Update #75

Children need to learn to walk before they can run. Some people need to learn to think before they speak. I, apparently, need to learn to date BEFORE I blog!

My slight smugness about my Canada related dates last week has come back to bite me in the ass.

Mr. A-Game has shuffled his way out of popularity. After the great initial ‘getting to know each other’ crap, it appears that there is nothing left of interest inside him. The conversations and text messages have dwindled down to nothing more than a plethora of sickly sweet pet names and repeated variants of ‘how was your day?’ I just need a little more mental stimulation than common place pleasantries, but isn’t that one of the problems with online dating…it takes weeks of messaging to learn what you could have learnt in five minutes of face to face conversation!

The Canadian Mountie also called for a rain check on our date. Admittedly there’s not a lot he could do about a beloved uncle being killed in a horrific car crash, for which I have expressed my deepest condolences, but I can’t help feeling that fate may have coluded with Cupid to make sure I don’t retread old ground.

I haven’t heard from Mr. Fof since our date, but that comes as a welcome relief rather than any surprise. Friends of friends is definitely as far as that connection will ever go.

There was a late addition to the line up last week that I never got around to telling you about. We were at school together and haven’t seen each other in over 15 years. That work of the devil, Facebook, gave him the opportunity to track me down and ask me out on a date. At first I was apprehensive. He wasn’t bad looking at school and his looks haven’t deteriorated with age, but to be completely honest, he was a bit of a dick. Not the sharpest tool in the box, he excelled at sports, flirting and inappropriate humour of the immature teen boy variety. His Facebook profile suggested not a lot had changed. When he started texting me, I lost even more interest. But then he called me and, as if by magic, he became a charming, complimentary, civilised adult male. Employed. A father. Empathetic and supportive. Absolutely definitely resembling a respectable human being. I was shocked and pleasantly surprised. We text and called frequently in the days leading up to our date, only for a message to pop up on my screen less than 24 hours before our reunion,

‘I’ve just realised I have to work nights this week so I won’t get to see you’.

In my vast experience, this excuse for cancelling a date is right up there with dead dogs, broken down cars and the sudden onset of a deadly flu. Strike one Mr.Schoolboy. You may not get a chance at a second strike.

And last, but by no means least, there is Weston. Dear, sweet, funny, well endowed young Weston. I continue to deny both his and my own urges for rough, filthy, deeply satisfying sex, but I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. Dear reader, please understand…if it were possible for Weston and The Traveller to have a love child, it would bare an uncanny resemblance to Cam Gigandet. Is it any wonder then that those men have been appearing at the very top of my fantasy list recently?! Please, judge me no more and simply commend my resolve!


Sex: 0

Drugs: 0

Alcohol: 0

Meat: 0

Caffeine: 0

Mental Health: I feel better with every passing day, despite the intrusive sexual thoughts!

Physical Health: I’ve been complimented several times over the last week on how good I am looking, so I guess something about my lifestyle changes is working!

I’ve Got A Strange Disease…

Weston came over this evening. Maybe it’s my celibacy playing games with my head, but I have never known him look or smell so good! He is, without a doubt, my biggest temptation at the moment. I remained strong and begged him to stop teasing me with his flirting, but it’s safe to say that man left me with some serious fanny flutters!

Mr. Micro Penis


It was just another Friday night at Robyn and Lola’s. Friends had been dropping in all night and now, at 3am, only the stragglers remained.

Jake had turned up, laden with a crate of beer and countless stories that were completely exaggerated, if not entire fabrications, so the evening’s entertainment was set. He’d also brought his older brother along, a man I’d seen around town a few times and knew of, but had never officially been introduced to.
He was much calmer than Jake, listened as much as he talked and was keen to get to know Robyn and I. Maybe a little more than we were prepared to know him.

In a smoke filled living room, the discussions jumped from serious matters of global conflicts to who made a fool of themselves on what drugs the weekend before. Eventually, as is often the case with two open minded women like Robyn and I, the conversation turned to sex.

‘Let me make you squirt,’ Jake’s brother suddenly announced. 

Robyn and I just looked at each other. That was never going to happen.

‘Please, I’m good at it,’ he begged.

In fact, Jake’s brother proceeded to beg for the next hour or so. No matter how many times we turned down his incredibly forward and slightly inappropriate offer, his resolve to get his fingers inside one of our pussies remained.

‘Why?’ I finally snapped, ‘why is this so important to you?!’

He explained that he was aware he had a small penis and that in order to satisfy a woman he had to rely on his foreplay skills. By repeatedly asking to perform these acts on Robyn or I, he was essentially asking for our confirmation that he was good enough. I suddenly saw his persistence as desperation rather than youthful, drunk exuberance.

