Dating is hard – bloody hard – some dates are even disastrous – here are some of my own…..
Of course, there is plenty of pressure even before we face the difficulty that is carrying on one half of a straight conversation with a new man/woman. First, we need to decide who our date will be; and then orchestrate the why, where and when the date might take place.
And after all that, there is the effort we make to ensure we look our best – hair (tick); nails (tick); dress (tick); shoes (tick); make-up (tick); and so on.
And, of course, let’s not forget the need for a “bail out system” – a must for every first date – ranging from the pre-arranged call from a friend to enquire sotte voce whether things are going well and, otherwise, provide an excuse to leave early due to an emergency at home etc…; through to adding an app on my phone to call myself and facilitate a fake conversation, if necessary. We all need them. And, believe me, I have used them all, many times. Trust me, they have served me well. Even with Magnum PI from Dallas mentioned in my article from “Online dating”, I managed to escape with a half-decent white lie.
Yeah, dating is hard alright. But we all have to admit that if it was taken off the life menu, it would make for a very bland diet!
So, we all persevere – for better or worse. And I’ve been thinking recently about some of my worst! Here I have hand-picked, trust me out of hundreds, some disastrous dates that are etched in my mind. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did (not!).
My first orgasm and Mr X
He was gorgeous, shaven headed, well spoken and a confident man. He was far from selfish, in fact quite the opposite, as it was with him my heaven eventually opened and I experienced my first orgasm.
We had met via a relative of mine and I had got to know and to fancy him over a few months.
I had only been single for a couple of months after leaving my former partner and I felt I needed to get back on track sexually.
At 24 I had never had an orgasm. The truth be known, I was still relatively inexperienced. In fact, up to that point, I had not even touched myself simply because I was ignorant of how my own pleasure spots worked.
So, for better or worse, I decided to open up to Mr X.
It was after a run-of-the-mill date – I fancied him, and therefore invited him back to mine. After the usual preliminaries, as we climbed into bed together, I told him I had never had an orgasm. He offered to help me achieve that goal. And it was not long thereafter that I was having what every woman should be entitled to experience – a full-blown, dyed in the wool, rip-roaring orgasm. I must confess, it was an indescribable wave of pleasure. The spasm arrived from heaven and boom, crash, there it was; an orgasm. Hurrah!
But then, all of a sudden, instead of enjoying my first orgasm for what it was, I panicked and began to hyperventilate. Can you believe it? I was suddenly scared shitless and fighting to breathe in the aftermath of an orgasm.
I shouted for Mr X to help me. “What the fuck can I do?” he said. I jumped up and raced around the house looking for a paper bag to breathe into to cut my oxygen levels. Eventually, I parked myself on the living room couch, made him sit with me throughout the remainder of the night and breathed into the bag.
All this because of a date…. yes I did see him again but only once, I was too embarrassed.
The Gumtree website
The first date I chose closer to home was a local man called Steve. He was tall with close shaven blond hair. He was educated at Eton and a serving soldier. I had always had a fantasy for men in uniform – the need for someone strong and protective of me has always been a theme in my life – still is, to be honest.
We met for a drink in Twickenham where I lived at the time, and we appeared pretty compatible. However, my instincts told me there was something odd. Something I just couldn’t put my finger on.
We went on a few dates over a week or so and, during that time, I sought advice from a friend on how long I should hold off before being intimate? Her answer was, helpfully, when it felt right. I told her that a lot of time had passed since my last physical encounter and I needed one badly. So, after the third date, I invited him back to my place, plied us both with enough alcohol to settle our nerves, and when we were relaxed, we ended up in the bedroom.
So far, so good.
Now, I’m pretty loud when I do the deed. I just love sex. And I have no hesitation in letting my sexual partner know what I need, when I need it, and so on. Unfortunately, not so Steve!
OMG, I don’t know what happened. It was as if he was making out with a blow-up doll. I was really freaked out. He was completely invisible and inaudible to me – he never spoke a word at any stage – he did not even make a sound!
When it was all over, it was a God-given fact that I would not see him again. It had felt like sex to him was a church-like experience!
I tried a few other dates with local guys and experienced some strange behaviour from each of them (strange to me, anyway). I asked prospects to meet me in local bars for safety reasons. I never drank on a first date after my experience with Steve. And I always made an effort to look my best – partly to make myself feel good and sexy but mainly as a sign of respect for my date by making clear I had made an effort.
Unfortunately, I rarely received such an effort in return. So often, I had men turn up in really casual or downbeat gear, some even wearing anoraks and sipping on pints of beer.
You can guess that one of my pet hates is a date who doesn’t make an effort to impress me. It’s just damned disrespectful to do otherwise, in my view.
Then there were men who found it difficult to hold a sensible conversation. They would sit there, monosyllabically responding to my efforts to initiate a conversation. I was often left wondering how on earth they were able to write glowing on-line dating profiles and communicate well by email, but were hopeless communicators face to face.
