And So It Begins

5 Jan
Beachside drinks

flickr image by Steve Jurvetson


My foray into the somewhat daunting world of internet dating had begun. My profile was proudly posted; ready to be devoured and relished by many attractive, witty, intelligent and charming young men.

As I sifted through my first bout of requests, my heart sank. Now, I’m honestly not overly picky when it comes to looks. I really don’t need every woman on the street to stare at my boyfriend in awe, creaming her underwear as she does so. No, I’m merely a sucker for kind eyes and a cheeky smile. As clichéd as it sounds, a cracking personality is more important to me above anything else.

However, most of the men sending me requests looked to be so overweight that they’d most likely have trouble fitting through the front door. Others looked as though they belonged in the belltower of Notre Dame.

There were the odd one or two with acceptable profile pictures, but their profiles showed not one lick of ingenuity. Many felt the need to dribble on about their careers and how much money they supposedly make. This was often followed by a paragraph or two about their fitness regimes, clearly alluding to the fact that I should desperately want to have sex with their amazing bodies.

I decided I couldn’t very well expect all the Prince Charmings to flock to me – I’d need to do some hunting of my own.

This is how I stumbled upon the profile of Muse1979. His profile was short and snappy, with indisputable undertones of cheeky wit. His photos looked refreshingly normal (thankfully without a pretentious shirtless shot), and were accompanied by sarcastic labels that brought a giggle or two bubbling from my chest.

Soon we began chatting through the instant messaging application on the online dating site. There were no boring questions about each other’s day at work, or how many siblings we may or may not have. It was straight into the sharp, flirty banter.

We exchanged phone numbers and before long were chatting like old friends. The conversation often veered towards the suggestive side of things. But I welcomed this, as I am by no means a prude and therefore believe that strong sexual chemistry is important for a potential relationship.

“I’ve never done the whole internet dating thing before,” Muse informed me. “Do we meet up for a drink, or just jump straight into bed?”

I had no idea how it worked either. But having read the recommended safety guidelines on the website, I was aware that meeting at a neutral destination for coffee or a drink was the preferred option. Apart from safety reasons, the benefit of this would be that you have not dedicated too much time for someone you may very well find irritating. If need be, after a polite drink you can very well make your excuse to depart, then run like hell.

However, I did break a cardinal rule on internet dating safety by agreeing to allow him to pick me up in his car. Yes, I know it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world. The boot of his car could have very well been equipped with raping and murdering paraphernalia such as duct tape, rope and a machete. But for some reason, I trusted that Muse was not about to cut me up into little pieces and scatter my body parts around a state forest somewhere. Plus, I was worried that if I was to meet him at our rendezvous point, we very well may not recognise each other. Everyone knows that most people post flattering photos on their internet dating profiles, not necessarily realistic ones.

So there I found myself, waiting at the bottom of my driveway for Muse to appear. Before long, a small white car arrived and a man jumped out of the driver’s side, chivalrously holding open the passenger’s door. As I walked towards him, he planted a sugary kiss on my cheek and complimented my appearance.

Well played, young man. Well played.

I was pleased to find that his photos had been of the realistic variety, apart from him perhaps being a centimetre or two shorter than what he had boldly claimed to be. The conversation flowed nicely as we drove to the beachside bar. Though I was very aware that I was Court Jestering in a major way; attempting to make a witty quip out of every word that left his oral cavity.

Muse parked the car and we then walked towards the bar. As we walked side-by-side, he told me about his adventures that day. He wrapped up the recount by delightfully informing me that he had then undertaken some “manscaping” on his pelvic region. He then peered at me in what I assumed was a suggestive manner.

Merely a funny anecdote?

Once at our destination, Muse purchased a glass of wine for me and a light beer for himself. The witty banter continued and I realised I was enjoying myself. After my third wine (coupled with no dinner in my stomach), I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.

As he complimented my appearance once more, the wine caused my face to flush. He leaned in and kissed me. “Mmm… So that’s what the sauvignon tastes like,” he mumbled.

Smooth. Actually, looking back, a little too smooth. However, I was too preoccupied with my nearly empty glass of wine and the foreign tongue probing around inside my mouth to analyse my date’s actions and comments too severely.

Before I knew it, we had bundled into his car and were driving in the opposite direction of my apartment.