‘I can’t handle any more,’ Robyn groaned, ‘I’m going to bed’.

Jake had decided a late night trek for cigarettes and more beer was in order, thus leaving me alone with his brother. I tried to change the subject and avoided eye contact by rolling a cigarette.

‘Is it too small?’ I heard him ask.

I shouldn’t have looked up from the rolling papers and tobacco that was balanced precariously on my lap. I should have concentrated on the mission in hand. I should have had the foresight to see that a man with this much concern over the size of his penis, and the confidence to proposition not one but two older women at once, was sooner or later going to get his cock out. But I didn’t think. My natural instinct when he spoke was to look at him. Unfortunately, I was sat on the sofa and he was stood before me, making his personal exhibition at perfect eye level for me.

I would have been shocked and laughed it off, while quickly diverting my gaze, had he been waving a regular twentysomething year old dick in my face, but he wasn’t. It took a while for my eyes to focus on what I was actually seeing. Clasped between his thumb and forefinger was not an average size member, or a below average size one. He didn’t have a small penis. He had a micro penis.

The Micro penis, also known as an ‘Inconspicuous Penis’, is a medically recognised condition. By definition, any penis which, when stretched, is 2.5 standard deviations below the mean size for the age of the patient, is a micro penis. For the average male adult, this refers to 2.8 inches or less.

Mr. Micro Penis just stood there, his dick in between his fingers, waiting for my reaction,

‘Maybe you’re a grower, not a shower?’ Was all I could utter.

Mr. Micro Penis wasn’t as insecure about his sexual abilities with a tiny dick as the average man may be. In fact, he seemed to think that it was the perfect tool for aiding him in landing a pity fuck. The begging started again.

‘No thank you but I really don’t need you to make me squirt…No, no, I can reach orgasm all by myself…I don’t want sex right now…look, it has nothing to do with the size of your dick, I just don’t want to fuck you!’

I was telling the truth. I did not find him remotely attractive, his desperation was making me feel incredibly uncomfortable and I was far too sober to even consider a pity shag. This guy was striking out left, right and centre, yet was utterly convinced it was all down to tiny knob syndrome.

Jake eventually returned from his shopping expedition and I swiftly ensured he sat as a safe buffer zone between Mr. Micro Penis and I. I tried not to wonder whether Jake was afflicted with a small knob and whether it was a family trait or not, but in the end I concluded that Jake and his brother were as different as could be, both physically and in personality and if the overly confident Jake was one of the less endowed variety, someone would have used it to shut up his over enthusiastic, bullshitting mouth my now.

Jake and Mr. Micro Penis asked if they could crash over at my house for the night and, as is custom with our late night revelries, I agreed.

‘You’re sleeping by my feet and not moving all night!’ I ordered Jake through gritted teeth. Well, who can blame a girl? Micro penis or not, I wasn’t taking any chances!

The Date With The Mutual Friend


Friends setting you up with one of their single friends is always like walking a dating tightrope. Your friend will presume they know you both well enough to make the match. They will be expectant, eager to hear the good news that their pals are heading on a journey of romance and companionship. You will also presume that your friends know your likes and dislikes well enough to set you up with someone of similar interests and equal attractiveness. Yet if it all falls apart and their choices turn out to be disastrous, you will not only have to go through the awkward process of rejecting your date, or indeed the pain of being rejected yourself, but you’ll have to relive the whole ordeal to your friends who will be desperate to know where they, or you, went wrong.

But what happens when a friend of a friend finds you on a dating site?

Friend of friend, or Mr.Fof as he will now be known, sent me a message on OkStupid a few weeks ago, commenting on our 99% match and how surprised he was to see me on a dating site. I gave a polite and friendly response, upbeat and in keeping with the person that his friend had led him to believe I was. We conversed through the site for several weeks before he struck up the courage to ask me out,

‘It’s kind of difficult to ask a girl for a drink when she doesn’t drink,’ he said.

At this point I feel it necessary to tell you, dear reader, that I was not physically attracted to this man. We had met on several occasions in the past and his quiet demeanour and almost nervous disposition had done little to improve his appeal. That said, he appeared to be a nice, mature man who really had his shit together. If I turned down his offer of a drink, our mutual friend may find out and be greatly disappointed in me for rejecting someone she considered a close and wonderful friend. I found myself feeling obliged to say yes,

‘I’m still partial to the odd OJ and lemonade,’ I replied.

