I used to work in the same building as P a long time ago. I remember her because she was tall, blonde, hot, successful.....as well as showing no interest in me whatsoever.
She constantly ignored me as we queued for coffee. Constantly ignored me in the gym. Ignored me when we'd pass each other in the reception. This was irksome for me, and not because I hold myself up as noteworthy and in need of constant recognition by all those underlings who pass before me (I am, but everyone else is slow on the pick up of this). We worked in the same role in different parts of the same company. We had friends in common so I'd have expected something. But nope, she stuck resolutely to her plan of not noticing my friendly smile if I saw her about.
But a few years after I'd left that place I saw her in a restaurant where I was having a meeting, she was with some guys I knew so I went over and said hi. After this I was told she was asking after me, then a mutual friend said she thought I was hot. Which given my earlier experience of her came as a surprise.
About a year or so ago we exchanged a few messages on facebook, suggested a few dates for drinks but nothing came of it, something else always came up. But before Xmas just gone she wanted me to meet her and her boss to discuss a work related thing she thought I could help with. Whilst it was vaguely worthwhile, it was clearly just an excuse to meet up. We had a few drinks and talked business, her boss left, then a few more drinks, and we got on kinda well. I left to go meet up with some friends and got texts from her straight away saying it was lovely to meet and if I'd like to she'd love to meet up when I was back from S America. There were no games being played here.
Now here was a girl who was really pretty, tall, blonde, middle class and not short of attention. If I was to guess at her past, and yes I know this is awfully judgemental - but hey I'm not here to present a PC utopian view of my thoughts, it's the unedited workings of a mans brain the stuff we all think but don't say - I'd say she was a sports captain in some way (she's a runner), possible head girl but definite prefect material, would have gone out with a guy from the Uni 1st XV rugby team and in general had a pretty easy, non-challenging life. Because unfortunately: she was dull.
All too often I find that looks can spoil a girl - I guess they spend their whole lives getting what they want, being effortlessly popular, have guys laughing and smiling at whatever they say and girls defer to them for all of these reasons. In the same way you'll find that fat dudes are funny, these girls never really needed to develop a strong personality as such, so they didn't. In a similar way a lot of really hot girls are insecure messes. They're all too aware that they're hot, that they get treated in a certain way just because they're hot so it plays on their minds. Do they really like me or is it just because my cheekbones are really high, my eyes a perfect shade of azure jade, and my ass that makes men crash their cars in the summer. Now I'm of course generalising and exaggerating to some extent, but this is just based on my experience.
However, yes she may be a little bland, but she's also 6ft, blonde shoulder length hair, brown eyes, a mouth that's more of a pleasure to kiss than you'd think just from looking at it and she's in really good shape. Long legs, really tight ass that as a long distance runner you'd probably expect. So I'm not about to pass up finding out what I've wondered since I worked in that building...
We met for drinks the other week, got stuck into cocktails and general chit chat. We got drunk and carried on with chit chat. Then she suggested we get some coke, so I did. And we continued with the chit chat only with a higher volume of words thrown back and forth. And that was the problem, we didn't really get past chit chat. I'm not saying that I'm an intellectual colossus here, but I do like to think a little more than just basics and I like to be able to talk to a girl on a deeper level too. Plus she'd say that she thought I was maybe too cool for her. No, what she actually said was "I think maybe you're too cool for school!"
Too cool for school. What, am I dating my great aunt here?? Shuuushh....
For me at least, it was clear that whilst she was 'nice' (and she is totally nice, a cute lovely girl), it's also clear that we don't have much in common, from our cultural reference points - she likes euro-poppy techno and Kings of Leon, and I...well, I don't - through to our cultural values, whereas I like a grimy bar a run down area, she...well she thinks they're 'grimy' and 'run down' in a bad way.
However we'd not be the first people to kiss who weren't deeply compatible. And we won't be the last. We drunkenly left the bar, headed back for mine. Where we kissed a lot, she took all her clothes off except for her knickers which weren't going anywhere. This was a 'not messing about on the first night' kinda girl. Which is fair enough. But a little contrived when she was so obviously keen (I'm sorry, but the messages and attitude over the weeks had made us having sex at some point, a forgone conclusion), and when she's sending me flirty messages after, even asking me to come over a play. But still, each to their own so fair enough.
So on Thursday we had another date. This time in her neck of the woods "We can go for drinks and then head back to mine to play"- I was agreeable to the notion. We went to a bar which was typical South West London. The guys running it were well spoken, nice guys, but far too young to have set up the bar with anything other than family money, the 'cocktails' were spoofs or knock off imitations of the real thing, but the place wasn't too bad. It had a fair amount of taxidermy which seems to be everywhere nowadays, some decent tunes, and a guitarist playing sporadically throughout the night which was surprisingly alright. So we're getting on ok, are a few drinks in and she asks what I want to do later.
I say I'm not sure, what are the options, what does she want to do?
"I think I'd maybe like to take some drugs and then have a lot of sex?"
Now I have to say that this is not the sort of thing I would have expected from her. Yes we've had a few flirty texts, but she's really way too 'nice' for that sort of talk so this caught me off guard. In a good way. Turns out she'd got a gram of coke back at hers in preparation, lots of booze and the rest of it. Took me about a minute to pay for our tab and we were off on the bus back to hers.
I'm not sure if it's my ex still K affecting me (no doubt a little) or whether it's because I've begun to sate the hungry sexual beast inside me with a lot of wild and different sex, but I'm not quite so excited by it at the moment. The imminent prospect of sex used to give me a buzz, get me excited more than it seems to at the moment. Actually, maybe that's no entirely true - but it certainly was in this case with P. Ordinarily my mind would be all:
"Wooo-hooo!!! In about 20 minutes we're going to be naked and she is hot! I can't wait to see what her pussy tastes like. I wonder if she's going to be dirty? God I can't wait to fuck her, I wonder if she swallows" etc etc.
You see with P, it wasn't just the fact that there was no challenge to it at all. That's usually hot. If me and a girl have got on a wavelength where we're talking about the fact we're totally into fucking each other, then things move up a gear. It was that there was that spark missing between us. I've got to say it's the first time this has happened for me, a really hot girl who isn't getting me excited by the prospect of sex with her. Whilst P was nice, that's all she was, lukewarm.
We got back to hers, and it was fucking freezing. She'd forgotten to turn the heating on and last week London was bitterly cold. So the heater goes on, we open a bottle of red and sit at the dining table. She gets the coke out and I deal with it, crushing up the larger chunks with a credit card before grinding the rest out under a £20 note and chopping out two chubby lines for us. As the gak kicks in, the chat speeds up and the wine gets drained.
And you know what, I'm not even going to go into the specifics here because there's really nothing all that engaging to tell. The room just wouldn't warm up, so whilst we were soon on the sofa kissing, hands wondering - as the clothes came off it wasn't all that hot because it was so damn cold. We were there playing with each other under this pink fleece blanket and whilst she was actually more dextrous than I might have expected it wasn't all it could be had the heating been on (I'm talking about the experience here, not the size of my manhood thankfully. He rose to the occasion admirably). We fucked, for all of five minutes before returning to foreplay and kissing, as I just wasn't into it. The lack of any heat on all fronts had killed it.
We drank more, took down more lines and talked. One thing she asked actually made me think though.
