Damned if I do, Damned if I don't

Nights out in Dubai are not uncommon for me; I can be found gracing some of the city's best bars every weekend, and occasionally during the week too. Sipping cocktails is a Dubai-expat's most popular hobby. We'll fill every bar, beach and boat during the weekend. After long hours at work all week, it's almost necessary to unwind with a beverage in hand at the weekend. You know what they say - work hard, play harder!

With the majority of the city's population descending upon its watering-holes on a Thursday night, you'd think it would be prime mate-hunting ground. Well, it's not. At least it's not for me. Many of my friends always score on nights out, but I find it to be a rarity these days.

However, on the odd occasion I do meet a charming young man, I struggle with what I'm actually meant to say and do. It's been drummed into me that I need to be mysterious and alluring, that I should never go home with a man on the first night I meet him, that I shouldn't wear short skirts and low-cut tops if I want to be considered girlfriend material and that I need to give them the chance to chase me, etc. None of those things are me; I wear my heart on my sleeve, I'll answer all sorts of questions, I like wearing low-cut tops, I'm easy going and if I want to have sex with a man on the first night, I will.

However, having been single (dateless in fact) for almost 18 months, I decided I might just take some of my friends' advice. But before I go on to tell you what happened when I took their advice, I'll first tell you about what usually happens when I don't take their advice...

It was a Friday night, I'd been at brunch all day and I was a little bit tipsy. I wasn't at one of Dubai's classier joints, but everyone in the club was up for a good time. Stood at the bar, trying to order a drink, I took a toke on my cigarette. As I did, a tall, handsome stranger turned to me and asked to borrow my lighter. Of course I obliged and he struck up a conversation with me. His name was Gerry, and not only was this guy cute, he was also intelligent and interesting without being a complete dick like the rest of Dubai's male population. I was hooked.

Next thing I know, the bar's lights come up and we were being thrown out. We'd been chatting for four hours. I was so into the conversation, that I'd forgotten I was wearing high-heels and that my feet were killing me. I felt like I'd know this guy for ages and I was so overwhelmed that I'd actually met a man I found attractive and intriguing.

When he asked if we could continue drinking at mine, I was a little apprehensive at first, as I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. But then I thought one little drink wouldn't hurt, and so we jumped in a cab and headed back to my place.

At mine, I made us both a drink and we sat on the sofa chatting. We must have been chatting for another three hours, because the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up. I remember thinking how much I liked the guy, something which is so rare for me these days. When he asked if he could stay over, I told him he could sleep on the sofa, but somehow, he made it into my bed. We chatted some more and ended up falling asleep, cuddled up, but without so much as a kiss. However, in the morning, that all went to pot.

I'd done so well up until that point, but I didn't stress about it as we had so much chemistry, I was sure this was the beginning of something beautiful. He took my number and made his way home whilst I snuggled up in bed feeling so very, very happy.

Needless to say, I didn't receive a call, or even as much as a text from him. I felt so disheartened; it had been such a long time since I felt that way about someone and I suddenly remembered how cruel men can really be. Seeing as I didn't have his number, I thought I'd look him up on Facebook and send him a friend request. I typed in his name and up popped his profile picture... with a woman in it. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I thought I better try and find out if he was in a relationship or not before sending him a friend request. I googled his name and, through various other social networking sites, found out he was married.

Why I was surprised, I'm not sure. As I've mentioned before, married men seem to buzz around me like bees around honey but single guys, single guys don't come within 20ft of me... It was, as Alanis Morissette would say, ironic; I'd met the man of my dreams and then seen his beautiful wife. I vowed not to take another guy home ever again.

A few weeks later, I met Steve. Steve was a silver fox that reminded me of an ex (GJ, if you're reading this, it was you). He was tall with beautiful dark brown eyes (although I usually prefer blue) and a cheeky chappy demeanour that kept me hooked. We chatted for ages, discussing everything from work to politics - it was heated, and I loved that he was so opinionated.

We moved from the bar we were in to a karaoke bar across the road. We continued our heated conversation until he ended up singing Johnny Cash songs to me. It was also here we shared a little kiss. Nothing full on, more small pecks on the lips than drunk, high school style snogging.

As we lived in the same area, we shared a taxi home. Steve was first to be dropped off, and as the taxi pulled up outside his building, he tried to persuade me to come in for a drink. I had to really resist the temptation to go up to his apartment, but I knew an innocent drink would end up being not-so-innocent sex, and so I continued my journey back to my apartment. However, despite having had a great night together and Steve inviting me up to his for "a drink", when I declined, he didn't ask for my number or when he might see me again. He was clearly a good-time guy up for whatever he could get his hands on, so to speak.

Then there was Craig, the guy I did follow my friends' advice with. I met Craig at my local, where our eyes literally met across a crowded room, and he spent the evening looking over at me. When I caught his eye, I smiled, but he didn't come over. It was only as he was about to leave that I smiled and waved and he came over to chat.

Craig worked in construction and was manly and flirty. He's definitely one of those guys you'd feel protected being with. After a few hours of flirting, I told Craig my friend and I were moving on to another bar and he immediately asked me for my number. I took it as a good sign and gave him my digits. He did text me, but only for a booty call, which obviously I declined.

After that, I bumped into Craig on a couple of occasions. He continued texting me, but never asked me out on a date. I gave up texting him back.

So, despite all my friends' advice of abstaining and playing a little bit hard-to-get, none of the scenarios proved to be fruitful. So, what is it exactly that makes a guy want to take a girl on a date? When I meet guys, I always have interesting, intelligent conversations but I always throw in a little bit of flirting too - in fact I can't help being a little flirty - but, I never let it become smutty or full of innuendo. So where am I going wrong?

What I've learnt from this is that it doesn't matter how far you go with a guy on the first night - a little flirty conversation, a kiss or hot, sweaty sex - the scenario isn't based on any of those. So, if you want to sleep with the guy you just met, why not? A friend of mine is currently dating a girl he met in a bar and slept with on the first night...

What I've concluded from all of this is that it doesn't matter what I do; I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.

Singled Out

I'm not usually fussed about being single. In fact, over the years, I've actually come to enjoy it. However, recently, it's started to frustrate me. Not because I need a man to make me happy, but because all of my friends are in relationships. Yes, I know I sound like a child who wants the latest toy, but that's exactly how not being in a relationship is making me feel - left out.

Prime example; there's a bank holiday coming up and I'm dying to get away for a short break. But who to go with? All my friends have plans with their other halves, so I've no choice to book for one. And do you have any idea how much extra I have to pay just because I'm going on holiday alone? It's like a single-tax or something. Talk about kicking a woman while she's down!

The other problem with being single is that your friends never stop going on about trying to find you a partner. They always scratch their heads and ask you why you're still single with a bemused look on their faces. Well, it's not like I have an answer to that, is it?

Last weekend, I was out with some friends for a few drinks and from the moment I arrived until the moment I left, the conversation revolved around my love life. Or lack thereof. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to shy away from the topic (bloody hell, I write a blog about it for goodness sake) but when it goes on and on for five hours plus, it does become a little tiresome... No, I don't know why I'm still single. No, I'm not covered in scales. No, I don't keep a collection of toenail clippings. And no, I don't talk about ex-boyfriends to guys I've just met. Anyway, on this particular night out, I left in a strop - something I almost never do. Why? Because it all got a bit too much...

On a night out, if I've not found a charming young man to occupy myself with, I do have a tendency to text or call J. I believe this is my single-girl right. I'm not doing anything wrong, I merely want some attention from a man I know will sleep with me. Ok, I know he's 3500 miles away, but it's the attention I'm after. So, when my friends nag and moan at me for contacting J, I take offence. I mean it's alright for them in their lovey-dovey relationships, probably getting all the nookie they need. I bet they've forgotten what it feels like to crave attention from the opposite sex. Well, I haven't!

