The return of the shoes… and WDW

Photo: Akif Hakan Celebi

You may remember that I’ve had my shoes kept ransom by another blogger named WontDieWondering. Here is what happened later, after we kept silent for a week:

Wont Die Wondering: Hi. Hope you ready and packed for your mum’s wedding. Please send your postal address and will get the shoes back been another tough week – cheers
Beautiful but Grumpy: Hi. Yes, all packed and ready. Don’t worry about the shoes. No need to post them, just drop them off at the reception when you can. Thanks
WDW: The thought of dropping off shoes in a plastic bag is less than appealing…
BbG: When did you become fashion conscious?
WDW: When I met you – was picturing the conversation with security… I have plastic bag for the bbg lady….. how goes work?
BbG: What are we doing here texting each other – we’ve said goodbye!!!
WDW: you said goodbye… is that what you want?
BbG: Of course not. But you didn’t leave me any other option.
WDW: How did you work that out?
BbG: I computed it – I said what it was I wanted from you, you said what you wanted from me. It didn’t match.
WDW: Sometimes unmatched is really cool…like starsky and hutch (i am sure there better examples)
BbG: It’s a film! Anything can happen in the film…
WDW: Just like life unless you try to match things…..
BbG: I agree… but am still unclear as to what you actually want/expect from me. If it’s not dating then what is it? A pen friend??
WDW: Dating is so formalised it was good as friend with benefits which may have developed into something more serious….

So, I allowed him to bring my shoes back the following Sunday.
He came looking tanned, healthy and incredibly handsome. To my relief, the shoes looked untouched.
After he introduced himself to my new flatmate Helen, we all enjoyed sharing a late lunch (only mildly disturbed by WDW trying to grab my knee under the table, and placing his naked feet on top of mine).
For the rest of the afternoon we hung around in my bedroom (without Helen…), where among other things, we talked about our issue with communication (WDW complained that I never called him on the phone. Which is true.)

Occasionally I tried to convince him to let me slip a banana in his arse, and he in turn tried to stick his big toe in my mouth.
I’ve got a feeling we will meet again...

A broken heart. Literally.

Photo: Akif Hakan Celebi

It is Friday, 3pm. I’m at work, browsing guitars on internet when e-mail from Jay, my boss, arrives:

Boss: what are you doing now? quick glass? Arrgh, he must have noticed I’m on internet. Shit.
BbG: Glass??
Boss: G&T ?
BbG: Now?
Boss: YEP, MANAGEMENT PRIVILEGE, JUST A QUICK ONE IN THE FINE LINE, LETS GO, OFFSITE MEETING ABOUT SEMI-ANNUAL OBJECTIVES

So I pick up my handbag and tell the team I’m off to a meeting.

Cool air conditioning welcomes us. The place is not as busy as usual, probably because of the time of the day. There are mostly older men in elegant suits scattered around, chatting quietly in small groups. A TV screen is discreetly positioned on one of the walls. Football is on – it’s South Africa v. Mexico. I think about WontDieWondering and I’m wondering if he’s watching the game. Probably not. Most of the normal people are working.

At the bar, Boss asks me what I would like to drink, but before I have a chance to even open my mouth he gives his order to the barman – a bottle of champagne. I try to protest and come up with excuses that we can’t possibly finish it, and that I still have work to do. But he states shortly that I shouldn’t worry about anything. Ok, he’s the boss so I try to relax, but insist on staying at the bar instead of being squashed at too smug looking sofas.

My boss faces me with a grin ‘Cheers to the top performer! You did really well in the last 6 months’ and raises his glass. I can feel my face beaming with pride and excitement ‘Oh really? Thanks Jay. And thanks for all the opportunities I’ve been given’. I take a sip of ice cold and sharp tasting champagne, and laugh at his bad jokes. Today they don’t sound that bad actually.

‘It’s time to start reaping synergies from the merger’ says Boss turning serious and fixing his glare somewhere above and beyond my head. ‘I want my management team to work closely with each other to achieve that. You and Matthew will need to collaborate’ he breaks for a large sip of champagne.

‘Of course. You can count on me. It’s all forgotten from my perspective’. I try to stress the last sentence with a strong (and slightly exaggerated) hand movement for added effect.

‘Well, there is one thing I need to tell you’ Boss looks down and polishes invisible stain on his gold cufflink ‘Matthew had a heart monitor installed this morning. He’s been experiencing severe pains recently’. I can’t hide my shock but my boss continues, looking straight into my eyes, ‘He tried to blame it on you but I wouldn’t have it, plus I don’t want HR being involved. So please be careful around him. Literally. His monitor will beep if his heart is on edge.’

I feel a sharp, single twinge at my forehead. How could this turn so wrong?

I look around as if in search of help, then sigh loudly and think that this at last explains a glimpse of satisfaction on Matthew’s face this morning, when he passed me with his chin raised unnaturally high.

Are you a Gypsy?

Photo: Akif Hakan Celebi

The state of affairs with Reece, the live cattle futures trader, has been developing nicely until I've received the following:

Reece: Quick question, are you of romany extraction?

That definitely got my interest – the guy knows how to ask ‘socially awkward questions’.

Beautiful but Grumpy: Not that I’m aware of. Should I interrogate my mother?

Reece: Hehe, cue the thumbscrews, dripping water and truth serum…
Well, I’m following a vision actually.

BbG: Oh yeah? Share…

Reece: I had a wee vision that I encounter someone with a large amount of Romany blood by the end of the summer, the other details went fuzzy. As Romanys are really from Central Europe, I thought on the off chance that it could have been you. I think she was a psychic and it has some bearing on that, though, so not sure how it fits into life in general as yet.

It’s my kinky luck to meet total nutheads unusual men.

Past tense

So my first lover, Wlodek S, has got in touch last week, after all these years. Here is the string of mails that followed:
Beautiful but Grumpy: Hi. Good to hear from you but... where are your long hair??I’m very well, thanks. Since that summer after my A levels I have moved to London and being living here all this time. I don’t think my mother has ever forgiven you for my ‘B’ from literature :-) Well, at least I managed an ‘A’ from biology ;-) Do you still live in the same town?


Wlodek S: Don’t look at hair - look at the heart :-) It’s funny, I also live in London. 10 years now. How small is this world :-) Maybe we have passed each other on the street few times...
Looking at your photos – you haven’t changed much.I can see you’ve attracted a local lad ;-)
The warmest greetings for you M.
BbG: If you hang around Brick Lane or at races of one-eyed dogs, then I’m sure we have met at some point during those 10 years! Oh, the ‘lad’ is an ex boyfriend – I should really delete these pics but I like them - taken from sailing holidays in Turkey. Great fun. And you – there must be a ‘reason’ for you to stay in London for so long...
Wlodek S: Well, I’ve been married for 4 years. Why asking? ;-) Your sailing pics are hot :-) especially the one in bikini ;-)
BbG: Thanks :-) Oh, I’m asking because on all of your pics you are caressing some fish, so just wanted to check if you haven’t developed an unusual attraction... :-)
Wlodek S: Ha, ha. I kind of developed an obsession with fishing
BbG: Obsessions are good – they make you feel alive. You look professional :-)
Wlodek S: I wish – to do it professionally i would need rich sponsors :-) My job is down to earth – i’m a store manager. I’ve tried few things but they bored me.
BbG: Oh yeah? What have you tried? I’m asking because I’m fascinated by different things that people try (I’m thinking of making a film but that’s a totally different story).
Wlodek S: I started with washing dishes in a restaurant :-), then I was a gardener, then a chef... If you need extras for your film let me know - I’ll be happy to help :-)


Aah, isn’t he lovely? Yes, but also very married...

Wlodek S.