What was I doing?! I knew I wasn’t attracted to him. I knew there was very little he could do or say on our date to change that. Yet here I was, making final arrangements for midweek drinks at a nearby bar and offering up my phone number in case there was any last minute change of plans.

‘I don’t want to go,’ I told Robyn on the morning of the date.

‘I don’t want to go,’ I told everyone on Facebook.

‘I want to stay at home in these trackie bottoms that smell like month old laundry and binge watch shit on Netflix,’ I told myself.

It was no good. Robyn, Facebook and even the logical inner me had all decided it would be good for me to get out of the house and back into the dating game. Mr.Fof may not be the man of my dreams, but I could be surprised and have a really enjoyable evening. Hair washed, clean clothes on and just enough makeup to make me look like I hadn’t spent all winter in a coffin, I eventually made my way to our rendezvous point.

As dates go, I ended up having a very enjoyable evening. Conversation flowed with ease and Mr. Fof was able to engage in a diverse range of subjects from football banter to African politics. Both coming from a liberal viewpoint was beneficial, but where we disagreed on certain matters, we were able to discuss them with maturity and respect each other’s opinions. I know that may not sound like a big deal, but as someone who works within the fields of religion, politics and women’s issues, I often find myself defending the minority against morons and bigots. Mr. Fof was far from being one of these and it was a welcomed relief.

It was only ten o’clock when Mr.Fof’s phone rang. Mine had been beeping with texts, emails and Facebook messages all evening but I had ignored them out of respect for my companion. I find it rude to spend an evening on the phone when someone has consciously made the effort to spend their time with you. Mr. Fof apologised as he rose from our table to answer the call.

I wasn’t listening in. I didn’t need to. I could see from his awkward disposition and his hushed whispers that he was talking to someone who either didn’t know he was on a date, or wouldn’t have approved of it.

‘Have you been summoned?’ I asked with a slight smile on my face, a poor attempt to hide my irritation and suspicion.

‘No, no,’ he replied, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

It appears that Mr.Fof’s last relationship is far from over. He still lives with his ex and their children. In today’s economic climate I know plenty of couples who are forced to share accommodation simply because it is too expensive to live apart, but something a bout his explanation didn’t sit well with me. Mr.Fof assured me they led separate lives, but when the ex is calling to see if he’s going to be home soon, it suggests something entirely different.

‘She just wanted to make sure I’d be back to have the kids tomorrow’.

He looked sheepish. Like he’d been caught out or was finding the whole situation uncomfortable. I began to feel uncomfortable too.

I wasn’t expecting to have such a great night with Mr.Fof. I still didn’t feel that spark of attraction, but I was prepared to overlook the small things and concentrate on what we had in common, expecting a friendship to develop if nothing else. But that phone call was a game changer. I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes before, the one that says he’s not over his ex, that he’s trying to move forward while still shackled to the emotional ties of a former relationship. Baggage I can handle. I have baggage. Over looking the initial lack of physical attraction is one thing, but overlooking an entire family unit is something else entirely.

I wish Mr. Fof well and I highly expect there will be a reunion with him and his live-in ex partner, but our evening together did little more than remind me not to settle for second best. I will not compromise who I am or what I want. I am sexual and want a partner who stimulates me with their mind, their body language and their appearance.

Shallow, maybe. Honest, always.

Update #74

It appears that the theme for my dating life at present is CANADA…


‘I like him.’

Those fateful last words. This is where shit starts to go wrong. I finally have my head together. I’m sticking to my goals, keeping myself healthy and focusing on my needs. I am determined to prioritise my recovery and make concrete plans for my future. I’m doing really well. Then, a bloody man comes along and throws a spanner in the works!

To make matters worse, I met him on OKStupid. He seems nice and normal enough, but my experience with men from that site in the past has been mediocre at best. He’ll end up being 3ft tall, have a fetish for car parts or be a secret cross dresser. This man is certainly bringing his A-Game, but there’s no way he’s going to be the sweet, charming, intelligent, successfully employed Canadian he’s making himself out to be.

I’ve only ever dated one Canadian before and when I say ‘dated’ I really mean ‘he was in the UK playing rugby for Wales under 21s and we spent a weekend fucking like rabbits in a roadside hotel’. Are they as laidback and open minded as their country’s stereotype would suggest? I’ve heard Canadian men make pretty awesome boyfriends, but I guess that remains to be seen.

In other man news, I have a date with the Canadian Mountie on Friday. The Mountie, who despite his nickname is not actually Canadian, has been in regular contact for the last few months. I’ve told him, several times, that I am not interested in a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement like the one we had before. He knows I am living a cleaner and healthier lifestyle now and that casual sex is not on my agenda. Despite this, I’ve received weekly calls and messages asking after my well-being and, surprisingly, a date request. It was at Robyn’s urging that I agreed to go,

‘It’s not like he hasn’t been consistent. He obviously likes you. Maybe he’s worth a second chance?’

