The miserable tale of how I got back into dating

Originally posted on Patreon on 28th February 2023

Using The Apps in my open marriage was actually quite fun, showing him all the prospective dates, bots, and general weirdos who had messaged me. It seemed fun probably because I thought I had my husband right there next to me, completely unaware he was deeply embedded in a two year affair with someone, and I was mistaking his encouragement for a big shove forward out of his life. I didn’t really question why he wasn’t pursuing any dates himself, other than the fact he was working 14 hour days and didn’t have time, and he said he was chatting up a girl in Starbucks which sounded cute.

The first proper date I went on was at Start the Bus in Bristol. A solid first date pub that sadly is no longer part of the Baldwin Street nightlife. I had been talking to a guy who seemed pretty cool for a week or so, he liked aggressive sex and more importantly he liked me. We agreed to meet up for a drink before going back to his place to make sure we were on the same page but after intense chat it seemed like a done deal.

I hadn’t really ‘done’ a date since 2003, and this was 2016. I was in a long term relationship that ended very badly and I met my ex husband whilst that was ending. I had one night stands in the transition period, but no preamble or chatting or going for drinks. I shaved my entire bottom half of my body so vigorously there was pretty much no friction and I glided everywhere. I even got my ex to check I had got every tiny hair from my ankles to my arsehole. I was so nervous, and as you can probably guess, I didn't need to have been. I was 100% I overdressed thinking back. But I know I looked good. I arrived early, in a nice jumpsuit, and denim jacket with my fake vintage Dior white clutch bag. The one Carrie has in Paris in the last episodes of Sex and The City, which sounds dumb but it makes me feel safe and sexy and it looks so fucking cool in my head.

When he turned up however I knew that the sexy cool vibes were off. We went to the bar to get drinks and he did not buy me one. Ok fair, maybe we get our own whatever, but even having been out of the dating game a while this felt off. We sat down and chatted about music and films, only for him to excitedly whip out his two shite tattoos. One very blown out Aphex Twin one, that was so blurry I couldn’t really make it out, and secondly a Rorschach Watchmen one. I did not guess this one and it really pissed him off. He then announced he had to leave. I think it was about 5.30pm. Truly embarrassing.

I am not ashamed to say that after he ghosted me, I stalked him a bit as I had never been ghosted before and it drove me a bit bat shit. The complete zero contact, was he dead? Did he really hate me that much? My friends had to talk me down from actually phoning his place of work and explained that this is what happens and it is, in fact, bullshit.

Some other dalliances included a brief interlude with a minor Bristol DJ who claimed to be taller than me, lived a healthy poly lifestyle and was apparently ‘incredible in bed.’ He lived the otherside of Bristol, I couldn’t even tell you where it was, but it felt like it was up a mountain in an industrial estate and was missions to get to, and when he opened the door in fucking swimming shorts and a manky tee, he was actually shoulder height. After making really awkward small talk for 10 minutes he ended up smacking me with a hair brush for 20 mins, answered his phone mid way, and announced he had to go and pick up something off ebay in Wales with his ex girlfriend and left me alone in his room in his house share until I could get a lift back for half an hour.

Then there was also a weekend in Wales (with no escape) There was also an ex Barrister, who I had spoken to for probably the sum total of 20 minutes, and for reasons I cannot explain, thought it would be a good idea to spend a weekend in Wales (with no escape) with him. Turned out he was recovering from a stroke, he re-heated me the food he had made for a dinner party the night before for the entire weekend, and then introduced me to his cage and cattle prod. (This deserves an entire post so keep an eye out).

There was also a great time, with yet another DJ, (Bristol is full of them) that almost turned into a relationship but our link up also got me stranded in Cheltenham deep snow for 8 hours. I left the West Country not long after this. 

The shift between joking around with my ex at my awful dates, and using The Apps in my parents’ tiny council house back bedroom, a room that had never been mine as they had moved out several times since leaving our family home, was deeply fucking depressing. My London Satellite New Town was dry compared to Bristol, and I was very much on my own.