"In a situation like this do you think coke brings you together or kind of isolates you?"
On any date where I've got on and we've been gakked up, yes of course we talk a lot and get on, and most of the time we go on to fuck all night, doing drunken coked up acts you'd not normally straight away. However sometimes it does rob you of your sex drive, or more to the point whilst you're getting on with someone it pushes some distance, a disconnect of some sort in there. It happened this night, and I realise now it happened with K a lot too.
K used to have a bit of an issue with drugs, nothing too serious, but enough for her to feel like she needed to drop a group of friends to get away from the cycle of parties and constant hedonism. She was a hipster if you will, a girl with a lot of money, exploring art, hanging around with scensters and had a predilection for getting high. I see now in hindsight that we brought out the worst in each other, and we'd do too much coke, the thin lines building to a gulf between us.
I'm going to end this post here, it's not been a very interesting one I know - mainly down to a non-interesting date, I'll dedicate an exploration of drugs and what not separately.
Tomorrow night I have a date with a girl I'm going to call 'Photo Booth'. She's pretty but we've barely talked so I really have no idea if we have much to talk about beyond basic attraction. I'll of course let you know.
x
Monday, 31 January 2011
Friday, 28 January 2011
The female of the species (frailty thy name is)
I should get all the set up and mopey stuff out of the way now really. Let me tell you about K.
Well you'll know how we met if you've read prior to these posts. The first thing that drew my attention to her was the fact that in her picture she was holding a guitar. I used to play drums, guitar, sing in bands and music is still a big part of my life now. A girl who is really into music instantly goes up about 3 points on the scale for me. As well as this, K was beautiful. Really beautiful. I'm not exaggerating when I say she looked like the spitting image of Adriana Lima.
She's maybe 5'4" I guess, long brown hair (I love brunettes), beautiful green eyes with hazel flecks and a mouth that just demands to be paid attention to. She has a fucking perfectly proportioned body, though short in stature her legs are toned and have the appearance of length and she's in possession of one of the best asses I've ever had the pleasure of (only bettered I'd say by a German girl I used to fuck who will make a retrospective appearance on here at some point I've just decided).
So after two weeks of talking we met that night and got on ridiculously well. Everything was amazing, she was beautiful, the discussions we were having weren't small talk, they were of the kind I have with my friends, she's into the same obscure bands as me, she has an equally twisted sense of humour, sexually she's totally liberated, and she's disarmingly honest. I'm not someone who feels the need to be intellectually superior to a woman (lucky, as I rarely am), in fact I find it boring when I can't have my mind exercised as well as my dick. K had studied humanities, graduated from art college, sold work, and had 'fallen out with the art world' — one of the things she hated was the negativity to it all — everyone turns up to a gallery showing with the mindset to critique, to pull apart, to regurgitate their books and articles as though they were their own insights and observations. For her I think the joy of creating was taken away given that this would be the inevitable end result. I loved that she felt this way. Straight away I loved how her mind worked.
At one point that night we were sat round my dining table, me at the head, her next to me. I said to her that I felt she had the capacity to hurt me and that I wasn't sure if this was a good idea or something, half joking. Her reaction to this was to stand up straight away, come over and sit on my lap with her arms wrapped around me and with a worried face ask why I'd say that, she knew she didn't know me that well but that she really liked me. You see the thing is, I knew I was going to fall for her. I knew that I would be opening myself up to being hurt, and I knew that someone like her had it in them to do that.
That night we fucked a lot, it's funny, I can't really remember details (we were both pretty wasted) but what I do remember is that we lay there with the soft lighting just staring into each others eyes and kissing for AGES - I never do that. The next day we were sending pictures of each other in various states of undress. Things were off to a good start.
You see the thing was, whilst there was this crazy sexual attraction between us - underpinning it all was the fact that we really, really got on. For a period of weeks I was the happiest I'd been in as long as I could remember.
We couldn't stop seeing each other, we met up 3-4 times in that first week alone. She'd come meet me for lunch in Shoreditch House and halfway through we'd have to sneak off to fuck in the toilets. I'd have meetings in town, then go over to hers where she'd be waiting for me in underwear and hold ups. My hands would be all over her, sometimes picking her up and throwing her on her bed, sometimes telling her to crawl slowly to the sofa then sit down and suck my dick. I'd be there for 30-40 minutes, get dressed, kiss her lovingly and leave her a sweaty cum covered panting mess.
Anyway, I'm thinking about various things to talk about and there's so much to say. But right now I feel all melodramatic, so it'll just be a long story filled with sighs. And these won't be of much interest to you I'm sure - so I guess we can return to this another time.
Next blog will be a second date I had the other night involving cocaine, stuffed animals and why heating should be left on before you go out in this shitty cold country I live in.
x
Well you'll know how we met if you've read prior to these posts. The first thing that drew my attention to her was the fact that in her picture she was holding a guitar. I used to play drums, guitar, sing in bands and music is still a big part of my life now. A girl who is really into music instantly goes up about 3 points on the scale for me. As well as this, K was beautiful. Really beautiful. I'm not exaggerating when I say she looked like the spitting image of Adriana Lima.
She's maybe 5'4" I guess, long brown hair (I love brunettes), beautiful green eyes with hazel flecks and a mouth that just demands to be paid attention to. She has a fucking perfectly proportioned body, though short in stature her legs are toned and have the appearance of length and she's in possession of one of the best asses I've ever had the pleasure of (only bettered I'd say by a German girl I used to fuck who will make a retrospective appearance on here at some point I've just decided).
So after two weeks of talking we met that night and got on ridiculously well. Everything was amazing, she was beautiful, the discussions we were having weren't small talk, they were of the kind I have with my friends, she's into the same obscure bands as me, she has an equally twisted sense of humour, sexually she's totally liberated, and she's disarmingly honest. I'm not someone who feels the need to be intellectually superior to a woman (lucky, as I rarely am), in fact I find it boring when I can't have my mind exercised as well as my dick. K had studied humanities, graduated from art college, sold work, and had 'fallen out with the art world' — one of the things she hated was the negativity to it all — everyone turns up to a gallery showing with the mindset to critique, to pull apart, to regurgitate their books and articles as though they were their own insights and observations. For her I think the joy of creating was taken away given that this would be the inevitable end result. I loved that she felt this way. Straight away I loved how her mind worked.
At one point that night we were sat round my dining table, me at the head, her next to me. I said to her that I felt she had the capacity to hurt me and that I wasn't sure if this was a good idea or something, half joking. Her reaction to this was to stand up straight away, come over and sit on my lap with her arms wrapped around me and with a worried face ask why I'd say that, she knew she didn't know me that well but that she really liked me. You see the thing is, I knew I was going to fall for her. I knew that I would be opening myself up to being hurt, and I knew that someone like her had it in them to do that.
That night we fucked a lot, it's funny, I can't really remember details (we were both pretty wasted) but what I do remember is that we lay there with the soft lighting just staring into each others eyes and kissing for AGES - I never do that. The next day we were sending pictures of each other in various states of undress. Things were off to a good start.
You see the thing was, whilst there was this crazy sexual attraction between us - underpinning it all was the fact that we really, really got on. For a period of weeks I was the happiest I'd been in as long as I could remember.
