Posted in Dating?, Single Life

22. A phenomenal Friday night.

The immediate attraction.  The flow of conversation.  The seductive looks.  The flirting.  The cigarette sharing.  The 6 hour build-up.  The energy in the cab home.  The touching.  The kissing.  How weightless you made me feel.  How you grabbed me passionately.  How you picked me up.  How you spoke to me.  How you felt.  What you said.  What you did with your hands, your tongue, your…   How you made me feel.  How we fit together.  How natural falling asleep together felt.

 

And after, how my thighs looked and how my heart felt and how my head spun.  

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Posted in Dating?, Single Life

You blew it.

Our date was fun but I came home feeling ambivalent towards you.  I was reluctant to accept a second date, but I thought there could have been some attraction there.  I hoped you wouldn’t spoil it, mainly because you had life experiences , motivation and interesting things to talk about – you ticked a lot of boxes but were yet to tick the ‘I want to kiss you’ box.  Basically, I wasn’t sure if I fancied you.  After our date you were really eager over text; borderline pushy.

Since Monday, you continued to message constantly.  When I said my plans with friends were cancelled, you were keen for me to come over to yours.  And then you were talking about our second date (due to be on Thursday) – lots of comments about how we can ‘snuggle’ and how you miss kissing me…  Excuse me?  We kissed once.  And it wasn’t even a snog.  You were already acting as a boyfriend and it was freaking me out.

When Thursday rolled around, you said I should come to yours.  I told you I didn’t feel comfortable coming to your house.

I was beginning to dread our date; I didn’t want to go and it was looking likely that I may have been in a position where I’d have to say ‘no’ or might accidentally recoil when you touched me.  And that wouldn’t be nice.  For either of us.

So I cancelled.

I am not one for bailing last minute, but it was the best option.  It wouldn’t have been fair on you and it would have been a waste of time for both of us.

What I did learn from this is that I should trust my gut instinct and that attraction is something which is felt instantly.  Although attraction can develop and evolve, a ‘spark’ needs to be there and it can’t be faked or forced.

Posted in Single Life, Uncategorized

An education. Or: once you see it, you can’t un-see it.

Recently, I’ve had time to read and my genre du jour is feminism in the modern day.  I wanted to challenge my mindset that feminism is about chopping up bras, hating men and protesting over unequal pay (although I fully support this cause, obviously).  As well as talking with friends and females in my family, my education on feminism in 2017 consists of five books so far:

  • Sex Object by Jessica Valenti
  • Moranifesto by Caitlin Moran
  • Man Up by Jack Urwin (although not about feminism, it tells the story of being a male in the modern day; I’m all for hearing both sides of the story)
  • Hot Feminist by Polly Vernon and
  • The Sex Lives of English Women by Wendy Jones.

Currently, I’ve read the first two and am half way through ‘Man Up’.

The penny 

has dropped.  

Nearly everything(*) has

fallen

into

place.  

 

* Nearly everything because, as you will read, some comments contradict others because I’m conflicted in my views.

I’m ashamed to say it’s taken 25 years, but it’s better late than never, right?

It’s like a light bulb has been switched on, or, as a friend so aptly put it,

Once you see it, you can’t un-see it.

Having many male friends, a few boyfriends and many male housemates in the past, I’ve learnt that guys can be just as bitchy as girls.  No, not bitchy – judgey.  Many guys often give unsolicited advice to girls, ‘Oh she’d get it, if only she lost some weight off her waist’ and, ‘I’d definitely bang her, but she should sort her nose out first’.  Or a favourite of mine:

She’s in the large group of women I’d sleep with and also in the much smaller group of women I’d masturbate over.

