“Easy, Sleazy, Brazen”

#RealTalk

You know when a conversation with a best friend is going like this that the date will probably go one of two ways:
a) Downhearted that he wasn’t what you expected and leaving prematurely to go and get cunted with your mates.
Or
b) Back to his to be thrown around the room like a flimsy lasso.

That’s why, like brushing your teeth before the dentist or popping a Valium before watching a Sandra Bullock movie – you should ALWAYS trim your pubes (and in some cases knuckles) before a date.
The date I was referring to was a guy I’d been chatting to since May, so I knew he wasn’t a total gimp by now. Although, he did keep calling me “young man”, which firstly – made me this of this…

… And secondly, only made him sound older. He was 34 not 64.
He was going on holiday for a while next week so asked me for coffee. Yes, I totally nearly had a cardiac arrest. Coffee? This wasn’t New York and we weren’t unemployed mothers. So we decided to meet at a local pub – to which he met me outside (manners, good start). And he was cute – really cute. It was a shame that in three quarter length quicksilver shorts and flip flops he was dressed like a Australian surfer circa 1994 but in the dating game everybody knows that pretty faces trump bad fashion. So I refrained from spitting on his choice of open-toed footwear and followed him to the bar. He got the drinks in – another good start and we sat outside for some air. It was ridiculously muggy and as the humidity rose I’m sure I felt a droplet of sweat trickle off my chin and into my pint of cider. Total minger.

The conversation flowed well although I wasn’t really feeling a major connection. He mentioned that he had vodka at his place and just like that I knew where it was going.
What? We’d already established that I was horny.
And knew that when he invited me back for the first drink was finished that a sister had it going ON. I was filing my nails so hard I had stubs for fingers.

Knowing how into me he was made me feel like a model. A Cover Girl even. Easy, sleazy, brazen… Cover Girl. Whatever, everyone knows its not slutty behaviour when you think the person’s fit. It’s only promiscuous if you get drunk and wake up with Uncle Fester inside you.

At his place we chilled, listened music and I even taught him a few things; new American TV shows to watch, new music apps to download and that after a week of quitting its OK to start smoking again.
“Good kisser, bad influence” as he said. 3 hours and he knew me already.

Eventually we pulled our clothes off and jumped in the shower (not that we weren’t about to get dirtier). There was so much kissing that I thought I was in a PG13 movie. I wanted to tell him to stop holding back – I wasn’t his Armish bride and it was after 9pm – the watershed was over! But he was so vanilla, honestly I’ve had more thrills going over a speed bump in a rickshaw. There was so much cuddling I felt like Biggles the teddy bear. Cuddling? What was I his grandson? I didn’t know if he was gonna pull out some poppers from his bedside draw or a Worther’s Original from his back pocket. Unfortunately it was neither.

And when I say ‘cuddling’, I’m not just referring to spooning, I’m talking missionary position American virigin cuddling.
“You need to lie flat on top of me…”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t what he meant…

Literally just lying flat on top of each other. No movement. Was planking the new fetish fad?! Had he picked his sex tips up from a pre-Victorian novel? Why would have someone on top of you and stop there? His legs were harder to spread than a block of butter from Aldi. I should have told him “Gilet is something you wrap around your neck, not use as a blanket.”

Don’t get me wrong, I had fun and while it was only our first date and not our 30th anniversary – he still got given a pearl necklace. But after that, I was outta there. Even though he did have a 2000 spring memory foam mattress.