He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

After the genital warts episode, I didn’t get to see Mr. S.P. and he has since jetted off to a Mediterranean island for eight weeks over the summer. That means he’d be away for the same amount of time as we had been dating. So, now what happens? Is our affair over? Do we date other people or are we holding out for a romantic reunion in two months time? I didn’t know what the etiquette was in this situation, so I left the decision down to Mr. S.P., which wasn’t my wisest of moves. Never leave a relationship decision to a man, you will always be fucked over.

With our relationship still a little tense after our argument about the zit on his penis, and Mr. S.P. not paying me the attention he had done when we first started dating, in my mind, I was ready to call it quits. I didn’t fancy the idea of waiting around all summer to get laid. And I was fed up with Mr. S.P.’s constant accusations and moaning, so I decided now was the time to call him and end it.

Dialing his number, I was nervous. I didn’t know what to say, as I didn’t want to hurt him and I didn’t want to leave things on a bad note. When he answered, my stomach sank. Luckily for me, Mr. S.P. is incredibly chatty, and he talks about everything and nothing for a long time. I let him take the lead on the conversation, until I was ready to say what I had to say.

“Umm, yeah, I need to talk to you about something… This isn’t really working. I mean, it’s just not great timing, is it?”

There, I’d said it. The worst part was out of the way. Now all that was left was the second worst part - his response.

“But we get on great, don’t we? And we have a really good time together.” Said Mr. S.P.
“Well, yeah, we do, but I just feel like… I’m putting pressure on you. And I don’t want to put pressure on you.” I replied.
“Oh no, you don’t pressure me at all. But I can see where you’re coming from. Look, I think you’re a fabulous girl – you’re smart, kind and really fun. Let’s keep in touch over summer and see what happens when I get back, ok?”

I wasn’t sure that was what I wanted, but I figured he could be a good back up plan, so I agreed to keep in touch and meet up with him upon his return. Ok, it hadn’t been quite the dramatic break-up I was expecting, but at least we knew where we stood. Until I realised I had no idea where I stood at all. Does “keep in touch” mean we’re dating other people? Does that mean I’m just his back-up option and that he’s not that bothered about me at all?

The next day I decided to chat to Mr. S.P. on instant messenger and ask him outright where we stood. I told him I wasn’t ready to drop our relationship just yet, that I liked him and I wanted to continue seeing him when he came back. I asked if he felt the same and told him I needed to know because, if he doesn’t, I won’t dwell on it all summer. I’d just done a complete 180. From wanting to dump him so that I could see J over summer, to desperately holding onto his leg, practically begging him to love me.

What was wrong with me? Was I acting this way because I couldn’t have him? Is it because I wanted him to really want me? Whatever was going on in my strange mind, I just needed an answer. Unfortunately, Mr. S.P. stuck to his last word and said we should keep in touch and see what happens in September. There was no ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m really going to miss you’ during our IM conversation, leaving me pretty clueless about his feelings.

I decided I’d date other guys in Mr. S.P.’s absence. I’d show him I was over our affair, firmly back on the dating scene and desirable to other men. When we next spoke on IM, he asked me if I’d been on any dates. The truth is, I hadn’t, as I just hadn’t found anyone worth dating, but I so desperately wanted Mr. S.P. to think I was slipping away, that I told him I was. He quizzed me about the man I was supposedly dating – how old he is? How many dates had we been on? Had we kissed yet? I made up answers for each and every question, none of which provoked a reaction from Mr. S.P..

I lost it and told him to stop asking questions about my date. When he asked why, I told him I felt uncomfortable about it. After all, we hadn’t officially broken up. But Mr. S.P., as usual, blamed me.

“Well, you’re the one dating, not me.” He sniped.
“I’m only dating because I thought you weren’t interested anymore!”
“Relax, enjoy and we’ll speak when I return.”
“How can I possibly relax and enjoy myself when all I can think about is you? Either I wait for a reason or I don’t wait at all.” I snapped.
“Oh, well that’s pressure. So date this other guy.”
“Thank you. Good. That’s all I needed to know.”
“Sorry, I don’t do pressure.”
“That’s ok, I don’t do stringing along.”

I was appalled that Mr. S.P. thought I was putting pressure on him and that he continued to treat me as if I were disposable. Even though I wasn’t dating anyone else, at this point, I really wished I was. I was sick of being made to feel like I needed an explanation, and I was pissed off that he could so easily disregard my feelings that way.