We couldn't stop seeing each other, we met up 3-4 times in that first week alone. She'd come meet me for lunch in Shoreditch House and halfway through we'd have to sneak off to fuck in the toilets. I'd have meetings in town, then go over to hers where she'd be waiting for me in underwear and hold ups. My hands would be all over her, sometimes picking her up and throwing her on her bed, sometimes telling her to crawl slowly to the sofa then sit down and suck my dick. I'd be there for 30-40 minutes, get dressed, kiss her lovingly and leave her a sweaty cum covered panting mess.
Anyway, I'm thinking about various things to talk about and there's so much to say. But right now I feel all melodramatic, so it'll just be a long story filled with sighs. And these won't be of much interest to you I'm sure - so I guess we can return to this another time.
Next blog will be a second date I had the other night involving cocaine, stuffed animals and why heating should be left on before you go out in this shitty cold country I live in.
x
Monday, 24 January 2011
It *is* hard to do.
Breaking up: it fucking sucks. It takes away rational thought, you turn into a self obsessed whiney bitch, — everything is drained by the shadow it casts.
That coked up guy at the party who has to tell you about what he thinks, no matter how intrusive he is? Well when the wound is still fresh it's like having him inside your head 24/7 — he just won't shut up about her or anything bad that there is to dwell upon. This sad state of affairs robs you of your dignity - I mean for fucks sake I even found myself listening to Coldplay last year.
But even allowing for that dubious choice, music takes on a deeper resonance, lyrics are unlocked to speak a myriad of comforting or validating themes that you never grasped before...and it helps, for me at least. Music has always been a very big thing for me in my life, playing, listening, deconstructing, discovering.
When me and K broke up (which was several times last year, and with abrupt finality in this) I had a heavy rotation of tunes pumped into my head which soundtracked and cathartically pulled the shit I was feeling out of me. From the Bristolian laments of Roads & Show, through to Polar Opposites the latter which pretty much defined how I felt for about a month.
A well written sunny love song is one thing, but the melancholy captured sound of a love lost is all the more evocative and powerful. It taps into those thankfully rarely visited, unfamiliar corners of our hearts. So maybe the only way we make sense of them is by letting another who has felt this pain provide the illuminating soundtrack that sheds light on to the path we find ourselves stumbling along.
Whilst in the depths of this moping self indulgence last year I was talking with a friend about the poignancy of music. When you meet someone and fall in love you tell everyone about it. You tell them what she's like, repeat the stories she told you, you tell everyone why she's not like anyone else. You introduce her to your friends, your social timetable, to the soft vulnerable side of you so few have met that you've been protecting for all these years.
And then it comes to an end. All of it suddenly stops.
The best friend you spoke to every day is no longer on hand to share that stupid link with that you just saw, a tune you'd just heard that made you feel something, or the video of that panda falling over that you know will make her smile. Which made you smile as a result. Which now makes you sigh.
And it's the opposite path to the one you entered into this love by. Breaking up is a horribly solipsistic experience. Even if you wanted to let people in (which I didn't at all), no one can ever know what it is you're going through. For each person their sadness is informed by all the subtle nuances of their own break up, all the things that for some reason have stuck in your mind. You withdraw. You don't want to talk about her. Don't want to have to explain what happened. A story riven with shame, weakness and vulnerability. But you can't stop thinking about her.
And I think that in some way music becomes your new companion through all this - in it's own abstract way it makes more sense than anything else throughout all of what your emotional head is trying to deal with. You can call upon it when you're angry, when you're sad, when you just need to try to take your mind off of things it pulls you out of your egocentric contemplation and places you in another's; your words spoken by another. It says all the right things, explains the pain to you, shows you that it can be a constructive power, allows you to embrace it.
Music is a love affair that endures.
That coked up guy at the party who has to tell you about what he thinks, no matter how intrusive he is? Well when the wound is still fresh it's like having him inside your head 24/7 — he just won't shut up about her or anything bad that there is to dwell upon. This sad state of affairs robs you of your dignity - I mean for fucks sake I even found myself listening to Coldplay last year.
But even allowing for that dubious choice, music takes on a deeper resonance, lyrics are unlocked to speak a myriad of comforting or validating themes that you never grasped before...and it helps, for me at least. Music has always been a very big thing for me in my life, playing, listening, deconstructing, discovering.
When me and K broke up (which was several times last year, and with abrupt finality in this) I had a heavy rotation of tunes pumped into my head which soundtracked and cathartically pulled the shit I was feeling out of me. From the Bristolian laments of Roads & Show, through to Polar Opposites the latter which pretty much defined how I felt for about a month.
A well written sunny love song is one thing, but the melancholy captured sound of a love lost is all the more evocative and powerful. It taps into those thankfully rarely visited, unfamiliar corners of our hearts. So maybe the only way we make sense of them is by letting another who has felt this pain provide the illuminating soundtrack that sheds light on to the path we find ourselves stumbling along.
Whilst in the depths of this moping self indulgence last year I was talking with a friend about the poignancy of music. When you meet someone and fall in love you tell everyone about it. You tell them what she's like, repeat the stories she told you, you tell everyone why she's not like anyone else. You introduce her to your friends, your social timetable, to the soft vulnerable side of you so few have met that you've been protecting for all these years.
And then it comes to an end. All of it suddenly stops.
The best friend you spoke to every day is no longer on hand to share that stupid link with that you just saw, a tune you'd just heard that made you feel something, or the video of that panda falling over that you know will make her smile. Which made you smile as a result. Which now makes you sigh.
And it's the opposite path to the one you entered into this love by. Breaking up is a horribly solipsistic experience. Even if you wanted to let people in (which I didn't at all), no one can ever know what it is you're going through. For each person their sadness is informed by all the subtle nuances of their own break up, all the things that for some reason have stuck in your mind. You withdraw. You don't want to talk about her. Don't want to have to explain what happened. A story riven with shame, weakness and vulnerability. But you can't stop thinking about her.
And I think that in some way music becomes your new companion through all this - in it's own abstract way it makes more sense than anything else throughout all of what your emotional head is trying to deal with. You can call upon it when you're angry, when you're sad, when you just need to try to take your mind off of things it pulls you out of your egocentric contemplation and places you in another's; your words spoken by another. It says all the right things, explains the pain to you, shows you that it can be a constructive power, allows you to embrace it.
Music is a love affair that endures.
Sunday, 23 January 2011
1st date of the year
I should at this point let you know I'd already put up a number of posts here. However for some reason these disappeared without warning or reason, and I'm still none the wiser as to why. The only thing I can think is that I linked to a comedic porn video to exemplify a point. But really? Is this place actually that prudish?
Anyway my point here being that the date I'm about to tell you about happened on January 10th, a few weeks ago now.
I'd been talking to 'O' for a week maybe, she lived East, hated the use of emoticons, was a published writer, and could only meet at the start of the week because her other job kept her busy later in the week.
"I'm an erotic dancer, I hope that doesn't freak you out".
Err.....no, I think I'm pretty much ok with that O.