Maybe he is. I contemplated a relationship with him once before, maybe he can convince me to consider it again. Personally, I think he probably just sees my recent vow of celibacy as a new challenge. On Friday, I’ll find out either way.

As for everything non man related in my life, it’s going well. Whether its a placebo affect or not, I certainly feel healthier and happier in myself with the new changes I recently made. I had an appointment with yet another psychologist this week and, after a brief assessment, she has signed me up for a ten week ‘mentalising’ course. It’s group therapy, which I loathe, but at this juncture I am prepared to try anything. With a 12 week waiting list I’m sure I have enough time to get used to the idea of sharing my feelings in a room full of randomers!

Sex: 0

Drugs: 0

Alcohol: 0

Meat: 0

Caffeine: 0

Physical Health: All good.

Mental Health: Definite progress.

Sexual Consent


This blog post comparing sexual consent to making a cup of tea has gone viral over the last few days and so it should. If you know someone who struggles with the concept of ‘no means no’, then maybe this metaphor is the way to educate them…

Consent: Not Actually That Complicated

Inspirational Women

In honour of International Women’s Day, I am re-posting this piece I wrote about Inspirational Women back in October 2013. Keep up the good fight ladies!

Long day at the office? Kids driving you mad? Not happy that the new girl at the nail bar screwed up your French manicure? It’s so tough being a strong woman of the 21st century, right? Well, put on your big girl pants and read this list of truly inspirational women. You’ll think twice about all your bitching and moaning when you realise just what real women are capable of…

Sister Angelique Namaika is a nun from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. She was recently awarded the Nansen Refugee Award for her services to displaced women and children of the Congo conflict. Namaika travels around on her humble bicycle, covering many miles every day, to bring support and hope to countless survivors of violence, rape and kidnapping. Herself affected by the human right’s violations of the LRA, Namaika refuses to let the women she meets sit on their laurels like wilting victims. She provides them with education and life skills to help them move their lives forward. Her kindness and devotion have earned her the nickname, ‘Mother’.


Helga Weiss is a prime example of a woman successfully manipulating a man to get what she wants…and what an example! In 1944, Weiss was a young girl facing the gas chamber at the hands of the despicable Nazi arsehole,  Josef Mengele. She was able to convince him that she was, in fact, older than her apparent years and was completely capable of working in the forced labour camps. She bore witness to extreme cruelty, the pain of separated families, starvation and the soot that fell from the crematorium chimneys. The diary of her Holocaust experience was published at the beginning of 2013 and is illustrated with the young Helga’s own, sometimes harrowing, artwork. Helga Weiss, now aged 84, was one of only 100 Czech Jewish children to ever see Prague again. 15,000 were initially taken.


Niemat Ahmadi is President of the Darfur Women’s Action Group. As a native of Darfur she understands first hand the atrocities being committed against women in her homeland and has fought valiantly against the genocide occurring there. Her determination to help the victims of the conflict, as well as being extremely vocal in the Western world about the Sudanese plight, have led to numerous threats on her life. Despite being forced to leave the country in 2005, Ahmadi fights on. 


Malala Yousafzai is a name familiar to anyone who picked up a newspaper or turned on the television in October 2012. Yousafzai was shot in the head, neck and shoulder by Taliban assassins in protest against her campaign to promote education for girls in the Swat Valley. She was 15 years old. After extensive medical treatment in Pakistan and Great Britain, Yousafzai looks set to make a full recovery and continues to speak out on children’s rights to an education. Her courage has earned her countless award nominations and praise from the world’s leaders. Her shooter remains at large.


Lou Xiaoying is an old woman currently lying on her deathbed, but her lifetime achievements should not go unrecorded. Since 1972 she has made a living by rummaging through the trash in her native town of Jinhua, China. She owns very little and eats even less, yet this has not stopped Xiaoying from bringing home and caring for no less than 30 babies she has found dumped over the years. China’s one child policy has seen an increase in abortion rates and child abandonment, but this means nothing to 88 year old Xiaoying and her husband. They do not care for politics, they only care about loving and nurturing the defenceless babies they find in dustbins and discarded on the side of the road.

lou x

So, the next time you’re cursing a broken heel, muttering your discomfort on a packed tube train or huffing at the credit card bill, remember there are women in the world who are doing more than their fair share for humanity and that maybe, your mixed up takeaway order isn’t such a big deal.