So after being told by my loved-up friends, with their disapproving looks, that I shouldn't be contacting J, I decided enough was enough and left. I can just about tolerate discussing my lacklustre love-life all evening, but trying to stop me from getting that little bit of attention I need to stop me from going mad... well, that's just taking it too far.

Is being in a relationship like joining the Free Masons? Is it like some exclusive club that I have no idea how to join and even if I do find out, I have to wait for someone to die before they let me join? At least my friends haven't reached the stage of organising 'couples only' dinners. Although sometimes I think they're not far off.

It's not that I'm not happy for my friends, or that I'm jealous of their relationships, I just wish being single wasn't so exclusive. I'd quite like to go on holiday with one of my friends or be their plus one to an event. It'd also be lovely if there was some spontaneity, rather than them having to consult the other half before committing to spending time with me.

Anyway, before I sound like some bitter old spinster, I suppose I better be grateful that I at least have a cat to come home to... Oh.

How not to break-up with a girl

We've all had our fair share of bad break-ups; from slanging matches to devious acts of revenge, it's all part of the process to find The One. But sometimes, men can be a little less tactful when trying to break-up with us. Either that, or they're so tactful, it's actually even worse.

Case in point: a guy, MN, who I once dated back in late 2002/early 2003. I met MN on the internet, way before it was cool to do that. There was a flurry of emails, texts and phone calls before we met and when we finally arranged to go on a date, I was over the moon. The moment we met was like a lightning bolt and I remember it so clearly...

We'd arranged to meet at Angel tube station and then head to a bar. On the tube journey there, the butterflies in my tummy were unreal. As I walked off the tube and went up the escalator, there he was waiting for me — tall, handsome and with a gorgeous smile. We instantly recognised each other, despite never having met before. It was an amazing moment and we greeted each other as if we'd been friends for years.

In the bar, we did not stop talking. We covered all sorts of topics, from jobs to university, families to travelling. I liked him and I liked him a lot.

That night also happened to be the night of MN's work Christmas party, so after a few hours of chatting, MN invited me to the Christmas do. Of course I accepted, and so we made our way to the salsa bar where I'd meet all of his colleagues.

As soon as we arrived, MN bought me a drink and introduced me to his friends. They were all so welcoming and I immediately felt at ease. After exchanging niceties and explaining to them how we met, I remember MN taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. We gave salsa dancing our best shot, but we were both so awful that there was nothing to do apart from laugh and drink more!

At the end of the night, MN was a total gentleman and made sure I made it home safely. Before we parted, he gave me a long lingering goodnight kiss. I'll never forget the way that kiss tasted. Or the aftershave he was wearing. It had been an amazing night with an amazing guy; I was hooked.

From there on, MN and I dated. We saw each other almost every day. One night we went for a few drinks in a bar in town and there was a couple on the opposite sofa to us, locking lips. MN grabbed me and told me there was only one way to not have to watch them — if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So MN and I passionately kissed for the rest of the evening, only coming up for air or a sip of our drinks. I haven't been kissed like that since.

Public displays of affection (PDAs) weren't uncommon between MN and I. We'd regularly be caught in an embrace, so often so that we'd quite often get comments from onlookers. We were in the queue for the ice rink once and the gentleman behind us recommended we be surgically removed from one another before we attempt to ice-skate and end up seriously injuring ourselves. That was another fantastic date. And afterwards we went to Harrod's to look at the pedigree puppies and kittens before eating some of the most expensive ice-cream on their cafe's menu.

MN and I even spent New Year together. Just us. It's probably still the best and most memorable New Year I've had. By this point, I was head over heels in love with the guy. Totally and utterly smitten. Everything he said to me was perfect. Every moment I spent with him was amazing. We were glued to one another's side and we even talked about going away together. This, I thought, was love.

Then, one night, MN leave to go to work at 4am. Being a copper, he often worked some crazy hours. He kissed me goodbye and was about to leave but came back for another kiss. After five minutes of kissing, he actually had to leave for work, and so he left me in his bed to catch up on my sleep. By this point, I was so in love and so comfortable with MN, that I thought I'd stay at his place until he was due to come home.

Around the time he was meant to be back, I sent him a text message letting him know I was still in his bed, hoping he'd rush home to make love to me. But he text me back telling me I could stay but he wouldn't be coming back as he'd had bad news back home in Scotland and he was going back there to sort it out. He promised he'd call me when he was on the train, so I had a shower and made my way back to my flat.

Hours passed and there was no phone call. I tried ringing him but there was no answer. I sent text messages, left voicemails... nothing. I was so worried, I didn't know what to think. This went on for weeks. Six weeks to be exact. I was lost. From being so in love and showered with affection, to having no contact with MN whatsoever, completely broke my heart.

Those six weeks were possibly the worst of my life. I holed myself up in my room the whole time, listening to the same three soppy songs on repeat and watching the same sad bit of movie over and over and over again. I only left my room when I had to sneak to the shop to buy chocolate gateaux to gorge on. Not even my friends could coax me out. I cried so much, I'm surprised I didn't dehydrate.

At the end of the six weeks, I finally received an email from MN. He explained how he'd got his ex-girlfriend pregnant, and as she was American, he'd be moving to the States to be with her. My heart sunk. I was absolutely destroyed, but I knew there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. I told him I understood and that I'd really like to take him to the airport to say goodbye. He agreed.

It was very early in the morning and I picked him up to make our way to Heathrow. He didn't have much luggage and I asked him where all his bags were. He told me all his things were being shipped. When we arrived at Heathrow, I parked the car and we walked to the check-in area. It was there I said a very tearful goodbye to MN, knowing I'd probably never see him again. But before we parted, we went to a photo booth to have our photo taken together. I still have those pictures in a drawer next to my bed, and whenever I feel down, for some reason, I always pull them out and remember the good times.

I waved MN off and made my way back home. I was so emotional that I ended up crashing my car into a pillar! When I finally made it home, I locked myself away again.

A few weeks later, I started to get over my first love, and so I went back to work. I used to work as a Tequila Girl in bars in London, which meant roaming around a pub in a skin-tight, red dress, knee-high boots and a leather holster belt, chatting to groups of men (and occasionally women) and selling shots of tequila. One night, I ended up chatting to a lovely group of lads. I asked them what they did and when they told me they were policemen I rolled my eyes and moaned. They asked me what the problem was and so I explained the MN story to them.

When I'd finished my story, one of the guys asked me what MN's name was. When I told him, the lads all looked at one another and smirked. I asked them what was going on and they informed me that MN was in the country. In fact, he'd never left the country in the first place. I couldn't believe my ears. At first, I thought they were trying to wind me up, but I soon realised they were serious. But how? I'd driven him to the airport, waved him off in a tearful parting... surely that couldn't have all been a lie?

It turns out that it was. MN had fabricated the entire story — having to go back home to Scotland, the ex-girlfriend being pregnant and flying to the States. And he'd made it up to dump me.

The whole thing was outrageous and it depressed me even more than had he just explained to me how he felt. I felt totally cheated, like he'd never wanted to spend all those precious moments with me when we were dating, that he'd never really liked me at all. Suddenly, I could see my heart smashed into small pieces, strewn across the floor, and I'd spend then next two years picking up the pieces and trying to put it back together again.

I understand guys can sometimes feel pressured into trying to soften the blow when it comes to breaking-up with a girl, but to go to such great lengths is cruel, not to mention totally unnecessary. A woman might initially be upset and angry when you break-up with her honestly, but you'll be saving her so much heartache in the long-run. Not to mention saving you a lot of hassle of making up such a story.

Perhaps my story is an extreme one, but this isn't the first time I've been lied to by a guy to get me in, or out, of his bed. I just hope that in the future, I date guys who are mature enough to tell me that I'm just not the one for them. It'd be appreciated far more and easier to get over than questioning as to why he felt a need to make-up such a story. I mean, am I really that bad?