Another day, another experience.
Just as I’ve made a decision to leave dating for little while and just enjoy the summer, I’m contacted on the Polish version of Facebook (Nasza Klasa)… by the guy I lost virginity with! –Wlodek…


He was the hottest boy in town, in southern Poland where I grew up, and with his long dark hair he kind of resembled the Last Mohican, or the guy from the ‘Virgins suicides’ (whichever is cuter). I never really understood why he had any interest in me (a tall, skinny nerd) while, being sensitive, caring and very hot, he could have had anyone! I will spare you the details of the actual 'initiation', but I will tell you that even though our romance didn’t last long, I have never forgotten that summer...

So, he may be gay by now… who knows.

I plan to reply and mention few highlights of my life (when I think of some) and then will ask where the hell he’s been all these years!

Ransom

You may be wondering what is happening with me and WDW (a blogger I've dated recently). Well, it was fun, until WDW defaulted on 2 dates in a row! To miss one date is a sin, but two… unforgivable mistake.

Hence you've (hopefully) read all about me moving on, and getting into dating a live cattle futures trader. Yes, I know it sounds weird but I'm sure he will turn out just lovely.

Anyway, when WDW found out about my plans of dating another, he confronted me by text:

Wont Die Wondering: Dating a futures trader?
Beautiful but Grumpy: Almost
WDW: What's almost?
BbG: Almost means that something has been accomplished but not fully
WDW: Haha you are very amusing….enjoyed the yes man book?
BbG: not finished yet. Will post it back when I'm done.
WDW: Post it back? Not planning to see me to give it back?
BbG: no
WDW: Fine, but I am not sure I will ever get your shoes in the mailbox….
(I left a pair of cute high heels at his place few weeks ago)
BbG: Keep them for the next slave.
WDW: You were never a slave and pretty sure they would never fit into your shoe….
BbG: Well then you just need to search. Next time try specific websites
WDW: Well I would like to see you again to return the shoes at the very least – don’t care about the book, won’t read it again…
…..

WDW: Do you want your shoes back?

At which point I must have fallen asleep so not sure if I'll ever get my shoes back…

Hi. How are the cows?

Right. So I’ve been flirting with Reece, a futures trader. And as planned, I'm stepping away from geeky talk to something more meaningful…

Beautiful but Grumpy: Hey. How are the cows? x
(forgot to mention that Reece also runs a farm...)
Reece: Hey sweetie, cows are happy just now after some rain to make the grass grow; am embarking on an energy project next week, should be fun
BbG: Energy project sounds great and I’ll keep my fingers crossed for the rain for you. Been to any good bars recently?
Reece: only one; it was few days ago and I ran into this interesting girl who turned my head
BbG: Ha, ha. Sounds like it was special. Might be worth asking her out some time (to see if she really is that interesting or if it was the rum…)
Reece: Nah…it was the rum
BbG: At least you know exactly what works for you and it sounds reliable. You’re lucky!
Reece: hehe
BbG :-)
Reece: Don’t know when we can hook up but we should
BbG: Maybe when it’s raining so you would feel something is working while you are having fun!
Reece: Ok, cool. Shouldn’t have long to wait in the uk then…

I've checked the weather report and it looks sunny all the way to the weekend... My luck.

Being a geek at heart…

Here is a recent example of just how hopeless I can be with men:

I meet Reece in a bar in the City. He takes my number after we chat for quite a while.

Text comes in the next few days:

Reece: Good fun the other evening. Feeling really special today; working in this condition is just so much fun!
Beautiful but Grumpy: Yes, it was fun. What are you working on?
Reece: Working on the long term cycles of the live cattle futures market just now. Would much rather be doing energy work
BbG: Are you using your own software for that?
Reece: Yes, plus some other wee gizmos that we haven’t programmed yet


The end

How to fall out of love

So it's been about a month since my first office romance has ended. But it only ended for me, as it became apparent from Matthew's e-mails, which contain various emotional massages – ranging from anger and arrogance to the kindest and sweetest little notes.

And in addition, I am to spend an entire management meeting seating opposite him. I recognise his aftershave immediately and I swear, if I close my eyes I will feel like being in bed with him again, that's how strong it is (although we never actually slept with each other!). He's changed – contact lenses instead of glasses, serious and thoughtful expression on his face (not that he looked like an imbecile before). I know exactly why I fancied him – that deep voice! People naturally turn to him when hear him speak.

But I also know very well why he wasn't for me – he is controlling, and under all this apparent manliness he is quite insecure and lost.

The meeting is being scheduled by our senior manager, Jay - we are to decide on the mid year grading of the whole department. This is not one of the boring meetings I often attend, where people try to monopolise the time to only solve their issues or in turn can't make simple decisions! Today the pressure is on identifying certain number of people as 'underperformers', to fit in the curve of the organisation as a whole. Not easy, but needs to be done.

It's 5 of us here, and just like '12 Angry Men', no one wants to be here today.

My boss, for instance - he's e-mailed this morning warning that he will be in later than usual. It transpires his brother has been sectioned again. I notice tiny traces of blood on his otherwise immaculate white shirt. Yes, he's got a 10 year younger sibling, who is bio-polar, and has been in and out of hospitals for past 8 years. As much as I sometimes hate my boss, I do admire his heroic affords to 'save' his brother.

Then there is Neal, who hasn't slept since 4am as his 6 months old daughter kept him awake, but his dreamy grin tells us all how much he enjoys fatherhood.

''I don't believe she is capable of that Neal - she looks like an angel'' I complement Neal's child, who was brought to the office last week to say 'Hello'. At which point Matthew gives me a certain look – the look of 'you see, you could have had one just like that (if not better) if you stayed with me'.

And there is Rick – a bold, ex equities trader – who clearly has no desire to be here, as his long awaited holiday in Mallorca, with mates, starts tomorrow.

Contrary to my predictions, the meeting runs smoothly, and we agree to downgrade 2 out of 13 people. Not bad. And as its lunchtime and a sunny day, they all head to the pub next door for a pint. Except me – don't want to create opportunities for mingling with Matthew.

As usual, my boss only returns to the office to pick up his jacket, and to thank me for staying behind with the team. Of course, not a problem – a pleasure in fact, I assure him, and suggest gently he should rest after the traumatic events of the previous night. Once I have his attention I ask if he's eaten anything today.

He looks at me with a curiosity and a different level of seriousness I haven’t seen in him before, then he quickly composes himself, laughs it off with ''Eating is cheating!'' and waves me good bye.

The next morning, to my surprise, I receive a text. It’s from my boss, Jay:

''Hi. Went for a drink with Matthew last night and he was very upset. He told me you were a couple until a month ago? He is confused and I think he just wants to be friends with you as he misses your friendship. Just though I would let you know''.

Oh, great. He told him! Idiot.

I don’t need to think much about a reply:

''Morning Jay! Thanks for letting me know but I don't think I can be friends with him at the moment. I am purely thinking about work and how it would be affected. Hope you are OK.''

My boss texts back: ''I totally understand about you and Matthew. He was crying!.....I really like your intense personality! x''

What does that mean? Is he still drunk or is he…hitting on me?

How NOT to pull women

Last sunny Sunday I drop by a pub in Clapham Common for a drink with Rosa (who interestingly is my X's brother's ex, which makes our friendship even more special).


The place has a great decked garden and is packed with media type, young and good looking, including Richard and Judy's male offspring, who sits at our table and like everyone else here, wears trendy 80' sunglasses and is downing shots.

As it is getting loud and busy, Rosa and I choose to stand up. And as our conversation moves towards girly subjects – mainly complaining about a dry skin around the lips, which commonly occurs in the summer and is, in Rosa's opinion, a sign of dehydration - two handsome guys pass us slowly with visible amusement on their faces. I'm smiling too realising they've heard our dilemma.

They then linger near us and greet the host of the gathering, Rosa's friend Kate. One of them, blond with a messy but very sexy hair, wearing sunglasses (of course!) and some rock&roll t-shirt, faces me (while Kate introduces Rosa to his friend) and asks with husky voice and a grin:
“How is your skin? Still dry?”
“Oh, it's not me – it's my friend” I answer and just can't believe I lie about something that could easily be verified – I actually have some flaky skin around my lower lip.