We agreed we’d discuss it when he came back to Dubai, so I made it my mission to find other guys to date in the meantime, and if I happened to meet someone I wanted to be serious with, I would drop Mr. S.P. like a bomb waiting to go off. After all, he was the one who told me to date other people, although I still don't understand why. Perhaps he's testing me to see how far I'll stray and how comitted I am to him? Perhaps he's just not that into me and doesn't want to continue dating me? Or maybe he does like me but genuinely feels bad making me wait eight weeks for him? Whatever the reason, I'm not waiting around to find out and if I'm still single when he returns, then he's a very lucky man.

Warts and all

Mr. S.P. and I had been dating for two months and, although we hadn’t had the exclusivity chat, I was fairly certain we were both serious about one another and that I’d soon be changing my Facebook relationship status to ‘In a relationship’, despite Mr.S.P. and I not even being Facebook friends yet.

It had been more than two years since I last had a boyfriend, and it felt quite strange transitioning from referring to Mr.S.P. as ‘this guy I’m seeing’ to ‘my boyfriend’. Nevertheless, I was smitten with Mr.S.P. and I was ready to swap my alcohol-fuelled nights out with the girls for long love-making sessions with him.

As a new couple, we had been very careful when it came to contraception. Mr. S.P. was so worried about any accidents that if his member so much as brushed my thigh, he’d start panicking. One day, during a particularly vigorous session with me on top, I pulled off Mr. S.P. to switch positions, when he noticed the condom had split. Rather than taking it off and putting a new one on, he stared at it in disbelief and immediately stopped our passionate embrace.

To Mr. S.P., this was a nightmare come true. He ranted obsessively about how he'd definitely impregnated me, that I'd have to take the morning after pill and how we'd have to abstain until we changed our method of contraception. I had to explain that it was highly unlikely I was pregnant, as he hadn't climaxed and I was at the least fertile time in my cycle. I also told him I wouldn't be taking the morning after pill as it isn't available in the UAE and that we didn't have much choice but to use condoms as I'm allergic to the hormones in the contraceptive pill. Mr. S.P. vowed celibacy if that was the case, stating that he'd rather be sexless than have any accidents.

This led us to our first argument of our relationship - I felt he was being irrational, and he felt I was being careless. With both of us being far too stubborn to agree upon a solution, I rolled over to one side of the bed and he the other. I soon realised I had effectively let him win.

Mr. S.P. rolled out of bed, pulled on his shorts and T-shirt and told me he was going to the shop to pick up some ingredients to make breakfast. As soon as I heard him shut the door behind him, I took the opportunity to make sure he didn't ignore my point of view...

I pulled out the little sexy nurses outfit that was in my overnight bag and slipped it on. I fixed my hair and make-up, put on red fishnet stockings and finished the outfit with my red high heels. I knew it wouldn't be long before Mr. S.P. would be back from the convenience store, so I sat provocatively on a ledge at the top of his stairs. Two minutes later, I heard his key in the door.

Mr. S.P. called out and I asked him to come upstairs as I needed his opinion on something. I heard him making his way up the stairs, so I pushed my chest out and pulled my stomach in. The second he clocked me, I could see his eyes light up an I'd knew I'd won. I stood up and gave him a twirl, he hot-footed it up the last flight of stairs, said "wow" and grabbed me by the waist. He pulled me in and kissed me, before making me twirl for him again. He led me to the bedroom, pushed me onto the bed and began kissing my neck. I'd definitely won. He pulled out the condoms, slipped one on and slid inside me before I could even muster the words "fuck me".

Still in my outfit and heels, the sex was incredibly passionate. I could see how excited Mr. S.P. was and it didn't take much longer for him to come. Although I didn't have an orgasm, I was just pleased to have had my way. Men are so predictable, that it took little thought or effort to make him change his mind. We joked about it afterwards but that wasn't the end of it...

A few days later, Mr. S.P. came over to my place for the night. Strangely, we didn't have sex that evening but, at the time, I put it down to tiredness and being in a real relationship, where your libido drops and sex dwindles. After all, he is seventeen years older than me. I went to sleep thinking I'd get my fix in the morning.

As soon as I woke up, I started giving Mr. S.P. little kisses, hoping that his morning glory would turn into something more pleasurable for both of us. But he had other ideas and turned away, mumbling something about needing a lie in. I wasn't happy. Was this pay back for my art of seduction that I had meticulously planned the other day? Was he really that worried about it? Or did he just feel he could now stop pretending to act like a guy seventeen years his junior to keep up with me?

