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...

London Lover

He’s been my on/off lover for almost eight years and, whilst we’ve never been boyfriend and girlfriend as such, I find my feelings for J are stronger than they have been for any man I’ve been involved with. I can’t bear to not have him in my life, not matter how difficult he makes it for me.

Having not heard from J for almost five months, I’d almost resigned myself to the fact that he and I are best off apart. I don’t want to wait around for him and he has his own life and family now. But on a recent trip back home, I couldn’t help myself and ended up trying to contact him one last time.

I’d lost my original UK number that J had saved, so I had to text him from my new one, which he didn’t have. I knew the curiosity of not knowing who the message was from would be too much for him and that he’d reply… he did. Within five minutes. I’d been calling and texting him for five months without a response and now he can reply in five minutes!

Our texts went back and forth until I finally told him it was me. Cue the barrage of texts explaining why he couldn’t reply to me in the past and how hard it had been for him to not reply. He then goes on to tell me sex with me is the best he’s ever had and always will be. If you knew J, you’d have been touched by that too.

An hour later, J called me. He told me how he’d missed me and how much he wanted to see me, even if it would only be for an hour. I caved in and agreed to meet him the next day….

In the past, I’d have always made my way to his house in Shepherd’s Bush but that’s no longer possible, so we arranged to meet at a train station in London. I didn’t like the fact I’d have to meet him somewhere else. I missed walking past my old flat, down his street and through his gate. I missed the anticipation of him opening the door and seeing that gorgeous smile. I missed him grabbing me as soon as I walked in and giving me a passionate kiss. It just wasn’t the same.

I still had butterflies before meeting J. I always do. He’s one of only two men that have ever made me feel that way. He picked me up from the station and the second I got into the car with him, I melted. I’d been angry with him the entire past five months and now I was putty in his hands. He looked gorgeous and all I could think of was planting my lips on his, but I wasn’t going to make that move this time.

We drove away from the station to a quiet park. It was a beautiful, sunny bank holiday Monday in London. It was so peaceful, and fluffy white clouds sailed through the perfect blue sky in the gentle breeze. We got out of the car and went for a walk, but we’d barely taken twenty steps before J grabbed me and gave me a kiss.

Nothing had changed. The chemistry between us was, undeniably, still there. Next thing I knew, we were traipsing through the woods to find a secluded spot. Pinned up against a tree, completely out of sight from passersby, we kissed more passionately. I knew what was going to happen. I’d been unsure earlier, but had prepared anyway, but now it was inevitable.

J’s hand made its way up my leg, over my thigh to my derriere. He was pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t wearing any underwear and it made our rendezvous smoother, given the location. J unzipped the front of my dress and put his mouth to my breasts. Nobody could do to me what J was doing. After more than seven years of sleeping together, he knew my body like the back of his hand. He knew how to make me melt and he used it.

All of my feelings for J resurfaced, and I couldn’t get enough of him. I knew it was dangerous territory but I couldn’t control myself. His kisses made me so weak. We had sex against the tree, and I held onto J so tightly. I never wanted to let him go. It was an amazing encounter and one I will never forget.

Afterwards, we went for a few drinks at a pub. For the first time in a long time, we spent time together where we weren’t fucking like animals. We talked, and for the first time since he told me he was having a baby, I saw things clearly. We both laid our cards on the table. We were a couple in love with far too many barriers to overcome to make it work.

J had matured greatly since having his son. He’d become the guy I’d move back to the UK for. The guy I could finally be honest with. It’d taken us over seven years to get there, but we’d made it. It’s just a shame there are too many obstacles in the way to make it happen. But that doesn’t stop me loving him. Or hoping that one day it might work out, despite knowing, in my hearts of hearts, that it never will.

We parted on a good note and J promised to keep in touch with me more regularly. Not because I asked him to, but because he wanted to. I wanted to cry when he left the pub. I’d missed him so much and the few hours we had spent together were so amazing. But, I was happy that we’d kissed and made up. Literally.

Since I’ve been back in Dubai, J has kept his word and been in contact with me. And for the first time ever, he was the one to arrange a Skype date. But now I’m wondering what I want from this relationship. Are we friends with occasional benefits or are we something more? Is this the ‘happy ever after’ fairytale every girl dreams of or is it going to be a complete mess?