And wanting to swiftly change the subject I inquire:
“Can you play a guitar?”

“No” he answers.

“Have you got a dog?” I am on the roll now…

“No” he comes again. “That's rather interesting series of questions” he adds.

But I lose interest and take Rosa's offer to get drinks from the bar. He only manages to whisper, “Nice to meet you” to my back.

Shortly after that I leave the party behind, trying not to be late to the dinner that Won't die Wondering is preparing, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier.

I suddenly realise that I might have become desensitized. Yes, not much impresses me any more when it comes to being chatted up. I feel I've seen it all since being on the 'dating scene' for almost a year.

Or was this guy just not good enough?

Romance on court, mysterious wounds and poked eyes

Looks like I have a new admirer in the office. Nick, a very promising manager, who has gone jogging with me few times when the weather was so glorious. He is now also a member of my netball team so all in all, he is trying to get closer, I believe.

After previous week's netball injuries, including my own mysterious one - imitating a deep knife slash to the calf, as if I took a part in a violent gang fight - I get another chance to taste some quality netball. And Nick is here too.

I am not expecting miracles, knowing we are against last season's winners. And when I hear our guys calling one of the opponents 'magnificent' or 'a flying monkey' I seriously start to doubt our chances. Nevertheless, our 'centre', Luke, doesn't loose faith, quite the opposite, he now resembles an Arab horse that is about to enter a race – steaming with energy!

OK, we are in. The first quarter seemed like it only lasted a minute. I now know what guys meant earlier when referring to the rival as 'a flying monkey' – this guy is bouncy – he is very little, but he compensates with 4 foot jumps, that happen right in my face, as he is a wing defence to my wing attack. The first jig freaks me out, to say the least.

It doesn't look good, and by 6-0 in their favour, we are fully aware of what this 'magnificent Jeff' is capable of. At one point he drops the ball in while standing backwards! (But having glimpse of Nick’s legs in tight shorts keeps me in a fantastic mood regardless.)

By 12-3 we are drained in sweat, and all look at each other with resignation, seeing the opponents changing players frequently - bringing fresh pairs of legs and capable hands. They even have someone, who’s sole aim of existence on the side of the pitch, is to scream ‘GO MONKEYS, GO!!!!!!!’ In contrast, we have only one player to change, and some of us haven’t played since high school, or come from a country that has totally different netball rules (don’t ask…).

It must have been 14-4 by then - our two players Luke and Paul (who have just entered the court with a power of bulls who’ve been waiting for the turn with a matador) crush into each other, and then bounce off violently, leaving Luke flat on the ground with his hands and legs spread, lying still after hitting his head on the ground. Everyone gathers around him in silence, while the referee pushes through, shouting, 'Don't touch him!’ After a short examination he is allowed to slowly leave the court, but his 'career' is over, just for tonight.

Somehow, united by the tragedy, we come back fully mobilised; with freshly injected energy and Paul with Jamie now in goal circle, Lucy works her magic to make goals happen. We are on the roll. And by 15-10 we are practically running the show - passing the ball and laughing out loud, realising we are actually doing all right against last year's winners!

And then it happens. A loud cry. Everyone freezes - it's Nick, bended in half, holding his left eye with both palms. We run towards him worried to death. 'It's my eye' he utters with unnaturally high pitched voice. 'What happened?' inquires referee. 'I think she poked me' Nick indicates towards a short, pretty brunette, who is now trying to look as innocent as she possibly can.

Sophie soberly takes his hands off the eye, and while inspecting it asks with seriousness worth Vietnam War, 'Can you play half blind?’

And so Nick returns to the game. By the end of the forth quarter it's 22-11, but we still can't stop laughing from the events of the evening, and totally don't mind loosing the match knowing that everyone, including the winning team, will remember it.

But I will remember something else – I will remember seeing Nick leaving the court in the company of his ‘attacker’ and heading towards the pub, where he no doubt will quickly forgive her all 'the physical abuse'. How romantic! Aghh. I pick up my stuff and decide to walk all the way home.

Netball, Fur Coat and Masturbating at work

Wont Die Wondering: How was the netball last night? Just found out am not going to work in Nottingham…
Beautiful but Grumpy: Netball was good but have small injury - some big Aussie bloke landed on me, well, on my leg… Shame about Nottingham – I’ve already imagined visiting you in a hotel wearing only a fur coat…
WDW: Mixed leagues? You can wear a fur coat for me anytime.
BbG: You will need to buy me one ;-)
WDW: Hmm many things I would rather buy you …. ;p
BbG: Oh yeah? ;-) Have you dreamt about me yet?
WDW: I don’t dream or remember them… have thought about you
BbG: Go on lover – tell me…
WDW: Would rather show you.
BbG: Any time. What’s the plan for Sunday?
WDW: Decided not to take you to the rugby. Its more a Saturday drinking and mates type thing, wouldn't want to subject you to such a barbaric event...can do a picnic in the park where one day I will put you on the bench and…..
BbG: You've made me blush.
WDW: Does that sound appealing?
BbG: Very….
WDW: Need a bathroom break? ;p
BbG: Yes….
WDW: Let me know how it goes slave…

I get up from my desk and immediately become self-concious by imagining that everyone knows where I‘m going, and what I’m planning to do. But strong desire washes that feeling away very quickly. In the office bathroom, before going into cubicle, I decide to wash my hands first. That makes me smile, and I promise myself, in the future, to watch out for women who wash hands BEFORE going to the toilet.

In the cubicle now, I sit down and position myself by lifting my tanned legs and pressing them against the door. I like the way they look on the wooden background. It helps to wear a skirt, I'm thinking, while lowering my black lace panties. All relaxed, playing and enjoying it... I then notice in the mirror-like paper holder, my breasts, bouncing in the rhythm of my hand. That turns me on even more. I muffle a moan.

Beaming and satisfied, I slip my panties back on - just in time for another boring meeting.

The First Night

I've had a riveting first date with WDW, and the second date is set for this week. But in between, we craved to meet at night… Like vampires. Not for a date. Not with a purpose. But purely to savour being together, at night.

Friday 8.20pm, my place

A ring to the door. He's early and I'm still brushing my teeth. We said 8.30pm. I open the door and he stands there, with a travel bag on one shoulder, glowing with curiosity. He passes me, brushing my lips with a soft kiss. I feel his excitement transferring onto me.

I watch him walking boldly into the kitchen, opening the freezer and starting loading it with strawberry ice cream. He then begins to open cupboards 'Are you looking for something specific or is it an inspection?' I say, and giggle at seeing him all so comfortable in my kitchen. 'Wine glasses for us. I brought wine' he replies smiling.

What was supposed to be a quick meal, takes me ages to prepare. Probably because I don't focus. We talk. Or rather I talk and he listens. From time to time he gets up, from the comfortable corner of the sofa, to give me a hug or a kiss or just to look at me closely, when I lay out my story.

We eat fish, drink white wine. And he seems ready to open up.

He shares with me a heartbreaking picture of Johannesburg. I don't believe him when he says empathy is not his strong point. I look at him and try to figure out who he is.

He admits having a tendency to view the world through a black and white prism, probably because he has seen so much pain.

'It's not that simple. It's not just black and white - there are many shades of grey'… I interrupt with passion. He gets up and gives me a long kiss. Long enough for me to forget about world poverty tonight.

'Has anyone ever told you the way you eat ice-cream is highly seductive?...' he looks at me intensely until I blush. We kiss and undress, while clumsily making our way towards the bedroom.

'Have you ever done it in the cupboard'? he asks, smiling invitingly.
……

'Jeez, your long hair is everywhere. I've just found some in my underpants!' he complains in bed.
'They don't normally fall out like that' I lie.
'Can I fart?' he asks trying to sound innocent. 'No!', I reply firmly, and soon fall asleep blissfully exhausted, with my face in his chest.

A second date

Won'tDieWondering is fast. 
In fact, so fast that he's already managed to:

- invite me to Johannesburg
- ask me to join him in a triathlon
- suggest having sex
- propose having anal sex
- demand I admit we are in relationship
- ask to be considered being a guest of honour at my Mother's wedding

But he's not fast enough to secure a second date!