Around the World

As some of you may know, I was recently in Australia for a wedding. I had high hopes for this particular ceremony, not just for the couple tying the knot (they excelled my expectations in so many ways) but also for myself. Yes, after all the post-J trauma, I figured travelling to the other side of the world in search of a man would be a great anecdote to my broken heart. And excellent for blogging purposes!

I'm not going to lie, in the run up to my trip down under, I'd had visions of meeting a cool, bronzed, Aussie hunk who'd sweep me off my feet and teach me how to surf. But alas, it was clearly not meant to be. Instead, all of the Aussie guys I met seemed to have little direction in life... They were all in jobs that were practically handed to them, rather than having carved out career paths for themselves that they worked their toned tushies off for. Call me a snob, but I found it a little disappointing.

It's not that I wouldn't date a guy who wasn't a doctor, teacher or lawyer; I would. For example, I'd date a bartender, if he had bigger dreams and was working towards managing or owning a bar one day. I just can't date a guy with no passion for his career. I know that makes me susceptible to dating a workaholic, but I'm willing to take that chance.

The other thing I noticed about several Aussie men is that they hadn't ventured past Australian shores. Or if they had, it'd been to New Zealand when they were 10. If I met a guy in London who'd never left the UK, bar a French exchange trip in 1990, it's more than likely I put a strike through his name in my little black book.

Perhaps I'm spoilt in Dubai, where every eligible bachelor here has a career path and an ambition. And they're not afraid to travel to unknown terrioties to acheive their goals. Or is it that I'm just looking for someone on my wavelength? Someone who'll take the bull by the horns, a leap of faith or a risk?

The good thing about most Aussie men is their love for the outdoors; be it surfing, offroading or hunting. Whilst all these activities are great (no, I'm not ant anti-hunting activist so sue me) they all show brawn but not brains. And I need a balance between the two.

After all, they're just basic primal instincts, right? The intelligence to hold down a decent job to provide for our family, and the brute strength to be able to protect us, conduct basic DIY around the house etc.

I hate to think I'm fussy, and this is probably one of the reasons I've been single most of my adult life, but I want someone to inspire me. Someone to come home from work to where I think 'Fuck, you're amazing', after they've told me a story about how they dealt with something difficult at work or acheived something new in their personal life.

Guys who just plod along in life don't cut it for me. A relationship is about compromise, and having get-up-and-go is not something I'm willing to negotiate, which is why I need someone like-minded. I want to tell my kids I met their father in some random place, doing some crazy activity. And I want to tell them we were married on a Himalayan mountain with goats as guests. Or something along those lines...

I think of some of the stories my parents told me over the years about their travels, and I wonder if this is one of the elements that attracted them to one another, along with the fact they were both at university trying to acheive something when they met.

I don't want a repetition of my parents' love story, but I do want to find a similar synergy that they once shared, and perhaps still do. I guess I just need a little more patience and a plane ticket to somewhere more exotic than Oz.

The Unobtainables

When it comes to relationships, I have a terrible track record. In fact they're so bad, I'd barely call them relationships. Constantly falling for guys who are bad for me; it would seem that I love setting myself up for heartache.

My problem? Well, according to an article in the British edition of Cosmopolitan magazine, I'm attracted to unavailable men. At first, I laughed at the obscenity of it. Then I thought of past men I'd desired (and a couple of current ones too). Had I been in a serious relationship with any of them? No. The only guy I've ever been in a serious relationship with, I dumped. Probably because it was all just too easy to plod along with him and it didn't excite me enough.

The more I think about it, the more sure I am that unavailable men are absolutely who I'm attracted to. Sometimes, there are guys I don't even necessarily find that physically attractive that I just have to have. For example, I know it'd be wrong for me to get involved with a guy who is either married, expecting a child with another woman, someone I work with or treated me so badly in the past, but I just can't help myself. It's like I'm drawn to them.

It probably explains why I suddenly realised how much I wanted J - because he's having a child with someone else and I can't have him anymore. It also explains why I continued chatting to Billy the banker - he was married and so I knew it'd be more of a challenge.

Is that what makes unavailable men so attractive to me - the challenge? I don't think I've ever had a thing for a guy who has been interested in me in the long term. Is it because it's a challenge to try to win them over? I've never been a girl for the easy life and I've always enjoyed having dramas in my life; from break-ups with boyfriends to suddenly moving 3500 miles away from home. From sleeping with someone I shouldn't, to constantly being the one to be pulled over by the police for no apparent reason. Drama just seems to find me but, if I'm honest, I absolutely love it. After all, what's a high without a low, right?

Perhaps it's my age. I mean, right now, I have little interest in finding The One, being contractually bound to him and then popping out his offspring, once every year, for the next however many years. No, thanks. It's all just... too normal. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I consciously sniff out married men or guys with emotional issues, but for some reason I'm insanely attracted to them if they are. I don't want to be, but I just can't help myself.

Unobtainable men are also great to fantasise about... It's all so exciting and you're constantly on a high, thinking about the next time you'll see them. They're a woman's version of the schoolgirl crush, and thinking about that first kiss or the first time you strip them off is just so hot!

But what if it isn't my age? Cosmopolitan magazine seemed to think it could be something to do with self-esteem and/or past relationships, but I honestly don't think that's the reason. I've never been one to really care what others think of me and I had a very healthy, balanced upbringing. Sure, my past relationships with men have been rollercoasters, but only because I let them.

Another point the article made was that women who go after unavailable men are usually big discussers or over-thinkers, or even both. Apparently women attracted to unavailable men are so caught up in discussing, thinking and daydreaming that we don't realise that we're trapped in inaction. Does that mean this blog is a tell-tale sign of my relationship tendencies towards unobtainables?

Why is it always the woman that's attracted to unavailable men? It could be that I'm actually the emotionally unavailable one and the guys I go for reflect that. It's not like every woman that goes for unavailable men has deep emotional issues. In fact, I'm surprised a magazine, that's supposedly meant to encourage women to be empowered when it comes to sex and relationships, is so quick to point the finger at the women.

This article is bad journalism anyway; not one of the twenty points was backed up by a study or psychologists opinion, they were all obvious, and mindless, assumptions. Not that I really should have expected anything more from Cosmopolitan magazine.

I guess the most worrying part about being attracted to unobtainable men, is acting on it. Not because how it affects me, but because of the ripple effect - the wife, the mother of the child, colleagues or my friends. Let's be clear, I've only ever slept with one married man (as far as I know) and I didn't even find out he was married until a few days later. And I'd only strike up romantic liaisons with a guy I work with if he assured me he wouldn't make it an issue. But I do worry that, one day, it might cause issues.

Maybe there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe unavailable men give out a pheromone that I'm irresistibly attracted to and, until my chemistry changes, I just have to accept that living dangerously is part of my DNA.

The big, bad World Wide Web of dating

When I lived in London, much of my social life was consumed by online dating. I signed up to all sorts of different matchmaking websites, and I used to meet two or three guys a week. I had a great time, met some lovely guys, some of whom I'm still friends with today. Yes, there were one or two horror stories, but on the whole, it was a lot of fun.

In Dubai, I've been heavily reliant on friends to set me up with eligible bachelors that they know. This is partially because most dating websites are blocked. Yes, in a country where an arranged marriage to your cousin is the norm, dating is still somewhat a taboo, despite the fact that the 90% of the city's population is made up of expats. But hey, that's their rules and I've learnt to live with it for the last five years.

However, recently, a friend of mine introduced me to a dating application available on Facebook that has not yet been blocked. I was excited at the prospect of being cast back to my ways of dating, circa 2003, and eagerly set up an account. In anticipation as to whom I might find on one of the only available dating sites in the country, I immediately went through the site's list of eligible bachelors... except they weren't so eligible.

