A male friend of mine, Matt, had a rather sinister experience recently, with Tinder to thank for it. He had matched with a “reasonably attractive” girl and they decided to meet up… at her house… because her parents were away… Now if thats not an invitation to fuck, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately for Matt, on arrival it became clear that he had been semi-catfished. Not fully catfished, because the photos on her Tinder were genuinely photos of herself, but they were craftily taken and very very flattering. I hate to comment on a girls looks as though that is her worth, but it’s important for me to express Matt’s thought processes to get the full comedic value of this story. Painfully awkward Tinder greeting out of the way, they went straight to her bedroom, because, Tinder. After 5 minutes of difficult “first date” conversation, not helped by Matt’s internal panic at the situation, this girl pounced onto him for a propa snog. Next thing Matt knew, he was fingering her.. natural progression? Don’t ask.
It took Matt a further 5 minutes to reassess the situation, and realise he felt a little “violated”. He told the girl he needed a pee, went to the bathroom and had one of those ‘looking in the mirror and wondering what your life has become’ moments. He crept out of the house without saying goodbye.
But the cherry on top of this story is this: On the drive home, a mentally vulnerable Matt decided he needed a fag to calm down, and while rolling, he noticed that the plaster which had been previously located on his finger was missing. Lost forever inside the catfish.
The last time a real life boyfriend broke my heart I was 15. I thought he was the coolest person on earth, my best friend and I used to follow him around town, having a go on his BMX and taking an occasional toke of weed. I was gutted for a week, until GCSE stress took over.
I’ve got a boner to pick with you
Theres something boys do which really riles me. I’m sure we’ve all experienced this. You’re giving him a BJ, you’re just getting you’re mojo, and the mofo grabs the back of your head and starts pushing you up and down. Mate. If i’m giving you a blowie, i’ve got a plan, I’ve got a ryhthm. This all involves a system and let’s face it, no one can’t go that hard for 15 minutes straight. If you grab my head and start “guiding” me, the quality of the blowie you are receiving has just dropped by 80%. I wouldn’t mash your face into my lady business and expect you to do a good job, and even if I could, I wouldn’t pound surprise rods down your throat while you’re trying to do something nice for me.
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”.
1) Thou shall always make yourself sexy
The temptation is to grow your leg hairs into an insulating forrest and pop on your comfy, sensible, discoloured chastity belt (knickers). Although I advocate this as a very effective cock-block, it is not an every day solution to single life. These knickers should only be worn when you are actively (not passively) avoiding sex, i.e. hot first date with someone you want to continue seeing and therefore can’t sleep with immediately (gutted). The thought of exposing your overgrown lady garden and the granny-pants that confine it will ensure you are more virginal than Mary herself.
So with this as your only exception, it is important to keep yourself sexy at all times. Even if no one is going to feel those silky legs or see that smoking matching underwear, I never feel more confident and desirable than when I know I look as good under my clothes, as I do on top. Not to mention if you do get lucky, you are totally prepared. Just try this, next time you are getting ready for a night out: don’t skip the exfoliation, shaving and moisturising sesh, put on your best underwear and check yourself out in the mirror before you get dressed. I guarantee it’s a bigger confidence boost than most guys could ever give you.
the holy fail 