The First Day

Here is what happened on my first date with another blogger Won'tDieWondering:

8.15pm Music Bar Hall, Shoreditch - East London

I walk in and see a guy at the bar, staring at me with a shy smile – short, oriental guy. Please, please let it not be him. I circle around him slowly; he doesn't turn, it can't be him. I’m relieved. I walk around in the dark (I'm blinded as walked from sunny street into a dim large bar), not knowing what I'm actually looking for but not regretting going without exchanging photos. Funny state to be in – you are looking for something specific but at the same time, having no idea what it is. Just like looking for love, I guess. I almost bump into someone, who turns around and says my name.

So… he is good looking. I smile to myself, but somehow feel slightly disappointed. Disappointed because he didn't turn up to be unattractive!

I watch him – all chatty and confident; talks passionately about South Africa and gently leans over the table to show me his bright, blue eyes. ''Yes, they are blue'' I confirm, (positively) surprised by his bluntness.

He asks what I did earlier. I say I've been to the gym and that I like sport. He asks what sport I do. I pause to think (inside I’m laughing as I somehow can't think of ANY) and say “Competitive sports”. He doesn't seem to be impressed with my answer so I try again ''Tennis. I find it very sexy''. “I find you very sexy too” he says instantly. I chuckle realising he didn't hear me properly. He looks at me baffled. I clarify what it is I meant, and add with a delay “Actually, I do find you very sexy”. We smile, staring at each other’s eyes for a while. “When you smile like this you look like Matt Damon” I tell him. He blushes, and admits he’s been told before.

Then the smell of fish hits me. I look around to suggest it’s definitely not me. He asks if I’m hungry. I am, and we agree to grab pizza from the place nearby.

Waiting for traffic lights to change, I evaluate pros and cons - can’t stop smiling remembering when he offered to vote LibDems “for both of us”. On the other hand, he seems a little geeky. I turn my head right to check if it’s safe to cross, and get my lips stuck on another pair of lips! What the f…Oh, and soon feel his tongue melting inside my mouth. “I wanted to do it all night” he whispers. I instantly forget about the cons, and let myself enjoy the rest of the evening.

In the taxi on the way home, feeling happy and very lucky, I receive a text “Thanks for tonight. You would make a good slave”.

Love letter

I've had a (love) letter... from another blogger!

When I broke the news to my work-friend Linda, (who also blogs) her reaction was ''Great! Who is it? Not that Fishy guy?!''

''No, not Fishy'' I reassured her and laughed.

Here is the 'love letter':

''Hello BBg,
I have taken the liberty of sending you this email as I enjoy your blog and would enjoy some banter - this is none other than Won'tDieWondering here.

How is the year panning out for you? I am currently loving going out with my mates and rebuilding my life (not that its broken, just completely changed)

Anyways, this is obviously just a short note to drop the ball in your court. I like how you think and some of the things you have posted.

Cheers,
WDW''

Whoever would want to date me after reading my blog must be completely mad!

Well, I'll never know if I don’t give it a chance, and meet the guy.
You think I’m doing the right thing?

A salty taste of revenge

For those of you who are new to my blog, let me run you through recent events in my life - some weeks ago, my friend Ella has agreed to date a guy she knew I liked, Andy. In the end, they only met for one drink and their mutual interest died. But my bruised ego was still very much alive and demanding revenge!

It wasn't enough to say 'NO' to Andy, who dared to ask me out later on. No, I needed something stronger, something memorable.

Luckily for me, it somehow arranged itself…

Ella rents out a spare bedroom, and this time, a guy from Sydney, John, took the room. Ella liked him, cooked for him, occasionally watched films with him, and… ended up in bed with him. But she was still claiming being cool with it – no feelings involved.

I got to meet John on the night that Ella, Andy and I came from the club back to her place. There I witnessed her disappearance into John's bedroom.

The next time I meet Ella's lover is on one Thursday's night, when after a great evening in The East Room, I come to crash at hers:

We walk into the hall, taking coats off, giggling and already planning to have some honey vodka, that Ella keeps in the freezer. John emerges from his bedroom wearing some sport gear (why do men do that - wearing football shirt when not playing football?) and he joins the party. John and I hit it off, laughing a lot, and giving each other fitness tips. And we drink vodka in shots. Three of us then move into a more intimate conversational territory - love, patriotism, truth, theology, sex and canarries. We are warmed by the vodka, feeling nostalgic and… sexy.

I pop the question with a curious smile ''So… are we going to sleep, or shall we three have fun?'' Ella looks into my eyes to check if I'm not joking, but I confidently look back, first into her eyes and then John's, while taking his hand. I lead him through the hall, having Ella following, and asking with an excited smile ''Whose room you prefer''?

We settle for John's bed…

A few days later e-mail from Ella arrives:

''I've asked John to move out. He's not happy about it but I can't forget how neglected I felt that night when I was constantly on the end edge of the bed and you two were going for it. I'm not blaming you of course, just want John out.
Let's have coffee soon xxx''

How to end a romance

To add to, what has already become a work-romance disaster, I’ve ended up looking like a female chauvinist.

I just want to end the misery of this bleeding-to-death-romance so I meet Matthew for a drink after work to talk things over. Last week I finally revealed I didn’t want to meet his mother, because it was all too committing.

Now in the pub, surrounded by couples that sit too close for comfort, Matthew breaks silence ‘’I don’t want to get hurt… Maybe it’s best to just stay friends’’.

I’m there listening, looking through the pub’s window on brunches of a blossoming tree, gently waving on this sunny day. How unusual to find a fruit tree in the heart of the city.

I sigh and feel my irritation rising, ‘’Can’t you try to enjoy the experience; just being, being together, without always trying to reach some outcome. It can be refreshing’’, I add.

But Matthew is not getting it.

The next day he’s texting from his best mate’s wedding that we’ve supposed to go to together:

Matthew: Hi. How was work today? I couldn’t help but hear Jason’s [our temperamental boss] outburst yesterday, are you ok?

What I would like to reply is: of course I’m ok – it’s Friday night and I’m having a good time. And you should be doing the same!

What I actually reply is: Hi. Thanks. Yeah there was a bit of a situation but I managed to play it cool (I think). Are you at the wedding?

Matthew: Yeah I think you did play it cool, he really showed himself up with that one. Yes at wedding but could do with getting out of here. Have purposefully not had a drink in case I decide to.

BbG: You are joking! Not having a drink at wedding? Not enjoying it?

Matthew: No not joking. Not really enjoying it plus hardly know anyone either and realise how stupid and insensitive I have been this week and that you should be here with me :-(

Ahh, that’s daring to admit it, but not really what I want to hear, considering I want this to be over if we can’t see each other on my, non-commitment terms…

BbG: You did what you thought was best for you. I’ve started to think that you were right. If you can’t have a casual sexual relations than best to be just friends.

Matthew: Well there is that part but it seemed more than casual to me because I really feel for you and realised how much I enjoy your company and that it was a really good thing. I know you were not looking for anything because of where you were before and I shouldn’t have assumed otherwise. I suppose it comes down to if all you’ll ever want is casual or whether you just want casual because of being in long relationship previously. Have felt awful since speaking on Tuesday and have missed you.

Oh God, he’s not making it easy for me – I’ve got to say something I know he won’t settle for…

BbG: In truth I’m only interested in sex now. Please don’t judge me.

I can’t believe I’m admitting it, but it is the truth, it makes me feel good, totally relaxed and in control of my (single but not alone) life.


Matthew: Not going to judge you at all, everyone wants that at times. I just thought there might have been more there as I felt a chemistry and it certainly didn’t just feel like that was the only reason we were seeing each other. Well I suppose at least I know now :-(

I can’t afford to keep reassuring him – it drains me out.

No more reassurance. He’s got to deal with it. I'm not replying and instead, promissing myself never to mix work and pleasure again.

