They’re the three words that strike fear in any gay man arranging a date with a potential boyfriend.
“I don’t drink.”
Instantly you’re swamped with a million questions; am I ready to give up drunk sex for good? Will he think I’m an alcoholic after necking six mojitos? Does it actually mean I can’t drink in front of him?
Shallow? Maybe, but they were all realistic things to consider. After all, how can two people be compatible if they’re not socially into the same thing? Well, there was only one way to find out, so I agreed to a civil dinner date with him.

I was way more into dating people nowadays anyway, it’s so not about turning up for a shag and he’s sent pictures of Bruce Willis but actually looks like Bruce Forsythe. To be fair though it probably wasn’t the best idea to go on a bar crawl and ending up getting fucked on ketamine the night before.


Although the next day I have to admit I didn’t actually feel that bad considering. 

He was coming to meet me from work so as 8pm drew closer I began to get a little nervous, but not even half as much as I have in the past. He text me when he was outside and I told him to come in as it was just me inside and was getting ready to leave. He didn’t. He waited outside for me to come out. Pussy. Seriously? If you ain’t got balls this is doomed from the start. If I wanted to date a huge vagina masquerading as a man I’d ask out Justin Beiber.

He was a bit shorter than I’d thought and instantly I wasn’t really attracted to him. Still, it was only dinner and I’d began researching ways to reap the benefits of a sucky date.

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So far, we’d come up with leaving ones wallet at home; so transparent. And climbing out the bathroom window; which doesn’t work if a) the bathroom has no window and b) I wanna eat dessert. So I guess I had to rely on my charm…


While we weren’t totally stifled for conversation, there tends to be a lack of flow when the only thing you have in common is that he used to be an alcoholic and I currently still was. He was interested in creative writing too, but hadn’t planned on doing anything about it. For somebody to chose a job they don’t really like over their passions suggest than on an ambition scale – we’re not really compatible. Well, that and he’d be taking me for a lot of dinners at Morley’s.

We went for a Mexican which is good in the respect that it means you’ll probably refrain from putting out, but bad in that it may get stuck in your teeth; as it did with his halfway through the main. I didn’t have the heart to tell him and it seemed pointless as I’d decided I wouldn’t be kissing him anyway.
It was also hard to have a decent conversation when the lush at the next table kept cackling every 5 seconds (yes, I was totally jealous). Sure love, great way to prove that drinking isn’t enjoyable. She might as well have danced a martini glass in front of his face…


…I’m not gonna lie, even I was tempted to order the deadliest cocktail on the menu and give him a snog just to shake things up a bit. When the bill came I reached into my pocket to pay half when he offered to pay for it all.

“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Well… Did you wanna meet up again?” He said dangling his credit card in hand.

Excuse me waiter, I’m sorry I don’t remember ordering emotional blackmail for dessert. So he was only offering to pay if we were meeting up again? Da fuck bitch, you can pay it all then. Ain’t like she got nights out to spend her wages on anyway. And I’m sure a new scrabble board isn’t that expensive. Clearly this wasn’t going to work if he was getting his knickers in a twist about paying a £30 bill.

So I faked a reassuring smile – kind of like Kris Jenner throughout her marriage – agreed and let him pay. They say that opposites attract but when it comes to dating…



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