All day I think about the conversation we had last night. I found Beth using an online dating site and we had been chatting for over a week now. I had given her my number and last night we talked on the phone. I prefer to talk on the phone, sadly that’s not the norm these days. I get tired of text after text, forever going round in circles and restarting conversations. But Beth was cool, she had called me and we talked for over an hour. We started with the usual chit chat, she didn’t seem to like the awkward silences that can be expected sometimes when first talking to a relative stranger. I had been thinking about her all morning. I don’t get nervous or anxious about first dates, it’s more like an excited anticipation and a curiosity as to whether they are who I think they are. Especially with online dating, being such a diverse, fucked up mix of weirdos, imposters and freaks. Anyone can steal a few photos from Facebook and chat you up. My pet hate is when a girl looks great in her photos, you chat with her for days and finally decide to meet up, just to realise the bitch hasn’t updated her Instagram since she decided to give up on life and eat a steady diet of fast food and candy.
So as expected my fingers were crossed. I had a date lined up with Beth tonight. Cheap steak night at my local little bar which; to many was a trendy joint to meet and hang but to me simply a fresh meat supplier. The place where I take girls on first dates and pretend I wasn’t there last Wednesday with another girl, spinning my bullshit and hoping to have her naked, three streets away in my apartment in under an hour. This might be surprising to some but in sad reality it’s the truth for me. No matter who the girl, I somehow find it easy to have my way with them. Maybe it’s the steak? I mean really, it’s a damn good steak! 300g of succulent wagyu beef, cooked to medium-rare perfection and served with buttery mash and steamed veggies covered in a drizzle of sweet red wine jus. Just thinking about the meal to come gets me hot under the collar.
So dinner tonight at 6:30 with Beth, a 5’9 brunette of Maltese heritage. The pictures on her profile didn’t quite disclose enough visual information unfortunately. With maybe a slightly above average body, good skin and a pretty smile I figured it was worth the risk of meeting in public. My plan was to sit outside from a clear vantage point and if by chance a Maltese whale arrived at the prescribed date time I would simply slink off and delete any record of her from my mind and phone. This technique is often criticized for being extremely rude and distasteful, however I feel that tricking a young, horny male in search of a night’s fun into buying you a feed and further indulging your gluttony by supplying 6 month old photos of when you used to work out, is by far, the rudest.
The worst part of hump day has passed, I had once again managed to survive another 7.6 hours of shit. The ride home is always a snail pace compared to the morning sprint, hoping not to be late… again. I don’t really rush, I have a few hours to kill so I go through the usual pre-date processes. Make my bed, attempt to clean the kitchen, tidy the couch and fold the throw rug. Prepare my pad for the inevitable return of myself with a new squeeze in tow. It has to be impressive and subtly overpowering. I ready my bar setup, I find the ability to knock out a tasty cocktail or two at short notice really speeds up the panty removal process.
As I exit the shower and start prettying myself up, I shoot a quick text to Beth “hey gorgeous, looking forward to meeting you, see you soon! x” Its 6 o’clock and it takes about 7 mins to walk to the bar from my apartment. Yes, I have walked there that many times I can work out an average. I don’t own a car and even if I did I doubt I would use it. Living so close and street parking being such a pain reminds me that riding a pushbike and the occasional taxi isn’t so bad. So ok 20 mins left, easy im a guy. Do my hair, roll on some deodorant and apply a little CK1. A touch on the neck, a dab on the chest and a little more down under my naval. If all goes well her sense of smell will be delighted no matter what activities we entertain ourselves with tonight. I throw some dark blue jeans over the standard CK briefs, a collared shirt left out with the sleeves rolled up and some suede loofas. I like my image to say ‘hey I like nice clothes, I have style and fashion sense but I’m no stiff.’
