When The Messer Becomes The Messee

After eight weeks apart, Mr.S.P. finally returned to the sand pit. Although, by now, I’d lost almost all interest in him. I no longer fantasized about our lazy mornings in bed, instead, I was back to being busy with my own life - Ramadan was finally over and my social calendar was filling up quickly. But that didn’t stop me from seeing him.

I’d only been back in Dubai for a few hours, after a jaunt to India, before Mr. S.P. asked me out for coffee. I agreed. That evening, he picked me up from work and we went for dinner at a restaurant in a mall nearby.

Mr. S.P. was stressed. He’d had a hard first day at work and seemed to turn to me for support and advice. I was feeling forgiving, so I let him bang on about his job for a very boring 90 minutes, until he ordered the bill. As soon as the bill came, he asked if we could split it.

Ordinarily, I’d have no problem with this at all, however I felt a bit used – we’d barely spoken for six weeks and now, when he finally asked to see me, he bent my ear about his job and then wanted to split a 150 Dirham bill. Not only that, but he didn’t even offer me a lift to the metro station. I’d have declined anyway, but I felt he should have at least offered. His audacity, quite frankly, astounded me.

I smiled gracefully, gave Mr. S.P. a peck on the cheek and walked to the metro station in the blazing heat. With every drop of sweat that rolled down my forehead, I was sure I had no interest in Mr. S.P. anymore. But, I wasn’t going to just fade away into the background. I was going to play him at his own game…

Since our meeting that day, I’ve been texting Mr. S.P., asking him when we would be catching up again. I’ve asked him the question seven times over the past two weeks. No, not because I’m desperate – I actually have no interest in meeting him again – but because I want to see how long it takes him to say no. So far, Mr.S.P. has made out that he would like to catch up but that he’s busy with work / looking after his son / watching the rugby / seeing friends / sleeping, all of which are really pathetic excuses.

I hope he’s squirming, hoping I’ll soon stop sending him messages when I realise he doesn’t want to date me. But I’ve already realised that he doesn’t want to date me, but I’m not going to stop. Well, not until he finally admits he’s not interested. That’s if he even has the balls to do so. I suspect he doesn’t. I love knowing that he thinks I’m still into him when, in reality, I think he’s actually pretty gutless and a bit of a user.

At least, after one more text message from me asking to catch up, Mr.T.B. did let me down honestly and gently. I have far more respect for him now, and if I do bump into him, I’d be happy to have a chat, rather than give him an evil glare and bitch about him to my friends. After all, word gets around quickly in this city.

Some of my friends think Mr. S.P. is still married. I haven’t ruled this theory out altogether, as there are circumstances that make this feasible. After all, it was a summer fling and Mr. S.P. never arranged an evening out with any of his friends. In hindsight, it is a little suspect, but married men in Dubai are so good at covering up their tracks, I’d never really know. Most of them convince themselves they are single, which makes it even more difficult to spot tell-tale signs.

This totally puts me off having a serious relationship in Dubai, because the guy is probably either already married, or will cheat on me. I’m not sure I’d be happy in putting my heart and soul into something that can so easily fall through. I think I’m in a better position as I am; young, free, single and able to escape the clutches of any lying, cheating scumbag.

To blog or not to blog?

With Dubai seemingly the size of a Kyrgyzstani village, it’s rare I meet a guy who hasn’t read my blog. Or at least heard tales of its salaciousness. Some friends warned me that this would happen, and that I’m best to refrain from blogging because a guy won’t date a girl with an explicit blog. This is true, however the men who usually have an issue with me blogging are the ones who have something to hide. They’re usually either married or have several women on the go at once. Or both! So, actually, my blog has served as a wanker deterrent. Although, admittedly, it’s not always 100% reliable.

There have been occasions where I have been intimate with men who do not want me to blog about them. My response is a loud snort. Imagine! A sex and dating blogger being asked not to write about her sex and dating shenanigans. Shall we ask Bob Geldof not sing about starving children in Africa too? At the end of the day, if you don’t want me to blog about what happens between us, then I suggest you don’t date/sleep with me. Yes, it really is that simple.

Except it’s not that simple, because you’re a dog and you can’t resist nuzzling your face into my ample cleavage. You’re dying to feel my tongue roam all over your body and you're desperate to be into me... if you catch my drift. Well then, clearly your genitals are far more powerful than your common sense, if you have any at all. Not that I mind; I get what I want and I have excellent blogging material. Just don’t beg me to remove a post because your girlfriend might find out what happened that night. If you’re not smart enough to dodge a blog post by a girl who told you she’d write about you then, quite frankly, you don’t deserve a girlfriend. And when she finds out and leaves you, please don’t call me expecting to fill the gaping sexual hole (no pun intended) she’s left in your life.

Now, there are exceptions to the rule and, on the extremely rare occasion that I have not blogged about our little rendezvous, you can count yourself damn lucky. This either means a) I actually think you’re alright, b) we have too many friends in common that it could get messy, c) I want to fuck you again or d) I feel sorry for you. That’s not to say I won’t ever blog about it – if you get on the wrong side of me, I will probably end up posting it.

Some people might think that’s pretty harsh, but my advice is that if you don’t want people knowing about something you’ve done; DON’T DO IT! If you know you're doing something wrong, then you should pay the conequences...