I'm not quite sure what it is about online dating in Dubai, but it just doesn't produce the goods like it does in London. I must have trudged through almost a hundred profiles to find only one or two guys who weren't either sex-obsessed maniacs, passport grabbers or just complete weirdos. Within minutes, I'd received a number of messages saying 'Txt 050 76X XXXX plz', 'Hi Babie' and 'You want meet for sex'. Obviously, none of these gentlemen particularly appealed to me.

Now, without coming across as a complete snob, I'm looking for someone who is articulate, can spell and can hold a decent conversation. After all, I work in communications and if you can not communicate properly, then, quite frankly, I'm just not interested. Sorry, but first impressions count, boys!

Now, I'm going to move on to onscreen names... If your onscreen name is something such as HeArTbrEakKiD, Sexy4U or Russian Mafia, then I'm probably going to skip right past your profile. Why? Because I don't want to date a kid that's going to break my heart, a guy who is sexy for all women on the web and beyond, or someone who might shoot me in my sleep. Just your name will do. If you really don't wish to reveal your identity on a dating website, why not just use your initials instead of making up some teenage chat room-esque name?

Bearing all that in mind, I'm left with very few guys on this website, and I haven't even taken into account physical features yet! I disregard all profiles without a picture. I'm sorry, but in this day and age, there is absolutely no excuse for not putting up at least one semi-decent photo, unless you're a total minger or have something sinister to hide. But not being one to give up, I persevere through the profiles. There are two or three guys that catch my eye, and so I drop them a line.

The first message is important, so I always make sure I refer to at least one or two points in their profile. Generic "Hi, how are you?" messages just won't cut it. The fist message needs to be flirty but not filthy, witty but not ridiculous and most of all, it needs to be intriguing. It needs to let my personality shine through without giving away too much away. You don't want to repeat what's already been said in your profile, but you also don't want to divulge your life story so, that when you do eventually go out on a date, they can find out more about you.

Once the perfect message has been crafted, all that's left to do is sit and wait for a reply. Quite often, this can be agonising - have they been online yet? Have they read the message? Have they just not had time to reply? Does my profile picture make me look too fat? Did they not get my sense of humour? Is it because I'm a smoker?

Not receiving a reply can feel like being dumped after a second date with a guy you quite like. You imagine what could have been with the cute man in the photo and wonder why he didn't even give you the chance to show him how wonderful you are by taking you on a date. But when you do receive a reply, all the hassle of scouring through all those profiles seems worthwhile, and you're reminded that you're still a catch, no matter how many dating disasters you've endured over the past few weeks.

I've not yet met any of the guys I've been having email conversations with, but I'm hoping they'll restore my faith in online dating in this city. I'm giving it two weeks for at least one date to materialise, otherwise I'm casting myself out of the dating world in Dubai because dating shouldn't be this difficult. Some girls have the patience for it, but I guess I just don't want it that badly anymore...

In the meantime, if any of my friends have real eligible bachelors to set me up with, they will be gratefully received!

Like a virgin

A recent conversation, with a colleague and fellow blogger of mine, led me to question if it's better to save ourselves until we're married or if we should explore the crazy sexual world that's out there before we decide to commit.

Being a virgin is no longer seen as 'uncool' as it was when I was a teenager, when everyone couldn't wait to get their rocks off to anyone who'd give it to them. Losing your virginity to your husband is now seen as the ultimate way for a girl to say "I love you". Even if your new husband has slept with half of the city.

Perhaps it's just living in Dubai, but a large chunk of unmarried girls here are still virgins. They're waiting for that special someone, to live the fairytale where their Prince Charming will sweep them off their feet on their wedding day, carry them over the threshold and onto the four-poster bed where they'll make passionate love all night long.

Don't get me wrong, the notion is very sweet, if not a little naive. I know of very few women who had an enjoyable experience losing their virginity. In fact, I think I'm one of the few who had a pleasurable experience. Ok, so it wasn't the Prince charming fairytale, but it was a hell of a lot of fun and I don't regret it at all. In fact, I'm glad I did it when I did. I wasn't too young where I had no idea what I was doing, and I wasn't too old that I'd make up for lost time in the future. Losing my virginity opened my eyes to a whole new world, and I began to explore myself sexually.

However, many women who are sexually liberated are seen as insecure or lacking self-respect. I'm not sure I agree with that. Don't get me wrong, I don't think a woman needs to throw herself at every man that breathes, but exploring sex is healthy. How do you know what you like and what you don't like? Self-love is a great way to fantasise but it's just that, a fantasy - when you put them into practice, you might find they're not what you imagined. After all, we're one of only three species' designed to have sex for pleasure, along with chimpanzees and dolphins, so surely being sexually active outside of wedlock is no bad thing?

But what about those who do wait for that perfect guy? There are so many sexually deviant men out there, what happens when you find out your new husband wants to blindfold you, chain you up to the bed and... pee on you? No, it hasn't happened to anyone I know, it's just an example. After all, golden showers are just one of the very many outrageous sexual preferences out there. You only need to take a glimpse into the world of pornography to see how fucked up it can really be.

Whilst I'm all for trying something new, there are sexual acts, such as that of the golden shower, that I'm just not willing to participate in. The thought of being eternally bound to someone who might want me to do that is, well quite frankly, frightening. Then there are the guys who just can't get it up or suffer from premature ejaculation. And more often than not, guys are more than willing to put their fingers in their ears, stamp their feet and refuse to acknowledge they have a problem. But, once you're married, it's tough luck for you. If you're single, you put on your clothes and head back to your own apartment where you won't have to suffer the humiliation of someone peeing on you or ejaculating on your leg.

But what do guys think? Most Arab men won't marry a girl unless she's a virgin, yet most Western men would be far too scared to touch one. Who is the pressure on? Western women to lose their virginity too quickly or Arab women to not give into temptation? Surely if a man really loves you, it doesn't matter anyway? Without telling them the truth, how would they even know? There are so many myths about men being able to tell if you're a virgin or not - from bleeding the first time you have sex, to men being able to feel if your hymen is in tact or not and even to how active you are in the bedroom. It's all so 1950's.

So, whilst peer pressure and magazines such as Cosmopolitan might have encouraged me to go out and get laid in my teens, I'm so very grateful that they did. If I was a virgin and wound up married to a guy who was a freak in the bedroom, my problems would be so much worse than just sleeping with another man.

So, for all the virgins out there, I salute you for being so brave!

Good sex, bad sex

The dating world is quite often a cruel one, so when you reach the point where you’ve had a few dates and are ready to take your new relationship to the next level, it’s all such a thrill - that flirtatious touch on the arm, the first kiss and the throes of passion in the bedroom...

We all know the first time to fourth base can be a little bumpy, that’s natural, but what about when the chemistry between the sheets is almost non-existent? Can you tell the difference between the bumpy first time and when it’s just not working? And how can two people get on so well out of the bedroom, be attracted to each other, and yet have zilch going on in the sexual chemistry department?

Does sexual chemistry ever improve over time? And how important is it to a relationship?

Personally, I believe it’s just as important as being friends. There’s nothing worse than dreary sex in a relationship. Well, unless you’re dating a wife-beater, a megalomaniac, a workaholic, a liar, a cheater, a bore or an addict, and then dreary sex is the least of your worries!

I was once seeing a guy I was really into – he was tall, cute, funny and we were friends. Things between us were electric and I couldn’t wait to get him into the bedroom. The day I did was a sad day… Much to my disappointment, the sex was nothing more than dull. There was no spark, no passion and we didn’t really connect. It was a shame, because outside of the bedroom, we were the perfect couple. Needless to say, we didn’t wait to find out if our sexual chemistry would improve…

But then there are the guys you date where the sex is un-fucking-believable but they rip your heart out and trample all over it. J and I are the perfect example of this – amazing lovers but too non-committal to give our relationship a real go of it.