I’ve been considering moving back to the UK for J, but my life in Dubai is pretty good, I’d hate to uproot myself and then two weeks later find out it’s not going to work. It’s taken so long for us to get this far, I’m not sure I can wait another 7 years to find out if it’s going to work for us. I guess all I can do is wait and see. I’m not putting my life on hold for J, but if there’s progress, I’ll definitely go with the flow…

Gone with the Bullfrog

If you want to know how to fuck something up before it begins, make sure you come to me, as I'm a pro. I’m like an emotional bulldozer, knocking down any feelings that are still standing. Yep, I bulldozed my way through anything that might have been with Mr.W.S and I feel like shit.

The other day, I had a little chat on the phone with Mr.W.S, and I finally plucked up the courage to ask him what he was doing that evening. He told me he was going for dinner with friends so, when I mentioned I’d be in our favourite bar, he said he might see me in there around midnight. Of course I was looking forward to it, I love being around him and I enjoy my nights out so much more when he’s there.

That evening, at the bar, my friends and I were knocking back the free bullfrogs. It was the perfect pastime whilst waiting to see Mr.W.S. In fact I was having such a blast that when I looked at my phone, it was already half past midnight. I did a quick scout around the bar to see if he had already arrived, but when I didn’t see him, I thought I’d give him a call to tell him to hurry up.

Back in the bar, my friend had slipped off home but I decided to hang out and wait for Mr.W.S to turn up... He didn’t. I think it was then it dawned on me that he just wasn’t interested. And so I burst into tears. There I was, in the middle of the bar, alone and bawling my eyes out. The only comfort I had was being offered tissues from drunk strangers.

Mascara running down my face, I text Mr.W.S. Having read the messages back, they didn’t really make much sense, nor did they really portray how I felt. At all. I remember being so drunk, I was struggling to send text messages, so I called him instead. I really don’t remember what I said, I just remember crying uncontrollably and wanting to see him. I also recall thinking he must think I’m crazy. I’m not.

The only other part of the conversation I have a vague recollection of is him telling me to get in a taxi and then my phone battery dying. I sobbed all the way home. I felt so needy that I decided the only way to stop that would be to distance myself from Mr W.S. So, when I got home, I hit the delete button next to his name on Facebook. I didn’t want to but, in my drunken stupor, I thought it’d be for the best – for me and for him.

The next morning, not only did I wake up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, I also looked a complete wreck and felt incredibly embarrassed. As soon as I opened my eyes, I turned on my Mac and typed his name into Facebook. I cringed when his wall didn’t appear. I wanted to kick myself. Great, now not only does he think I’m a complete lunatic, he probably also thinks I hate him. Fabulous. Just the scenario you want to be faced with on a Monday morning.

I stewed over it all day and wondered whether I should call or text him, but I couldn't imagine he’d want to hear from me. I’d been a massive twat and I was pretty certain there was no way of redeeming myself.

Luckily for me, Mr W.S called me that evening. And whilst I was completely mortified, I was so relieved that he didn't think I was a total idiot. Even if I do think so.

But, as always with me, I never receive good news without some bad news... Yep, he finally told me he's just not that into me. So, yes, some of you can now say "I told you so" and feel all smug that I've, once again, been flung onto the rejected pile. However, I'm cool with it. The way I see it is that I don't want to be with someone who isn't into me any more than I'd want to be with Frank Gallagher. So, as Rhett Butler once said, "frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn".

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.

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?

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?

Stick, twist or bust?

Let it be known that, when it comes to dating, I am a complete masochist. I continually torment myself by trying to work out if a guy I’m into is into me, and if he is will anything ever happen between us. I’m a total glutton for punishment.

To be frank, I think underneath all the agonising, I secretly enjoy the drama of it all. I love waiting and watching it all unfold. Every touch, every kiss… it’s like I’ve been blindfolded and my senses have been heightened. Everything that happens is magnified a hundred times because I’m just so eager to know. To know if he likes me the way I like him. To know if he desires me the way I desire him…

The other night, all those feelings reached fever pitch and I was running on a high. After not having seen Mr A.P for two weeks, I so desperately needed a fix. So when I received an invite round to his new place, I knew I had to take it.

To be honest, I was surprised to receive the invitation in the first place. Only a day or two earlier Little Miss LC had mentioned that Mr. A.P had never made the effort to make any plans with me, and that it was a bit pathetic should he actually like me. She was right, and I almost resigned myself to the fact that it just wasn’t happening. But lo and behold, as if he’d heard our conversation, up pops the invitation to his new pad.

After my previous blog about what constitutes a date, I wondered if this was one. I needed to check and so posed the question to a few of my male friends, most of whom confirmed that it was, indeed, a date. You can imagine my delight. I’d been waiting for this for almost four months and the moment had finally arrived!

