Until now, I’ve been pretty lucky with online dating. Not lucky enough to be in a happy relationship, and I do seem to attract trouble-makers, but I hadn’t come across many time-wasters, or been rejected that much.
First, I went on Guardian Soulmates, in 2013, and ended up in a 3-year relationship with the first person I met.
When I became single again in 2016, I quickly met Daniel and Young Jaguar, who both wanted more, then Whippersnapper, who claimed to love me.
I was probably a bit smug and cocky to be honest. I didn’t quite get it, when people talked about dating being a nightmare.
Obviously it went tits up with WS. I think part of why I spent so long daydreaming about him, is that I don’t have anyone else to think about.
He’s kind of a metaphor for what I want. I think about sex with him, because he’s just the last person I had good sex with. I daydream about a relationship with him, because I want a relationship.
For a while, I was hung up on him, but right now, I am so ready to be swept off my feet by a non-prick.
I’m doing everything at my end – keeping an open mind on dating apps, being patient if instant sexual attraction isn’t there, but the universe is not sending any non-pricks my way.
I’m starting to see what people mean about it being hard work. There are so many time-wasters – silly people, men who haven’t got their shit together, who don’t know what they want.
Bearded South African Man was a classic of the genre – he couldn’t decide if he was keen or going ‘emotionally confusing landscape‘.
Next, there was the Bearded Welsh Man. (Weirdly he had the same first name as the Bearded South African Man.)
When I joined Bumble, Bearded Welsh Man (BWM) was the first person I matched with. He didn’t seem massively hot from photos, but his face had character, and as soon as we started chatting, I felt drawn to his ascerbic sense of humour.
He was a primary school teacher, which he described as “70% getting them interested, 25% facts and 5% blatant lies”.
We messaged each other for a week or two. Sometimes he’d send lots of messages, other times nothing.
One Sunday when we were both lying in our respective beds at 1pm. We both agreed we would finally get up at 1:30pm, a nice round number, but would chat until then. We were taking the piss out of each other quite badly, but it was funny rather than offensive. He made fun of my phone skills, when I couldn’t open a photo he sent me.
For some reason we got onto talking about dick pics. I said it’s funny there’s more graffiti of cock and balls than vaginas.
He suggested it was because vaginas are harder to draw. I said “only if you don’t know your way around them!”
He said “no one really knows what they look like. You can’t look directly at them.” Then he sent me a Gif of a monster, and said “is it like that?”
We agreed to meet that Wednesday.
By Tuesday night, I hadn’t heard back from him, about when and where we were meeting. I started wondering if it was going to happen.
Eventually, he rescheduled because it was a busy week, as it was the last week of term.
I thought it was rubbish, as he would’ve known when we arranged it. I didn’t buy that it was the real reason.
We said we would definitely do it the following week, when he would be off work, instead. However, when we chatted later, he said he was thinking of arranging a last minute holiday.
I take it we’re not meeting then.
I kind of lost interest, but he was still messaging me quite a bit and making me laugh.
He didn’t go for his impromptu holiday. After another week and a half of texting, I took the bull by the horns and said “so when are we going for this drink?”
He apologised and suggested Saturday. I said Saturday could work for me, but he didn’t reply.
Saturday came and went.
I thought maybe part of him wanted to date and part of him didn’t, for whatever reason. I archived the chat on WhatsApp and kind of forgot about him.
Weeks later, I changed my profile picture on WhatsApp to one of me swimming in a lake.
Out of the blue, he messaged me saying “nice change of profile. What happened to that coffee then? Did you find true love?”
“I was waiting for you to text back!” I replied.
“Haha. Too late?”
“I have a very strict cancellation policy.”
“Fuck… this is why I never fly with Ryanair.” He replied.
We had some budget-airline banter, then I said “I got the impression you were a bit ambivalent about meeting up.”
He said “not at all. Are you free on Friday or Saturday?”
I wasn’t. We half-agreed to meet on Sunday. Then on Sunday morning he texted me saying he had decided to move abroad.
Wow. That’s an extreme way of getting out of a date.
Then there was the Perfect-in-lots-of-ways Guy. I had a brilliant time with him. I didn’t feel physically attracted to him, but I was happy to try and muster up some sexual attraction.