I sat up in bed and began reading my book, but after half an hour of page turning whilst running out of time before I had to head to work, I decided enough was enough and headed into the shower. As soon as I emerged, Mr. S.P. told me we need to talk and that I wouldn't like it. I immediately thought he was going to dump me, and so I embraced myself for the inevitable.

"I think you've given me genital warts" were the words that poured out of Mr. S.P.'s mouth. He then continued to tell me how he could have only got it from me, as he'd not slept with anyone else. I stood in front of him; wet, naked and open-mouthed. The first thing that popped into my head was that I hadn't noticed that I ever had genital warts. Then I realised, I didn't have genital warts. I'd only been to the doctor to be tested for STDs two weeks earlier and I was given the all clear.

When I told Mr. S.P. about my trip to the gynaecologist, he quizzed me about what, exactly, I was tested for. When I told him I had several tests but I wasn't sure what each one was for, he flipped.

"Oh that's just so typical of you, isn't it? You go to the doctor to get tested and you don't think to ask what you're getting tested for!"

It was at this point I wanted to slap him, but I turned away and counted to ten before giving him a piece of my mind. Mr. S.P. continued to the lay the blame on me and then he told me to look at him whilst he was talking to me. Was I eight years old being told off by my dad? It certainly felt like it, but I guess this is what I get for dating a single-dad who is almost two decades my senior.

Mr. S.P. then demanded I inspect the 'genital wart', pulling away the duvet and grabbing his member. I rolled my eyes, asking myself what the hell I was doing and why I, a girl who had never had genital warts, was inspecting my new boyfriend's penis for a suspect zit. I agreed to take a look, but there was nothing except a small red dot on the shaft. It certainly wasn't a wart and it didn't look like a sore. Yep, I'd been accused of giving Mr. S.P. genital warts when all he had was a bloody zit on his cock. If this is what a relationship is, I don't want it.

Being the hypochondriac that he is, Mr. S.P. moaned and moaned about this tiny spot as though it were terminal cancer. There was nothing I could say or do to reassure him, so I let him bang on about it, whilst I remained silent. I'm sure this was his way of punishing me because the condom broke. It was him trying to point out how careless I am, how mature he is and how we must abstain. Obviously, we didn't have sex that morning (the accusation of me giving him genital warts totally ruined the moment) and I wouldn't be seeing him for another eight weeks, as he was heading to Europe for his summer holiday, so it was going to be a long, dry summer in the desert for me!

Funnily enough, a couple of weeks later, Mr. S.P. told me the 'genital wart' had miraculously disappeared without treatment. I didn't receive an apology though, but it's definitely something I'll be bringing up when I next see him. I refuse to be a scapegoat for every health issue he has. I might be careless, but I still have my health and my youth on my side...

When a date is a date is a date

It’s pretty obvious when you’re on a date, right? A guy asks you out for dinner, you have your hair and nails done, squeeze into that LBD that you know always makes you look a complete knock-out, don your favourite Laboutins and head to the most chic restaurant in town. Or so you’d think…

According to a male friend of mine, a date is not always a 'date’ and most guys really don’t like labelling a date a 'date’. Make sense? Apparently, men dislike the connotations associated with the word ‘date’. In other words, they think a 'date’ pressurises them into having a full blown relationship. So, if a guy just asks you to hang out one-on-one, effectively, you’re on a date. And guys think girls are complicated!

With that in mind, I thought back to how many dates I’d been on without even realising. Turns out it’s been a fair few. The reason I didn’t recognise they were dates is because they were either with a friend (but not too good a friend that it was definitely platonic) or a business acquaintance.

So, does that mean my sweaty roller blading session with Mr. A.P was a date? And my drinking binges with S were too? Do they know they were dates? And if Mr. A.P and I continue with our one-on-one blading sessions, does that mean we're dating? Well, we're going on dates, aren't we?

Still unclear on the definition of 'a date', I questioned a few friends of mine last night. What I'd hoped would give me a clear answer, turned into an insightful debate. Does a date have to be one-on-one? What if your coupled-up friends ask you out for dinner with them and their single guy friend? Is that a date? It may be a double date, but it's a date. And then what about when a single girl and her single male friend go shopping together? Surely that's not a date if you're just friends, that would be a frienaissance, which, as I learnt yesterday, is is where two friends agree to meet for a social activity on a purely platonic level.