Over the few days leading up to the date, some of my friends tried to bring me down to Earth by telling me it wasn’t a date, and that there may be other people there. For a moment, I considered not going. But in my heart of hearts, I knew it was a date. After so many texts between myself and Mr. A.P over the past couple of months, I knew well enough that, if it wasn’t a one-on-one, he’d have made reference to inviting other people.

Sure enough, when I arrived at Mr. A.P’s place, it was just me and him. As we sat by the pool, listening to music, drinking wine and having one of our conversations where time stands still, I wondered how the evening would go. Would we both be too chicken-shit to make a move? Would he spurn my advances? Or would we end up in a state of romantic ecstasy?

As the evening progressed, our inhibitions dwindled (thank you alcohol)! I laid my cards on the table. I told Mr. A.P I liked him. I didn’t need to say anymore, he knew exactly what I meant. I braced myself for the inevitable let down but it never came. Instead, he took me by surprise and told me he liked me too.

That was it. Now I knew. I didn’t need to analyse anything anymore, I’d heard it from the horse’s mouth and that was all I needed. I didn’t need to ask anyone for their opinion and I didn’t need to work out what happened that night. It was black and white. There were still hurdles but, esentially, there’s a mutual attraction.

We moved from the patio table to the pool, and I think we both knew what would happen at that point. The playful splashing led to dunking, the dunking led to kissing, the kissing led to… well, I'll leave that to your imagination. It was perfect. Eveything I hoped it would be and more.

Ahh, the kissing. So soft yet still so passionate. They're all consuming and take me far away, out of this world. Picture this; in the pool, my legs are around his waist, his hands on my back and neck, I cup his face and run my fingers through his hair whilst the water lapped around us. It felt like I was in a movie scene but better – it was real.

When we woke up the next morning, we snuggled skin-on-skin. On a regular day, I stress about making it to the office on time but, that day, I couldn’t have cared less. I was so content I could have easily stayed there, in his arms, all day. I can’t put how I felt into words, no words would do it justice.

As the day went on, my state of bliss subsided. I think my friends were so used to giving me their opinions, that I didn’t even need to ask them this time round. Thing is, on this occasion, I didn’t want to hear any opinions. I don’t care if I’m going to get hurt. I don’t care if he’s only after what he can get. I just don’t care about any of that. Let me momentarily bask in this state of bliss. Let me reap all the feel-good factors before you bring me down. Let me fantasise about what could be, lose myself in the reverie, drift ethereally…

Back to reality and I do have to question Mr A.P’s motives. He may well like me, but if he doesn’t know what he wants i.e. me, then I’m not sure I can wait to find out. At the moment, he’s in a win-win situation as I’ve not been the primary reason for our meetings. Aside, perhaps, from the last one. I, on the other hand, am pining after him. Every time I see him or someone mentions his name I get butterflies in my stomach.

So, do I suck it up and wait? Do I make an effort to see him again one-on-one? Do I knock it on the head? Or do I bang my head against a brick wall?

Answers are appreciated but please be gentle.

More than just friends?

Over the past few weeks, when chatting to friends about my man-confusion, a couple of them have said I may be in the "friend zone". I always thought the term was reserved for members of the opposite sex whose company you enjoyed, but whose face was not one you'd want to wake up next to after a heavy night out on the tiles. I like to refer to them as the unfuckables.

It hadn't occurred to me that I could slowly make my way into the "friend zone" with a guy I'd been romantically linked to. Surely, if you're physically attracted to someone, that never really dies? At least not unless they did something awful, like bought S Club 7 CDs or wore white socks with Jesus sandals. So, that brings me to the question, where mutual attraction is involved, does the "friend zone" ever exist?

Some people believe if you don't act on your mutual attraction in a fairly swift manner, you're cast aside into the "friend zone". Whilst I agree that an infatuation can lose its spark, I'm not sure that the attraction completely disappears. Even when dating somebody else, the attraction between you and your friend may still remain, and who's to say nothing will materialise? So, do you ever put someone you're attracted to in the "friend zone"?

If there's been sexual contact in the past, whether first base or fourth base, but the relationship didn't fully develop for whatever reason, do you put your friend in the "friend zone"? Some guys tell me if there's been sexual contact in the past, then they can never put a girl in the "friend zone". As a girl, I'd say the same. No guy I've been intimate with in the past has been put in the "friend zone" because; he's either a douchebag (and no longer my friend) or I wouldn't say no to shacking up with them again in the future.

