Take Two

I’d come to the agreement with Mr. S.P. that I’d organise our second date. I wanted to give him a taste of who I was. No, pick your mind out of the gutter, I didn’t mean it literally. That would come later…

The first part of my second date with Mr. S.P was dinner. He picked me up from work in a taxi, and as I slid in next to him, I felt my tummy do a little flip. Was this the first sign of chemistry between us? I kept looking at him the entire journey, and I came to the conclusion that I did fancy him, but in more of a I-want-you-to-fancy-me kind of way, rather than the intense urge to rip his clothes off.

At dinner, conversation flowed and, yet again, I was intrigued by Mr. S.P. Tucked away in a quiet corner, we sipped wine, shared food and exchanged accidental, but electrifying, touches. Despite living very different lives – me; the eternally single, twenty-something, party girl with a flair for words and him; the forty-something, divorced, doting father with a passion for science – we seemed to have so much in common. Perhaps our commonalities come from our Mediterranean/British genes or the similarity of our upbringing, despite the age gap. Whatever it was, somehow, it had me hooked.

As a modern day woman, I paid for dinner. I wanted to. For a man to pay is expected but when a woman pays, I think it shows a lot more. I am financially independent, I’ve worked hard to be able to afford these luxuries, I have a generous nature, I do not take men for granted and I do not want you to think I will jump into bed with you because you buy me dinner. I like to start as I mean to go on and, in my mind, paying for a date shows that I’m an equal. There’s plenty of room for chivalry, but at no point do I want to feel that if I need to flee this relationship, will I feel bad for doing so because of all the expensive dates you’ve taken me on, without me doing anything in return.

After dinner, we strolled over to the mall. Mr. S.P kept frantically trying to guess what we would be doing next, but I decided to keep him guessing. It added a bit of mysteriousness to our dates and kept them fresh. It was only when he saw the ice rink that Mr. S.P realised what we would be doing. Now, I’m no pro on ice, but I’m no rookie either, so I figured I wouldn’t embarrass myself too much. Mr.S.P didn’t lag too far behind me when it came to ice-skating skills, although it took him far longer to get used to it than I did. We chased each other around the rink, gave each other rides and I even tried to teach him how to skate backwards. It was great fun, and after the bottle of wine at dinner, we both had enough dutch-courage to give it our best shot without being too drunk to stand up on skates.

We’d been skating for just over an hour and both of us had worked up a sweat, so we decided we deserved a well earned drink. Back in our regular shoes, we jumped in a cab and headed off for the third and final part of our date. Luckily, when I told the cab driver where to take us, Mr. S.P still had no idea where we would be going. I led him upstairs in Emirates Towers and into a small, smoky room with TV screens. Yes, I took him to karaoke!

Anyone who knows me will tell you I love karaoke. It’s entertaining for everyone; the amazing singers who show off their talent, the drunk group having a laugh and the non-participants who can’t help but sing along anyway. Mr. S.P. was pleased with the discovery of a new bar and he laughed at my confidence and creativity. I sang. Twice. And I think my self-assurance was attractive to Mr. S.P.

At the end of the evening, as we walked towards the taxi rank, Mr. S.P. slipped his arm around my waist. That was the most physical contact we’d had and, in a way, it was incredibly intimate without it being intimate at all. I reciprocated by putting my arm around him and tilting my head onto his shoulder. I felt so close to Mr. S.P. but the chemistry was still missing and it was then I questioned if I could continue dating Mr.S.P. There would definitely be one more date, as we had already agreed that it was his turn to arrange something, but beyond that, I was starting to think it might be a lost cause.

At the taxi rank, we wished each other goodnight. I desperately wanted to find out if there was any chemistry between Mr. S.P and I and so I tried to give him a peck on the lips, in the hope it would leave me wanting more, but he turned his head slightly so I ended up kissing him on the cheek. It was disappointing.

In the taxi, on my way home, Mr. S.P. sent me a flurry of text messages telling me how much of a good time he had. This was then followed by a phone call when I made it home. Now, I don’t know much about men, but I know a guy is keen when he follows up after a date like that. I’m not going to lie, it was nice and I was flattered, but I felt bad that I didn’t feel the same way. I wanted to feel like ripping his clothes off, I wanted to feel as though I couldn’t keep my hands off him and I wanted to feel that I wasn’t seeing him enough but, the truth is, I didn’t feel any of those things. All I could do was hope that our third date would finally set sparks flying…

Mysterious Man - Part One

One warm, sunny day in March, some of the world's top DJs descended upon a beach in Dubai. It was set to be a fabulous night at an amazing location, and so many groups of friends gathered at the beach to drink heavily, dance like they'd never danced before and have a whale of a time.

My group of friends were one of those to hit the sand, and the night truly lived up to its expectations. Arriving when the sun was still shining, I was in a great mood. The atmosphere was chilled out but you could feel it heating up, ready for a party. Some people were sat on towels and sunloungers along the shoreline, others were queueing up at the bar for a drink and some were already on the sandy dancefloor grooving away to eclectic beats.

Miss G.G and I rocked up to the bar, to buy a bottle of vodka, before settling down on towels along the shore. As the sunset, more and more people filled the beach. More of our friends joined us and our vodka was diminishing at an unimaginable rate. By the time all of our friends had arrived, I was already quite tipsy.

Another friend of mine, Miss S.S, took me on regular scouts of the entire venue, looking for hot men. I remember falling flat on my face three times. On one of those occasions, I had a beer in my hand and managed to spill it all over my own head. The night was reckless and feckless. It was unashamedly debaucherous, but everyone was having a good time.

