest I wasn’t expecting great shakes in the fashion department… he works in IT for God’s sake!  But he’s made an effort to look nice without looking like he’s tried too hard either.

Not only was he on time, but he also looked like his photos, always a bonus!  He didn’t look better or worse than his pictures, just pretty much as is and as such I overly overwhelmed or underwhelmed either.  We got to the small restaurant, and managed to get a booth table, which is always a bonus as the majority of seats are at the large counter and it can get pretty busy.  The other great thing about Okonomiyaki is it’s all cooked in front of you on the big hotplate surface that make up the majority of your table – great when it’s a bit cold outside, though once you start eating it doesn’t start long before you’re peeling off layers in an effort to cool down, so the jumper doesn’t stay on long at all!

Lunch itself was great, the food was delicious as always and the conversation flowed just as well as the sake we were drinking.  We found a lot to talk about, sharing our experiences of Japan, things we’d seen and done, our experience teaching out there and all the multitudes of food we missed.  It was as very pleasant, nostalgic conversation and I really enjoyed talking to him.  It turned out we’d both been living there around the same time and we talked about the culture shock of adapting back into UK life.  When he came back he sort of fell into a career in IT, which I get the feeling isn’t his main passion in life so I’m yet to discover what his passion is.

Looking across at him, I couldn’t say I was in lust but I was at least able to concede that he had a kind face and nice eyes, so perhaps he could be a grower?  After lunch we decided to go to a nice café that serve amazing fresh mint tea and equally delicious fresh cakes – yes I can be a bit of a foodie at times.  The café is short walk from the Japanese place and inside is really light and airy and we manage to get a table tucked away to the side.  We actually ended up staying there a good couple of hours and without any awkward silences or overly long pauses in conversation.  But eventually we did part ways after he walked me back to the station.  There was a pause as we eyed each other up, both trying to assess whether the other was going to make a move and then compromised on a half-hug and a cheek kiss. I have to admit I was relieved it was that rather than what would have been an abortive snog  – I do like him and he not unattractive but at the same time I’m not sure if we have anything more in common than our love of all things Japanese yet.  Definitely worth a second date though and before we left the café I did let him know that I would definitely like to meet again.

 

As for Football Guy, if you’re wondering what’s happening with him?  He’s still around and making himself ‘useful’ about the house – not in the DIY sense either, after all he’s there which is precisely why I don’t need to ‘Do It Myself’.  I have to say I’m enjoying the power that comes with being in complete control of my sex life, it’s a pretty intoxicating buzz.  I’m also enjoying all the different things I plan to do to… with, I mean with him…  You see it’s been a long time since I’ve been in anything steady and I have to say I miss regular sex – by that I mean regular as in frequent rather than regular vanilla sex.

Now I know each to their own and all that but for me to feel truly relaxed enough to try new stuff or experiment, it has to be with someone I’m seeing on a regular basis.  Yes I have had a couple of one night stands when I was younger but it didn’t sit well with me and to be honest, it left me feeling pretty dissatisfied on a multitude of levels.  Good sex comes for me (pun unintentional but I’m pretty darned pleased with it nonetheless), at least in part from a degree of familiarity.   To know that you’re comfortable enough with the other person to dress up in outfits pretending you’re a naughty schoolgirl/nun/teacher/policewoman (please delete as appropriate), or smear yourself from head to foot in Nutella should you so choose to; safe in the knowledge that your chosen partner will only raise an eyebrow in expectant excitement rather than shock, disgust or mild concern that they may go into anaphylactic shock due to a latent nut allergy reaction from your choice of chocolaty spread.

The point is, I feel relaxed with him and I also feel that he’ll be around long enough for me to do a little bit of experimenting myself, and maybe, just maybe dress up as a naughty schoolgirl/nun/teacher/policewoman/French maid/dominatr…. Oh dear, getting carried away with myself again…