What about if there are barriers? Perhaps you work with them or they're your best friend's ex. I guess it depends if you're a fan of risky business...

I think if a guy tells you he's worried your friendship will change or that he values you too much as a friend to become involved with you, as much as I hate to say it, he's just not that into you. However, if I said so much to one of my male friends, it would mean one of two things; I'm not attracted to you at all or I am attracted to you but I'm too scared you don't feel the same way and I want you to tell me otherwise. It's a barrier against rejection.

In my eyes, when there's mutual attraction, the "friend zone" doesn't exist, for men or for women. The "friend zone" is really only a question to be considered if you're at the stage where you know you get on well, but nothing has yet progressed. But there really is no need to worry, if the feeling is mutual, something will happen... eventually.

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...

Not so action woman

I haven't blogged for the last couple of weeks, mainly due to the lack of action I've been having, but also partially to my new-found love of all things active. I know! Who'd have thought? Me, doing physical activity! There's always a method behind the madness though, and what else would it be other than a man? Ok, that's not the only reason! I've also been getting active because a) It's ramadan and I haven't needed to take time out to nurse a hangover, b) I am getting sooo out of shape that it's become necessary for me to exercise and c) I need to meet new people and put myself back out there!

Well, I can tick off all three. Although B is perhaps debatable. So whilst it does kind of come down to a guy, I'm hoping it's something I'll continue regardless. 

I bet some of you are wondering what these "activities" are exactly... No, it's not rampant sex. Unfortunately. But oddly, it feels almost as good. I'm talking endorphins, you twisted people!!

For months I'd been begging M to take me wakeboarding, but so little faith she had in my awakening skills after a night on the cosmos, that she never encouraged me. But alas, some of my friends have a little more faith and I'm incredibly grateful to E for showing me the light and taking me boarding.

Yes, waking up at 6am at the weekend to make the hours drive to the Marine Club in Um Al Quwain is torture and not my idea of fun (anyone who knows me will know I'm really not a morning person). But, the benefits are not to be ignored - beautiful sunrise, a clear Sheikh Zayed Road, silky smooth water, energy to take you through the day and still having the afternoon free to do other weekend activities. It's just a shame the drive isn't more aesthetically pleasing. The 311 highway really does offer very little in terms of visual stimulation, apart from the odd glimpse of a camel, which is now a rare sight in Dubai.

When you arrive at the Marine Club, there's a certain energy and community feel about the place. Most people there are wakeboarders and skiers and seem to bond over their mutual love for the sports. There's no booze at the club (sigh), but they do make fabulous milkshakes, so I can overlook that flaw for now. Everyone hangs out at the pool or in the restaurant watching wakeboarding DVDs and chatting away. But it's only when the boat pulls in, ready to take them out onto the water, when the real buzz kicks in.

We all pile into the boat and it tends to be the most experienced boarder who goes first. They make it look so easy, but I now know the reality! Everyone glides over the crystal waters, slaloming, jumping, switching, it's all very cool to watch... until it gets to me! I'm pulled over, under and backwards, never really managing to get up and filling my lungs with the saltiest sea water you can imagine. Hardly the picture of glamour I try to portray of myself! 

Coughing, spluttering and hacking up all the water from my sinuses, I continue to give it another go. Granted it's only my second time wakeboarding but it's still highly frustrating. Having said that, the encouragement from other boarders is truly amazing and they're all the same with each other. The constructive points they all give each other (and me) really makes you want to stick at it and keep trying and trying and trying. And so I did.

I've managed to get up on the wakeboard now, which I consider a massive acheivement, and am very proud of myself. However, you really need patience and determination. Giving up isn't an option. Normally I'd have thrown the gauntlet down by the second attempt but, as the other wakeboarders were so encouraging, I've stuck at it. Usually, if there's the slightest whiff of competition and I'd bolt for the door, but it doesn't seem to be so much competitive as it is self-improvement.

The other benefit of wakeboarding is the eye candy. I'm not one to go for pretty boys, of whom there seem to be a few of at the club, but it makes a change from having to look at Dubai's usual set of absolute mingers you find in the bars. Plus, the pretty boys actually speak to you as you're there for the same reason as they are.

So I'm definitely sticking to the sport. Not buying a board yet, but once I can stay up for a decent amount of time, it is something I'll definitely consider investing in.