Little Miss LC and I were discussing this the other day, and we both found that in every relationship we’d ever endured, we either had great relationships and bad sex or great sex and bad relationships.

Is it that you can’t have both? And is that why we sometimes have to sacrifice one of the checked boxes on our list? Should we just settle or should we keep searching for that perfect chemistry?

I thought of asking all my (seemingly) happily married friends what their sex lives were like, but then they’d never admit they were having dull sex with their partners.

Perhaps it is just a bumpy ride the first time and we ought to give it a chance before we decide it’s not working. But how long do you give it before you’re stuck in a rut? My mother always tells me to stick with the honest guys that aren’t very exciting. Truth be told, I can’t resist a bad boy, where the sex is out of this world and our relationship is too complex to explain. Or too simple that it’s non-existent.

Perhaps when I’m older (and wiser) I’ll realise that mind-blowing sex isn’t necessary in a relationship and I’ll be happy with someone who’s just willing to be my friend. But in the meantime, I’m looking for the perfect combination, even if that means having my heart smashed into a million pieces in the process. If I find it, I’ll let you know…

Break-Up Etiquette

Usually, when things come to an end with a guy I’ve been dating, I tend get over it pretty quickly. I might be upset and cry for a night, but that’s not over him, that’s over me… I question myself - am I too forward? Too excitable? Too fat? However, it doesn’t last too long, I know I have a lot to give and, in return, will find someone who wants to give something back to me.

The only time I’ve ever really cried over a man was my first love. Shortly after I was over the break-up, I cursed myself for being so wet and I swore to myself I’d never let another guy have that kind of power over me again. And I didn’t... Until now.

All those hideous memories have come flooding back - the tears at night, the sad songs, the hunger strikes followed by the binge eating… My friends have had enough of my miserable Facebook status updates and constant whining about men. I feel like I’m slowly isolating myself, almost as though nobody else could possibly understand my pain. I’d built this relationship up in my head for the last seven years. I’d invested time, money and a lot of love into it. And now it had been ripped out from underneath me.

Suddenly I realised why some traders on the stock market go batty when they lose everything they ever worked for. I always thought it was ‘just money’, but it’s anything but. It’s the time, dedication and passion that’s also been lost. So how are you meant to deal with such a loss? There are stories of traders commiting embezzlement, killing their families (including pets) and then commiting suicide – none of which I really like the sound of.

After one week, I’ve exhausted my friends talking about my break up with J, but I'm still not over it. In Sex and the City, when Carrie broke up with Mr. Big for the first time, she talked about it so much that her friends referred her to a shrink.

So what’s the next stage for me? Do I lock myself in my bedroom, cry and chain smoke? Do I desperately find somebody to get under so I can get over J? Do I stop eating and over-exercise until I'm anorexic? Or do I bottle it all up inside and become some sort of man-hating super-bitch? Or is there some kind of post-break-up etiquette I should be abiding by?

I feel an enormous amount of pressure to be over J in such a short space of time. Everyone keeps telling me to pull myself together but I can’t. None of my friends knew J. None of them really saw us together. None of them know how I feel about him and none of them know how he feels about me. I know we weren’t in a traditional boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, but it was inevitable for us not to have deeper feelings. We just never admitted it.

What I’m trying to say is; I need time to get over this. Of course I'd rather I were over it sooner rather than later, but how do I speed up the process? Or is it just as Mariah Carey says; love takes time to heal when you're hurting so much? Help!

All Good Things Come To An End

It's over. It's all officially over. And it breaks my heart.

After my phone call with J a couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd be fine with just being friends, but truth be told, knowing it was never going to happen between us was just too much to bear.

After an all-day drinking binge last Friday, I lost it. All my pent up feelings to J were free-flowing, just as the Cosmopolitans had been an hour earlier. It wasn't intentional. I was writing out an emotional text message so I could push thoughts of J out of my mind for the rest of the evening and concentrate on finding someone who wasn't 3500 miles away and who wasn't expecting a child with another girl.

But, after a few too many drinks earlier in the day, my hand-to-eye co-ordination was a little off, and instead of pressing the cancel button, my super sensitive iPhone reacted to the soft touch I gave the send button. I tried pressing cancel over and over again, but as I saw the message being sent, my stomach felt like lead. I instantly realised what this meant...

I'd never confessed my feelings to J. I'd never even really admitted them to myself. But then I suppose you don't fly 3500 miles for two days to see someone you're not in-love with. And you don't book one of the most expensive hotel rooms in the City if it's just sex. And you don't continue seeing them for seven years...

As each day passes, I realise just how in-love with J I am. I think of all the times we spent together, all the phone calls and text messages. The things he said to me that made me wonder if we actually were more than just fuck buddies. The way I always thought of him whenever I slept with another man. The way he'd compliment the way I smelt, the way I looked and our chemistry in the bedroom. Even when I complained I was putting on weight, he assured me he loved my figure just the way it was. I missed him and if ever there was a reason for me to move back to London, it would have been J.

I know he loves me in a strange roundabout way, but never enough to actually admit it. Then there were the occasions where he'd treat me so badly, I'd wonder why on Earth I wanted to be with someone like him anyway. But then I think of his smile when we'd see each other after so long... That, the embrace and the long lingering kiss told a different story.

We were two kids playing it cool - he was the self-confessed commitment-phobe and I was the elusive girl that lived in a far away land. I was comfortable knowing that no other girl would ever have him the way I did. I was the closest thing to a relationship J would ever have.

Now our whole relationship is on its head. Every text message I send is screened by the mother of his child. He deleted his social networking accounts and stopped popping up on Skype. I had no way of reaching him anymore and the gut-wrenching realisation that it was all over hit me hard.

I wonder if I intended to send that text message subconsciously. After all, I had nothing to lose at this stage; there was so little contact between us that it's almost as though we never knew each other at all. J didn't text me back and I cringed at the thought of what I'd confessed to him. It had taken me seven years to admit to J that I loved him, that I couldn't live without him and that I'd always had feelings for him.

When I hadn't heard from J, I thought that was the end... until he called me three days later. As soon as I saw his name appear on the screen of my iPhone, I panicked. I put my phone on silent and flipped it onto its front so I couldn't see his name flashing. I couldn't face talking about my feelings to J. We'd never broached the subject before and it was the last conversation I wanted to have on a Monday afternoon.

But, clearly, it was high on J's agenda. Five missed calls later and he sent me a text saying he needed to talk to me. I pretended I was in a meeting and told him to call me later. An hour went by and J called again. This time I picked up.

I waited for him to rant at me, telling me how inappropriate I had been and how he'd always said he didn't want a relationship, but he didn't. He asked me if I remembered sending the message (to which I said I didn't) and that the mother of his child had read it and freaked out. I apologised and told him it wouldn't happen again... because I was deleting his number.

When he asked me if what I'd written in that text message was true, I told him that, from what I remember, it was. He responded by saying he had no idea I felt that way. And although he didn't tell me he didn't reciprocate those feelings, he didn't tell me he did either. What he did say was that he didn't want to lose contact with me. Was that J's way of telling me he felt more for me than he let on? Or had he just matured and realised that our friendship was worth salvaging?

J asked me to keep his number safe but I didn't want to. I needed to erase him from my life and I had to start by getting rid of his phone number. I told him I wouldn't be keeping it. Not on my phone and not anywhere else. J seemed a little taken aback, but said he'll call me. I had to do it, I had to bite the bullet. And so I did; I asked him not to call me and to delete my number.

Our call ended awkwardly. We always used to sign off with a "speak to you later" or a "chat soon, gorgeous". This time, there was an uncomfortable silence followed by a "take care". It was awful, so very, very awful but at the same time, I knew I had to let go.

Realistically, our relationship was never going to go anywhere if the mother of his child continued to screen my text messages, phone calls and emails. And it's not like I'll be seeing him when I fly home, as we both know too well where we'd end up.