I should probably tell you that I'm a pervert. Yes, I am a man and we all are to some extent, but I have the sex drive of a teenager which instead of just myself and my computer, I've been lucky enough to indulge with some like minded other people. I don't hold myself up to be challenging the Marquis or Don, but I've met few girls who seem to be as libidinous as me. I've had a threesome with a couple, impromptu quickies in amusing places, and being dominant I've enjoyed a great many things of my choosing. K was one who matched me and who had a more vociferous, or at least, more numerously sated sex life before me (actually, during too which was less than ideal)
I guess maybe I'd put my own drive down to a decade of monogamy and dwindling sex with that person by the end - I had a lot of catching up to do. I also think this informs how I treat women. I love women. I had and have a lot of friends who are girls, I don't view girls just as sexual objects - although I do objectify the women I'm attracted to, but in a good way and not to the detriment of the other reasons I'm attracted to her i.e. her mind. I'm said to be emotionally intelligent and empathetic, enough for it to not surprise me when another girl later tells me that to begin with she thought I could be gay.
So now, I'm kind of like a watered down boyfriend all the time. Sex wise the girl could have her hands tied behind her back, my hand could be pulling her hair, a thumb in her ass as I pound her, gruffly telling her what a dirty slut she is as she watches me in the mirror. But then afterwards, I'm going to be more than happy to have her lie on my chest as I stroke her hair, talk and then spoon till sleep takes us (DISCLAIMER: That's if we get on or this isn't just an arranged fuck and nothing else etc). I don't think that this is that unusual, but still - from what I've been told it's an interesting mix.
Aaaanyway. Rambling again. Back to the date.
So yeah, she's a stripper. I've always found strip clubs a weird little psychological microcosm. I'm talking about the more upmarket ones. Are they places where women are exploited, demeaned and belittled by men? Or are they as much places where women are entirely in control, emancipated, with a sense of power as they disdainfully pluck money from these base men's wallets with aplomb? I love a beautiful, perfectly waxed, spread and presented pussy all up in my face as much as the next man, but I don't understand the appeal of handing crisp £20 note after crisp £20 note over in order to get nothing other than more and more frustrated.
However a woman who is confident in herself, confident in her overt sexuality and revels in using her body and mind to turn a guy on? That. Shit. Is. HOT. So meeting O, a girl with an apparently engaging mind who has a penchant for fucking, outside of the strip club scenario was something I was way into.
We went to Last Days Of Decadence which was shit. Monday night and dead. They were doing DIY and had the main lights up on full FFS (nothing worse than bright ambient light in my book). She was late. So I got a beer and sat reading the paper. She turns up 30 mins later, apologises and I go get some drinks which are overpriced and under-made. A dirty martini for her, an old fashioned for me.
She's not quite as trim as her pictures or profession would have led me to believe, however she's pretty and in shape. She's wearing a dark floral print dress, her hair is loose, long and brown (I love brunettes). Her eyes are green mottled with flecks of brown and her make up sparse, however applied with a hand practiced enough so that what is there has more of an effect than it should. We talk about her favourite authors, her style of writing, what her novel is about and the sort of characterisation she favours. Which gave me an answer to something I'd wondered before too. When you're stripping, as well as a different name, do you also affect a whole different identity? As much for fun as self preservation. Turns out that for O at least, yes you do. And being a creative mind, she had some hilariously developed ones, girls with backstories, foibles, relations, all sorts. I guess in some ways being a stripper offers an aspiring writer the chance to road test and develop some of her characters to see how believable and engaging they are (albeit as the guy stares at your tits and agrees/laughs with everything you have to say).
I've bought a couple of drinks now and O goes to the bar to get the next. She comes back with some drinks and tells me she's forgotten to bring out enough money. Which is pretty fucking cheeky (SPOILER ALERT: She had money for a cab home in the morning though). I can't help but feel her habits of not having to dip her hand into her purse on a night out have seeped into her day to day. But anyway.
Having said that, she tells me she's going to go have a cigarette. She slowly applies lip gloss and makes it the sexiest thing in the world before standing up and vamping her way to the door, knowing full well what she's doing. It has it's desired effect. I've pretty much forgotten any monetary issues (going back to my earlier question of whether it's men or women in control there - I think you have your answer).
The booze and liberal conversation is also having it's effect and when she comes back I decide fuck it, I'm going to kiss her. I see no point in being backwards about this kind of thing. You're both there to get on and at some point fuck, if not, why the hell are you there? If she tells you you've got the wrong idea then hey, shit happens. So a pause in conversation presents itself and I lean in, I kiss her softly and she kisses me back, just lips for a few seconds and then I leave it at that - I may be forward but I'm not going to search for cavities with my tongue like a teenager. Not at this stage anyway. But it's on.
We go on to a few other bars, drinking cocktails, shots and generally getting wasted. It's after midnight now and I suggest we head back to mine for a drink. We get a taxi and in the back she says "I'm not going to sleep with you you know?" to which all I could say was something like "Damn, and there I was hoping to get all these drinks paid back with demeaning sexual acts". She laughs and we resume kissing.
Back at mine I open a bottle of red, take her to my room and put a record on. Things are of course going particularly well. I'm aware that yes, I do have in my room a girl who is pretty and also a stripper. I'm also aware that most men who have been in my situation and armed with this knowledge are probably over eager - so I'm not intending to add to their number. So we're on my bed kissing, I'm lying next to her, verging on top of her. My kisses are teasing, soft, but laden with sexual intent. One hand is in her hair, the other is wandering over her curves, lightly touching her, circling her nipples, as her legs open my hand runs up and down the inside of her thigh, getting closer and closer to the heat I can actually feel from between them, before slowly drawing my hand between her legs, over her stomach and pulling back.
We'd already spoken about power and control between the sexes. Societally, in the strip club and sexually. So I knew that my like of being in control and taking the reins was happily complimented in hers to yield. I asked her to pass me my drink. She rolled over, stood up and passed it to me - the lamp on the floor was kind of backlighting her dress, I can see the shape of her legs, the light accentuating her curves. She looked hot.
"Wait, stay standing there. You look hot"
Most girls would probably feel self conscious in this situation, especially on a first date. I guessed correctly that she of course wouldn't. She straightened up, moved her weight onto one leg and with her hands on the back of her hips so her breasts stood out, did as I asked.
"Now take that dress off for me"
Her eyes narrowed as she smiled at me questioningly. I took another sip of my drink. Pausing, then holding her eyes with a hungry stare,
"I asked you to take your dress off..."
Moving over and placing my drink on the floor
"...I won't ask again"
Smiling she reaches back, unzips her dress and in one movement lifts the flimsy material over her head to reveal a black bra, a mix of lace and viscose, and french knickers through which I could see her perfectly trimmed pubic hair leading down to what I couldn't wait to taste.
Now I'd not normally be this forward on a first date, but when armed with the knowledge that she likes a man to be a man and is obviously body confident it just made sense at the time. Plus, let's be honest - I was pretty drunk.
I stand up and pulling her into me by her ass, kiss her hard. Lifting her up I turn round with her and lower her to the bed, lie in between her legs and grind my cock into her as she pulls my mouth onto hers and thrusts up to meet my cock. Subtlety is a forgotten word at this point, we're both in the heat of the moment - I reach round and unclip her bra, my hands cup her tits as I hungrily kiss and suck her nipples. With my hands still on her breasts I begin to kiss my way down her body, across her soft stomach, my tongue licking her naval which makes her jolt. She's still lying sideways along my bed and I've slipped off the bed now onto my knees - I pull her body towards me, my hands opening her legs wide and softly again now I kiss the sensitive insides of her thighs from one to the other, avoiding what the see through material is covering in the middle but blowing onto her as I do. My tongue now licks right at the top of the inside of her thighs, her breathing is getting heavier and my cock is throbbing. I stop. She opens her eyes and looks down at me as I push her legs up and wide. I smile a dirty smile and for the first time, lick all the way from her ass to her clit which I tongue and breathe hot breath heavily onto through her now wet knickers.