Beverley Hills Hotel
This has to be one of my funniest dating experiences.
I had known the guy in a business context for a little while whilst I was based in the US. He was a lawyer and considerably older than me. I was not attracted to him physically. And I had made this clear to him. But I did find his company enjoyable, so I accepted his invitation to spend a day with him, being pampered in the piano bar at the Beverley Hills Hotel.
I can’t even remember his name, just the events of the day.
He was kind enough to pick me up in his snazzy convertible from a friend’s apartment where I was staying and ferry me to the real celebrity side of town. On the journey, he pointed out the landmarks and beautiful Hollywood hills scenery.
Whilst driving, I enjoyed his sense of humour, which was as mad as mine. We looked like life long buddies, all the time laughing, joking, and singing along to eighties’ songs on the radio as we drove.
I dressed elegantly – a short cream skirt (not too short), with a black top and black sandals – because I had been forewarned we would be going somewhere up-market for the day. The lobby itself was amazing with pure white, marble floors and cream walls accentuating the clean, internal design lines of the building.
We were directed to the bar. It was afternoon, so the place was rather quiet – at least until we started in on the martinis! This place had a drinks’ menu that put to shame any bar I had ever been in – and I had seen the inside of a few in my time!
Our few hours drinking the perfect dry martinis – incidentally, a glass of gin placed in the shadow of a vermouth bottle & with a hint of lemon zest added – just as I love them! -.did not go unnoticed by other hotel guests. One elderly dame, who had to have been at least 80, decided to come to my rescue. She perched herself at my elbow, tugged at my arm, and politely asked me if I was okay. “Why would I not be okay?” I replied, just as politely. My proposed guardian angel said “I have been watching that man taking advantage of you; trying to get you drunk.” To which I replied “Oh don’t worry, he’s my uncle”; and added “I don’t need any help to get drunk because I was quite capable of doing that by myself”.
She must have become bemused shortly after our exchange because, even though I was not physically attracted to my companion, the alcohol we had consumed throughout the afternoon had taken its toll and this “niece” was soon kissing her “uncle”. Of course, I was polite, and sober enough, to thank the woman for her kind concern before assuring her there was no need to worry because he was not trying to get me into bed – and I certainly was not going there with him anyway! I smiled to her in a friendly fashion as we left the bar shortly after that exchange.
He had been such charming company but, even with the assistance of alcohol to cloud my judgement, I did not find him attractive. This had to be made perfectly clear 10 minutes later when he insisted we should take the opportunity to look around the grounds of the hotel before we went back to the Valley. The landscaping was impressive, with amazing flower beds connected by a myriad of walkways.
Unfortunately, the booze, the scent of the flowers, or me – or perhaps a combination of all three was too much for my companion. As I was admiring the scenery, he pounced and tried to shove his tongue down my throat. He missed, lost his footing and we both landed face down in one of the flower beds, revealing my G-stringed bottom for all to see.
I had spent a memorable afternoon with what’s-his-face and the hospitality had been fantastic. But it was well past time for us to part company; and I could not think of a better way of saying farewell than with flowers.
The Tenerife trumpet
I met this particular date on sugardaddie.com
. We had exchanged emails and phone calls over a couple of weeks and I agreed to join him on a long weekend break to one of the Canary Islands.
Having never spent a night with him, it never crossed my mind that he was afflicted by one of my pet hates – snoring. And I don’t mean just the odd pig grunt. I mean steam roller at high level snoring!
We were staying at a luxury hotel on the island for a company event.
Plenty of drinking in great surrounding – what more could I ask?
When we finally hit the hay, he was so drunk he fell asleep immediately.
And then it started – OMG – in all my life, I have never been so disturbed!
Unfortunately, I had no other room to move to, no earplugs, and even more drinking would not help me deal with his racket. I had no choice than to find a creative solution. And I tried a few.
First, I locked myself in the bathroom and phoned a friend – not the TV show “who wants to be a millionaire” with Chris Tarrant – a real friend, and to ask a big favour – to get me on a flight back to the UK the following day as early as possible. Laughing his head off, my friend agreed to help but only after I met his request to put the phone on loudspeaker so he could hear the level of my date’s olfactory commotion first hand!
Second, having secured my escape the next day, I tried to get some sleep. The only effective means I could devise involved rolling myself up in the luxury bedroom rug and covering my head with pillows. It wasn’t completely effective but it helped until I passed out eventually.
By the time he awoke, I was gone. I politely left a “Dear John” letter saying a family member had passed away and I had headed to the airport.
Needless to say I never saw or contacted him again. And I have not been to Tenerife since.
And from that day forward, I always made sure there is a spare room when I do date someone – just in case!
I could go on for hours – even days writing about my disastrous dates. But I will leave it here for now and be sure to cover more of my dating experiences in my future articles.