The Day I Ran Out Of My Abusive Marriage.

When I talk about leaving The Hubby, I talk about it in a really nonchalent way. Mostly because I don’t know how else to talk about it. Leaving him was the hardest decision I ever had to make. It was a decision well overdue. He almost destroyed me. Almost, but not completely.

He had gone to the war zone and one of the last things we had fought about was the fact that I was now going to do everything that he was going to do. If he cheated, I’d cheat. If he hit me, I’d hit him right back. If he went out spending money on hookers and drugs, I’d do exactly the same. If that was the way he wanted to play it, that’s exactly how we would fucking play it. He said to me – “Yeah but you can’t go to a war zone!

He left for six months out there and while he was gone, I made my arrangements to go too. I organised to do a secondment through work that allowed me to go and work out there for three months. Except I didn’t stay out there for three months. I didn’t leave for over six months. In fact, it may even have been longer than that.

I met Big Love while I was out there. That made my mind up really. That was what I needed to really leave The Hubby and mean it. I needed something else to play with, to look forward to, and Big Love was the perfect distraction – hot, great body, tall, great sense of humour, no filter between brain and mouth, and gave me sex that I could only dream of. God I really fucking miss that about him.

When I came home, I went straight to where I worked and handed in my month’s notice. I was leaving. Fuck it. I called my Mama and told her my plans. Luckily I had holiday to take so they allowed me to use all of my holiday as my notice period and I wouldn’t need to go back to work. We arranged a date two weeks later where Mama and her boyfriend would come over with a big white van, pack up my shit and leave.

I didn’t pack of course. I partied the entire time I was there. I had the place to myself so I did pretty much whatever the fuck I wanted. I packed up little bits and pieces in boxes ready to go but the majority of it I left for when my mama came. I don’t know if I just couldn’t be bothered to do it or if it was too painful but there was always something else more important I needed to do.

We were down in the cellar grabbing my stuff when the first wave of tears happened. I hadn’t actually cried since I had returned to my marital home. I wasn’t sad to be leaving. I had already made my decision and made peace with it months ago when I was still in the war zone. I didn’t need to cry anymore. But when I pulled that wedding dress from that box without realising what it was, I had a meltdown. I just cried. My Mama hugged me in her arms and I let rip; great sobbing waves of pain that I couldn’t stop. He really had well and truly broken me – my heart, my body and my mind.

Even as I was packing I kept asking myself if I was making the right decision. Was I right to leave him? All the other wives told me that when he returned from the war zone (it was his first tour), he would be a different person. He would be a grown up person. He would have changed and it would make our relationship better.

I didn’t wait around to find out.

There had been a message waiting on the voicemail the whole two weeks I was there pretending to pack my stuff. I listened to the first few minutes of it and then stopped. I couldn’t listen to it. It was from him. He thought I was still at home when he had been out in the war zone for a few weeks. He had called not realising that I was already on my way out there too. I listened to that just before I left. Everyone had gone out for the day and I was at home, sorting shit out. I listened to the message and I fell to my knees. It was all the words I had been waiting for him to say; words that should have come years sooner. It was too late. Too much had happened. I had proved him wrong. I had gone to that war zone, been blown up, scared myself shitless and I still survived. I didn’t need him anymore. If I could survive that, I could survive anything. So what was I waiting for? Why was I still with him? Of course it was the right decision. Marrying him was the wrong decision. Walking away was the best decision I ever made.

He was sorry. He was sorry for all the things he had done to me. He was sorry for the way that he had hurt me and for making me cry. He had seen things over there that he never wanted to see again; things that had put things into perspective for him, and he knew that I was the best thing to ever happen to him. He didn’t want me to leave him, he wanted me to stay and give him the chance to prove he had changed.

After four years and two weeks of packing all my stuff up, he had said all the things I’d wanted him to say all along. I went to bed that night; our bed, and I cried myself to sleep with great heaving sobs I couldn’t quieten. How could I leave him? He was my husband. I married him. I loved him. Did I? Was it love? Maybe he had just beaten me down so far, I couldn’t see my life without him in it anymore. I couldn’t imagine my life without him controlling everything I did, wore, spent, said.

