This week I witnessed a truly god-awful date in the restaurant where I work, reminding me that not only have I not been on a date in an embarrassingly long time, but also of how painfully awkward they can be. The story is this: I was serving a couple who had met a few years ago, and had then been reunited on the dating app: Plenty of Fish (POF), the boy hand’t stopped pestering the girl for a date and eventually she gave in. I wasn’t fully aware of the situation until Nelson, our lovely barman, informed me that the female half of the date had been coming into the bar at every opportunity to get away from the male half and bitch about how awful he was. Before this discovery I had mistaken the fact that the couple were sat in silence, both on their phones, to mean they had been together for many many years and were bored of each other. When I went to take their payment, said boy scooted off, leaving the girl to pay their bill, and me and her to have a gossip. Apparently he was rude, arrogant, and both a conversation-ender and lazy conversation-maker, and to top it all off, had accepted her polite offer to pay the bill. This girl had been having such a bad time that Nelson had actually found her online on POF during the date itself, and sent her a cheeky “You’d have a much better time with me” message… time will tell if he makes a better impression.
Take a happily single girl and an other-worldly beautiful boy, and watch her walls crumble. I’d been swept up in a turquoise-eyed haze for the last three months only to come crashing down on a wave of reality: hot guys exclusively suffer from emotional deficits.
This question, “how many people have you slept with?”, which can be a hilarious conversation with your girlfriends over wine and cocktails, can be a deal breaker when it comes to romance, haunting the beginning of many relationships or at the very least, a big slutty elephant in the room (depending on the type of guy you’re with).
The general expectation is that girls should have slept with few men or else they are a ho, boys on the other hand, can happily sleep with whoever they like, if anything, it’s extra man-points. The disgustingly sexist phrase “a good key can open many locks, but a good lock can only be opened by one key” comes to mind.
Armed with the chat up line “Ici pour bonnes temps, pas longtemps” I took to French Tinder on my first trip to Paris in February. For those of you who don’t speak French, that says “Here for a good time, not a long time”. It is a line inspired by the Canadian who I thought I was exclusive with until my pal found him on Tinder with this very smooth line. Anyway, bad “ex’s” aside, it got me a superlike. Nice. This Superliker, Pierre, spent the next 2 months chatting me up via facebook, apparently desperate for me to come back to Paris so we could meet. Well, his wishes were answered because I love Paris and I LOVE my best friend Céline who is studying for her Masters there.
Ok I take it all back, there’s more to Fabio than met my eye on our first date. I wasn’t expecting much from date number two, but I was pleasantly surprised. Here’s a little play-by-play of our date:
So i’m driving to his house to pick him up for bowling. I’m wearing skin tight black jeans with a skin tight black top and…. I need to fart. My pre-date logic says, fart-away, having that gas in my tum is only gonna bloat it out into what I call, The Front-Bum (I hope I’m not the only one to experience this). In any case, more farting = flatter tummy.
But, dates don’t lead to relationships, do they?
I had a shocking realisation last week, whilst listening to a radio feature about dating. The DJ introduced the topic, “last week we talked about the end of relationships, breakups, so this week, we’re talking about the start of relationships: first dates” I snorted, how ridiculous to suggest that a first date would lead anywhere. Its 2016 and we don’t live in a rom-com. But as I came out of my cynical, seasoned single twenty-something stupor, I realised, she was right, at the start of all relationships, there has to be a first date. But surely I can’t be the only person who’s constantly going on first dates yet not finding constant relationship offers?
As a happily single 20 something with a high sex drive but no committed ‘Facebook official’ penis (attached to a boyfriend, not myself), I’ve often touted the presence of a fuck buddy as the solution. Not only a solution to a dry spell, but also for when you’re craving male attention, feeling ugly, or bored or lonely. Friends sometimes say to me that wanting regular sex with the same man means I want a boyfriend, but it’s really not that simple. I REALLY don’t want a boyfriend. I want some very specific qualities of a boyfriend. Essentially, I want good sex, and I don’t want to sleep with a different man every time (really it takes a few go’s to get to know each other and let go, therefore it’s much more efficient to sleep with the same guy each time – guaranteed satisfaction). But I don’t want any of the commitment, sacrifice or agg that a relationship brings.
Theoretically, a fuck buddy could offer exactly this. But I’ve had 3 casual relationships in my life, and they’ve all been very different apart from one common factor, they all have a short sell-by.
One of my favorite ally’s in the world of single, Blake, responds to my post The Ten Commandments of Being Single:
I’m losing count of the amount of times in my life that I have become besotted with boys who really don’t care about me at all. I think we are all guilty of falling for and putting up with these boys for far too long. I’ve been ignored and then told off like a naughty child by the boy I was seeing but forgave him instantly because he came round with a free sachet of hot chocolate. I let the same boy keep me at arms length for a whole term at university because he “didn’t know what he wanted” whilst telling me he loved me as he orgasmed. I continued seeing a boy after a friend found him on Tinder, despite a conversation where we both expressed that we didn’t have Tinder, because he called me “beautiful” about once a month. I let him use me as a taxi service because he was so cute with my dog. I walked down a terrifying canal tow-path to his house (boat) alone, even after I asked him to escort me, because he was going to cook us dinner and couldn’t leave the oven on, yet when I got there he hadn’t even started cooking the Tesco-own sauce-from-a-jar carbonara. I let a boy who I clearly had fallen for use me for sex for half a year because he told me he had shown my Facebook page to his friends (that means he’s proud of me right?), yet when I suggested we go on a date he said “yeah we could go for a coke in the park”.