Aside from the wakeboarding, I've returned to swimming regularly. You really do take having a free outdoor pool on your front door step for granted. Having barely used it (except for tanning purposes) over the last 3 1/2 years, it's come as a surprise how wonderfully convenient it is. I wake up before work, swim a few lengths and feel surprisingly awake and ready for the day, rather than hitting my snooze button over and over again before waking at 8.50am and realising I have to be in the office in 10 minutes! Plus everyone knows swimming is one of the best sports to tone up. Who needs a gym and running on a treadmill when you can swim a few lengths in Dubai's glorious sunshine?!

Anyway, last but not least, the other sport I'm getting back into is rollerblading. Before I moved to Dubai, blading was one of the only sports I participated in. I'd been blading since I was about 13, up and down the road I grew up on, round the block and, of course, to roller-discos. When I lived in London, I continued to be a regular roller-disco goer - speed skating in circles to house music, to dressing up in 70's gear and skating backwards to disco grooves. I loved it! However my beloved blades were just to big and heavy to accommodate on my stingy baggage allowance when I moved to Dubai (yeah, thanks BA) and so blading became a thing of the past... until now.

Earlier this year, I bought myself a brand new pair of Nike Bauers. It was love at first sight and I couldn't wait to put them to good use. A couple of the girls in the office agreed that they'd come blading with me (I'm not keen on doing sports on my own) and I was too excited about the prospect! However, getting the girls to actually come blading was a different story altogether. Working hours and weather being the most common excuses used. So my poor blades sat in the boot of my car for a few months, untouched.

A couple of weeks ago, I got to talking about blading with some of my friends, and Mr A.P mentioned he had a pair and wouldn't mind giving it a bash after having not bladed for a few months. This was music to my ears and in my head I built up all kinds or romantic images of us roller-blading into the sunset together...

That couldn't have been further from the truth! One evening last week, Mr A.P and I met up for a quick sesh. Blading sesh that is! I couldn't wait to show off my spin-stops, jumps and backwards skating, and so off we went to Jumeirah Beach to use the skating track. I jumped out of the car and donned my blades immediately. It felt weird to be back on wheels after so long, but I was too excited to be weary.

We crossed the sand in our blades to the track. Mr A.P hopped on and started blading and then I stepped on to the track. The track was so smooth that, within one stroke, I felt myself going... downwards. Yep, I fell on my arse. I blame the fact the blades were so new and didn't have stoppers (although that wasn't a problem with my old pair). It was mortifyingly embarrassing. Not only had I bragged about how I used to skate, I fell (and rather heftily I might add) right in front of the guy I was trying to impress. My credibility left me at that moment, like a person's soul when they've just died.

Not wanting to show how much of a wuss I am, I quickly picked myself up and pretended I was fine. I did have a bit of a wobble to begin with, but I didn't fall over after that. I was still far from cool though, and after 15 minutes, I was so exhausted, I was struggling to blade. It really takes its toll on the old calves, you know. It actually came to the point where Mr. A.P had to push me along the track! Although, to be fair, it was almost 6pm and, as I was fasting, I hadn't had a drop to eat or drink all day, so my energy levels were pretty low.

He put his arms around my waist and shifted me along the track. I wanted to spin round and kiss him, but I thought better of it considering I'd already fallen over without trying to do anything! It was still nice to have some alone time with Mr. A.P, even if I was too chicken shit to make a move. And despite the amount of pain I felt, and still feel, in my coccyx, I'm looking forward to our next blading session, where I'm hoping there will be a little more movement...

The X Factor

It was silly of me to have thought things would be plain sailing after ending my relationship with X. There are ALWAYS reprocussions from a break-up – either I realise I’ve mad a mistake, he finds a new girl within a week and parades he around like a Gucci man-bag, he goes psycho and spreads viscious rumours / generally make my life miserable or he just won’t let go.

Thankfully it’s nothing too dramatic, he’s just suffering the after effects of a break-up and refusing to let go… Problem is, I don’t know how to handle it. I certainly don’t want to lead him on and break his heart but at the same time I don’t want to not see him as friends.

At the weekend, I agreed to meet him as I don’t want it to be one of those break-ups where we can’t bear to be in the same room as each other. He told me he had a surprise for me and would pick me up just before 4pm.

As if like clockwork, he arrived and off we went down Sheikh Zayed Road heading towards Abu Dhabi. I didn’t have a clue where we were going, despite me begging him to tell me.

It soon became evident he was taking me shooting. I momentarily panicked thinking he might flip into a rage because I’d ended it and shooting me dead. I couldn’t get Nancy Sinatra’s Bang Bang out of my head… Bang bang, he shot me down, Bang bang, I hit the ground, Bang bang, that awful sound, Bang bang, my baby shot me down… Arghhh!!

