Dumped

Oh I had it coming, I really did. Art Girl just dumped me over the phone.

After the night described below, we didn’t meet up for a week. Both too busy was the consensus, but now the recently dumped me can see that she could have cancelled something to see me – and didn’t. We met up last night, late because she only fitted me in after her life drawing class. It was actually a lovely evening, which ended with warm naked sex and me making her come with my hand as she slid slowly off my bed, but now I can see the warning signs. She complained about how far Richmond is from the centre of town, she was vague about meeting up at the weekend. I feel weirdly used. Used for sex I guess. A macho corner of my brain likes the idea of being used for sex, but my soft centre is hurt. I only have sex for the intimacy afterwards, and therefore it’s this she’s rejecting.

Her reasons for ending it are valid and excruciating. She’d not have time to see me, she doesn’t want to feel weighed down, we’re in different life stages. All true, but of course another truth is that she’s just not that into me. 

I only met up with her 3 times but I let myself get just a little carried away, so I’m sad now.  

She’s very good looking, and this opens up interesting and strong emotions for me. Everyone wants a gorgeous partner, but with me there’s something more. I’m not a particularly handsome man, OK looks, but I’m desperate to be thought of as attractive, and to be with attractive women. I often punch above my weight in terms of attractivess. My ex-wife was (is) very attractive in a quirky way. My recent ex is just absurdly pretty, to the point that men would throw themselves at her, and I’d often be asked to justify the attractiveness disparity by pissed-up bastards after the pub. Even though the relationship had long gone sour, it took me ages to end that relationship, partly because I knew I had hold of an empirically attractive individual. Silly, I know. Art Girl is similarly gorgeous, much better looking than me, and the paranoid (or realistic) me wonders if I’ve been dumped because she could see this fundamental truth.

Sex on Sunday… is a disappointment

I’ve broken my sex fast. 

I’m calling her Finance Girl. I met up with her on Sunday night. We had a romantic meal in a smart Italian restaurant in Mayfair. She looked very pretty and was warm company. We chatted for ages, over champagne I couldn’t really afford. I spoke about my mum too much for a second date. She sent self-consciously smouldering eyes in my direction, and rubbed my leg under the table. She has a knowing, confident sexuality, and it’s appealing.

The flirting got more explicit, until I suggested we “skip desert, find a quiet street lamp to kiss under, then go discover her apartment”. She agreed. 

We wandered the quiet Sunday streets back to her place. She lives at Picadilly Circus. Literally. To non-Londoners, no-one lives at Picadilly circus. It’s an absurdity. But she really does live there. On the whole top floor of a rather splendid grey mansion block, complete with sooty roof terrace. She did a quick tour of her apartment, excluding the bedroom – “maybe I’ll show you later”.

We kissed in her kitchen, me pinning her to the wall, gently biting her bottom lip. I wore skinny jeans, and my hard penis was crushed and prominant. She looked, but didn’t touch or comment. I lied that I like rosé and we retired to the living room sofa, glasses in hand. Once sitting, we kissed deeply and passionately, and soon I was lying full length on top of her. Feeling constricted by clothes and harsh light, we moved to her bedroom. Still standing, without breaking the kiss, we undressed each other. She gave an unexpected intake of breath when she freed my penis, but didn’t grasp it, instead feathering her fingers over it, as though it were bone china. In bed we kissed and touched, but without momentum, without narrative. She was inert and I was tentative. The confident temptress schtick was revealed as an act. She was nervous and unsure, not unlike everyone else. I rescued the fraying condom from my wallet, giving that poignant totem some unexpected significance in it’s old age. Although she was reassuringly moist I asked her to ease me in – My size sometimes makes it difficult just to ’slip it in’ – I didn’t spell this point out to her. The sex, an unchanging missionary thing, felt nice, but after about 10 minutes she whispered in my ear “maybe you could come now baby”. I did.

Lying naked on her bed, she admitted she’s scared of penises, calling mine ”your giant phallus” – a ball shrinking phrase meant in jest. Later we kissed and hugged up close. i touched between her legs and she was very moist – More moist than I’ve ever known. I gently rubbed her, never reading from her signs if I was being too gentle, too rough or hitting the spot. After a minute or two she turned her head into my shoulder and tightened her body, coming in waves, before curling into me. The first and only moment of intimacy. Later still, as we dozed, she reached round to touch my penis, I got hard, but this was forensic manual examination rather than mutual pleasure and my erection soon subsided. I drifted to sleep.

The next morning a cruel buzzer woke us at 7am. We both had work. I wandered her apartment naked, enjoying the exhibitionism. She cupped my bottom each time she passed. At the undergound station she loudly complained that she’d lost her Oyster card so would have to stand in line with the tourists. I neglected to mention I don’t even have an Oyster card.

On the train to the office I thought back fondly to the intimacy I shared with my ex – The sexiest and most impossible woman on this earth. I won’t be going back, but nights like these make it tough.

Sex tonight?

I joined a dating website last week, and discovered an intriguing woman. I’m calling her Finance Girl. Loud, a handful, face like Mylene Klass. All of which is very promising. Anyway, I met up with her for breakfast yesterday morning. We chatted for a couple of hours and I really liked her company. Since then we’ve been exchanging text messages, quoted below:

Me – Really enjoyed the morning with you, and my instinct that I’d fancy you was proved right! Would be great to see you again, maybe over a glass of wine?

Finance Girl - Thanks for a delightful breakfast. With or without your man-bag, I think you’re sexy as hell. I’m not good at deferring pleasure. Fancy drinks Sunday, 8pm? XO

Me – Most certainly, 8 it is, where’s a good spot?

Finance girl - How about XXXXXX?

Me – Booked it X

(later)

Finance Girl - A vice of mine is outrageousness. So if I send you naughty & disgraceful texts while I’m out tonight, forgive me would you? XO

Me – Oh man, I’m holding my own outrageousness in, just waiting to exhale. Don’t hold back sexy lady, the bigger risk is Im disappointed if you DON’T get just a little naughty

(later)

Finance Girl - My friend and I are getting a little flirtatious with each other. She thinks I have sexy knees. Just a little harmless sensuousness… I think. XO

Me – I didn’t get the measure of your knees this morning sadly. However I did notice your eyes, smile and the nape of your kneck (which was my illicit pleasure). Sensuousness is a pleasure deferred… XX

Finance Girl - Baby, I’ve popped my friend in a cab home, didn’t want to take advantage. She was nestling into me, however, and stroking my leg. XO

Me – Aha. Relieved you didn’t take advantage. Leaping way over the line for a moment (just a moment, really) I was hoping one of us would take advantage tomorrow night. XX

Finance Girl - I admit, in my intoxicated state, that I hope you’ll take advantage tomorrow. I’ve been playing the dominant female all evening , so it’d be fun to take a back seat. XO

Me – Wishing you were on your way round. I’ll see what can be achieved with you on the back seat tomorrow. I’m glad you were the first to use the word ’sexy’ in our exchange, as it frees me up to say that I think you’re absurdly sexy, and I’ve thought about little else all day. XXX

Finance Girl - Ditto, good night gorgeous. XO

Me – XX

So we meet up tonight. I’m heading out in 20 minutes. I’ll let you know how it goes…