(At this stage I feel it appropriate to tell you that I LOVE giving head. I cannot understand those men who don't. Or who can't. It's one of the hottest things to be that intimate with a girls pussy. Giving pleasure is almost as good as getting for me, whilst I'm dominant, that doesn't mean selfish - in fact quite the opposite. Being in control of a girl's pleasure, knowing that you're the one who is making her breath like that, say the filth that she is, thrash around and spasm like that - it's hot. If I had a really hot fuck buddy who was local to me, if she wanted me to come over, spend 20 minutes going down on her, teasing and playing with her till she came before leaving straight away after? I'd be into it. The idea of a girl I'm into pushing me back and sitting her pussy on my face just like that is a massive turn on.)
I pull her knickers down unceremoniously and with a broad flat tongue I again lick from her ass slowly up to her clit. She's really wet and her clit is pleasingly poking out a little now so I pay it the attention it's looking for. First with a soft tongue circling it slowly, then with just the tip barely touching her I flick my tongue over it hard and fast, grazing it. I reach up to her tits and as I start to lick her more directly, my fingers roll her erect nipples between them. She's moaning now, her pants and involuntary 'fucks' are only turning me on more. One finger is circling the outside of her pussy lips, dipping inside her and pulling back, the other hand is now exposing her clit more for me to flick with my tongue, a thumb rubbing just above her clit as I push my finger into her and rhythmically start to fuck her. I reach for her G-Spot. In my experience (and it's only mine) I'd say that maybe 30% of women enjoy this, for the rest it's either too sensitive, doesn't seem to do anything or makes them feel like they need to pee or something. O was in the 30%. I'm breathing hard myself now, I'm licking like an epileptic thirsty cat, my fingers fucking her hard and she starts babbling, gripping my sheets, she's going to cum.
I stop.
"You don't get to cum yet."
I kiss her cunt, and licking slowly up and down her sodden lips and clit I say to her,
"You'll cum when I say you can you understand?"
I punctuate this by pressing harder onto her G-Spot. She bites her bottom lip and almost looking like she's in pain from the effect it's having nods quickly. I move up and kiss her slowly then stand up in front of her and undo my belt.
She moves forward and sitting on the side of my bed kisses my chest and abs slowly with a wet open mouth as she undoes my trousers and begins to massage me through my boxers. Looking intently at what she's about to unveil, she pulls the waistband of them out and over me, pulling them down along with my trousers. My cock springs up and hits her in the chin.
It's a moment of reality in amongst being lost in sex and I like it. We laugh and the atmosphere is broken for a second, but in a good way. It's almost as though that bit of humour has allowed the dynamic to change too. She gets down on her knees, takes my rock hard cock in her hand and starts to kiss the tip of my cock whilst she looks deep into my eyes and asks if I like her being my slut. She's in control now. I nod. She pulls back on my cock and takes me into her mouth, fucking me with it a few times. Licking her hands she starts to wank me, one hand working my cock, the other rubbing and cupping my balls - looking up into my eyes with faux innocence she asks,
"Are you going to fuck me hard with this?"
She circles her tongue around the head, sucks me and when she pulls back, leaves a trail of saliva from the tip of my cock to her bottom lip.
"I'm so fucking wet for you, are you going to pound my pussy hard all night?"
My response is a garbled noise and frantic nod, her hands and mouth have stolen any eloquence or smart quips that may have sounded cool here, I have a monosyllabic mind, and that one word is "FUUUUUCK".
Ok.
At this point I feel that the break of me having to get a condom, almost falling over myself to get it on as she lay back playing with herself is a good point to stop with the detailed descriptions. I can't help but feel anyone reading could be bored, plus this blog could get a little repetitive (so long as girls continue to want to fuck me of course).
However I will say one more thing about our night together and that's the first time she came.
I was on top of her, her legs pressed up to her chest - I'm sweating from pounding her so hard and she's rubbing her clit frantically. She's getting louder and louder (thankfully my housemates were out), and I can feel she's getting wetter and wetter it seems too. And then she cums. And I feel a warmth around my pubic hair. She's really seeming to enjoy it and there's that warmth again. Then I twig. She's a squirter. Now I've never experienced this before, but I've got to say it's fucking hot. It's messy, she's not able to control herself as she's lost in her orgasm and it just seems like pure SEX. The only downside was that I had to get a towel to sleep on, she came a lot throughout the night.
So as my first date for 2011 goes, it was a good one. Not all girls will be quite so obliging I know, and in fairness, I'd not expect them to be either. Building your sexual palette together is an important thing too, it's not all 'in at the deep end'. Meeting a girl who isn't as experienced but willing to try things is as much of a turn on as someone who has been there, done it and is only too happy and able to do it again, and again, and again...
The next day and even falling asleep afterwards, I actually felt a bit empty, it all felt a little bit meaningless. It's really quite annoying. I used to do this and it was all positive, all fun, no one got hurt, everyone knew what was going on and the next day was just spent replaying parts in my head at my desk. Not having meaning or an emotional connection meant it felt a little meaningless and left me a bit sad. (I'm talking like a teenage girl I know). Even though I know it's a good thing that we're not going out now, even though I know that she's not the girl she seemed to be or who cares about me, I still think about K. Every day. I still miss her.
I think I'm going to be single for a while. My heart is still bruised.
But then on the bright side it's not just my heart. My cock was pretty sore the next day from the workout it got too. So it's not all bad really.
Thanks O, you were fun x
Anyway my point here being that the date I'm about to tell you about happened on January 10th, a few weeks ago now.
I'd been talking to 'O' for a week maybe, she lived East, hated the use of emoticons, was a published writer, and could only meet at the start of the week because her other job kept her busy later in the week.
"I'm an erotic dancer, I hope that doesn't freak you out".
Err.....no, I think I'm pretty much ok with that O.
I should probably tell you that I'm a pervert. Yes, I am a man and we all are to some extent, but I have the sex drive of a teenager which instead of just myself and my computer, I've been lucky enough to indulge with some like minded other people. I don't hold myself up to be challenging the Marquis or Don, but I've met few girls who seem to be as libidinous as me. I've had a threesome with a couple, impromptu quickies in amusing places, and being dominant I've enjoyed a great many things of my choosing. K was one who matched me and who had a more vociferous, or at least, more numerously sated sex life before me (actually, during too which was less than ideal)
I guess maybe I'd put my own drive down to a decade of monogamy and dwindling sex with that person by the end - I had a lot of catching up to do. I also think this informs how I treat women. I love women. I had and have a lot of friends who are girls, I don't view girls just as sexual objects - although I do objectify the women I'm attracted to, but in a good way and not to the detriment of the other reasons I'm attracted to her i.e. her mind. I'm said to be emotionally intelligent and empathetic, enough for it to not surprise me when another girl later tells me that to begin with she thought I could be gay.