I wish I knew how he felt and I wish I knew what he wanted from me because, right now, I don't know how I'm meant to feel. I can't push the thoughts of him out of my head. And I don't even know if I've done the right thing. All I know is that I miss him immensely and going back to London will never be the same.

Is it true that all good things come to an end? Was this a good thing, or was it something good that had gone bad? Will he think of me? Will he miss me? Is this really the end?

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right...

In the past, if I was feeling a little freaky, I knew satisfying my urge wouldn't be too far away. But with J out of the picture for the time being, I'm left constantly wondering where and when I can get my next hit. I don't know if it's because I've become older and fatter, or if it's because I'm fussier, but I just can't seem to find it as easily as I used to.

I've reached the point where I'm actually counting the number of days I've been without it. Yes, ok, fine... It's been 194 days. Tomorrow will be 195. The sad thing is I've not even been close. Well, not really. I would have had it if it wasn't for my menstrual cycle being way out of sync. Although, in hindsight, it was probably a good thing...

It was about six weeks ago when I begged my friend RRB to find a guy to hook me up with. He did so without hesitation. He pulled up two guys at the bar and introduced me. Having begged him to do so, it would have been rude for me to turn my nose up at them. Initially I wasn't attracted to either, but as I was talking to them both, one of them suddenly ignited my fire. I can't pinpoint the moment, it's strange. In fact, the same thing has happened to me a few times recently.

Anyway, it was clear we got on well and he stayed to hang around with me and my friends. We also discovered we had mutual friends, which, in my book, is always an added bonus. After a bit of bar hopping, we were drunk as skunks. No, we were far more drunk than skunks. In the end, we settled on a karaoke bar and it was in there Red Shirt and I had a bit of a snog.

Reminding me how little action I'd had over the past few months, my body started to get a little overexcited. To the point I had to leave. Right then. And he had to come with me. We went back to his place and there was a bit of hanky panky, but nothing more as the painters were in, so to speak. Frustrating? Very!

Now, not that I'm one to be adverse towards the idea of being taken on a date, but Red Shirt did bring it up very abruptly. Does that make sense? To me, there's something terribly unnerving about a guy who is proposing overly romantic dates and weekend getaways the night you meet. I thought chivalry was dead? Well guess what, it is...

I didn't see Red Shirt for a while as I was busy trotting around the globe, but when I returned to the desert, we finally got round to going on that date. Although I use the term 'date' quite loosely. We met up in a local bar and had a few drinks. Perfectly normal date behaviour, right? Well, it would have been if he managed to look at me for more than five seconds the whole evening. To reassure himself he was on a date he even had to say "Sorry I keep looking away, but I am listening". Yeah, he was watching the tennis.

Now I'm all for being into Wimbledon, but if you want to watch it that badly, don't agree to go on a date with me that night. A few minutes of your attention would have been lovely. Usually, I'm quite chatty on dates; I'm an inquisitive person and I like to find out all about the person I'm with, but on this occasion, I found myself semi-blankly staring at the screen (admittedly I too had a mild interest in the tennis game going on).

About two minutes after the tennis match finished, Red Shirt ordered the bill. We went double dutch. Then we went to his place. It felt a bit wrong - he'd practically ignored me all evening and now I was off to his place. If I wasn't so desperate, I'd have given him the old heave-ho right there and then.

When we were back at his place, I realised we didn't quite fit. However, I went along with it, even though I knew I'd be getting no nookie on this particular evening. Menstrual cycle again! But I saw it as an investment; if he didn't get it tonight, he'd definitely want it when I was able to. Except, that wasn't the case at all.

Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. That's what they say. Clearly by 'mean' they don't mean 'on'. Because the next day when I sent Red Shirt a text, inviting him to my place over the weekend, I didn't get a reply. It wouldn't have bothered me if he hadn't been so damn quick to respond to previous texts.

Anyway, that night, I went out with a girlfriend to another local bar and who do I bump into? Why, yes, Red Shirt himself. He caught my eye as he walked past and so I guess he felt guilt-tripped into saying hi to me. He needn't have bothered. He gave me a peck on the cheek and proceeded to tell me how he couldn't text back as he had no credit. Then he walked off. Yeah, walked off. No "how was your day?" or "Yes I'd love to come over" or even a "I can't make it, Uzbekistan are playing Papa New Guinea in the world cup". I mean, really, make some effort, even if you have no intention of seeing me again.

Instead of questioning why he didn't want me, I started questioning who in the bar did want me. And along came Billy. He was tall, cute and articulate. He had my attention before he even clapped eyes on me.

He stood at the bar alone, and I convinced my friend to come with me to chat to him, despite her initial protests. I think my friend could see I was quickly hooked and so she left after only one drink, leaving me in the company of Billy. We chatted for ages, until the lights in the bar came up actually.

Billy works in banking, is incredibly ambitious and has a cheeky smile to die for. We had one of those conversations that could go on forever. I definitely fancied him and now that I was ‘off’, I definitely intended to take him home.

As we were chatting a way, something in my mind clicked and I felt compelled to ask him if he was married. I dropped the question so casually into the conversation, I’m surprised Billy answered. Perhaps, subconciously, I didn’t wan’t him to answer. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. He looked at me, looked away and then took a sip of his Tiki-Pukka-Pukka. He nodded his head. There is goes again… that horrible sinking stomach feeling.

I wasn’t sure what to do; do I finish my drink and leave or continue chatting to him? I didn’t want him to think I was only speaking to him so I could lure him into bed. But I also didn’t want him to think it was acceptable for a married man to pick up women at the bar. Although, admittedly, it was me who started chatting to him. I decided I’d continue with our conversation. Hey, if this was the closest I was going to get to actually having any kind of romantic clinch, then I wasn’t going to let it slip through my fingers!

By the end of the night, Billy and I were in our own little zone, although he preferred to call it ‘the bubble’. For a while, it felt like I was Scarlett Johannsen and he was Bill Murray, sat at a bar in a foreign land, trying to resist temptation.

I’m a little hazy about how a decision was made, but we agreed we would leave together. I kind of knew it was wrong; he was married afterall, but I guess I couldn’t see beyond my own desires. Luckily for me, as we left the bar, his wife called. I don’t know if it was the call from his wife or if it was the humidity outside giving me a wake up call, but I suddenly felt a wave of guilt. I knew it’d be the wrong thing to do, and so when Billy ended the call with his wife I looked at him with raised eyebrows. He immediately knew what it meant and said “Yeah, I should probably do the right thing”.

Yes, Billy, you should…

To be or not to be?

Well, 2010 hardly got off to the best start for me in terms of my lovelife. Which is why, by the way, I haven’t blogged in so long…

It’s been an arid six months in the desert. So much so, I arranged a little trip to see my friend J to help me get through the year. As I explained in a previous blog post, it’s a guaranteed with J – no games, no messing around, just pure explicit fun. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. After almost six months of torture, I was going to ravish him. All the pent up frustration was going to blow his mind and I was going to love every second of it. I could barely contain my excitement on the journey to see him; the thought of what was to come almost made me climax there and then.

I arrived at my destination a little too early to call J, and so I spent the morning with Little Miss LC. What could be better than shopping in the sunshine with your best friend you hadn’t seen in months, followed by an intense session with your FB of seven years? Nothing, that’s what. And it’d all so be worth the journey. After much catching up with the bestie, I decided it was time to call J to arrange where and when we were going to meet. Our call was as normal as any of our calls had been over the last seven years - flirtatious yet matter-of-fact.