Firstly, who asked your opinion?  Certainly not the girls living in this house.  Secondly, excusing these comments as ‘lad-banter’ is not an excuse at all.  It’s allowing this sort of talk to continue and some people believe it’s giving the impression that girls are there for the amusement of men.  But there’s an issue with this argument.  As a female, I can’t go around objecting to men commenting on the appearance of women if I’m a woman who ignores everyone else in the kitchen, stares at the TV, mouthing ‘phwoar!‘ every time Tom Hardy comes on the screen.  Yet many people would argue that ‘objectification of men’ isn’t the same as ‘objectification of women’.  (Jack Urwin, author of Man Up, commented that to assume they are the same thing ignores the historical impact of female oppression).  When I stare at Tom Hardy (and Benedict Cumberbatch, Chris Evans as Captain America, Tom Hiddleston and Daniel Craig as James Bond), I’m admiring them: I don’t comment on how they could be improved.  One element of ‘lad-culture’ is the attitude that women are playthings to amuse men.  My male housemates found it hilarious to re-name my number in their phones as a variation of my surname, mixed with a gross word for a vagina.  I laughed it off and joined in the jokes about it, but it’s struck a nerve.  It hasn’t upset me as such, but it’s certainly pissed me off.  And the sad thing is, if I confront them about this, I’d be laughed at and told to ‘not be a pussy’ – an issue in itself.

Yet, despite my new-found knowledge I feel conflicted.

I don’t want to feel I need to dress-up, or put make-up on, or wear heels, or do my hair for anyone.  But I do this anyway.  It’s not because I need male attention; sometimes it’s for myself or so that people know I value my appearance, but more often than I care to admit, it’s so I receive positive affirmations from others about how I look.  It’s not a requirement for self-worth; it’s a bonus, a booster to my existing confidence; it’s vain.  It’s not really okay, and I don’t think it’s okay to admit it, but it’s true.  Walking into a shop last week I asked the retail assistant standing by the door where I could find skipping ropes.  He was attractive (and helpful) and he rather obviously eyed me up and down and smiled.  It’s worth noting, this wasn’t in a pervy, creepy way, rather a sexy, seductive way.  Part of me wanted to object to this: surely I can’t be a feminist and accept this kind of shit from men?!  But then again, I liked it.  It made me feel good about myself.

I’m fortunate that how I perceive myself doesn’t hinge on this attention from men (or women, to be fair), but I find it helps having that little compliment to validate my opinion of myself.  That’s probably not something I should be admitting..?

However, I’m happily single and owning it.  I’m enjoying being 25 and making the most of all Brighton has to offer, as well as strengthening my social life and going on dates.  So as much as I don’t need a man, or his opinion, if a wonderful man came into my life (opinions and compliments abound) I don’t think I’d object.

It’s the needing vs wanting thing again.

 

My new, literary-based education on feminism in 2017 has completely changed the way I see being a feminist.  It’s not chopping up bras or hating men, it’s about equality and not just with a political agenda.  Objectification of women can be so much more subtle and less malicious than I previously thought.  It’s so much closer to home and it can easily be caught up in ‘lad-culture’.  Recently, I’ve raised my guard: I was borderline rude (standoffish?) during a recent date – you don’t get to ask about what turns me on, you can’t make a joke over how I used to want to be a sex therapist and you certainly cannot ask me for a kiss.

It seems the dating game just got tougher.

I hope this’ll weed out the piss-of-shit blokes.

 

Posted in Dating?

Please don’t spoil this.

You’re not conventionally attractive.  You’re not my usual type.  But you were keen to meet and drove a distance to meet me.

For the most part you were very charming – and flirty.  Conversation was easy and I instinctively felt comfortable with, and trusted, you.  I couldn’t work out if I fancied you.  I liked your personality and at times I thought I could have leaned in to kiss you – if I wanted to.  Maybe it was the wine..?  But I didn’t lean in.  And you asking ‘for a quick peck’ put me off (and quite frankly irritated me).  After a few glasses of wine for me, and a few pints of non-alcoholic beer for you, you took me for a spin in your very, very nice car.

Again, maybe it was the wine, but the thrill of being driven around, in a nice car, by a guy who fancies me, was exciting and I found myself playing with your fingers as you held my hand.  Like a true gentleman you dropped me home.  I gave you a kiss; not because I overly wanted to, but because I felt obligated to.

 

We’ve been texting a lot since.  It’s been only 24 hours.

To be honest, I’m nervous about how keen you are.  You’re talking of holidays, sleepovers, dates to come.  You want to know what turns me on, and whether I’ll come for a snuggle this evening.

 

I’m trying to make up my mind on you, and I’m open for another date, but you’re beginning to come across as pushy.  I’m a headstrong girl, and I’m willing to say ‘stop’ or ‘no’ to you, but it would be nice if it didn’t get to that – because you seem like a nice guy.  Please don’t spoil this.

 

 

Posted in Dating?, Single Life

2 very different stories…

Version 1:

You match with a guy from Bumble.  You’re chatting for a few days.  You’re unsure on whether to go on the date.