I still left. After that message and the wedding dress and packing my entire life into the back of a transit van, I still left. There was nothing of me left to give him. I was never going to be ready to have his children. He was never going to stop beating me up or cheating on me. He was never going to stop controlling my life, or mentally destroying me every day with his cruel words and harsh jibes. I made the right decision walking away from him and although sometimes I look back and wonder what if, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of it. Because of him I saw the most incredible sights. I went to the most incredible of places. I met the most incredible people. I don’t regret a single day of it because it has moulded me into a person I quite like now. I wish I hadn’t given him more of me than I needed to have done, but it’s finished with now. Well, apart from that divorce we can’t seem to come to an agreement on. We’ve been separated for almost longer than we were together and yet we still can’t completely finish things. It’s a joke. Lesson learned – married too young, too fast.

When he got back to our marital home after being in the war zone for what ended being almost eight months, he trashed the place. He had accused me of spending more money out of our joint bank account than I should have done, and leaving the place in a state with laundry on the floor in the kitchen and dishes still in the sink. Yes, there was laundry – the laundry HE left before he went away months earlier. I wasn’t his punchbag anymore and I didn’t need to do his laundry. So I didn’t. I didn’t do his laundry. I didn’t wash up the final cup I used before I left. I didn’t make the bed. I left it as he would have left it for me. Petty perhaps, but fuck him.

According to the other wives, anything left that could have remotely reminded him of me was thrown out of the kitchen window onto the grass lawn outside, ready for anyone to delve through and grab what they wanted. Books, furniture, bedding, clothes… Nice. Letting everyone else pick through the fragments of our marriage. They did that most of the way through anyway. It was hard not to get everyone else involved when they heard or saw him physically attacking me time and time again.

Leaving him was the right decision but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a tough one. It also doesn’t mean that I don’t think about the way that must have felt for him. I know that it must have been a shock. It must have hurt to go back to our home after so long at war to find all my stuff gone. He knew I was going of course – I did tell him. He didn’t want to hear it and I’m not sure he believed it, but it’s not as if he didn’t know it was coming… Even though he did try to blame me for the demise of our marriage.

The Day I Ran Out Of My Abusive Marriage

So there you have it. A little moment back in time.

The day I ran out of my abusive marriage. 

#OnlineDating: It Sucks By The Way.

Online dating kinda has a stigma attached to it, doesn’t it? Despite the fact that everyone is doing it, whenever someone asks you how you met, you always say in the local coffee shop or at work, don’t you? You can’t quite bring yourself to admit that you met your fantastic new catch on Plenty of Fish or some other bullshit dating site in which most of the dregs of society seem to sit on. Most of those dregs message me, it would appear.


I’m a bit nuts to be fair. Whenever I have a decent kinda chat going for a few days with a guy, I get a bit carried away. If they make me do that goofy smile while they are messaging me, there’s a good chance I’m going to be into them. For a while…

There’s always something wrong with them. All the guys on POF and other online dating websites – there’s always something not quite right with them. And there lies the problem with online dating – you can’t spot those obvious little flaws in a picture, can you?

I have had mixed luck with online dating. POF has brought its fair share of highs and lows to the table. Probably the biggest low was on the other side of the world when we almost got arrested for having shit ton of pot in the back of the truck. Then there was the total dickhead that got me drunk and then called me a wild dog when I slept with him on the first date. That wasn’t a great example either. He was Number 33 and he was a total rat.

Most of the time I find myself being messaged by guys I can’t believe would even bother to message me – guys that are much younger than me, or much too old for me, guys that have profile pictures with zero teeth and stained t-shirts on, guys with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths whilst holding on to a big dog using a chain. You know the kinda guys I’m talking about here – the kinda guys that would probably pinch your purse before you’d left the restaurant and still bang you at the end of the night.


It’s tough to know how to deal with these guys. You don’t want to outright tell them that you’re not interest but if you send them a message back, they think it’s an invitation for a full-on chat. Most of them I block to be fair. What’s the point in wasting their time and mine when I know damn well I’m not interested. See, there are no rules on how to deal with this situation properly. No one has come up with proper rules for internet dating.

When I do receive a message from a guy that I’m not completely repulsed by, their profile will say something like “Looking for casual fun / no commitment”.