So now, I'm kind of like a watered down boyfriend all the time. Sex wise the girl could have her hands tied behind her back, my hand could be pulling her hair, a thumb in her ass as I pound her, gruffly telling her what a dirty slut she is as she watches me in the mirror. But then afterwards, I'm going to be more than happy to have her lie on my chest as I stroke her hair, talk and then spoon till sleep takes us (DISCLAIMER: That's if we get on or this isn't just an arranged fuck and nothing else etc). I don't think that this is that unusual, but still - from what I've been told it's an interesting mix.
Aaaanyway. Rambling again. Back to the date.
So yeah, she's a stripper. I've always found strip clubs a weird little psychological microcosm. I'm talking about the more upmarket ones. Are they places where women are exploited, demeaned and belittled by men? Or are they as much places where women are entirely in control, emancipated, with a sense of power as they disdainfully pluck money from these base men's wallets with aplomb? I love a beautiful, perfectly waxed, spread and presented pussy all up in my face as much as the next man, but I don't understand the appeal of handing crisp £20 note after crisp £20 note over in order to get nothing other than more and more frustrated.
However a woman who is confident in herself, confident in her overt sexuality and revels in using her body and mind to turn a guy on? That. Shit. Is. HOT. So meeting O, a girl with an apparently engaging mind who has a penchant for fucking, outside of the strip club scenario was something I was way into.
We went to Last Days Of Decadence which was shit. Monday night and dead. They were doing DIY and had the main lights up on full FFS (nothing worse than bright ambient light in my book). She was late. So I got a beer and sat reading the paper. She turns up 30 mins later, apologises and I go get some drinks which are overpriced and under-made. A dirty martini for her, an old fashioned for me.
She's not quite as trim as her pictures or profession would have led me to believe, however she's pretty and in shape. She's wearing a dark floral print dress, her hair is loose, long and brown (I love brunettes). Her eyes are green mottled with flecks of brown and her make up sparse, however applied with a hand practiced enough so that what is there has more of an effect than it should. We talk about her favourite authors, her style of writing, what her novel is about and the sort of characterisation she favours. Which gave me an answer to something I'd wondered before too. When you're stripping, as well as a different name, do you also affect a whole different identity? As much for fun as self preservation. Turns out that for O at least, yes you do. And being a creative mind, she had some hilariously developed ones, girls with backstories, foibles, relations, all sorts. I guess in some ways being a stripper offers an aspiring writer the chance to road test and develop some of her characters to see how believable and engaging they are (albeit as the guy stares at your tits and agrees/laughs with everything you have to say).
I've bought a couple of drinks now and O goes to the bar to get the next. She comes back with some drinks and tells me she's forgotten to bring out enough money. Which is pretty fucking cheeky (SPOILER ALERT: She had money for a cab home in the morning though). I can't help but feel her habits of not having to dip her hand into her purse on a night out have seeped into her day to day. But anyway.
Having said that, she tells me she's going to go have a cigarette. She slowly applies lip gloss and makes it the sexiest thing in the world before standing up and vamping her way to the door, knowing full well what she's doing. It has it's desired effect. I've pretty much forgotten any monetary issues (going back to my earlier question of whether it's men or women in control there - I think you have your answer).
The booze and liberal conversation is also having it's effect and when she comes back I decide fuck it, I'm going to kiss her. I see no point in being backwards about this kind of thing. You're both there to get on and at some point fuck, if not, why the hell are you there? If she tells you you've got the wrong idea then hey, shit happens. So a pause in conversation presents itself and I lean in, I kiss her softly and she kisses me back, just lips for a few seconds and then I leave it at that - I may be forward but I'm not going to search for cavities with my tongue like a teenager. Not at this stage anyway. But it's on.
We go on to a few other bars, drinking cocktails, shots and generally getting wasted. It's after midnight now and I suggest we head back to mine for a drink. We get a taxi and in the back she says "I'm not going to sleep with you you know?" to which all I could say was something like "Damn, and there I was hoping to get all these drinks paid back with demeaning sexual acts". She laughs and we resume kissing.
Back at mine I open a bottle of red, take her to my room and put a record on. Things are of course going particularly well. I'm aware that yes, I do have in my room a girl who is pretty and also a stripper. I'm also aware that most men who have been in my situation and armed with this knowledge are probably over eager - so I'm not intending to add to their number. So we're on my bed kissing, I'm lying next to her, verging on top of her. My kisses are teasing, soft, but laden with sexual intent. One hand is in her hair, the other is wandering over her curves, lightly touching her, circling her nipples, as her legs open my hand runs up and down the inside of her thigh, getting closer and closer to the heat I can actually feel from between them, before slowly drawing my hand between her legs, over her stomach and pulling back.
We'd already spoken about power and control between the sexes. Societally, in the strip club and sexually. So I knew that my like of being in control and taking the reins was happily complimented in hers to yield. I asked her to pass me my drink. She rolled over, stood up and passed it to me - the lamp on the floor was kind of backlighting her dress, I can see the shape of her legs, the light accentuating her curves. She looked hot.
"Wait, stay standing there. You look hot"
Most girls would probably feel self conscious in this situation, especially on a first date. I guessed correctly that she of course wouldn't. She straightened up, moved her weight onto one leg and with her hands on the back of her hips so her breasts stood out, did as I asked.
"Now take that dress off for me"
Her eyes narrowed as she smiled at me questioningly. I took another sip of my drink. Pausing, then holding her eyes with a hungry stare,
"I asked you to take your dress off..."
Moving over and placing my drink on the floor
"...I won't ask again"
Smiling she reaches back, unzips her dress and in one movement lifts the flimsy material over her head to reveal a black bra, a mix of lace and viscose, and french knickers through which I could see her perfectly trimmed pubic hair leading down to what I couldn't wait to taste.
Now I'd not normally be this forward on a first date, but when armed with the knowledge that she likes a man to be a man and is obviously body confident it just made sense at the time. Plus, let's be honest - I was pretty drunk.
I stand up and pulling her into me by her ass, kiss her hard. Lifting her up I turn round with her and lower her to the bed, lie in between her legs and grind my cock into her as she pulls my mouth onto hers and thrusts up to meet my cock. Subtlety is a forgotten word at this point, we're both in the heat of the moment - I reach round and unclip her bra, my hands cup her tits as I hungrily kiss and suck her nipples. With my hands still on her breasts I begin to kiss my way down her body, across her soft stomach, my tongue licking her naval which makes her jolt. She's still lying sideways along my bed and I've slipped off the bed now onto my knees - I pull her body towards me, my hands opening her legs wide and softly again now I kiss the sensitive insides of her thighs from one to the other, avoiding what the see through material is covering in the middle but blowing onto her as I do. My tongue now licks right at the top of the inside of her thighs, her breathing is getting heavier and my cock is throbbing. I stop. She opens her eyes and looks down at me as I push her legs up and wide. I smile a dirty smile and for the first time, lick all the way from her ass to her clit which I tongue and breathe hot breath heavily onto through her now wet knickers.
(At this stage I feel it appropriate to tell you that I LOVE giving head. I cannot understand those men who don't. Or who can't. It's one of the hottest things to be that intimate with a girls pussy. Giving pleasure is almost as good as getting for me, whilst I'm dominant, that doesn't mean selfish - in fact quite the opposite. Being in control of a girl's pleasure, knowing that you're the one who is making her breath like that, say the filth that she is, thrash around and spasm like that - it's hot. If I had a really hot fuck buddy who was local to me, if she wanted me to come over, spend 20 minutes going down on her, teasing and playing with her till she came before leaving straight away after? I'd be into it. The idea of a girl I'm into pushing me back and sitting her pussy on my face just like that is a massive turn on.)