Date: he’s a nice guy, but you don’t feel a spark.  He tries to ask questions about you, but he mainly talks about himself.  He has limited ‘chat’ and no giggles.  You’re working at 110% in a bid to enjoy your evening.

Version 2:

You match with a guy from Bumble.  You’re chatting for a few days.  You’re unsure on whether to go on the date.

After the date, you go home.  But he’s super keen for you to come back out and texts you all evening.  The next day, you tell your friend he’s the ‘hottest most interesting guy ever’.  But that he’s ‘too good to be true’.

Did I mention he used to be a model and is now a trainee-doctor?

 

Suck a dick, my friend.  Suck a dick.

Posted in Single Life

Patterns

Some girls are adept at bagging the guy.  I’ve never found it particularly easy.

There’s a guy I like.  And I think he likes me too…  (Doesn’t this sound familiar..?)

 

Experience thus far has taught me that guys in their 20’s do not have their shit together.  So when Mr R came along (at a delightful 9 years my senior) I was optimistic.  We flirted a lot.  There seemed to be a spark.  He ticked so many boxes.  But when seeking advice from mutual friends there seemed to be something fishy going on.

He’s not seeing anyone as such

But I should definitely send him a message asking if he fancies grabbing a drink over the coming week.

So I did.

And I can’t work out if the message back is a polite rejection or vaguely promising.

I know that if it was one of my girlfriends in this situation, she would have already have had a date with Mr R – probably two or three – and sex would be on the cards.

But I am not one of my girlfriends.  I am me.

And this is what happens in my life.

Posted in Relationships, Single Life

A sexual history by numbers

1. We were together for 7 years.  Pretty wonderful, really.

2.  This was a little weird.  A different man’s body.  You were so fucking awkward afterwards.

3 and 4.  A fun night all around…

5.  The first one-night stand.  Nothing was okay about this.

6.  Gorgeous, younger.  A complete laugh.  We would continue hooking up over the rest of my time at Uni.

7.  It was a toga night.  The next morning you refused to leave in your toga.  I recruited housemates to help boot you out.

8.  A bi girl and a bi guy.  We had a lot of fun.  And it was weirdly romantic for a one night thing.

9.  You were a friend of a friend.  Good looking, fab body and an all-round cool guy.

10.  Oh Brighton.  This is when I knew I had to live here.  Hands-down the best sex to date – including, but not limited to – laughter, falling-off the bed, roughness, tenderness and constant, constant sex.

11.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.  The 3-day sex jaunt we had planned was shattered as soon as I saw you waiting for me at the station.  What.  Was.  I.  Thinking?!

12.  I can barely remember you.  But I do know that you had a big bath (a rarity in University housing) – and this is what I needed to help my kidney pain.  Thanks for letting me use your bath…

13.  We were very drunk.  We slept together.  We haven’t spoken since.  Definitely learnt my lesson to not sleep with a straight girl.

14.  Phwoar.  Personal trainer, boxer, lifeguard, beautiful human.

15.  Not so.  But a kind, fun guy.

16.  We met in a Brixton club and all the signs were there for this to be an excellent start to a phenomenal relationship.  Until you didn’t text.

17.  Once again, not a good one.  Regret?  Maybe.

18.  This was Prince Charming (see ‘It’s been a long, hot summer…‘).  Hot, hot stuff.  Then I discovered more about your personality.  Still…

19.  A rebound.  No fire between the sheets.

20.  A drunken decision.  But one we kept making again and again.

21.  Best mates / Fuck-buddies.  I’m keeping my fingers crossed this could be more.

Posted in Single Life

The agony to the ecstasy.

 

I was dreading being single.

  • The effort of having to actually organise things for the weekend, rather than assuming I’d have something to do.
  • The sheer panic of not knowing when my next shag would be.
  • The agony of analysing every. single. message he sends.
  • The realisation that I might be alone forever.

But our relationship was toxic.  There was far more stress being with you than there is being without you.

  • You fed off of me.
  • You drained my energy and resources.

I’m 25.  And I’m working on myself.  It should not have been my job to work on you too.  Genuinely enjoying single life is something I wasn’t expecting.  But god, it’s a welcome surprise.  I’ve got so much stuff I want to do and you’re not here to slow me down.