Well, I’m not going to message those guys back, am I? I’m not looking for casual fun. I’m looking for a relationship. I’m 28 years old, what’s the point in beating around the bush? My biological clock has done its ticking thing and I was ready to have babies with Jock before he went and fucked it all up. I know that this is something that won’t go away. It is baby time therefore I need to find an appropriate man to procreate with.

When their profile doesn’t scare me away and a conversation flows quite nicely, he always fucks it up by asking for my number too soon, or trying to share social networking usernames with me. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes, I don’t want to give you my Instagram screen name because then you’ll see my actual private life. Plus you’ll see the fact that only twelve weeks ago, I was sharing photos of Jock and I with clear hash tags that we are together like #love and #bestboyf. I don’t want to talk about that yet and you’ll probably ask about it.

Of course, if we do get to the inevitable number swap and start the WhatsApp chat, the free-photo-sending thing is now an option so they will want a selfie right there and then but not send you one right back. Or they’ll send you photos that they’ve already sent you a couple of days before, or even worse than that, they’ll send you photos that they already had on their dating profile. Mr. T send me loads of duplicate photos and it kinda made me wonder how many girls he was actually talking to, to make him forget which of his photos he had already sent me. #TurnOff

At this point, if you’re still going he will have dropped casual date ideas into the conversation and that pisses me off too. I want to talk for a bit before we have that first meeting. I think I was talking to Jock for twelve days before we had our first date. I’m talking to a guy right now (we’ll call him Mr. IT because he’s an IT nerd… obviously) and the chat had been nicely flowing for a couple of days before he tried to get me to invite him to mine for a DVD and a bottle of wine. He also dropped into the conversation things like “Feeling a bit horny tonight 😦“.

OK, fine, I can take that but even then, isn’t that a bit TMI for three days in? I’m all for flirty, cheeky banter but does it have to be right at the beginning? When did everything get so rushed? When did online dating mean that romance was out of the question?

It wasn’t long before Mr. IT flashed up with he message I had been kinda waiting for to be honest…

“So tell me… What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done? Threesome?”

Firstly, we’ve been talking for three days. What makes you think I’m going to tell you that kinda thing.

Secondly, if you’re looking for a relationship with this girl you are talking to, why would you want her to be having those kinda conversations with someone she’s only been talking to for three days? Do you know how many other guys she’s sending messages like that to? Would you really be happy embarking on a relationship with a girl that spreads herself like peanut butter? I’m a one-on-one kinda girl. If I’m talking to you, I’m not searching for other guys. If I’m talking to you, you have my full, undivided attention. I would appreciate the same respect back, especially if we have gotten to the number-swapping point.

Thirdly, when did everything get so damn rushed? Three days in and I’m expected to perform, puling stories outta my ass about threesomes and anal? Fuck off. You haven’t even invited me out for a dinner or a drink yet and I’m meant to be your evening entertainment, giving you something to think about as you jerk off into your right hand again?

It’s not long before the picture-requests come and Mr. IT was as predictable as I knew he would be.

Mr. T (the beautiful guy) didn’t even ask, he just sent me a picture of his penis. As did the guy that pulled the “Joey” move on me and then came running back a few months later, trying to hit on me again!

Why do guys do that? Why do guys send you pictures of their penises like some prized possession? Here’s my face, here’s my car, here’s my cock. What the fuck? No! Keep it in your pants. I like the element of surprise. It wouldn’t have been right going to bed with Mr. T after I had seen a picture of his cock because the anticipation wouldn’t be there anymore. I already know what it looks like. I get no fun surprise out of this. Boo.

Mr. IT kinda suggested it – “You could send me some sexy pics?” 

No, no I couldn’t. I didn’t even dignify it with a response. Well I did; a plain and simple “Lol” and then I ignored his messages for the rest of the evening. All two of them.

Didn’t realise you would be so easily offended” was one of his beauties. I wanted to apologise but I didn’t. I just didn’t respond. Yes, I’m easily offended because you tried to invite yourself over to mine for a blowjob earlier on this evening and now you’re asking me for sexy pictures just three days in when I haven’t even met you? Yes, I’m offended and I’m proud. Fuck you.