Toothbrush

Beautiful but Grumpy: wearing just a mask

TV Director: wearing an open white shirt + mask


In large, lush bed. The only light comes from the muted, fuzzy TV screen.
You see me on my fours. TV Director behind me.
Both highly excited, and have been pleasing each other for the majority of the evening.

Now, he is slowly slotting the handle of my pink toothbrush into my arse. I arch my back in delight and give out a little moan. He then passionately sticks initially one, and then second finger, inside me. I groan faster and faster, while he touches the remote, taking pictures of our moist, glowing bodies.

The sweet ain’t sweet without the bitter

My last post ended with ‘How long can a hungry woman wait?’ Not long, I can tell you now. Until yesterday actually.

Matthew might be the king of ‘starters’ but he is playing a game - he is trying to seduce me into a relationship, just like a woman would do, with withholding sex.

Now everything makes sense – the invitation to his best friend’s wedding, meeting his sister and best friends in his local pub. When he asked me to meet his Mother, alarm bells went on.

From the beginning I kept reminding I didn’t want a relationship. I always paid for myself, sometimes even treated him to a dinner. Maybe I gave a wrong impression and there has been some sort of role reversing here?

Yesterday I left work with Matthew, and headed to mine for a quiet evening, which I was hoping would be filled with heavy petting. I offered to cook him dinner and make a dessert, as usual.

But instead my petting-buddy sits me down, and corners me to agree to meet his Mother next weekend, then joyfully jumps in the shower. I’m on the sofa, with a cocktail in my hand, tasting good quality vodka from the latest trip to Poland, and realising what the hell I’m doing. I’m practically agreeing to be in a relationship.

Matthew is now back in the room, giving me big, juicy kiss.

‘I can’t meet your mother’ I say quietly.

He sits down and swiftly replies ‘We can postpone it, if that’s what you want’.

I look up and sigh ‘No, what I’m trying to say is… I don’t want a relationship’.

Silence. I’m surprised there is no more convincing, trying to keep the game alive.

‘I wouldn’t want to mislead anyone, especially you. Honesty is important to me.We can keep things as they are – just without the whole family introductions’ I add.

He seems relieved that I’m not totally breaking up, and perks up offering to help me with the starter (!). I serve deliciously smelling dinner, we chat about work, I keep offering more potatoes or salad. He accepts. And another portion. And one more. I was hoping to make a potato salad tomorrow… so not giving any more helpings. But as I clear the dishes, Matthew gets up from the table and springs to the pot, now finger picking potatoes as if they were peanuts, and downs them hastily.

Is he trying to kill himself with overdose of spuds??

I panic, but soon start feeling sorry for him, and wish I could give him a hug. Instead I just stand there.

‘I better go. Need to think things over’ he mutters.

I nod, and watch Matthew walking out without turning back.

Later, I fall asleep swallowing tears.

The King of Erotica

I have now found myself in a perverse liaison. Matthew, my work colleague that I have been casually seeing for 10 weeks, is not showing any signs that we may, anytime soon, be having sex.

This is a new sexual perversity. In times when sex is available like fresh bagels, not having sex is kinky and seedy. We do of course have ‘starters’, but never manage to consume a main course. Don’t take me wrong, Matthew is the king of starters – that is probably why I’m still hanging around, wanting more.

But how long can a hungry woman wait?...

British Summer Time

A change to British Summer Time kills me. Every time. I don’t understand why we keep doing this; there is no scientific reason behind it anyway.

So what’s new?

Ex has moved out. A guy from IT moved in. He’s only renting a room from me for few months. Very professional, likes his gym – actually he looks like Buzz Lightyear, when you think of it. I've become obsessed with guessing when he wanks. I’m 94% sure he did earlier this evening. He came back from a weekend in Yorkshire, saying he is having an early night, as he needed to get up at 3am. And off he went, into the wanking world. The annoying thing is that I will never know if I was right. Well, unless I ask him, but that would be spoiling the game.

Anyway, apart from that, not much is happening. Work, work, work. Some of it for a charity too - am now officially qualified to talk to people who are contemplating suicide (I thought this would be a useful skill to bring to my management role, at work).

Situation with Mr TV Director – no change – I’m still trying not to give into evil… but I’m hanging on a very thin string, and if it breaks I’ll fall straight to hell, and into his open arms.

Not much dating to report. I’m contemplating dating someone from work, out of convenience, and because it is new, to me.

Oh, and am happy to be back… Watch this space.

Mr TV Director, My Saviour

Have you ever had a dream that came true?

THE DREAM

Last night I dreamt that I was taken hostage. In a small cell, attached to a huge room, were my ragged bed and a toilet seat. I woke up, from what seemed a rest after a night in transit. Through a slightly opened door I saw three women crouching, surrounded by a group of men, who were sitting, scattered on the floor. Without hesitation I run towards the women, untied their hands and shouted ‘Run’. I knew I would have to fight to make our escape possible. There was blood; all possible styles of fighting were exhausted. I was doing alright. In the end however, numbers worked against me – dirty men held me down. I was breathing heavily.

The most senior of kidnapers appeared above my face. He kneeled down and whispered slowly:
“We were negotiating your release with your Saviour, Mr TV Director. But you’ve just blew it”.

THE REALITY

It’s lunchtime. At my office. I’m having a Japanese soup at the desk, slurping hot ramen, when text arrives:

Mr TV Director: Where do you work M.?

It’s him! Last night’s dream flushes through my head…

Beautiful but Grumpy: Do you mean location or the company?

Mr TV Director: Both

He’s breaking the rules  we had set up when we met: never to talk about work.
But I’m weak.
I give him what he wants, and follow with:

BbG: Why?

Mr TV Director: Just wondering.
Wandering what if I was to find myself nearby.
Wandering if entertaining you at work somehow might be worthy of your time.

I like his poetic tone.
BbG: I thought it was flowers – was just about to say I didn’t like carnations.

Mr TV Director:  :-)

BbG: Well. Are you in the area?

I’m apprehensively awaiting reply, and feeling out of breath discreetly loosen up my bra.

Mr TV Director: No. But I could be. If not now, another time.

He’s such a tease!

BbG: With my 1000 meetings a day I doubt it being possible. But still, you could try to hang around outside the building. I’m sure I would feel your presence (I guess you’re not working).

Mr TV Director: Start working again next week. Kings Cross.

BbG: Oh, what is it? I saw your hurricane program and liked it. Good music.

Mr TV Director: You have?? Teaching journalists how to film stuff.

BbG: Why don’t you teach me how to make a film?

Mr TV Director: Ok. We could go into the porn business together. A female director would be a good selling point.

Here we go again…
Is he really capable of saving me, as the dream predicted? And what is he to save me from?

I spend the rest of the day imagining his head between my legs.

The phone beeps, disturbing my vision. It’s a text message:

Andy: Want to do lunch on Saturday? Islington.
We’ve got lots to catch up on.

The rules

As I’m continuing my search for The ONE, I decide to try and apply some rules to get healthier results. Blogs are a great source, and I have come across some invaluable advice!

The common recommendation is to put together a list of qualities of the desired man. It is all to illuminate what I am looking for.

After an afternoon of attempting to evoke the great (and not so great) guys I have dated, I am focusing on their skills, virtues and characteristics I've admired.

The following ‘catalogue’ emerged (not in any particular order):

• Kind + happy to talk politics in bed (on Saturday morning)

• Well mannered + Respectful towards others

• Cute + Warm

• Good at maths

• Confident (but relaxed)

• Funny + A bit crazy

• Entertaining (but knows when to say little)

• Aware about self and others

• Generous (including feelings)

• Has self-control (no addictions, except maybe coffee so we can match on that)

• Well wishing to others

• Creative + fast thinking (and acting)

• Wants to change the world

• Resourceful

• Problem solver

• Optimistic

• Non-materialistic (ideally socialist)

• Emotionally available

• Brave


It made my friend Matt laugh, that I stated ‘brave’ as the last quality – he would need to be brave to face those expectations!