The conclusion of our call was that J was going to call me back with a plan. I eagerly awaited his call…

Ten minutes passed and I received a text message from J. My heart skipped a beat with excitement. But it should have skipped a beat with disappointment, anger or sheer shock. It was the text message every girl dreads when she’s seeing a guy, and it went like this:

“Rims look I can’t do this! I thought I could but I can’t bring myself too (sic)! I’m seeing someone and we are having a baby! It wasn’t planned but I can’t jepordise anything! I wanted to tell you face to face but things are rough at the moment! Don’t text back I’ll call you on your Dubai number next week! I’m sorry! X”

I can’t explain how I felt at that moment. Seven years of my life had just been crushed and I had so many questions – Who? How? Where? When? Why? That was it, I couldn’t control myself; the tears came tumbling down. There I was, sat alone, on a busy high street, bawling my eyes out. I wanted to text him back, even though he’d told me not to, but I didn’t know what to say. I reread the message – once, twice, thrice. How could he? Especially as I’d flown half way round the world to spend the weekend with him. I wanted to hit him so hard but he wasn’t there. I had no outlet for my feelings.

As soon as Little Miss LC emerged from the shop she was in, I told her the bad news. She immediately took me for consolation Cosmopolitans at a nearby bar. She listened to me moan and question why, but there was one thing she couldn’t give me… answers. I needed to know. I needed to know how it happened, how he felt, why he hadn’t told me earlier. I know I probably shouldn’t have wanted to find out all these answers, but I did. Desperately.

I tried calling J but he didn’t pick up. He then called me straight back. I asked him if he was joking and he told me he wasn’t but he couldn’t talk. The call ended. I was totally deflated. How could he let me come all this way to see him and not tell me? Did all these years really mean nothing to him? How could he be this heartless? I sent him another message saying if we weren’t going to talk now, we were never going to talk. He responded by promising he’d call me next week and asking me not to use his number. I’d been using that number for the last seven years!!! I was fuming and so I decided the best way for me to calm down was to drown my sorrows.

Several Cosmos later, I left Little Miss LC to meet another friend in another bar across town. As I was early, I thought I’d get a couple in before hand. I chased vodka and lemonades with jagerbombs. How I wasn’t blind drunk by the time my friend arrived, I have no idea. As the day drew to a close, I was glad to get some rest and think about the situation rationally. I decided I’d give J the opportunity to explain himself and I’d wait until the end of the week to see if he’d call me as he promised. After all, I didn’t want it to end this way… if at all.

Back in Dubai, I wished the week away waiting for J’s call. Perhaps I was being naïve, but I really believed he’d call me. Surely he knew I’d be upset, and surely the last seven years meant something to him too. Clearly it didn’t. As the week went on, I realised he probably wasn’t going to call to explain. It really dawned on me when I was on a night out with friends and, out of nowhere, the waterworks began and my sobbing uncontrollable. It was then I realised I liked him far more than I'd ever let on.

The girls attempted to console me in the bathroom of the karaoke bar, but it was no use. No matter how many times they told me how gorgeous and amazing I was, J still didn’t care and he clearly didn’t share the same opinion of me as my girlfriends did. I was absolutely devastated.

Thursday night came and J still hadn’t called. I decided if he didn’t care then I shouldn’t either, and so I sent him a message telling him not to contact me ever again. Ten minutes later, he called. He told me he was in a difficult place right now but that he cared for me and always looked forward to seeing me. I told him that, after so long, it was inevitable that I had developed feelings for him, and he said he felt the same way. But, it was a case of too little too late. He’s to become a dad in two months time, and of course his son will be his focus, and I’ll be pushed even further down the list.

When the call ended, I felt a sense of relief. I was pleased that some things that had been left unsaid for so long were now out in the open. And I was pleased that it hadn’t ended with my harsh text message. J and I decided we’d remain friends and just see how things went. I don’t think it will ever be the same between us; it’ll all just fizzle out. Either that or we’ll end up together. Either way, a child is a huge commitment and it’s forever changed the dynamic of our relationship.

I know so many people will be reading this, telling me to kick him to the kerb, but you know what? I just can’t do it. I wish I could, but my fondness for J is far greater than I’ll ever admit. Even to myself. And if Carrie and Mr. Big can work through their issues and live happily ever after, then maybe there’s hope for me and J…

I better shape up, 'cause I need a man!!

On the whole, I love being single. I don't have to account for anyone else when I do anything - my decisions are my decisions. I'm free to come and go as I please, nobody will whinge when I have hairy legs and I don't have to keep putting down the toilet seat. I'm a strong and independent woman with no need to rely on a man for financial or emotional support. So why would I want to be in a relationship?

Today, I discovered why it might be nice to have a man in my life. I'd just been to the mall to stock up on some essential items before my best friend comes to visit me here in Dubai. As I struggled with bags of heavy shopping, I wished the slow moving people in front of me would just move out of the fucking way, and that the parents with kids who kept running in my path would keep control of their little brats. I mean, if you can carry all those designer shopping bags, you can hold your child's hand. Because you can bet your bottom dollar if I whacked the little tykes on the head with any of my bags, the parents would be the first ones to cast me a dirty look. However, this wasn't even the point I wished I had a man.

Red faced, arms aching and sweating from my trip to the mall, I made it home. I put away my shopping but left out the tortilla chips and salsa. I thought they'd be the perfect antidote to my stressful mall trip. I gripped the lid of the salsa jar and twisted it. It didn't open. No worries, it'll loosen, right? It didn't. I tried again, this time using the bottom of my bath mat for a better grip. The bugger still didn't shift. Attempt number three included dipping the lid in boiling water, in the hope it would expand. It didn't. In a last attempt, I put a hole in the top of the jar, but it still wouldn't budge.

Now I was tired, sweating, frustrated and had sore wrists. I cursed being single. Yes, for those moments proceeding my fight with a salsa jar, I wanted a boyfriend. Someone who could flex their muscles and open the lid, so I could gorge on my tortilla chips whilst they felt manly for helping the poor damsel in distress. You see, I wouldn't be the only one who benefits from that arrangement. As it goes, my salsa jar is still sitting on my kitchen work top, unopened and unloved. Just like its owner.

Like I said, I'm happy being single but there are times when it'd be nice to have a man in my life. Of course when you've had no physical love for a while, it's always nice to have a guy satisfy those needs rather than your battery operated friend. No matter what anyone says, the two are just not the same. In fact, they're poles apart - one is a physical satisfaction, the other is an emotional satisfaction with the physical satisfaction being a byproduct.

Then there are times when you've made a mistake and need someone else's opinion on what to do. Perhaps it's not something your friends or family can help with. Or something you don't want to share with them. You know what they say, a problem shared is a problem halved. But they also say what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. However, the salsa jar dilemma proves that the latter isn't strictly true. Unless they're referring to my ability to cope with starvation.

Perhaps this is the way men feel when they can't iron out a stubborn crease in their shirt, or are bored of eating beans on toast every night. Maybe women are designed to know nothing about cars and men are designed to know nothing about cleaning products. Maybe it's that way for a reason; to need and desire a partner.

It's funny because I can have a child without a partner. Hell, I can have a child without even having sex, thanks to science and technology. But when I need to open a jar of salsa, I need a man...

The Seven Year Itch

As it’s been a while since I last blogged, I thought I’d make this entry about someone who has played a significant role in my life over the last seven years. Why haven’t I blogged about this person before? I’m not sure to be honest. I guess it’s the fact that I’ve become so used to our “relationship” that I no longer needed to work it out.

So, who is this person? Well he’s a friend I see every time I visit the UK. He’s tall, cute and we have the most amazing, tantalizing sex. After an on/off relationship for seven years, we know what we like, we know what we’re good at and we know how to please each other. It's been a rollercoaster relationship but we’ve (somehow) managed to remain great friends with exceptional benefits.

We first met in 2003; I’d just returned to the UK after working in Majorca for the summer during my university holidays and he’d just returned to the UK after working in Malia for six months. Initially, we met with the pretence to date, which we did. Twice.