I’m a good girl. I don’t cheat anymore. I don’t lie. I can’t lie. I’m useless at it. I’m generous, I cook, I clean, I make you laugh, I give head on demand and up until the point where I found myself with internal problems, I even performed anal on special occasions such as anniversaries, birthdays, christmas, etc. I’m a good girl and I’m worth all the hard work I make you do to get with me. I’m worth every dinner, every drink, every bunch of flowers. Not that any guy ever does that to me. In all the years of dating, no one has ever turned up at my door with a bunch of flowers. What the hell happened to romance? Did it die when online dating turned up and took over?

If you manage to get through that entire rat race of people and faces, penises and cheeky digs to finally meet up with a date, what are you left with?


What have I been left with? Jock – the guy that couldn’t commit to me and let go of his ex-fiance. Or One Ball – the broken guy with just one bollock, five kids and two exes to contend with. Or there’s The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of (Number 34) and his compulsive lying, obsessive need to be with me all he time, and crazy nature. The Fireman on the other side of the world (Number 32) who wore awful silk boxer shorts and almost suffocated me on his couch. In fact, those are some pretty interesting online dating stories too. You should definitely check them out.

I’ve had pretty much zero luck with internet dating and to be honest, as much as it has given me something to write and talk about, I’m bored with it. I just want to meet a 30-35 year old guy with a bit of a jelly-belly, plenty of body hair (but not back), rippling arm and shoulder muscles, covered in tattoos and a great sense of a humour to sweep me off my feet, marry me and give me beautiful babies in the next couple of years. Is that really too much to ask for? Oh, he’s gotta be taller than me too.


Maybe it’s time to just give up.

My Peptide Addiction?

I’ve been wallowing in self pity for too long again obviously. My loving readers are sending me all sorts of help and advice. Some tough love. Some soft love. One really got me thinking. It was The Girl Who Never Grew Up who said it – those three little words that has pretty much fucked up my day. (In a good way of course. Thanks for bringing it to my attention chick! ❤ )

“Google ‘peptide addiction’”

I did…

Peptide addiction. 

Love and relationship addiction. 

The theory behind why women always go back to the same bad guys time and time again. Why people are drawn right back to the same relationship personalities that destroyed them over and over again. Could it really be something as simple as an addiction? The peptide addiction?

It seems like such a daft concept, doesn’t it? But it does kinda explain a few things. Why do women stay in relationships with men that cheat on them or beat them? Why do good guys always chase after stupid girls that always want the bad guys? Could it really be that our brains have somehow become addicted to the emotions you feel when you are in that relationship? Is the up and down of a bad relationship such a head fuck that it almost works like any other ‘bad’ drug and totally screws with your body?

Apparently, the limbic system in the brain does the same kind of thing within a person who suffers with a drug or alcohol addiction, as it does in the brain of a guy that keeps going back to the girl that cheats on him. It’s that peptide addiction. Apparently they are addicted to the hormones that are released during the up’s and down’s of a tumultuous relationship.

When you are in love, happy, basking in the honeymoon phase of a brand new love interest, your body releases hormones called dopamine and oxytocin. Dopamine makes you feel happy and excited.

When you kiss or are intimate with a partner, oxytocin is produced and in a recent study performed on lab rats, oxytocin has been shown to boost libido and generally give you those feelings of sexual interest. When the female rats were genetically modified to produce less or zero oxytocin, they had absolutely zero interest in the male rats, even during mating season. Not that I’m agreeing with testing on animals of course. It’s just a study I found in as I researched the idea that I could actually addicted to the emotions Jock invokes out of me.

You can find more information on the study here:

Plus, cortisol (the hormone that causes stress) is shown to be reduced when oxytocin and dopamine is produced in the body. Overall, it would suggest that the happy feelings you have when you are in love become so powerful, they could almost become an addiction.

Coming back to real life, and I AM the girl that goes back to the bad guys time and time again. I have no idea why I do that. Some say it’s down to the fact that I never met my father and I’m constantly on the lookout for the ‘father figure’ in my next love. When the guy can’t take care of me as I feel he should, I lose interest and fuck things up. Or help him to fuck things up. I start getting angry all the time and we stop socialising and going out together. We fight everyday.