Towards the end of the night, I remember chatting to a cute stranger, Mr.M.M. I don't recall much of our conversation, but I do remember discovering he was married. Shortly after finding out he had a wife, I walked off, but he pursued me and persuaded me to continue talking to him. We left the area where my friends were keeping a beady eye on me, and headed off for a stroll along the beach before heading to the bar for a drink.

Mr.M.M and I must have been chatting for quite some time because when we returned to where my friends were, it was as if they'd never been stood there at all. All that was left was my handbag perched on the table and an empty bottle of vodka slung on the sand. Mr.M.M and I decided to sprawl ourselves out on a sunlounger and chat some more. It would have been incredibly romantic if we weren't both completely annihilated.

As the gentle waves washed over our feet and the moon lit our faces, we had a little kiss. That kiss quickly turned into a passionate embrace, so we decided it was time to leave and both jumped into a cab together. As much as I wanted to rip his clothes off, I didn't intend to take him home, but it ended up happening anyway.

Back at my place, we continued drinking. We sat on my balcony, smoking and sharing stories about our felines. Mr.M.M loved my kitten and, as I've said before, love me, love my pussy. After a lengthy conversation, covering all sorts of topics, we moved to the bedroom, where we really got to know each other.

It was amazing. So much so, I'd go as far as to say it's the best I've had in a long while. He was strong, energetic and loving all at the same time. We weren't shy when it came to telling each other how much we were enjoying ourselves. It was intense, and we both knew we both felt how good it was.

When Mr.M.M left the next morning, it didn't surprise me that he didn't take my number, and there was absolutely no way I was going to ask him for his. It was what it was - a beautiful encounter that I would look back on fondly in the future... Until I realised I didn't even know his name. Or how I'd struck up conversation with him. I didn't even know what he did for work. All I could remember was that he used to have a cat named Captain Cocoa.

Over the next week, I wracked my brain trying to figure out who he was. I Facebooked what I thought was his first name, in the hope we'd have friends in common and his picture would pop up. It didn't. I quizzed all of my friends who were out that night, begging them for a lead as to who this beautiful stranger was, but they had no idea either.

Miss S.S thought it was possible she had his business card but, when she looked, she couldn't find it. My friends also had conflicting ideas of what Mr.M.M's name was. There was no hope, and so I resigned myself to the fact that I'd never find out who he was and, instead, I'd just have to cherish what I could remember...

Do it like a lady

Not so long ago, I didn’t know what it was like to fuck like a man. By that, I mean I didn’t know how to be intimate without emotions getting in the way. The boys with whom I’d had encounters with in the past were always guys I wanted to be in a relationship with. Never had I been with a man just for instant gratification - it was always in (failed) hope that it would be a small step towards romantic bliss.

I’m one of those girls who always wants to prolong the post coital cuddle. I just love the way it’s almost like a jigsaw puzzle – two bodies connecting and fitting together so snugly; surely that had to be a good thing, right? He couldn’t possibly overlook how good we are together, could he?

As it happens, yes he can. In fact, quite often, these guys were so good at overlooking it that they made me believe they hadn’t overlooked it at all! Some of the lies spun out of it were incredible, but I shan’t go into that on this occasion.

Point is, more often than not, men simply don’t care. Over the past few years I’ve struggled to understand how it’s possible to be intimate with someone without wanting to date them. The whole caveman theory just didn’t cut it for me; society has evolved, surely genetic make-up from over two thousand years ago can’t determine how emotionally attached a guy is to me. And if that is the case then why are there millions of men out there blissfully married? It’s blatantly a theory made up by a man in a white coat to excuse himself, and any other feeble male, from making a commitment. Or so I thought…

Finally, I was enlightened over the weekend – I experienced romantic liasions where there were absolutely no emotions involved. Perhaps it was the alcohol induced, fuzzy head. Perhaps it was sheer desperation to move on from my stagnant crush on Mr. A.P. Or maybe, just maybe, reality had hit me and I wanted to find out what really goes through a man’s mind (if anything).

Aside from the initial few moments, panicking about becoming emotionally attached, it was an incredibly liberating feeling... I didn’t need this man, I didn’t even really desire him, but I was in control. I called the shots.

Saying that, I now know how it feels for a guy when all he wants is for you to leave his apartment but you’re insisting on another round. All I wanted to do was have a shower, a cup of coffee and get round to Little Miss LC’s for a debriefing session whilst having a sunbathe. Trouble is, I don’t really have the heart to tell a guy to be on his way, so I was kind of lumbered with him hanging around until my hints became less and less subtle and he eventually left.

Admittedly, I felt a little ashamed that I’d used him… until he sent me a text giving me a score out of ten!! Don’t get me wrong, it was a fairly decent score, but did he honestly think I’d give a crap? It doesn’t matter what score you give me – be it a zero or a ten – if you do that kind of thing, then I will always think you’re a jumped up prick. Afterall, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, so your little scoring system really means shit, my friend.

The next day, somewhat unexpectedly, he messages me asking for more. I had to chuckle, I could see myself in him. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I’d have definitely sent a similar text and then proceed to check my phone every five seconds for a response, which would often never materialise and then emotional torture would ensue.

Luckily, I don’t think he was emotionally attached and therefore it didn’t matter whether I responded or not. However, I thought it’d be best to tell him it wouldn’t be happening again. Whilst it may have felt good to be in control, there’s nothing like the feeling of intimacy with someone you have feelings for - every kiss and stroke is intensified and it just makes the whole experience more meaningful and more pleasurable.

Even if it ends in tears, much of the time, the goosebumps, butterflies and oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-this-is-finally-happening thoughts are worth so much more.

So, ladies, if you’re thinking of doing it like a man, my advice would be not to bother, as I don’t think we’re built to reap the benefits the way that guys do. And boys, if you’re thinking of doing it like a girl, well, you really should because right now, you’re missing out…