The Dating Diaries: This Week I Tried To Have Sex Like A Man, And Failed

Our dating diaries columnist decides its time to date like a guy would, only to discover something rather unsettling.

dating diaries

Last week was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. It took a solid two days for me to recover from the incident, where I vomitted in front of my ex and then gave him a solid telling off for breaking my heart. I turned off my phone for two days and decided it would be best to not tell anyone what’d happened – because that way I could pretend to myself that I’d imagined it. Solid logic, I know.

You’ll never guess what happened once I turned my phone on though: I got a text from yer man I met at the bar last week, while waiting for my ex to arrive for our date. I couldn’t believe it! He must have somehow missed me puking, or else he’s into crazy girls. Either way, I’d gotten myself a date.

I came up with (what I thought) was a brilliant idea. I was going to date like a man.

I needed to come up with some new dating tactics – and fast. If my past few dates were anything to go by, I was clearly a hopeless case and needed to improve my technique.

I came up with (what I thought) was a brilliant idea. I was going to date like a man. I was going to be aloof, emotionally detached and just after one thing; sex, obvs.

Don’t judge me. I hadn’t had sex in about a year so I felt it was only fair. I wore my sexiest lingerie and my most revealing dress. I suggested we meet in a bar close to my flat so there’d be no delay in getting him back to mine.

While endeavouring to remove my lingerie in a ‘sexy’ manner I ended up tripping over my knickers.

I arrived to meet him and again, like last week, I had a few drinks to dampen my nerves. Conversation was flowing and it wasn’t long before he leaned in for a kiss – and I made it pretty obvious I wanted more.

Before I knew it we were back in my room and he was unzipping my dress. I really should have cleaned all the underwear off my bedroom floor when I anticipated that I’d be having company. Now remember, I hadn’t had sex in a very VERY long time, so I think I thought I was a lot sexier than I actually was.

As usual the drink had me thinking that I was Beyonce and while endeavouring to remove my lingerie in a ‘sexy’ manner I ended up tripping over my knickers. I saw him cringe, so to distract him from the embarrassment, I jumped on the bed and told him I was ready. As it turns out this was not true.

It was so bloody sore. Apparently when you don’t have sex for a year you regrow your hymen. Okay, in biological terms, I’m sure that’s not strictly true. In actual terms, it felt like I’d been re-virginised. When he started I thought it’d just take a bit of getting used to, but it was like I was popping my cherry all over AGAIN, so much so that he actually asked me “er, have you done this before?”

Morto.

We were both relieved when it was over and he couldn’t get out of my bed fast enough. He even had the absolute audacity to say “we should do this again sometime,” as he made a swift exit.

So, there I was, alone once again. It turns out I can’t actually have sex like a man. My body won’t allow it.

F.M.L.

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