I stayed with The Hubby even though he laid his hands on me time and time again. Even though he cheated on me over and over, and even caught an STI in the process. Even though he left me without any money for four months because he snapped the bank cards before he went away. Everything was in his name, I didn’t stand a chance of getting replacements sent out. He belittled me at every possible opportunity, picking out my physical flaws on an almost hourly basis. Still I stayed with him despite all of that. We had four years together, just over three of which we were married. And when I left, I had to leave without him knowing. I had to leave while he wasn’t there. I was a coward and I ran away. Perhaps I’ll tell this story sometime. It’s a very hard one for me to tell.

The Big Love was such a bad guy for me. His drug addiction would always come back and I have the most addictive personality. It didn’t take me long to start smoking at school. I started drinking and smoking pot pretty early too. I’m one hundred percent dependant on pot these days, although I’m sick so I’m totally putting it down to ‘medicinal use’ of course. When I was taking coke with Big Love, I got drawn into a very dangerous place. The same thing happened with The Hubby too – I took so many drugs when I was with him. I’m glad I’m not that in that same place anymore.

The First Boyf – he hit me, so did The Fireman. The First Boyf was a total control freak and tried to have complete say over how I ran my life every moment of every day. It was a very bad relationship to have for my first relationship at just 14 years old. He fucked me over in more ways than one.

I always stay with the bad guy and I can never see the good guy that is sitting right there in front of me. I have broken up with the good guys because they were too boring for me. The Lapdog and One Ball are two prime examples of this. Maybe even My Mr. Grey? All of them were really good guys and would never have done anything to deliberately hurt me, yet I fucked them all over in a pretty shitty way. Well apart from My Mr. Grey. We never really got started.

Could it be something as simple as being addicted? The peptide addiction? Am I really addicted to the way that the relationship with Jock makes me feel? I hate it when he leaves and I get a sense of panic, and I distinctly remembered that feeling with The Hubby too. With him it was a little different though. I knew that when he walked out the door, the next time I saw him he would be blind drunk and I’d probably get hurt again. It was a fear that I hope I never feel again. Complete dread from the second he put that key in the lock.

If there is such a thing as this peptide addiction, how the fuck do you treat it? How do you stop one person loving someone so much, they would stay with them through anything – the good, the bad, and the ugly? If they have no self-worth and can’t see that they deserve better, how do you make them believe that they do? How do you help those people? How do you help people like me?

Peptide Addiction

How do I cut all ties when I don’t even want to?

I Just Wish My Heart Would Catch Up.

Having sex with him didn’t make me feel better. It made me feel worse. I don’t think that was a great idea. It was almost as if he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He was up at 6am when we had our fight and left for his assessment at 7am. He came back to mine at 2pm and immediately threw into the conversation that he wouldn’t be staying at mine in case he had the interview tomorrow and because he had shit to do. We went out for coffees, got back to mine and he made his escape as soon as he possibly could…. Despite the fact he didn’t have the interview tomorrow. It was now next week.

I got Jock that fucking job. I applied for the job for him and yet he still couldn’t stay with me tonight to celebrate together the fact that he had got through to the next round. Actions speak louder than words he said when we were first talking about sorting our shit out. He’s right. His actions are saying a thousand words. More than his actual words could ever say. I can’t ever get time with him, or a phone call from him, or a text from him. If he does come and see me, its on his terms. He stays for however long he wants. He leaves when he wants. Normally as soon as he possibly can. He came over, enjoyed dinner at my expense, fucked me and then left after spending the most minimal amount of time possible with me. I’m bleeding now. I guess he has no use for me now I can’t put out.

I was meant to be using him for sex last night and although I might have at least gotten laid, I certainly don’t feel very good about it. I feel worse. I feel used. I feel used and not worth spending time with. I told him that I felt we had gone too far to ever get back what we had before and he told me I was wrong, and we would get through this shit time together. How the fuck are we meant to get through this together when I’m the one making all the fucking sacrifices? I’m not worthy of his time. He didn’t bother coming to mine until 8pm. He was asleep at midnight, snoring his head off and literally keeping me awake until 3am. He then woke me up again at 6am, turning the lights on and fucking around with bits of paper, asking me stupid question, and then left at 7am. Then he was back at 2pm and gone by 5pm. In, out, job done. That’s what I feel like. I don’t feel like he wants to come and see me. He’s doing it because he MUST see me; because I expect it of him. Not because he wants to. It’s making me feel like shit.