After our first date, he seemed keen for a second one. I went away for a week to see my parents, and we texted a lot.
One day I said I had been to a Pilates class with my Mum, and I was the youngest person there by 3 decades.
“As long as you’re the most flexible.” He said.
I said something about showing off my flexibility when I got back.
He asked “I’ll look forward to super flexible you. Any exercises I need to do to keep up?”
I said “The only exercise I can think of is something you’re probably already doing 😳.” (That was a masturbation reference.)
“Hahaha. I think I can manage that.”
It turned out he was going to America for a week when I got back (“Rubbish second date planning by me, sorry.” He said.)
We were in touch while he was in the US. He was even sending me photos of his trip.
He lost his phone in Madrid on the way home, which definitely seemed to be true as the last message I sent only had one tick on WhatsApp for a week.
I don’t know if the problem was that we lost momentum with the break in contact, or if something happened for him, but we never had the second date.
We chatted a bit when he got his phone back. We half-arranged to meet that Sunday, but again, he didn’t reply to my last message.
Sunday came and went.
I asked myself if I’d done anything to put him off, but I really don’t think I did anything at all in the gap between him seeming keen and then going off the grid.
I guess people have a lot going on – maybe they’re dating other people and it gets serious with someone else.
Maybe whatever led them to be single up til now comes up again. Maybe it isn’t the right time.
I know when WS ended things, as soon as the ink was dry on his breakup text, I was dating again to try and feel better. I cancelled a few dates because I realised I wasn’t ready (although I did give an honest explanation of why) so I guess I was the time-waster there.
Another date that hasn’t gone ahead lately, was also cancelled by me.
I decided to raise the age limit on this ride and give up on Whippersnappers.
The dream is to find a guy who knows his arse from his elbow emotionally. Emotional incompetence is not unique to the kids – lots of guys older than me can’t pick an emotion out of a lineup either, but I think there’s a vague correlation between how long you’ve been on the planet and having a fucking clue.
However, before I got as far as changing my dating app settings, I got another message from a 25-year-old.
Ok. This is the last one though. I thought, as I replied.
This was also the week I visited my parents. We texted all week. The day I was coming back to London, as I packed my bag, we had a text chat about our date.
One minute we were musing over having 69% match on OkCupid, the next he was asking “do you have a foot fetish?”
I said “no I haven’t, but I don’t hate feet like lots of people do. I quite like my own feet.”
Then I tried to deflect things by saying I recently burnt my foot quite badly, during an accident getting a cottage pie out of the oven (true story – see picture).
Undeterred he said “so do you like to bring your feet into the bedroom?”
No, I leave them in the hallway and hobble into bed on bloodied stumps.
“It doesn’t define me sexually!” He insisted indignantly, before asking me what I’m into in bed.
“We haven’t even met yet!” I replied.
We got onto arranging the date.
He said “whereabouts is good for you?”
And then added “and am I staying over?”
There probably was a time I would’ve found it rakishly charming, but it made me think piss off mate.
As I drove the 6-hour journey home from my parents’, I wondered why I was meeting him.
- There was not one thing he’d said, that made me think I’d have fun on the date
- One of the things I like best about whippersnappers is they can’t grow a full beard yet, and I hate beards. However, this guy had a luxuriant, impressive beard for any age. Worst still, it was coiffed into a very pretentious hipster arrangement.
- Now I’ve moved further out of London, I can’t be bothered to faff about getting the train and an Uber home if I already hate the guy
I was curious about the foot thing though. My usual stance on weird sexual stuff is that if it doesn’t hurt anyone, I’m open to at least trying most things. With that in mind, I googled foot fetishes, to see what it involved.
It seemed like the common themes were foot jobs and toe-sucking.
I’m not sure about foot jobs. I already feel like hand jobs are the thing I’m worst at. How much further am I willing to handicap myself?
I’d have to really like the guy to get stuck into toe-sucking. I think it would be hard to stop thinking about an old TV advert I always used to see, for fungal toenail infection ointment.
Then, foot-fetish guy really shot himself in the foot.
He was unco-operative about where to meet on our date. It’s a minor faff to get to central London now, so it’s great if they can come to Marylebone and meet me halfway.
This guy seemed insistent I came to the Underground stop near his work.
I told him there was no point meeting if we’d already got off on the wrong foot.