Turns out he didn’t flip into a rage and we actually had a really good time shooting. And I was pretty good at it, my bullets tearing through the bull’s eye on several occasions. After shooting we went to Magic Planet to play Air Hockey, which I always win against X. Perhaps he thought by doing activities I was better at than him would win me over?

After Air Hockey and an iced coffee, it got to the stage where we were saying “what do you want to do?” and then not coming up with any ideas. That, for me, is a date killer. If you can’t just have fun in each others’ company without the need to do something exciting, then it’s not really going to work. I love trying new and adventurous things but it can’t be the basis of a relationship… Eventually, I’ll run out of money!

So, I asked X to take me home and he obliged. Literally. As in, he didn’t just drop me off, but came into the flat. I flopped on the couch and drifted off for a little snooze whilst he sat next to me not doing a lot. Then he said he was going to clear out the last of his stuff and go home. I agreed and said I had a lot to do, like make my lunch for the week and wash my bedsheets. To which he then piped up “I’ll do it for you”.

Now, that’s sweet and I appreciate the sentiment but the thing is; I want a man, not a maid! I know he’s just trying to win back my affections, the big sister saw him out on Friday night and he quizzed her about what he should do because he was really missing me.

So now the question is, how do I stop leading him on without hurting him? Or do I have to cause him pain for him to move on? I couldn’t bear to hurt him, the very thought of it saddens me, but I don’t want to give him false hope because in the long run that will hurt him more. Or he’ll hate me and I don’t want to lose him as a friend. I care too deeply about him.

The thing is, what if he sees me out with another guy? Surely I should tell him before he finds out for himself? Or maybe I should just not see him as much? That way it might be a gradual realisation that it’s not going to happen… Or maybe I’m a bitch for not being a bitch and letting him know? So many dilemmas. I’ll let you know what happens…

Countdown to seeing S… 3 days!!!

Home Alone

I'm not sure what it is; whether it's the realisation it's the end of an era or the fact it's dawned on me that I'm back on the single-shelf, but watching X leave the apartment today was hard. I had no idea it'd be this sad.

So I've moaned about his stuff taking up my wardrobe space and how he's in the shower for more than 20 minutes when I need to get ready for work, but when he left this evening, I shed a tear. A few actually. Perhaps I just needed to get it out of my system, after all this was my first serious relationship and I'd never ended it with a guy before - I was always the one that was dumped before it even began.

As I crawled into bed this evening, I noticed a present he'd left on my pillow. It was a DVD boxset of one of my favourite British dramas (no, I'm not telling you what it is for the sheer embarrassment of it). In the bag were also some of my favourite chocolates. I know most girls won't think it's a big deal, but for me, it was, as X was never really one to buy me flowers or chocolates. In fact, romance wasn't really very high on his agenda, which I guess makes this gift that extra special. Although it could be that I'm just a little emotional.

It's weird, we've not slept in the same bed for well over a month as we've both been away, but it saddens me knowing we're both here but he's not here. It's not that we were an overtly affectionate couple but I'm surprised at how, well, empty my bed feels. I've been fine the last two weeks whilst he's been away, so why now am I upset? Is it something that takes time? How long is it before I've adjusted back to single life? Or does feeling this way mean I don't really want this?

And I thought it was confusing being dumped. All those questions you ask yourself like 'why doesn't he like me? Am I ugly? Is my sense of humour that bad? Did he see that huge zit on my chin?'. But at least with being dumped it's all released through anger - the Alanis Morissette blaring in the background, throwing things around your bedroom, deleting his number and text messages and erasing him from your Facebook friends. They're all great ways of getting some closure. 

Ahh, closure, the word that everyone dreads. Guys hate it, girls need it. Question is, do I? Is that what I'm missing? When my relationship with X ended, there was no slanging match or slamming of doors, nor was there one last really hot sex session. Do those things really help you move on?

As the dumper, I'm not angry and finding the right release for my emotions is hard. I've chosen tears for now but I'm not sure they really represent how I'm feeling. As a professional communicator, aka PR darling, I'm guessing my release will be to bend my friends' ears about it. Girlfriends always have a solution and I'm looking forward to hearing their advice.

It seems there's no way out of a relationship unscathed, whether you're the dumper or dumpee, if it's done face-to-face or by text, if it's mutual or not, at least one of us is always going to get hurt. I'm just hoping the road to recovery isn't a long one.

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!