I wish I could cut ties like the badass bitch I pretend to be to everyone else. I want to hate him so much but I can’t. I’m like a fucking sap. I keep running back for more like some unloved puppy. It’s ridiculous. I applied for that job for him to show him that I always had faith in him. I knew he’d get invited back for the second round interview, and I’d like to bet money on the fact that he’ll get the job too. And it will be the worst thing to ever happen to us. I even had to remind him that he should probably thank me, and if he did get the job, he needs to take me out for dinner. That sparked a row of course; apparently he’d already said thanks when he first got the email about it, and I shouldn’t keep expecting so much from him.

I had all that faith in him. I always have faith in him. I never gave up on him. Even now, I’m still fighting like the mug I am, wallowing in self pity whilst he’s probably doing something else more fun like hanging out with The Redneck, or enjoying boy-time with The Columbian who seems to be going through an even shitter time with his girlfriend.

When is my heart gonna catch up? This just isn’t the same anymore 😦

I Wish My Heart Would Catch Up.

But I Had Sex. YAY!

I had sex. I had great sex. I had four minutes of pure, unadulterated climax-seeking, and I found it with a big explosive ending that left my legs wobbly and my sheets wet.

You’re gonna be pissed at me but it was with Jock. I don’t even care. I needed it. And let’s be honest – there would have been no point in having sex with someone new because then I probably wouldn’t cum at all, or I would have had to do it myself and then what would have been the whole point?

We have barely spoken all week because we’ve both been busy. He was working and getting new cars again and I was laying in bed in front of the laptop because I’m too lazy / exhausted / pissed off with running to the loo every ten minutes to actually leave the house. You know, it takes up more time than you’d think.

I applied for a job on his behalf last week. He got an invitation to an assessment day which happens to be today. He messaged me to thank you and asked for my help with some of the forms seeing as I’d filled the application form out for him. This sounds really creepy – it’s not, I promise you. He has been talking about this job for months and never applied for it because he doesn’t have a laptop. I still know most of his login details for everything so I just did it for him. It’s not like I’ve had anything else to do is it?

We made a plan that he would come over last night and bring his things. If he stayed, he stayed. If he didn’t, he didn’t. I’m having a colonoscopy in four days time, and I’ve not had sex in ages. Plus my period is due at some point soon and I kinda wanted to get laid before my life turned to shit.

Sadly, just as we were getting into bed, I popped to the loo and found that red that made my heart sink. My period was already here. Awesome. I wanted to cry. He was in my bed, we’d had a half decent evening, and all I wanted to do was fuck him. See, girls will know this – the beginning part of the ‘monthly’ isn’t always that bad, is it? You can get away with not noticing…. So I went to bed and pretended I knew nothing about it. He went to go down on me and I pulled him up and whispered in his ear “Please fuck me”. He gave me four minutes of hardcore pounding in which we both reached our happy ending. I really fucking needed that. I had been horny all evening. The second he turned up he was kissing my neck and grabbing my hips, grinding himself into my backside and walking around with his erect cock hanging over the top of his trousers. It took all my self control to say no. I was making him wait. Clearly he had arrived with the same intentions I had. Except I was in control this time. He’s lost weight though. He was wearing the clothes he wore when we first started dating because he could fit into them again and when he turned up, clean shaven and with that cheeky grin on his face, I couldn’t help but giggle. That face though. Sigh.

We had a fight at 6am this morning when he woke me up. We had a couple of fights last night too. Not bad ones, just little ones. He woke me up this morning because he hadn’t filled out the forms he needed to the night before. I was furious. You just don’t wake me up at that time in the morning, especially without a cup of tea. He didn’t turn up until 8pm last night either. I was furious that he kept me waiting all that time. And then I was just pissed off in general so started another fight. Only a little one – like five minutes max.