What about a rendez-vous? To me, a rendez-vous is a little bit secretive and a little bit naughty, perhaps even downright filthy, and I wouldn't put it in the same bracket as a date. However, its literal translation from French does mean 'date' or 'appointment', suggesting it's not an illicit meeting.

Going back to 'date', according to my friend, BG, a date is sweet and is expected to grow into something. She was obviously referring to the fruit, but she had a point nonetheless... However, it was my housemate, BBD, who probably had the best definition for 'a date'. He described it as a pre-arranged meeting between two people where there is romantic intent from at least one party. I think that's as close to hitting the nail on the head as possible. Would you disagree?

BBD also mentioned that if you want to be 100% certain that you are on a date with the man in question, sleep with him. If he won't sleep with you, it wasn't a date. Unless it was a blind-date and you turned out to be a dog.

So children, now that we have (sort of) established the term 'date', we can now move on to 'dating'. Surely a string of dates with a person means that you are dating? But what if these get-togethers happen sporadically? Do the dates need to occur in quick succession, say no more than a week apart, in order to consitute 'dating'? What if you're in a LDR and only go on dates once a month? What if you go on dates with a friend once every month but you see each other in your circle of friends twice a week?

What about, what BG calls, 'the fillers'? In other words, the contact inbetween the time you went on your last date and when you go on your next date? It could be phone calls, emails, texts, seeing each other in a group of friends, facebook comments etc. Are they significant? Would a lack of fillers signify there is less romantic interest? Ultimately, without fillers, there will be no next date, so they must have some significance...

And after how many 'dates' do you consider yourself to be 'dating'? My guess would be that dating is the interim period between the first date, where you decide you have an attraction to someone or not, and entering into a relationship, which is where you have decided you want to commit to this person. The boys questioned seem to think that 'dating' only occurs after the third date. Why is that, as according to a study at the Edinburgh Science Festival a few years ago, most people decide whether or not we're partner material within the first 30 seconds of meeting?

Would you go on a second date with someone you weren't interested in dating? Nine times out of ten, the answer is no. So, a second date means you want to find out even more about that person to decide whether or not you wish to embark upon a relationship with them. Therefore, you are dating, right?

In addition to all that, BBD seemed to think that if there is no sexual contact (kissing included) after two or three dates, then you're no longer dating and have, instead, entered into a frienaissance. But what if you have had sexual contact but you weren't, technically, on a date at the time? I mean, if there's sexual contact at any time, you would consider that as romantic interest, wouldn't you?

It's a lot to think about and maybe there is no definition. Perhaps 'date' and 'dating' are subjective terms and the only certainty is that they're both minefields. However, let us not forget that they are the learning playground of life...

Where is the love?

Before I start wittering on about my Dubai dating disasters, I want to explain why I'm single. I wasn't lied to, cheated on, dumped for a slimmer and sultrier woman or anything else. Quite the opposite. My ex, who we'll call, well X, for argument's sake, is a very honest and caring guy. The type that's always there and dependable. Tall and good-looking. Argh, I can hear a lot of girls screaming 'So why did you end it?'. Well, certain events unfolded that made me realise, as lovely as X is, it just wasn't working. Yes, honesty and loyalty are highly commendable traits, but it's not enough. Is it?

As a typical Aries, I crave excitement and passion, the type that gives you butterflies in your stomach and makes you want to rip your partner's clothes off whenever you see them. Where you're on the phone all night talking about everything or nothing at all. The type that makes you want to try out new things together, like travel to Timbuktu or learn how to tango.

I know after almost two years in a relationship that can fade, but truth be told, it was never really there at the beginning either. We'd lost the buzz before we even started dating. There was no thunderbolt and I wasn't swept off my feet. I merely settled because I wanted a taster. Having never been in a long-term relationship, I was desperate. Desperate to know what it was like to share your dreams with someone, desperate to come home to someone you thought about all day, everyday and desperate not to be labelled 'single' for the rest of my life. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself X was the right guy for me, deep down, I still felt like I was single. Sure I loved (and still love) X, but I'm not, and never have been, in love with him.

Whilst I attempted to battle my deeper emotions, listening to my mother's advice that I'd only break my own heart and he was a good guy, I continued my relationship with X, holding onto the hope that maybe one day, the spark would come. It did briefly arise once or twice, but never long enough for me to reap all of its benefits.

It only became glaringly obvious to me that I should call things off when I started going out with my friends and not inviting him in fear I'd have to spend the evening talking to him. But I should want to do that, right? Well that's just it, I didn't. I'd rather spend the evening gossiping with the girls. The nights out without him became more frequent and I was spending an increasing amount of time with an old guy friend who we'll call S.