Do you have a list or follow rules?

Sperm and rabbits

The real reason, for ending relationship with my X, is not enjoying the taste of his sperm anymore.

How I came to this conclusion, I'm not totally certain. It must have been gradual. I don't even remember when I started to avoid having him finishing in my mouth. I began pretending being disturbed by something; sudden noise from the fridge or radiator, neighbour's heavy step. I don't think he suspected anything.

Apparently mangos are beneficial in producing excellent taste of sperm. And I hope women were used to test this hypothesis. Not rabbits.

Other foods include cinnamon, pineapple and celery.

In Psychology Today I read that urologists generally say that men can't modify the taste of semen. But the same article gives following advice to women:

''Women need not fear injury from the force of ejaculation. Having a man come in your mouth feels like biting down on a cherry tomato''.

Would you agree?

A quick guide to ... how to get your man back

Life is short.

No time to be wasted in fear of rejection.

One cold late evening, repeating this mantra maniacally, I make a decision to win Andy back.

Or at least to give it a try.

To call or to text?

Lying in bed burning (regardless of the white storm outside), with only a small bedside light on, I decide on text - to test the water.

‘Hi Andy.

Happy New Year.

Hope the new job is working out well for you.

All the best. M.’

If this doesn’t work, I have no Plan B, but my feminine intuition tells me that the text is neutral enough; not demanding nor needy. No pressure applied - focussed totally on him.

A day later I receive a reply, and smile to myself with (deserved) satisfaction.

‘Happy New Year.

Hope you enjoyed NYE.

Will catch up with you and Ella soon. Andy.’

Will catch up soon! Wow, that so lovely...

But, hold on, is he suggesting meeting with me AND Ella? What’s that supposed to mean? I panic silently, biting small bit of hardened skin, on the side of my index finger.

There must be something I could do to HINT he should meet me ALONE. There is only one option that would GUARANTEE us to meet without my dear friend and it would sound like this:

‘Ella is dead.

Would you like to meet for coffee or perhaps a glass of wine next week?’

It would be hard to believe, but I’m sure things like this happen all the time; young (well, in her early thirties) but suddenly not with us anymore. A terrible loss.

Accidents also happen… I reassure myself.

All I need now is to ask Ella for permission. That’s just plain politeness. I plan to drop it in subtly, at the dinner we are having tomorrow.

7.10pm Sunday, pub on Columbia Road in East London

Sitting with Ella at the bar; facing the entrance and playing with my desert. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything - our conversation has died (!); I’m staring at my plate, patiently picking raisons from my cheesecake. Not a fan of raisons. I now start piling them up methodically on one side of the plate.

It’s Sunday evening so the place is not as busy as usual; soft candle light sets the mood for what I’m about to drop. I am ready to ask if Ella would kindly consider pretending to be dead. For love. And my future children.

Looking straight up from the plate, I come eye to eye with a handsome face, gazing from behind Ella’s shoulder. God, it’s Alex Turner, AND he’s looking directly at me! (my friend was right – this place is a hidden celebrity hang out).

I try gently kicking Ella’s ankle to let her know I have an attention of the leader of Arctic Monkeys. She frowns, looks at me with annoyance, and asks ‘You alright?’ The signer casually glances at my plate, at what now resembles rabbit droppings, and then walks away. I turn to Ella utterly flushed, and passionately describe the magical incident (minus the plate moment), but in reply, she lets out one of her hyena laughs, and tells me to look behind.

And there it is – Today’s Specials - on the black board, just behind my head. I sigh and follow the musician, with a look of a wounded gazelle, to the table, where Alexa Chang awaits him with a striking long neck, and astoundingly glorious smile.

‘I need to ask you a favour Ella’, I start gloomily, trying to use temporarily gained sympathy ‘Andy texted me with New Year wishes, and…’

‘I know’ she interrupts, ‘He mentioned it when he called to ask me out to dinner this Friday’ she continues with pretended sheepishness, ‘I wanted to ask if you were OK with it first, before I committed to anything’.

My fork drops loudly, destroying the neat heap of raison dung. I stare hopelessly at the golden couple of Alexes, shamelessly smooching away, and pretending to be just ordinary people, hanging around East End.

A dream

I somehow feel this is relevant to dating, and dare to post it.

I dreamt last night that I was in a small, elegant perfume shop with marble floors, walking down carpeted spiral steps, seeing few people on the way and receiving inquisitive glances. I looked down and noticed no clothing on me, but clean, freshly waxed (Brazilian style) bikini line. In search of attire I followed steps to the basement. There, I found few women, with kind and intelligent faces, surrounded by tiny and fluffy, hopping rabbits.

How to REALLY lose a guy in 24 hours

The next morning I woke up wearing nothing more than Andy’s soft purple jumper.

His arms around me, as if we’ve been married for 15 years. I remembered we even said ‘good night’ before falling asleep. Lovely. What was going to be next? ‘I want to move in with you’?

I stretched my arm to get a cup with water, which was on my side of the bed; and as I was swallowing a sip I heard Andy through his yawn:

'I am aristocracy’

I almost chocked! ‘Oh, it must be hard to carry such a burden’, I managed to spill, to which, I think he said ‘yes’. Scouser aristocrat – surely that’s a contradiction. I decided to let this one stay unquestioned – my head felt like made of lead. What did I drink? Oh, rum. Yeah.

‘Why so far away from me?’ said Andy with his sexy accent. He turned me around and brought me to lie on his arm, holding me tenderly with one hand around my waist.

I enjoyed it. He was cuddly and warm. Just like a man should be.

We chatted and laughed a lot, occasionally engaging in a long, sexy look in the eyes.

‘They like each other’ Andy pointed out towards our feet, which were embracing on their own accord.

I blushed, but he just held out his palm to mine (which, as always, was in the air making gestures). It felt as our hands were magnetic – touching released such bliss.

I would have loved to stay like this until eternity, but Christmas shopping was calling. Andy offered to take me for a coffee and to walk me to the station, but I finally settled for giving him my mobile number.

On the way home I couldn’t believe how great it all felt. But then I panicked about what could be next. Am I ready for it?

The next day, when I was on the phone with my Mother (who was listing the tenth of the twelve (!) dishes she was preparing for Christmas Eve), I had a call waiting from Andy. My heart jumped, I told my Mum I would call her later, but I just kept staring at the phone’s screen showing ‘Andy’… and I froze.

1 Missed call.

I thought about this many times and still I’m not totally sure why I didn’t answer. Maybe I was scared. That he might have been THE ONE.

The following day I came to my senses and got myself to text Andy:

‘Hey. You’ve called. Sorry, I was on the other line. How’s your weekend been? M.’

What a ridiculous thing to say 26 hours later! There is no hope for me.

‘A very sound weekend.

Am working on the Independent now.

You’re lucky I’m texting: I’m having to run many lines here.

Hope you’re well.’

The reply didn’t sound either warm or hopeful (but what did I expect?) – I better leave it before it turns even worse – I decided, trying to stir my thoughts towards something cheerful. Oh, like the recent phone call from my gynaecologist. I would swear he was flirting with me with his line ‘I’ve heard Bupa doesn’t let me see you’. Did he have a ring on his finger? I couldn’t remember, but will make sure to check, when I see him next, in two weeks time…

How to lose a guy in 24 hours ( part 2)

I can't seem to bring myself to write about the part when I 'lost' that guy Andy. So I wonder if someone would like to speculate on what had happened the next morning.....

How to lose a guy in 24 hours

Now, that I’m through with Ben, (the English teacher, remember?) because of his un-manly pasta-from-scratch-making ambition, and me being (apparently) not Buddhist- friendly, I am having a go at meeting men in a more traditional way. I go to a bar in Dalston.

It is great to be around real people again! Unlike having to stare at their profiles on internet, and coldly picking men that suit the fantasy of a relationship, this is a Russian roulette.