I pull her knickers down unceremoniously and with a broad flat tongue I again lick from her ass slowly up to her clit. She's really wet and her clit is pleasingly poking out a little now so I pay it the attention it's looking for. First with a soft tongue circling it slowly, then with just the tip barely touching her I flick my tongue over it hard and fast, grazing it. I reach up to her tits and as I start to lick her more directly, my fingers roll her erect nipples between them. She's moaning now, her pants and involuntary 'fucks' are only turning me on more. One finger is circling the outside of her pussy lips, dipping inside her and pulling back, the other hand is now exposing her clit more for me to flick with my tongue, a thumb rubbing just above her clit as I push my finger into her and rhythmically start to fuck her. I reach for her G-Spot. In my experience (and it's only mine) I'd say that maybe 30% of women enjoy this, for the rest it's either too sensitive, doesn't seem to do anything or makes them feel like they need to pee or something. O was in the 30%. I'm breathing hard myself now, I'm licking like an epileptic thirsty cat, my fingers fucking her hard and she starts babbling, gripping my sheets, she's going to cum.
I stop.
"You don't get to cum yet."
I kiss her cunt, and licking slowly up and down her sodden lips and clit I say to her,
"You'll cum when I say you can you understand?"
I punctuate this by pressing harder onto her G-Spot. She bites her bottom lip and almost looking like she's in pain from the effect it's having nods quickly. I move up and kiss her slowly then stand up in front of her and undo my belt.
She moves forward and sitting on the side of my bed kisses my chest and abs slowly with a wet open mouth as she undoes my trousers and begins to massage me through my boxers. Looking intently at what she's about to unveil, she pulls the waistband of them out and over me, pulling them down along with my trousers. My cock springs up and hits her in the chin.
It's a moment of reality in amongst being lost in sex and I like it. We laugh and the atmosphere is broken for a second, but in a good way. It's almost as though that bit of humour has allowed the dynamic to change too. She gets down on her knees, takes my rock hard cock in her hand and starts to kiss the tip of my cock whilst she looks deep into my eyes and asks if I like her being my slut. She's in control now. I nod. She pulls back on my cock and takes me into her mouth, fucking me with it a few times. Licking her hands she starts to wank me, one hand working my cock, the other rubbing and cupping my balls - looking up into my eyes with faux innocence she asks,
"Are you going to fuck me hard with this?"
She circles her tongue around the head, sucks me and when she pulls back, leaves a trail of saliva from the tip of my cock to her bottom lip.
"I'm so fucking wet for you, are you going to pound my pussy hard all night?"
My response is a garbled noise and frantic nod, her hands and mouth have stolen any eloquence or smart quips that may have sounded cool here, I have a monosyllabic mind, and that one word is "FUUUUUCK".
Ok.
At this point I feel that the break of me having to get a condom, almost falling over myself to get it on as she lay back playing with herself is a good point to stop with the detailed descriptions. I can't help but feel anyone reading could be bored, plus this blog could get a little repetitive (so long as girls continue to want to fuck me of course).
However I will say one more thing about our night together and that's the first time she came.
I was on top of her, her legs pressed up to her chest - I'm sweating from pounding her so hard and she's rubbing her clit frantically. She's getting louder and louder (thankfully my housemates were out), and I can feel she's getting wetter and wetter it seems too. And then she cums. And I feel a warmth around my pubic hair. She's really seeming to enjoy it and there's that warmth again. Then I twig. She's a squirter. Now I've never experienced this before, but I've got to say it's fucking hot. It's messy, she's not able to control herself as she's lost in her orgasm and it just seems like pure SEX. The only downside was that I had to get a towel to sleep on, she came a lot throughout the night.
So as my first date for 2011 goes, it was a good one. Not all girls will be quite so obliging I know, and in fairness, I'd not expect them to be either. Building your sexual palette together is an important thing too, it's not all 'in at the deep end'. Meeting a girl who isn't as experienced but willing to try things is as much of a turn on as someone who has been there, done it and is only too happy and able to do it again, and again, and again...
The next day and even falling asleep afterwards, I actually felt a bit empty, it all felt a little bit meaningless. It's really quite annoying. I used to do this and it was all positive, all fun, no one got hurt, everyone knew what was going on and the next day was just spent replaying parts in my head at my desk. Not having meaning or an emotional connection meant it felt a little meaningless and left me a bit sad. (I'm talking like a teenage girl I know). Even though I know it's a good thing that we're not going out now, even though I know that she's not the girl she seemed to be or who cares about me, I still think about K. Every day. I still miss her.
I think I'm going to be single for a while. My heart is still bruised.
But then on the bright side it's not just my heart. My cock was pretty sore the next day from the workout it got too. So it's not all bad really.
Thanks O, you were fun x
Friday, 21 January 2011
Online dating
So online dating? What's that all about eh?
A refuge for hermits, sanctury for the socially inept, and den of iniquity for the questionably moraled underbelly of society? Maybe.
Populated by a surprising amount of people from Clapham who, if you go by their pictures at least, seem to enjoy skiing? Definitely in my experience.
I'd say that online dating no longer suffers from the stigmas it once used to. To my mind sites like My Single Friend have done a lot to change attitudes (A site fronted by a tv personality, where you have to recruit a friend to write a paragraph telling everyone how great you are).
Whereas once you'd probably have felt your blood run cold if someone found out you were online dating, nowadays you're more than likely to tell your friends about it the day before and then regale them with stories the day after. You see, places like MSF made it a social, fun, and most importantly shared experience. I'm sure back in the day, guys had less of a problem to go online, but for girls I think it was a darker, more predatory space in ways.
For the rest of us - each and every day we all send messages, view pictures, and interact with people online, some we know well, others less so, some not at all as our inner voyeur peeks through the curtains of a perfect strangers unguarded security settings and at their holiday snaps. So meeting and getting to know people online makes sense.
You see for me, when I'm out, I'm out with my friends so I've no intention to spend my night casting meaningful glances around the room, ready at any minute to leave my friends and embark on a woo-a-thon. Since I don't go to meat markety places and I don't have many stella drinking single male friends, I have no wingmen to go out 'hunting' with. Plus I find it kind of cringy the idea of going up to a stranger at a bar, intruding on her night and then needing to deliver in the space of 4 minutes: chat which makes her think I'm funny, intelligent, caring and convinces her I'm in possession of the genes and a delivery device to pass them on which make all over men in the bar fade away (*ahem* I am, I am, I am, I do, I kind of do).
I like that you get to meet people who you'd not normally get a chance to meet on these sites. Either through geography, circumstance or prejudice. There have been a fair few girls I've hooked up with, even gone out with, who I'm sure either wouldn't have paid me attention in a bar, or who I wouldn't have bowled over to and chatted up all night. It's good that you can talk beforehand, sound them out, see if there's common ground, banter, a sense of humour etc. When you do meet up you've almost got all the awkward stuff out of the way as you've got a rapport of some sort already going on.
Now all of the above is retrospective reasoning. The main reason I joined up to the online dating world was due to what my friend told me a year or so ago. She said she had a friend, a guy, who went onto My single Friend looking for a girlfriend to settle with. After a few weeks of dating she asked him how it was going. He said it was not going so well, all of the girls he met up with just wanted to have sex. She said it seemed to him like it was just one big hook up site.