We quickly slipped from dating to being friends with benefits. When we first met, I lived in North London and J lived in West London. I remember hearing him pulling up into my driveway (not a pun) in his TVR and the butterflies I’d get in my stomach… I wanted him and I wanted him so badly. I also remember taking the tube from the house I shared with my uni friends to his place, wearing nothing but a trench coat and high heels!

Our relationship never developed into anything beyond casual lovers. There’s only one reason for this; J will never have a girlfriend. Not because he can’t find one, but because he doesn’t want one. In the time we’ve been friends, I’ve never known him to have a girlfriend. We’ve both talked about other physical encounters we’ve had, but he’s never mentioned a relationship.

At first I thought he was a commitment phobe, and sometimes I do still think that, but then I look back over our relationship and realise we’ve been committed to each other… for seven years! Ok, it’s not commitment in the traditional sense but we’ve always been a constant for one another.

After university, I ended up moving round the corner from J, probably about 150 yards away. I’d creep to his place in the dead of the night in just my underwear and he’d greet me at the front door with a big smile on his face which would lead to a passionate kiss. But, even though we lived so close, our “relationship” suffered. Occasionally we’d fight like husband and wife, although I couldn’t tell you what those arguments were about.

The confrontations were quite verbally vicious at times and we were less intimate than we ever had been but, when we weren’t arguing, we were spending more time together as just friends. We’d be at the same parties occasionally and introduce one another to our friends. Once, I even convinced him to look after my pet rabbit when I was on holiday in Egypt.

A year later, I moved away. Three and a half thousand miles away. Funnily enough, both our friendship and our physical relationship have never been stronger. Both of us are aware the distance puts a barrier over us ever developing deeper emotional feelings for one another, so there’s less of a threat of us ruining what we do have. Or at least I thought so.

It may be that we’re only physically together a handful of times in the year, but we still manage to keep the spark alive when we’re not. Although I never call J when I’m in Dubai, he will occasionally call me. We also video call over Skype, share a lot of intimate text messages, picture messages and emails. Intimately, nobody knows me better. Not even my ex-boyfriend of two years.

J knows me inside out. Sexual fantasies, family issues, past/present relationships… there’s not much we haven’t shared. So, what happens when I’m seeing someone?

Well, J usually questions me about the guy I’m seeing. In the past, particularly recently, he’s acted in quite a jealous manner. But, at the end of the day, he knows I can’t resist him. And although I try to refrain from sending him messages when I'm with someone else, I have succumbed in the past. And if I’m in the UK… well, that’s just dangerous.

It’s not that I’m holding off falling in love because I’d rather sleep with J, not at all. I just haven’t met someone worth giving him up for yet. But sometimes I wonder if I’m I in a danger zone here? Am I lulling myself into a false sense of security? Fooling myself that I don’t have feelings for J? Is it really that I’ve not met anyone special or is that nobody else compares?

Recently, I’ve told a few friends about my relationship with J. Every one of their responses has been “Why don’t you marry him?” or “Don’t you end up marrying guys like that?”. One friend asked me if I loved him. I couldn’t answer. Not because I was ashamed but because, quite simply, I didn’t know. Yes, I care immensely for J but we’ve never spent more than 12 hours together, so how can I possibly know if I’m in love with him?

I do know, however, that I’d find it incredibly difficult to end our seven year affair. In fact, when I tried to end it when I was last back in the UK (for reasons I won’t go into right now), he tried to change my mind. Of course he succeeded. But if it had ended, would we be “just friends” or would it be only a matter of time before we were casual lovers again? Or would we cut each other off completely?

Sometimes I wonder if my friends are right. I mean how many people have maintained a successful fuck buddy relationship for seven years? Out of curiosity, I googled it and found most people’s FB relationships fizzled out within a year. Or one of them ended up falling for the other. Either way, most of them ended up with no further contact with their FB, which is something that would devastate me if it happened to J and I.

Really though, how long will this affair last. Will we still be doing this in five years time? 10 years? 30 years? What if neither of us meets someone we want to settle down with? Will we be grey and wrinkly and still ‘at it’? Will we cave in and just marry each other? Or will we both have forgotten each other by then?

It’s hard for me to imagine my life without J in many ways; I’m so used to him being there. It’s difficult to explain because on the one hand we are just fuck buddies. But then surely you know that breaking away from someone, after sleeping with them for seven years, is not going to be easy for either party. Even if you are both emotionally detached.

All of this makes me wonder if there is more to it than either of us are letting on. On a recent trip back to the UK, I literally snapped my fingers and J came running. And everytime I meet up with him, I feel so nervous and excited. Neither of which are normal behaviours for two people who are supposedly emotionally detached from one another.

Could it be that we both hold a special torch for each other but neither of us have (or want to) recognise it? I’m not opposed to being in a relationship with J, but the circumstances have just never fallen into place. A lot has changed over the last seven years, we’re both far more mature than we were when we first met and I think there’s a lot more mutual respect, but I’m not sure if it’d constitute a healthy relationship.

My dilemma is, I don’t want to be the one to test the waters. We’re honest with each other in so many respects, but we’ve been so adamant that we’re nothing more than friends with benefits in the past, that it’s become too difficult to bring it up with one another. At least that’s how I feel.

I daren’t talk about it with J in case he runs a mile, especially as it could be a waste of a perfectly good fuck buddy and friendship because I’m not even sure of my true feelings towards him.

Question is; should I risk it?

Since you've been gone

As I sit here typing, there are tears cascading down my cheeks. I've shed many tears over this particular subject over the last two months. In fact, at one point, I wondered if I'd ever stop crying. I know she's only a phone call away, but I can't begin to describe how much I miss Little Miss LC.

Yes, there will be phone calls, emails and biannual visits, but there won't be gossiping over cosmos, honest verdicts on new shoes/dresses or that sympathetic hug when things go wrong with a guy.

We're all well aware that relationships with members of the opposite sex need to be balanced between physical and emotional, but we forget we need that balance with our girlfriends too. I mean who else would have sat with me for over two hours, as I soaked my injured toe in lukewarm water, in an attempt to peel off a bandage? And who else would have gone out to the pharmacy at midnight to buy sterilised gauze for me? I can't think of anyone else.

It's been a month since Little Miss LC left Dubai's shores, and I still feel the same way today as I did the day she left - sad. As I watched her, the munchkin and Kins pile into the taxi and drive away from their home, I couldn't control myself and the only person left to console me was their maid. Was this a picture of what my life in Dubai would become without my best friend? Comforted by a stranger who probably didn't even know my name.

Images crept into my mind of being sat alone at a seedy bar, drinking a cosmopolitan, with a fat and lonely regular punter draping his arm around my shoulders, telling me tales of how much worse his loved and lost stories were. I shuddered at the thought.

I cried the entire taxi ride home, I cried all night and I cried all day at work. To me, this was the greatest loss I had experienced since my grandmother died when I was eight years old. I'm not sure if I consider myself lucky or unlucky to have not had any great losses in my life. On one hand, all of my loved ones are alive and kicking, on the other hand, it makes even my best friend moving 3000 miles away seem like a monumental loss. I do wonder how I'd cope if I did lose a loved one. My guess is not very well.

Anyway, thankfully, my life hasn't been that tragic. I'm still the girl-about-town that I always have been, but just without someone to enjoy it with. It's strange when I have newsworthy gossip and nobody to immediately share it with. Now I have to take time zones and lifestyle changes into consideration. I miss the instant mutual encouragement - instead, I'm often left agonising over situations on my own for hours before Little Miss LC can call me and put my mind at ease. I'm sure my blood pressure has risen over the last few weeks.

Well, at least there are only 47 days until I'm reunited with Little Miss LC, and I can't wait to be physically close to her again. Laughing together over Skype is just not as funny as laughing together in person, and I can't wait to see her little smiley face rather than an emoticon of one.

Baby, I love you! xx