If you are reading this Lovers, it means I am dead…
Well, my sex life is anyway.
Oh the pain, the agony of the unsexed muff! “But what about Steve?” I hear you all ask, waiting patiently for explicit details of our erotic tête-à-tête.
Turns out Steve is a bit of a shithead.
After all the pictures, videos and sexy texts, Steve didn’t have the balls to actually meet up. Which is such a shame because he really did have a goldilocks penis. You know the type, not too big, not too small but juuust right. A rare find indeed.
Actually, the weekend I attended the fetish open house I was cancelled on five times Lovers, that’s right FIVE!
I could sense that Steve was getting flakey and his lack of committing to an actual day and time was really starting to piss me off, so I got myself a backup.
His name was Paul.
Paul seemed like a nice country boy, and therefore I liked and trusted him almost immediately. He worked in agriculture but lived just a few suburbs over from me, so he was within perfect proximity for a late night pick me up.
This is how the weekend played out. I had a date scheduled with Steve Thursday night. No time was set as he finished work at different times every day. I told him to message me when he was done and we’d decide exactly where to go then.
At eight o’clock I officially took off my bra and mentally cursed him for making me shave my legs (not to mention my panty hamster) for nothing. He finally texted me at ten pm to let me know he was too tired from work to do anything. I dutifully told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and asked if we could reschedule it for another night. He replied saying Friday was the best night for him. Unfortunately on Friday I already had a date with Paul, and I wasn’t going to cancel on Paul for Captain flakey. I told him I’d let him know.
So Friday night rolled around and once again I was in my sexy undies and date dress, waiting to get a confirmation message from the man. At six pm, an hour before we were supposed to meet, Paul cancelled on me. Apparently work was crazy for him and he couldn’t get away until late. By then he would supposedly be too tired to do anything.
Was I deliberately choosing workaholics??
I sighed and told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and he suggested we catch up for lunch the next day. I agreed and told him to stop texting me and finish his work.
I decided it was still early enough to text Steve and see what he was up to. After all, he had said Friday was the best time for him. Of course he could have and probably had made plans by now, but there was no harm in trying right? Plus I figured if he was out drinking somewhere he’d be totally up for a cheeky catch up followed by some drought breaking sex.
Turns out I was wrong.
The only contact Steve and I had was through Snapchat, and up until this point I rarely had to wait more than five minutes before he opened my snaps. But this night of all nights, he completely ignored me.
Dude, what if that was a picture of my boobs? Surely he’d open it just to check? Nope. I waited until eleven thirty this time before sadly pulling my bra off and reaching for the wine. At twelve-thirty I went to bed, sexless and slighted once more.
The next day I woke up at eleven thirty and showered, using my fancy shower gel that made me smell like strawberry daiquiris. I got out of the shower, freshly washed, shaved and ready for some daytime drinking. My phone blipped and I ran over to it, eager to see what time I would be meeting Paul. Or maybe it was Steve, replying to my Snapchat he completely ignored the night before?
But no, it was Paul, cancelling again. And again it was because of work. He was just so snowed under, there was so much to do, he couldn’t possibly leave his cattle reports the way they were, blah blah blah.
Bitch I shaved my coochie for you! Fucking appreciate it!
I regretfully told him it was fine (it so fucking wasn’t) and suggested maybe we meet up later that night when he finished all his work. This suggestion was greeted with an incredibly eager response.
“Yay!! Sounds awesome can’t wait.”
Ok cool, sounded like we were on for a fun night then. I told him I’d text him as soon as I finished up at the sex dungeon and we’d go from there.
I texted him at around eight thirty, just as we were leaving the incredibly awesome dungeon. I was on a high, and I badly wanted to share that with someone. To my absolute dismay, Paul started to make excuses. The conversation went like this:
Him: I’m not sure if I’ll make it out. Boring I know… I’m torn as I quite like the idea of a pint and seeing what happens.
The fuck? Why was he giving me all this bullshit? If you like the idea of it then just do it you fucktard! I replied with:
Me: Nope you’re coming out, that’s decided (I’m learning how to be bossy from the mistresses) We’ll meet on Graham Street in an hour.
There, that ought to do the trick, I thought. By taking away his choice in the matter he’d hopefully grow a pair and meet up with the girl he’d been talking to for a week. I was bitterly disappointed.
Him: Ha ha I’m afraid you’ve more chance of tying me up and getting the clamps out. Nah I’m going to pike on it. You’ve caught me at probably the worst possible time. I think this’ll be my third weekend I stay in all year… I just know what happens if I go out and realise what I’ve gotta do tomorrow. Sorry… There’s wine here if you want but it will just get out of hand.
Oh how the tears flowed at that moment!
Two men, five cancellations and one dejected little Claire, particularly as Theo, the friend I’d gone to the dungeon with, had just left to go to a party.
I’d said no to his invitation because I was so sure Paul would say yes after his eager message in the afternoon.
But no, he’d fucked me over because he couldn’t be bothered. And to make things worse, he insulted me by assuming things would get ‘out of hand’ if I went over there. Don’t worry stud, I’m sure I can manage to keep myself from lunging onto you; you’re not that charming.
Maybe I was over reacting, but the truth was, I was devastated. I curled up in a little ball on the couch and cried and cried. These two guys were the only two nice, fairly attractive matches I had had on all three of my dating websites in weeks. And both, both had cancelled on me.
I eventually heard back from Steve after a few days. Apparently I was too pushy and had put him off. I didn’t understand how hard he worked and I needed to be more accommodating.
What the fuck? It’s just a drink man!
Honestly you try to be proactive and guys run a mile.
Even as I write this I can feel myself tearing up, just remembering the way these two guys made me feel.
I suppose it was just a case of terrible timing. Lately everyone has been telling me to “stop asking guys out, don’t be so forward, let them come to you.” One friend even went so far as to call me desperate.
That one hurt. A lot.
The truth is I’m in a terrible romantic rut right now. No sex, no dates, no matches on Tinder. I did a little experiment the other day and swiped yes to one hundred men, one after another until I ran out of yes’s.
Not a single match.
It’s hard to stay positive. It’s hard to keep smiling. It’s hard to keep joking about how pathetic your love life is when inside you’re slowly crumbling every time someone rejects you.
I don’t mean to get all serious Lovers, but there are times when you just can’t laugh about it anymore. There are times when it gets too much and you just need to accept the fact that love may not be on the cards for you.
But then you shake your head, uncork that bottle of moscato, throw on the Lion King and eat noodles in bed, knowing there’s no one around to stop you. Then you spread out in your very own queen size bed, legs splayed in every direction (cause you don’t gotta share that bad boy with no one!) and have a guilt free sex dream about your next-door neighbour.
Maybe this single gig isn’t so bad after all.
Plus the cat’s always up for a spoon.
P.S I got this text at 3am Saturday night from Paul after I didn’t reply to his rejection text.
Him: The irony of it is I’ve spent the better part of the evening laying awake in bed… I would’ve been better off going and getting drunk with you…. Bugger. Hopefully you had fun.
Pfft serves you right douche bag!