I was a fully paid up member by that weekend.
Up next: My first and third dates of the year. In chronological order.
A refuge for hermits, sanctury for the socially inept, and den of iniquity for the questionably moraled underbelly of society? Maybe.
Populated by a surprising amount of people from Clapham who, if you go by their pictures at least, seem to enjoy skiing? Definitely in my experience.
I'd say that online dating no longer suffers from the stigmas it once used to. To my mind sites like My Single Friend have done a lot to change attitudes (A site fronted by a tv personality, where you have to recruit a friend to write a paragraph telling everyone how great you are).
Whereas once you'd probably have felt your blood run cold if someone found out you were online dating, nowadays you're more than likely to tell your friends about it the day before and then regale them with stories the day after. You see, places like MSF made it a social, fun, and most importantly shared experience. I'm sure back in the day, guys had less of a problem to go online, but for girls I think it was a darker, more predatory space in ways.
For the rest of us - each and every day we all send messages, view pictures, and interact with people online, some we know well, others less so, some not at all as our inner voyeur peeks through the curtains of a perfect strangers unguarded security settings and at their holiday snaps. So meeting and getting to know people online makes sense.
You see for me, when I'm out, I'm out with my friends so I've no intention to spend my night casting meaningful glances around the room, ready at any minute to leave my friends and embark on a woo-a-thon. Since I don't go to meat markety places and I don't have many stella drinking single male friends, I have no wingmen to go out 'hunting' with. Plus I find it kind of cringy the idea of going up to a stranger at a bar, intruding on her night and then needing to deliver in the space of 4 minutes: chat which makes her think I'm funny, intelligent, caring and convinces her I'm in possession of the genes and a delivery device to pass them on which make all over men in the bar fade away (*ahem* I am, I am, I am, I do, I kind of do).
I like that you get to meet people who you'd not normally get a chance to meet on these sites. Either through geography, circumstance or prejudice. There have been a fair few girls I've hooked up with, even gone out with, who I'm sure either wouldn't have paid me attention in a bar, or who I wouldn't have bowled over to and chatted up all night. It's good that you can talk beforehand, sound them out, see if there's common ground, banter, a sense of humour etc. When you do meet up you've almost got all the awkward stuff out of the way as you've got a rapport of some sort already going on.
Now all of the above is retrospective reasoning. The main reason I joined up to the online dating world was due to what my friend told me a year or so ago. She said she had a friend, a guy, who went onto My single Friend looking for a girlfriend to settle with. After a few weeks of dating she asked him how it was going. He said it was not going so well, all of the girls he met up with just wanted to have sex. She said it seemed to him like it was just one big hook up site.
I was a fully paid up member by that weekend.
Up next: My first and third dates of the year. In chronological order.
Hiya
So, another blog eh? As if there weren't enough egotistical, self deluding rants out there...
Well I suppose I should start by telling you why I'm writing this.
I'm a 33 year old guy. I live in what was once apparently the 'coolest' place in London, I work in a 'cool' job, most of my friends you'd probably say are 'cool' (no they're not just hipsters - they've actually done things other than just get dressed) and I generally live quite an interesting life. All whilst being pretty unremarkable myself.
A couple of years ago I broke up with my ex, the girl I was with from university to 30 ish. For a while after this, I embraced all the benefits that my situation offered with wide eyed enthusiasm - parties with free booze and hungry models, great music scene, excessive alcohol and narcotic intake, a lot of sex, and some of the tightest friendships forged in a whirl of hedonism and shared opinions. Having read a few titillating blogs in the past, at the time I thought about writing my own as a kind of online diary for myself and anyone else who might find my idiocy of interest. But I never got round to it.
You see to my surprise, it turned out that girls seemed to find me interesting and attractive enough to let me touch them. And for them to want to touch me too. This meant that seeing as I never had, I started to date a lot. Online dating.
Last summer, I met a girl. Let's call her K.
We first made contact on this lame site (I joined it by being egged on by my married mate "Go on, see if you can get in and then I can live my life vicariously through you"), then we spoke on facebook and phone for a couple of weeks before meeting up. Our first date was an impromptu one where we were both in the area and arranged to meet at 11pm in Shoreditch House. We drank, kissed, went back to mine, sniffed, drank, talked and fucked the night away. We were totally gay for each other from the word go. It was stupid, totally naked, no game playing, it was weird.
We were swept up in love and then she broke my heart, several times. Which I've by no means put back together. But I'll tell you about her some other time.
So dear reader, whilst this post break up journey won't be quite as bacchanalian in stature as it may have been after my first break up, it should still be pretty fun.
I'll tell you about the dates I go on, be they mundane, disastrous, or (with any luck) deeply pornographic. I'll probably start to indulge myself with my opinions on the world and the goings on of London at some point, but for now it's going to be a window into my exploits in the 'dating game'. Whilst I'm not writing this to self validate through followers, if ever you want to know anything or think I should write less or more about something, you only need ask.
And if you got this far, thank you for being bored enough to read my little intro - I promise to be a lot more interesting x
Well I suppose I should start by telling you why I'm writing this.
I'm a 33 year old guy. I live in what was once apparently the 'coolest' place in London, I work in a 'cool' job, most of my friends you'd probably say are 'cool' (no they're not just hipsters - they've actually done things other than just get dressed) and I generally live quite an interesting life. All whilst being pretty unremarkable myself.
A couple of years ago I broke up with my ex, the girl I was with from university to 30 ish. For a while after this, I embraced all the benefits that my situation offered with wide eyed enthusiasm - parties with free booze and hungry models, great music scene, excessive alcohol and narcotic intake, a lot of sex, and some of the tightest friendships forged in a whirl of hedonism and shared opinions. Having read a few titillating blogs in the past, at the time I thought about writing my own as a kind of online diary for myself and anyone else who might find my idiocy of interest. But I never got round to it.
You see to my surprise, it turned out that girls seemed to find me interesting and attractive enough to let me touch them. And for them to want to touch me too. This meant that seeing as I never had, I started to date a lot. Online dating.
Last summer, I met a girl. Let's call her K.
We first made contact on this lame site (I joined it by being egged on by my married mate "Go on, see if you can get in and then I can live my life vicariously through you"), then we spoke on facebook and phone for a couple of weeks before meeting up. Our first date was an impromptu one where we were both in the area and arranged to meet at 11pm in Shoreditch House. We drank, kissed, went back to mine, sniffed, drank, talked and fucked the night away. We were totally gay for each other from the word go. It was stupid, totally naked, no game playing, it was weird.
We were swept up in love and then she broke my heart, several times. Which I've by no means put back together. But I'll tell you about her some other time.
So dear reader, whilst this post break up journey won't be quite as bacchanalian in stature as it may have been after my first break up, it should still be pretty fun.
I'll tell you about the dates I go on, be they mundane, disastrous, or (with any luck) deeply pornographic. I'll probably start to indulge myself with my opinions on the world and the goings on of London at some point, but for now it's going to be a window into my exploits in the 'dating game'. Whilst I'm not writing this to self validate through followers, if ever you want to know anything or think I should write less or more about something, you only need ask.
And if you got this far, thank you for being bored enough to read my little intro - I promise to be a lot more interesting x
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