So, I’m here with my best friend Ella, who is great to go out with because we are truly compatible – she is a real opposite of me – decent, shy, non-ambitious, un-confrontational, funny yet quiet. Although occasionally we kind of swap – that’s the beauty of being non one dimensional women.

We drink cocktails because we think that beer smells, and it’s therefore not great if you are anticipating chatting to men.

The place is not yet packed; we are invited by the barman (which is quite unusual) to join a table with 3 other guys. I mumble ‘hi, thanks for letting us share, bla, bla’. They look delighted. Whatever, we exchange glances with Ella. We try to play it cool, even thought both of us have been way too busy to go out to ANY bar, for months.

The music is pretty good, the atmosphere very relaxed. It’s not glamorous at all, but it is cool and sexy. We decided to have a full on fun tonight, and agreed to bring men with us, back to Ella’s flat in Hackney. We even said, we would settle for one (and share) if worse came to worst…

Suddenly two guys from the other side of the table appear in front of us, and without asking, or even introducing themselves, say casually:

‘Hi. Are you Swedish?’

Simultaneously I say ‘Yes, we are’ and Ella ‘no, we are Polish’. Oh, God. She’s always like this: sweet and painfully honest. It is supposedly being just a start of playful conversation. Thankfully, they have not heard Ella’s reply (or pretended not to) and I continue with:

‘Yes, we are. You could tell by the size of our feet?’

We both are very tall, and that implies rather big feet. Guys look surprised and laugh out loud, inspecting our feet. The ice is broken, and we are now chatting in pairs. The shorter, dark-haired Chris talks to me about his media company and how he managed to once fire the other gay, Andy. I look at Andy, I like him – he’s tall, charming and very funny. I doubt he could ever deserve to be fired, and instinctively dislike Chris.

Ella reminds me that we’ve got to be in the other bar (‘Passing Clouds’) before 10pm, to get in for under £10. Andy doesn’t want to let us go, and holds us around shoulders, makes up rap music and we dance to it. We are all singing by now, and laugh at the lyrics we make up. And when I’m so close to Andy, I'm surprised at how good and natural it feels. Was that an attempt to kiss me? I wonder, when he brings himself even closer to me. The music changes, Ella turns away but Andy is still holding his arm around my neck. I quickly decide that it’s not the right thing to do – I move away. Andy says:

‘Did you know that the best place to find out a real smell of someone is at the back of their neck?’

He bowed his head to prove it. I touch his neck and inhale – I like his faint aroma of aftershave, mixed with some lemony smell, and maybe cigarettes. We stare at each other eyes, embarrassed.

Now in Passing Clouds. The bar is packed. There is a supposedly well-known SKA performer on the stage. Ella takes me upstairs, where the other bar is quiter, with a DJ and few sofas placed around. Hippy and sexy.

By the time we order drinks Andy and his mates are here. Wow, he is keen! We all sit down on sofas, Andy squeezes my hand secretly, while chatting to me and Ella. It is still unclear who he actually likes – me or Ella? They often go out for cigarette together, and giggle on the way back. But then now and again he suggests to Ella to go dancing. He then brings himself really close, and asks me questions about the kind of men I like.

I say I am not interested in relationships (although with him I probably wouldn’t mind to have a baby!). He tells me he is a journalist from Liverpool, but lives in north London, and works for the Sun paper, which I laugh at. He then dares to take a picture of me, (in front of Ella), saying I have beautiful eyes and that I look like a kitten... I must be drunk.

Few more drinks later Andy’s friends decide to leave. The music is now really loud. Andy brings the inevitable question (to both of us) - would we like to go to his place? Ella shouts that I’m staying in hers tonight, and that he is welcome to stay at hers too. He agrees and soon we take a taxi back to Ella’s, which Andy generously offers to pay for. Nice guy, I think.

Now in Ella’s flat, everything seems to go really quickly – Ella’s flatmate comes back from a party, and as they have a ‘history’, Ella whispers to me that she is going to spend a night in his room. I’m confused because there is only one room left,with one bed… and Andy is already there under the duvet! I close the door and I’m not brave enough to undress with the light on – he is a stranger after all, plus I have just come out of a long term relationship, and have no idea what to do in these kind of situations. Sensing my hesitation Andy jokes ‘c’mon, do a striptease’. I say ‘you wish’, switching off the light and undressing clumsily. ‘I have no pyjamas’ I state out laud and Andy offers me his purple cashmere jumper. I leave my panties on, naturally.

I slip under the cover; cold but with racing heart. He gently pulls me nearer whispering ‘come here’. We kiss. First time tonight. I don’t fight it.
I think I would have fainted if I wasn’t already lying down.

‘I need to tell you something’ says Andy suddenly. It wasn’t a whisper and for that reason it made me anxious. What is it that he needs to tell me at THIS moment?

‘I kissed Ella…When we were outside having a cigarette.’

I freeze, but I’m also surprised by how unaffected I am by this news. I think about something to say. I try to guess WHY he is telling me this now.

‘What would you like me to do? Go and get her from the other room?? We could swap? Or…’ I say slowly while making dramatic gestures. I realise he can’t see me.

‘No.’ he mutters. I could swear he lowers his eyes and blushes. It’s too dark to be sure.

‘Or... You are confessing, right?’ I dryly start a question, but the ending turns into a statement.

Without answering he sighs, turns towards me and kisses me softly. And I let him. We breathe faster, in the same rhythm. My hands are playing in his lush hair. He brings me on top of him, kisses me and tenderly pulls off his purple jumper from my, now hot, back.
…

To be continued

Serious Porn

I’m going back to 505, if it’s a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive,
In my imagination you’re waiting, lying on your side,
With your hands between your thighs

Stop and wait a sec,
Oh when you look at me like that my darling,
What did you expect,
I’ll probably still adore you with your hands around my neck,
Or I did last time I checked

But I crumble completely when you cry,
It seems like once again you’ve had to greet me with goodbye
I’m always just about to go and spoil the surprise
Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

I’m listening to this tune when I get a text from Mr TV Director:

Mr TV Director: Ever thought of starring in a film?
Beautiful but Grumpy: Have you?
Mr TV Director: Ha. I have thought about it.
BbG: And?
Mr TV Director: And didn't go through with it.
BbG: What kind of thing? Porn?
Mr TV Director: Yes
BbG: Ha, ha. You look too serious for porn!
Mr TV Director: Serious porn.
BbG: I could try to film you with the Malaysian (woman/man)
Mr TV Director: Try? You have a camera?
BbG: No, but you must have access, no? Hmm. You got me really excited here. I could write a script (with your help).
Mr TV Director: : ) no access actually! Well, maybe…But I know a director in the business
BbG: But would you let him be involved with you being a main character??
Mr TV Director: Maybe. He makes stuff for the web. But I don't want to be recognised.
BbG: That's another challenge we would need to discuss ;-) who would you like to be a leading female?
Mr TV Director: If you're happy to be filmed, he would be delighted! Er…Fern Cotton.
BbG: She looks like a bird.
Mr TV Director: Yes. I like her! What kind of woman do you like??
BbG: I like BOTH women starring in Mulholland drive.
Mr TV Director: Ok, I've seen them. Classically beautiful!
BbG: You like?
Mr TV Director: But of course! Can you get them?
BbG: Can you get Fern?
Mr TV Director: Er… I'll look for her on facebook.

I'm tempted! I must admit...

And my New Year resolution is to.... learn how to masturbate in a shower and/or toilet. Because tomorrow I'm going to Aberdeen for Christmas (on the coach for 12 hours!) - my flight has been cancelled...

Happy Christmas everyone! xxx

The Master and Margarita

Mr TV Director has proposed to me!

Well, he proposed to become a couple on Gumtree. One needs to start somewhere, I suppose.