I have missed having him around. It always feels like I’m the adult and he’s the naughty child and yes, it is exhausting but it is also a lot of fun. I’m in fits of giggles 99% of the time we are together. We have so much fun. And we have really good sex. REALLY good sex. We proper click. He knows how to play my body, and I know how to make his toes curl. We know how to push each others buttons and that’s not a good thing. That’s why we haven’t spoken for like four months. We just need to get that under wraps and I think we’ll be good. That’s if we’re even trying. I’m not. I just wanted to have sex with him. There was something different about him when he turned up at my front door though. He was nervous. And he looked good. He’s been making an effort. He says he’s trying to do that for me. Maybe we’ll see.

But I had sex. YAY! 🙂 

I Guess I Should Just Be A Nun.

I’ve been chatting with the fun guy. Mr. T. – the beautiful guy; he’s now out of the question. We haven’t spoken in almost a week. I didn’t respond to his last message. I’m over it now. I still jerk off to thoughts of his beautiful face and those arms every now and again, but it’s no longer an obsession. Job done. Finished with. Woo hoo.

The fun guy, however, I don’t seem to be having any luck with either. I really enjoy talking to this guy. He’s so much fun to just chat to. And we talk for hours too – all day, every day. When he’s not working or sleeping, we’re chatting. I’ve been signed off work for two weeks until my colonoscopy at the beginning of December because of the Poo Problem. Whatever it is, Barry Bowel (as we have now named it because ‘potential cancer’ kept making my mama cry) has been an absolute dickhead and has now destroyed any chance of living a happy day to day life. I’m unable to go to work so I was signed off, and my bosses are being total assholes about it. Whatever. I might have cancer. I’m allowed to have this time off. Plus I’m scared I’m going to shit myself, fart really loudly, or stink the shop out whenever I’m at work. This shit (excuse the pun) whatever it is, is taking over my life. In fact, I no longer have a life.

I blew the fun guy out for our first date before because I was sick. To be honest, I don’t think I had any intentions of meeting him anyway so the doctor’s appointment and sick note situation came at just the right time. I have kinda told him what the situation is with me and my newfound illness expecting him to run a mile like Jock did. He didn’t… He agreed to take it slow, not get offended when I blew him out, and even arranged to have a phone date with me first to put my mind (and my stomach) at ease. Sorry, could this guy be any fucking cuter?

I still don’t find him attractive though. I re-wrote that sentence a thousand times trying not to make it sound so harsh but I can’t say it any other way. Plus now I think he might have bad teeth. In some photos he sends me, he’s looks kinda decent but I reckon these are just well-timed photos. I can’t work it out but that just says one thing to me – I’m really not that into him. I really like the chat but I think friends is pretty much all we’re going to end up being.

After speaking on the phone (about twenty minutes ago), I’m now definitely sure that he’s not for me. Why does this always happen to me? We had all the chat and he talks like a pleb. He stutters, which would normally be fine, but it just sounds like he’s uneducated rather than having an actual problem. I should have guessed this from his bad spelling in our many messages. Plus he talks really fast. I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me half the time, and he didn’t let me get a word in edgeways. Honestly, I can’t believe that one phone call changed so much. We went from talking every second of every day that we could for almost a whole week, to the thought of actually meeting up with him face to face making me cringe. The dating game is never simple is it?

That’s the thing about online dating. There is always something wrong. Mr. T. was beautiful but had no chat. The funny guy was all chat and no looks… and an irritating voice to match. Jock was perfect for me but just couldn’t commit… I can’t win. Ever. It’s easy to hide behind a persona with eight to ten well-timed photos and a profile that doesn’t really tell you much about the other person at all. I might just give up. This doesn’t appear to be working out very well for me. Plus it’s kinda hard to go out and meet people when you can’t really leave the house…

I guess I should just be a Nun. I can’t remember the last time I had sex. In fact I can. It was with Number 42. I haven’t had sex since Number 42. Fuck my life.

Why Won’t He Just Put His Penis Inside Me?

I genuinely don’t understand guys. Neither do I understand myself to that matter. Mr. T. – the beautiful man that was so beautiful I had to have him…? Well, it’s fizzled out. It’s pretty much done with. He was always online on POF which really is a turn-off for me, and he was online permanently on WhatsApp yet not responding to my messages. Thats not cool. Not like I was sending him loads of messages – he’d message me, I’d message back a few minutes later, he’d read it and then never text back until a day or so later and then he’ll send me a random picture like of him in a suit going ready to go out for a drink but with no one to go with. I thought it might have been an invitation so responded with “Well if it’s any help, you look alright!”. No invitation. No message back until two days later when he then sent me a selfie of him with a heart monitor on, chest and abs rippling. The guys at work were egging me on – I want him for sex and that’s all, right? Fuck it. Let’s be brave:

“Much better than a cock shot. 