“Where are we going?” I asked stupidly, already knowing the answer to my inane question.

“My place,” Muse replied, squeezing my knee.

This was my window. My window of opportunity to evoke the lady within, tell him I wasn’t the kind of girl to have sex on the first date, politely ask him to drive me home, then bid him goodnight.

However, I of course did no such thing. Once inside his house, I was directed straight to his bedroom where the kissing soon led to much more. As I enthusiastically straddled him, rhythmically moving my hips back and forth, he grabbed me about the waist. “Baby, it’s my turn to be on top.”

With a practised and fluid movement, Muse laid me on my back. As he perched above me, I reached down between his legs to help guide his entry. Only, what I felt made me stop abruptly.

“Where’s the condom?” I asked with urgency. “Did you take it off?” I heard my voice squeak unattractively.

He seemed confused, quizzically peering down towards the scene of the crime. “No. It must have fallen off in the bed somewhere.”

Jumping up, we both skimmed our hands over the bed sheets, searching for the missing loveglove. “It’s not here!” I exclaimed, dumbfounded.

Muse reached out and took my hands, guiding me back down onto the bed. “Don’t freak out, but it’s probably inside you,” he whispered kindly.

Inside me?” I repeated brainlessly.

He gently kissed my worried lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it,” he informed me in a gentlemanly manner.

His fingers tenderly entered, probing around for the lost condom. After five minutes or so he passed the reins to me and I dug around, trying to find the elusive latex contraceptive device. As my fingers worked away silently, and he continued to pepper my face with kisses, I tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation and the fact that this man had been a stranger to me up until a couple of hours ago.

Finally the offending condom was located, and we were then able to apply a fresh one and finish the business.

Afterwards, he invited me to stay the night. However, his invitation seemed to be in more of a dutiful manner, rather than a hopeful one. I declined, knowing I had to start work early the next day and not particularly wanting to face the awkwardness of waking up next to a stranger who’d somehow managed to plant a condom inside me.

He seemed vaguely disappointed, which was probably more to do with the fact that as a consequence of me leaving he’d be missing out on a potential bout of morning sex.

Muse sent a polite text message the next morning thanking me for the night before. The nature of the text sparked a number of thoughts firing around my head. Was this guy a smooth player who’d just been after some casual sex? Would I ever see him again? Did having sex with a guy on the first date completely banish the possibility of establishing a potential relationship? Did I even want a relationship from someone like him? Had he lost all respect for me? Did I have any respect for him?

Hey, I’m a girl, overanalysing is what I do.

My questions were answered nearly a week later when he sent me a text message asking if he could see me again. I agreed and was promptly instructed to be at his house at nine pm. No doubt about it, it was a booty call alright.

Perhaps despite my better judgement, I went. We had sex. It was okay. There were no fireworks, and certainly no emotions. But at least the condom stayed on.

Before I went to leave I asked if he could switch the light on so I could attempt to find my earring that had fallen down the side of the bed.

“I’ll get it!” he exclaimed urgently as my hand reached down in between the bed and the bedside table. He lunged over to my side of the bed.

But my hand had already touched something rubbery. Confused, my fingers closed around the foreign item and I pulled it out of its hiding place under the bed.

Muse looked rather uncomfortable as I dangled a used (but blessedly empty) condom between us. I knew instantly that it was a condom he had used with someone else, as we had disposed of the ones we had shared. “Um, you might want to go and wash your hands,” he suggested.

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” I replied politely, throwing the offending object back under the bed where it had come from. But not before spotting a crisp-looking business card atop the bedside table with a female’s name printed boldly across the front.

It seemed Muse had gotten some action that weekend.

Needless to say, this time I did not receive a cute text message the morning after.

He obviously wasn’t boyfriend material. And to be fair, in his eyes I really wasn’t girlfriend material either. If I ran into him at the pub I’d happily have a friendly chat over an alcoholic beverage. But chances are, he’d already be too busy tuning some other girl.

Best of luck to him. 

One Response to “And So It Begins”

  1. newyorkcliche April 21, 2011 at 4:29 am #

    Having just read many of your stories, this guys really doesn’t seem so bad. And certainly not so bad for a first internet encounter. Kinda like a cake with intricate looking frosting that makes you think it’s going to taste better than it does and when you look at it closer, you see someone’s already licked off many of the cream rosettes.

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