We are to advertise for a girl to have fun with. I have just started to investigate the site (which to me, used to be synonymous with exchange of bike parts or used baby pushers) but I'm now looking at the alternative face of Gumtree. There is a whole part on Friends and Dating (just after Pets), with Casual Relationships, Desperately Seeking and Missed Connections sections. I can imagine what Casual Relationships ads would offer, but I’m rather intrigued by the other two romantic sounding sections. I start with Missed Connections and come across this lovely note:

Pretty Female Weds Approx. 11.30PM Stratford Station Central Line To Leytonstone

Hi, you were a young female waiting with your friends on the platform at Stratford for a central line train. I was standing on the platform just a few feet away from you. I think you are a nurse and perhaps you had been out for the evening together with your friends. You were the youngest of your group and I thought you was kinda cute. You were wearing a very small pretty gold heart necklace.

I held the door open and stopped it from closing on one of your friends. How I regret I let you go like that…

Or this one, which shows how lonely people can be in London:

The woman on the crowded Piccadilly tube Friday 5.40pm

We got talking on the platform when the trains were overcrowded and we couldn't get on two trains in a row. We chatted about the Christmas holidays, and I said how unusually friendly you were. I got off at Knightsbridge. You were heading to Gloucester Road. I know you said you're married but I'd love to just be friends with you. I felt a real human connection with you.

Now, back to Casual Relationships and find this intriguing:

Are you a submissive, bisexual or bicurious female? Would you like to be controlled together with another like minded girl? The two of you playing in bed while your master is watching and giving directions.
I make the rules: The two of you kissing, licking and fingering each other. Your aim will be to make the other girl cum first.
The one that wins will have the full attention of the master and the other girl.
The one that loses (i.e., the one that had an orgasm without permission) has to be punished e.g., spanked, covered by hot wax, or stand naked at the corner watching the other girl pleasing the master and learning from her.
This is just one of the games and tasks you will have to complete for your master. If you find this intriguing, reply with your details. As long as my advert is online there will be an available position for you!
Me: 28 years old, good looking, tall, athletic, intelligent guy.
You: 20 to 30 years old, bi-sexual or bi-curious, submissive, open minded girl.

Hmm, I still haven’t found a girl for us. But I now have open eyes.

The second burst

Brick Lane, last Sunday 6pm

It's a second date with Ben (the English teacher). I come out of Aldgate East station and give Ben a call. It's ringing but there is no answer.

I glance at the entrance to the Whitechapel art gallery, where I went yesterday with Gunter, the German artist. The exhibition we saw is still with me - French artist Sophie Calle, sends her lover's break up letter to 107 women to analyse it. The women were chosen for their professions and skills – head hunter, tarot reader, psychiatrist, ballet dancer, and a cook, among many others. Some women sung it, some danced it, and some slept with the letter. Overall, the guy was proclaimed a manipulating seducer, and a self-centred asshole. The female police detective even recommended 'Avoid at all cost'. Admittedly, the letter itself was a beautiful piece of work.

This exhibition brought back memories of the text message Mr TV Director sent me six weeks ago 'I have always been honest with you. I am not seeing anyone else. But I don't want a relationship. I never wanted anything serious. It is probably best if we don't see each other.' I burst in to tears when I read it. His text was a reply to inevitable questions. We couldn't meet up because he was working on a documentary, day and night, for a month…I then started to suspect he was seeing someone else and finally, at the peak of my obsession I texted him 'Dan. Be honest with me. If you are not planning to see me and have met someone else, then tell me so… And I can move on'.

I start walking and look for a quiet bar on Brick Lane. It is freezing, but it doesn't stop Indian restaurants' waiters from standing outside and trying to snatch clients. They are even louder tonight, animated and friendly, to keep warm perhaps.

My mobile rings, it's Ben, he is ahead of me, but is willing to come back to meet me half way. He sounds sweet and affectionate.

We kiss on cheeks at 'hello'. I try to catch his scent. Nothing. We walk in silence for a while. 'This is the one' says Ben pointing at the bar he finds suitable. We walk in, order mojitos and take it to the snug looking sofa, where we sit down, facing each other.

Ben seems melancholic tonight. He asks me about my future plans (again) and questions the little amount of information I revealed about myself on my on-line dating profile. Is he doubtful if I am ready for relationship? Well, I might not be ready, I suspect. Now I stop caring about what he thinks. I like him, but I just want to be myself, and wish he stopped asking about things, I have no answers to.

Now it's my turn to explore if he is right for me! He mentions his father is a doctor. I ask lightly if he is a gynaecologist, and soon feel ready to confess to my fantasies about doctors, dentists and gynaecologists. Ben looks at me with a mixture of surprise and delight, and… gets into a role play. He actually pretends to be a doctor for me! He is good. We look at each other and smile. I turn my head away to hide that I blush, but instantly my face is being pooled up and I feel Ben's warm lips on mine, then his tongue inside my mouth. He is gentle yet he holds me tight. I can smell him now. I breathe in a faint aroma of aftershave. He strokes my chin and cheek, keeps kissing my lips. I search for his hand, stroke inside of his palm, he grips my hand and I push my fingernails inside his, while biting his lip. He gently pulls away, but is still holding me close. We stay like this for the rest of the evening, while whispering memories of our childhoods and past loves.

I could not sleep that night – it must have been the sugar in mojitos.

Non-Linear Relationships

Mr TV Director is 10 years older than me.

He dislikes: eating out, cinema, concerts or sport.
He likes: making successful documentaries about war in Iraq, me visiting him at his flat in Notting Hill.

We still haven't seen each other since we have disagreed on 'fundamentals' two months ago.
But I have received an interesting proposition…

Beautiful but Grumpy: Amuse me – what else do you like if not blow jobs?
Mr TV Director: Anal play, both ways. Watching a woman play with herself. Any woman watching me, even if I don't fancy her.
A pause from me here...
Mr TV Director: So I like the idea of three because of all the watching and being watched.
BbG: So have you found the 3rd party for us yet?
Mr TV Director: Er… Not yet.
BbG: I might be able to get a couple soon.
Mr TV Director: Hmm. You could advertise us as a couple on gumtree.
BbG: Ha, ha. With photos?
Mr TV Director: Not allowed. But people reply with pics and then expect to be sent some.
BbG: You could try but I doubt people would believe us to be a couple.
Mr TV Director: More response to a woman! But I could do it from us both. But then you'd have to give me pics to send on.
BbG: Don't even start that trick with the pics! Ha, ha.
Mr TV Director: Yes. That is another thing that I like. But if not, you will need to send some on yourself.
BbG: You like taking pictures or just receiving?
Mr TV Director: Both good.
BbG: Nice. Are you not interested in what I like?
Mr TV Director: Oh. Do tell.
BbG: I can tell you that I don't like fingers inside me.
Mr TV Director: Oh? Oh!! What DO you like?
BbG: You will find out when you get us a girl.
A pause here - he's not replying.
BbG: …I like being touched the way you did at the Florence and the Machine gig.
Mr TV Director: Hmm. In public too.
BbG: And I like dinner tables. Don't you?
Mr TV Director: Oh yes. During a dinner party. Women only.
BbG: Kitchen tables are my favourite… I would love to be served instead of a desert… Bon appetit.
Mr TV Director: Mmmm, you taste lovely… And as I lick you I have two fingers inside you and one up your virgin bum. Mmm. You must taste me too before we leave the table. Feed on me…

Poetry

To live up to the title of this blog, here is some poetry...

TWICKENHAM GARDEN



BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears,

Hither I come to seek the spring,

And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,

Receive such balms as else cure every thing.

But O ! self-traitor, I do bring

The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,

And can convert manna to gall ;

And that this place may thoroughly be thought

True paradise, I have the serpent brought.



'Twere wholesomer for me that winter did

Benight the glory of this place,

And that a grave frost did forbid

These trees to laugh and mock me to my face ;

But that I may not this disgrace

Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me

Some senseless piece of this place be ;

Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,

Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.



Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,

And take my tears, which are love's wine,

And try your mistress' tears at home,

For all are false, that taste not just like mine.

Alas ! hearts do not in eyes shine,

Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears,

Than by her shadow what she wears.

O perverse sex, where none is true but she,

Who's therefore true, because her truth kills me.



by John Donne