The cock I’d much prefer to see in person!”

I thought it was cute, cheeky, I-want-you-for-a-good-time. I got “Lol” in return. Thats it. No ‘x’, nothing more, just “Lol”.

Hmmm. I just don’t know how to read this guy. I think I just need to accept that he’s just not that into me. What I don’t understand however, is why he keeps relighting the conversation with a well-timed “Hey babe” or a picture of himself looking beautiful as always. Why does he do that? Is he keeping me on the sidelines just in case nothing better pans along? Am I not his type? Why keep talking to me when I’m not talking to him if he’s not into me? What’s the point? 

We’re meant to be having our first date tonight. Or tomorrow night. We never actually finalised the night. Neither of us have brought the subject up, and I’m kinda hoping he doesn’t too. I’ll want to go so I can have sex with him, but the penis picture and the way he’s been with me has really put me off. I don’t want to be put in the position where my vagina leads my head… again. Coz you know it’ll happen.

Plus there’s a new guy now. Jock is sick this set of days off and has blown me out just as I predicted all along. I’ve pretty much given up on that now. There are so many more fish in the sea for me to waste my time on one that won’t waste his time for me. Whatever. Game over. We’re talking and we’re fine, but I’m done. That’s the third time he’s fucked me over this week since we agreed to give it another shot. What a pleb.

Anyway, the new guy isn’t someone I gave much thought to when we first started chatting. He’s not my type at all. Well, he is if you count Jock but I’m not. He’s heavily tattooed. Like very little room left heavily tattooed. He’s quite short and very stocky. I can’t work out if he’s a bit of a chunk or pretty muscley. I think he was a bit of a chunk and turned it into muscle recently. He’s bald too. Not my type at all. I like to run my fingers through hair. I’m a hair-girl. I couldn’t have a relationship with a bald guy. It’s just a thing I have I guess.

We’ve been chatting for a few days and despite his appearances and the fact I don’t think he’s that attractive at all, the chat has been really good. This is just sod’s law isn’t it? Mr. T. was beautiful with no chat, and this new guy is no looks and all the chat. Can’t I just put his personality into Mr. T.’s body? That would just be perfect, thanks!

We talked about what we should do for our first date, our second date, and then our theoretical third date if we were rich and money wasn’t an object. He’s a post man so he’s hardly loaded, and he lives quite a way from me too and I don’t think he drives. It wasn’t a problem for Jock and I but that’s only because he was my personal taxi service.

He wants our first date to be Wednesday but I’m really not all for it. It’s too soon for me I think. I’m going to want to chat for a bit longer. Plus I’m really enjoying the chat. Once I realise he’s a frog I’m not going to be interested in him and I won’t talk to him anymore. It’s as simple as that and although I know it, he doesn’t and he’s proper into me already. We talk non-stop. All day and night. He’s told me that he thinks I’m gorgeous, sexy, cute, sweet, exciting, etc. He admires me in the same way that I want the beautiful Mr. T. to. Except he doesn’t.

I really don’t know what to do. I really enjoy talking to the new guy. I should probably come up with a nickname for him. That’s how unimportant he is to me…. Mr. T. got a nickname out of me and we’ve probably only sent half the messages to each other that me and this new guy have, and we were talking for twice the time!

I think I’m going to come up with a last minute emergency. I’m not ready to meet him tomorrow. I know that he’s well into me and after he meets me, he’ll be sold. I’m not blowing my own trumpet… He’s told me this. He has basically put all of his eggs in my basket and I definitely don’t want to be the girl to blow him off. How am I meant to tell him that all I really want is to have passionate, mind-blowing sex with someone with a body like Mr. T.’s. That’s it. That’s all I want. Why won’t he just put his penis inside me?

But no. I get the next guy I’m not gonna be able to shake off. For fucks sake.