My best friend came round to mine on Saturday night.  Nothing WHATSOEVER to do with us wanting to watch Justin Bieber on the Jonathan Ross show.  Oh no.  Not us.  Not.  At.  All.

 

Moving on … my friend also happens to be on the same dating site as me.  This is absolutely invaluable whilst internet dating for one reason, and one reason only:  if we like someone, we can make sure they’re not absolute man-whores, messaging anything with a vagina.  This system doesn’t really work, granted, because men are men, and they have been known to ‘hide shit’ – but it does mean we can laugh at the freaks on there together.  Win/win.

 

So today I thought I’d bring you one of her dating tales.

 

Now she is six years younger than me, (yeah, whatever,) a brilliant single mum and she appeals to a mostly different demographic to me, (I’ll come back to that point,) ie. she’s  young, slim and pretty.  Biatch.

 

A few weeks ago, she began talking to a much younger guy (high five,) who we’ll call L.  L was 23, claimed to be a ‘footballer,’ and he lived fairly locally to us.   They’d been texting and swapping photos for a while and then they decided they’d meet.  She happened to be childless for the weekend so invited L round for tea and cake … *cough.*

 

L seemed pretty much taken with her.  And rightly so.  He was so keen to meet, he even sent her a photo of him in his bestest football top.  Ah, the warning signs were there.

 

The anticipation built up during the week to the point where I’d seen enough of his cock shots to last me a lifetime.  He was due to go to her place on the Saturday night but we’ve both been messed about so much by guys on that site that we never actually believe they’ll show.  There’s always an excuse or, and it has happened, they just haven’t showed.  All rather ridiculous really.  Anyway, so she wasn’t sure L would turn up or not.  However, he called a few times during that day to explain he was watching football in London and that he’d be at hers by 9pm.

 

And then she got a text.

 

 

Ummm … WHAT?  Yeah, he’s going round to hers for some possible bootay … but wants her to record Match of the Day because he now can’t make it to hers by 9pm, but will be there at 10.30pm instead.

 

Can’t have him missing his favourite TV programme now, can we?

 

Now, L’s on his way back from London.  He’s had a great day out with ‘the lads,’ and is perhaps feeling a leeeetle bit excited about seeing my best friend, right?  Wrong.

 

 

Awww, that’s romantic.  It was at this point that she reminded L that she wasn’t his fucking mother.

 

I also need to point out that:

 

  • He liked girls wearing tracksuits.
  • He wanted her to take a photo of the inside of her fridge to prove she had wine chilling for him.
  • She wasn’t allowed to wear any gold.
  • She had to wear French knickers.
  • He’d prefer it if she didn’t wear any make-up.
  • He would also text a ‘sad face’ whenever she said a swear word.
  • He bitched about toothache all night and stole her Bonjela.
  • Last, but by no means least, he wanted to know if she squirted.

 

A real keeper I think you’ll all agree.

 

So 10.30pm arrives and he finally shows up.  Was there a cuddle?  A kiss?  An apology for being late?  None of the above.

 

“Alright,” as he bowled in all nonchalant like, and sat on the sofa.

 

We’ll skip forward an hour … la, la, la, la, la …. and they’ve had their midnight feast.  Post coital is often a little awkward in my (VERY limited) experience, but we’re all grown ups right?  We understand the code of “I’ll call” – it’s fine!  Seriously.  Sometimes, we just don’t want you hanging around either.  But remember what a charmer L is?

 

He wanted her to drive him home.  After the 2 bottles of wine she’d drunk.  When she refused, he wanted her to pay for a cab home for him – that’s right, he’d apparently come out with ‘no money.’  She obviously, very politely, told him that no, she wouldn’t be paying for his cab home, and that perhaps he might like to go fuck himself.

 

As he dicked about, banging on about how he wouldn’t be able to get home, he really was beginning to make a nuisance of himself.  I know this because she was texting me throughout the whole evening.

 

I was getting a little worried because the prick just wouldn’t leave.

 

By now, she had happened to mention in conversation to L that I was on the dating site also.  So L took the liberty, bless him, of checking out my profile and announcing to her that he’d like to bang me too.

 

That’s right.  The sheets are still sticky (sorry) and he’s now trying his luck with me.

 

She told me this and I asked if I could have a little chat with L.  Apparently, L was absolutely convinced that “I’d be up for it.”  What with him being a footballer and all.

 

Unfortunately, our conversation didn’t quite go as L had expected:

 

Me:                “Are you dicking my mate about?”

L:                  “No, no, course not.  Hey, loved your pics.”

Me:               “You need to leave.  She doesn’t want you there.”

L:                  “How bout I come round to yours now?  You’re round the corner, right?”

Me:               “How about you leave her house now or I’ll come round and make you leave?”

L:                “Alright, alright, no need to be like that.  You sure you don’t want me to come round?  It’d be a lot of fun.”

Me:               “Leave her house now, understood?”

 

He understood.  I’m glad, because I really didn’t want to have to go round and kick his arse at 2am.  I would have done, mind you.  Kicked it HARD.  Especially when I found out he’d told my friend he had a girlfriend … after the deed was done.

 

Happy days eh – this really was a lesson that some young guys really do act their age.

 

I’m never dating again.  EVER.

 

(NB:  I have been asked to point out that my friend is, in fact, completely normal and has had good dates too – she is not, and I quote, “A twat magnet.”)

 

 

 

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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