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.
Showing posts with label text message. Show all posts
Showing posts with label text message. Show all posts
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Thursday, 9 June 2011
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…
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…
Monday, 21 February 2011
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".
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".
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
A Midnight Message
Last night, I received a text message I wasn’t expecting. It was from a guy, Mr. AB, who I was flirting with about five months ago, but then never really heard from after I turned down his advances for a night of no-strings sex. I received the text at half-past midnight, and it read something like this: “Hey there pretty lady. How are you? Will you let me take u out for dinner this week? :)”.
In theory, I should be over overjoyed that I’ve finally been asked out on a date after three years of being dateless, but there was something about this text message that wasn’t quite right…
First thing is first, I haven’t heard from the guy in over five months. Now, I’m honoured if I’m still on his mind after so long (I’ve usually long forgotten a guy by then) but it does reek a little of going through one’s black book and sending the same message to all the girls in there, hoping at least one of them will respond so that he can get laid. Although, what if all the girls agreed? That would be a very time-consuming and expensive way of emptying his balls. Anyway, had he perhaps sent me a couple of text messages prior to the one I received last night, I may believe he had genuinely wanted to take me (and only me) out.
But what if he really does want to take me out for dinner? What if he’s been plucking up the courage over the last five months to ask me out? I’m wondering if I should reply. You know, just to find out. Then again, I really don’t want another Mr.PL situation where his invitation wasn’t sincere and I end up pining for a reply – it’s not my style. Saying that, if he does respond to me, this guy could be exactly what I need right now; a distraction from my recent conquests. Or, it could be that he’ll completely sweep me off my feet, make me fall madly in-love with him and then we’ll get married, have beautiful babies and live happily ever after… Ha! Ok, yeah, maybe not.
It could be that Mr.AB was drunk when he sent me the text, after all I did receive it at an unsociable hour, and drinking in Dubai is not only limited to the weekends. Are drunk texts a good thing? I would always text J when I was drunk because he was always on my mind, and he was my friend, but when a guy you haven’t heard from in five months texts you when he’s drunk, that can only mean one thing, right? Yes, “take you out for dinner” actually means “get you drunk and fuck you”. Not sure I really fancy that with Mr.AB. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while will already know; I generally reserve my sexual relationships for guys who are either my friends or are at least friends of friends.
The other thing about Mr. AB’s out of the blue text message is the smiley face at the end. Dude, you’re in your mid-thirties, why are you sending me a message with emoticons that, even as a teenager chatting on msn in the late 90’s, are socially unacceptable. It’s just unnecessary.
I’m really in two minds about whether or not I should reply to Mr.AB’s text message. Does anyone have any insights?
In theory, I should be over overjoyed that I’ve finally been asked out on a date after three years of being dateless, but there was something about this text message that wasn’t quite right…
First thing is first, I haven’t heard from the guy in over five months. Now, I’m honoured if I’m still on his mind after so long (I’ve usually long forgotten a guy by then) but it does reek a little of going through one’s black book and sending the same message to all the girls in there, hoping at least one of them will respond so that he can get laid. Although, what if all the girls agreed? That would be a very time-consuming and expensive way of emptying his balls. Anyway, had he perhaps sent me a couple of text messages prior to the one I received last night, I may believe he had genuinely wanted to take me (and only me) out.
But what if he really does want to take me out for dinner? What if he’s been plucking up the courage over the last five months to ask me out? I’m wondering if I should reply. You know, just to find out. Then again, I really don’t want another Mr.PL situation where his invitation wasn’t sincere and I end up pining for a reply – it’s not my style. Saying that, if he does respond to me, this guy could be exactly what I need right now; a distraction from my recent conquests. Or, it could be that he’ll completely sweep me off my feet, make me fall madly in-love with him and then we’ll get married, have beautiful babies and live happily ever after… Ha! Ok, yeah, maybe not.
It could be that Mr.AB was drunk when he sent me the text, after all I did receive it at an unsociable hour, and drinking in Dubai is not only limited to the weekends. Are drunk texts a good thing? I would always text J when I was drunk because he was always on my mind, and he was my friend, but when a guy you haven’t heard from in five months texts you when he’s drunk, that can only mean one thing, right? Yes, “take you out for dinner” actually means “get you drunk and fuck you”. Not sure I really fancy that with Mr.AB. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while will already know; I generally reserve my sexual relationships for guys who are either my friends or are at least friends of friends.
The other thing about Mr. AB’s out of the blue text message is the smiley face at the end. Dude, you’re in your mid-thirties, why are you sending me a message with emoticons that, even as a teenager chatting on msn in the late 90’s, are socially unacceptable. It’s just unnecessary.
I’m really in two minds about whether or not I should reply to Mr.AB’s text message. Does anyone have any insights?
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