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

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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.

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.

26. Tiger Ears, Potential Stalkers and a Date with No Smell – Part 1

This is a tale about two dates that never happened, and another that I wish hadn’t.

I’ll start with my first ever internet date.

At the time I was using Match.com I was relatively fresh to the dating game at the time, still being in my first 12 months of singularity after almost a decade of coupledoom (yes the typo is on purpose).

I’d say I should have known better but I was literally a fresh newbie to online dating, he was literally the first guy I clicked on to contact. The reason I say I should’ve known better is because of his profile picture – never, I repeat NEVER trust a guy wearing fake tiger ears and hugging a giant stuffed toy. Alright, alright I told you I was a newbie, and it had been so long since I’d seen any action I was beginning to suspect that my hymen had re-grown.

Much as in the previous tale, emails had gone well and we’d decided to exchange phone numbers. He enthusiastically texted me first thing in the morning at around 7.15am whilst I was driving. A full two minutes later and my phone pinged again with a second message…

I parked up and looked at the two messages, the first one quite harmless wished me a good morning and asked what I was up to… errm going to work??? But then there was the second message

“ Oh I see you’re too busy to reply to my message…. Xxxxxxxxxxx”

WTF??? It was literally two minutes after the first message…

In my naiveté, I decided to reply and explain I’d been driving (may I remind you I was a dating newbie?) and therefore unable to reply sooner. That seemed to quell his nerves and we resumed normal texting, albeit there always seemed to be a profuse amount of kisses at the end of his texts.

A couple of days later and we were due to have our first date. By this stage I was starting to get a bit apprehensive about the whole thing. Not just because of his growing ‘affection’ towards me on text but also because it was to be my first time to meet an online date.

I was studying my massage course at the time and I had an important assignment due in the following day. I had been extremely busy writing it up but realised that morning that there was no way I could go on a date and get my essay in on time. Something had to give, and that something was going to be ‘Tony the Tiger’.

I apologised for the late notice but I was going to be too busy writing up my assignment to meet him. He was understanding, even suggesting I eat some fish… good food for the brain apparently… He then called me and offered to bring some fish to me … what? I’d never even met the guy!

Now some of you may think this is really sweet, and to be honest, if I’d been dating the guy for a while I would too, but I didn’t even know if he even looked like his photos in the flesh, or even if his ‘tiger ears’ were fake or not.

I politely declined his offer and after the third call in an hour I decided that perhaps it was best if ‘Tony the Tiger’ and I never actually met. I explained to him that I had ‘gotten back with my ex’ and we’d decided to give things one last try. And that was that.

match pic

Several months later and I was waiting for a friend outside a pub opposite my low budget gym in town. A cute looking guy comes over and starts talking to me, he seems slightly familiar but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

He proceeds to chat me up and after much persuasion I end up giving him the number to my new phone. A couple of minutes later and my friend finally turns up, the guy is still hanging about and joins us for minute or two before returning to his friend in the pub.

It’s at this point that I start to recall where I know him from… I picture him with stripy tiger ears and a cuddly toy and I start to get a little worried. A while later I go to the bathroom and when I return to my table I spot Tony the Tiger chatting to my mate. He then scuttles off quite sharply back to the table where his friend is waiting for him.

“Who was that bloody weirdo?” my mate asks

I then proceed to tell her of my suspicions of who exactly I think he is.

“You know as soon as you went to the toilet he came over and started begging me to put in a good word for him.” she says

Stalking pic

“Kept on harping on about how he’s a great guy and that you could be great together even though there’s an age gap and that he can see a wonderful future of the two of you together…”

Dear God! And if that wasn’t creepy enough, I got three texts from him straight after leaving the pub asking where I was going later, could he come along and what …. Two days later I got yet another text saying he recognised me from Match.com and that our running into each other like that must be a sign – a sign of a lucky escape if you ask me!!!

Well that’s it for now, I have to go to bed soon so I’ll fill you in on the rest as soon as I can.