On New Year's Eve, my Dad, fed up with my moaning, decided to take my phone and swipe for me. Thinking I was being fussy and that he could do better, it took about 5 minute for him to discover that he knew a disproportionate amount of the men through work or our local area, and they were either some local scoundrel’s son or some bloke he knew cheating on his wife, or just simply a prick. He found one guy he knew and liked from work, and told me to give him a go and tell him that my dad had hand-picked him as my opening line. It worked and the guy was practically pissing himself to come and pick me up immediately and take me to Wembley for the best chicken of my life. He was ok, but his incessant messaging smacked of desperation and gave me the immediate ick.

After a few weeks, I ended up chatting to; a guy who was perfect and local only to then tell me he wanted to eat my farts. A guy from Clapham who I got on with really well, with the biggest dick I have ever seen, but then would ring me at 1am pissed and demand I come to Clapham; I would then demand he come to me (the literal opposite end of the trainline a 2 hour mission across London), he would then scream about his incest fetish to the point my mum would bang on the bedroom wall and tell him to be quiet using his actual name. Finally, a white guy who had the GABOS tattoo who lived in the most middle class area of Hertfordshire without a train link and didn’t drive (my husband got our car in my separation) so neither of could be bothered to meet and fuck. These truly are the penpals that people speak of in their dating profiles!

I am not one to kink shame but I cannot imagine relaxing, watching stuff on tv, having a vape and a snack, having what we can all agree on is the very satisfying experience that is releasing a massive fart. Only for your partner to either go and gobble up the gas particles around your arse, or chastise you for not letting them know you were going to do one in advance. However things were so dry, I almost contemplated overlooking the eating farts, and talked to the guy more. He had studied the psychology of sexual fetishes at uni, he had great politics, he was good looking and he wanted to eat my farts. Am I better than this?

I forged ahead, to have what can only be considered the most boring first date and most awful jackhammering shag/throat fuck of my life with the curator of the most famous museum where I live. We clicked in chat, and he said he was up for exploring his kinky dominant side. But when he came to my gaff, he made me watch a Superhero TV show which I think was so bad they actually removed it from streaming services, played with my left tit and then hammered me doggy style for about 3 minutes before turning me over, hanging my head off the bed and finishing in my mouth unannounced. He pulled his trousers up and said “Dinner in the week?” I still had his fucking jizz in my mouth so I couldn’t answer.

We did have dinner during the week, and it was so dead I was struggling to keep the conversation alive for the excruciating hour we were there. It was a relatively bougie place that had changed hands since I had last lived in the area 5 years ago. I found myself apologising over and over, as I was expecting really good burgers and hotdogs, but instead the only options were overpriced steak or your choice of confit or sous vide meat. He complained about the price of the food and the petit bourgeoisie and put the food we didn’t eat in napkins into his pockets instead of letting me ask for a doggy bag. He dropped me off and I went in for a kiss goodbye, but he leaned violently back away from me, making me feel like I had committed the crime of the century, and he left.

Now my parents had seen me through my teens and twenties and it had pretty much always gone; meet a guy, bring him home to meet parents, go on dates, relationship ensues. I knew I was going to have to start explaining that dating had now moved into a very different climate and that a few dates is not guaranteed to mean anything anymore, not when there are thousands of other people at your fingertips if after a few dates you aren’t feeling it.

So when I got the museum guy's inevitable message saying he wasn’t interested in me, I wasn’t really bothered, but my mum was heartbroken for me. I was less bothered when he carried on messaging saying that he had dumped girls before, and in acts of revenge they had poured brake fluid over his car and other similar definitely made up stuff. I told him he wasn’t really fucking worth the effort so he didn’t need to worry about me. but I haven’t been back to that museum since. Annoying really.

Just as I was about to abandon all hope, The Gas Man entered my life.

Part 2 of The Gas Man coming soon.