Spending time with a friend I've not seen in a while is perfectly acceptable and no threat to my relationship with X. That is, until it becomes physical. It didn't involve sex, but it easily could have done if it wasn't for my conscience niggling away at me. And the fact my legs weren't exactly silky smooth (I was waiting to get a wax, ok)! 

Thing is, my physical encounter with S felt good. So good. It was exciting and I was revelling in the feeling of that moment's freedom. Not only that, but I wanted more. More of S or more excitement, I'm not sure. Probably both. For the first time in a long time, I was being utterly selfish, even if it was only for a few moments until the old conscience kicked in. The exhilarating feeling I was experiencing was quickly followed by the realisation I couldn't continue feeling the way I was feeling unless I did something about my current relationship.

Not wanting to become a liar or a cheat by embarking upon some sort of sordid affair, after a chat with the girls, I knew what I had to do. End it with X.

The next night, I stayed in and X went out. When he came home, I wasn't my usual chatty self. He knew something was up and asked me what was wrong. Being unable to get the words out I repeatedly said 'nothing'. Eventually, X coaxed the problem out of me. I didn't mention S, I thought it'd be better all round if I didn't include him in the equation, after all he was irrelevant in this scenario. He's not irrelevant to me, but in terms of ending my relationship with X, S was just a catalyst in helping me realise what was fundamentally wrong with my relationship.

Breaking it to X that I didn't think it was working was hard, and he pleaded with me to try to work things out but in my eyes, it wasn't possible. We'd had the same conversation previously in our relationship and I was always left clinging on to the hope something exciting would happen. It didn't. We're just two very different people - he enjoys going to the gym and working out, I like eating a take-out and watching a DVD. He hates getting drunk, whereas I can think of no better way to spend my Friday night. He hates the sun, whilst I'm a sun-worshipper who is forever wanting to top up my tan. It was just destined not to work from the start and in the end, I think X finally accepted that.

In the days post break-up, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, albeit not all of it as I still felt a tad guilty. That weight that had been there so long, I'd forgotten it existed. It's not that I was burdened by X, but I did feel somewhat emancipated after the break-up. And for the first time in many, many years, I was happy to be single. My impending vacation was the perfect ticket to a break-up without being wracked with guilt and when I returned back to Dubai, X will have moved out and I'd be free... free to come and go as I pleased without an explanation, free to eat take-outs unashamedly and free to finally call my wardrobe my own again.

Whilst back in the UK, I met up with J, with whom I meet up with everytime I'm home. He's been my err "gratification" partner for the last five or six years. We've maintained a great relationship, with the exception of a few months when I lived a few hundred yards away from him. It was one of those where I fell for him, it wasn't reciprocated, yet I still tried my hardest to win over his affections to the point I became a bit of a stalker and actually saw less of him than I had pre obsessive-crush. It took me some time, and a couple of pretty nasty arguments with him, to realise J was never going to fall for my charms. In fact, I think it took me a move 3500 miles away to realise! But, now I get it and I'm totally cool with it. In fact, I kinda like the way it is now. 

J to me is like Big to Carrie Bradshaw before she ends up marrying him. She loves him, she doesn't love him, it's physical, it's emotional. In fact, their relationship is never defined until she ends up marrying him - not the ending I see myself and J embarking upon! 

Anyway, back to the point, whilst paying J a visit on my annual trip home, I told him about my single status and he made a comment along the lines of "You see, Reems, you actually want to be single". And, scary thing is, I think he might be right. Despite my bunny-boiler attempts a few years ago to convince him to take me as his girlfriend, even J could see I was more suited to single life. Perhaps he did me a favour?

But then I wonder how quickly the novelty of being single wears off? The novelty of being in a relationship wore off pretty quickly. Is the answer a string of relationships? One guy friend at uni used to be in relationships with girls but always end it before the six-month mark. Is that how to play the game in order to maximise the enjoyment of a relationship - the initial excitement, finding out all about someone new and then dumping them before the novelty wears off? Or does that become like drug abuse where you're constantly on a relationship high, always searching for your next partner? Or does 'The One' rehabilitate you back into the real world of love? Does 'The One" make you feel like you're still on a high and so you simply stop playing games? 

Luckily for me, I still have all of this to figure out and you get to find out how I figure it out. Ain't dating a treat!