Down with dating

Here we are at the end of February; spring is coming; the days are getting longer…

It was a lovely day yesterday; last week I had a series of events with NHS organisations across London and for Friday’s I hired out the 33rd floor of Citibank’s headquarters in Canary Wharf. The view was rather spectacular; out across the Dome and down the river to my home, opposite London City Airport. Check out this photo of your taxes at work:

I was in a good mood partly because I was due to see Sam in town for our date. I’d had a busy week, and we hadn’t really been able to keep in touch, but the plan was to meet at a posh restaurant on Covent Garden. I should, perhaps, have taken note when he decided he wanted to go somewhere ‘cheap’ instead. And then, later, he decided he wanted to come to my place again [yay]. And then he couldn’t stay very long as he was ill [boo]… and then he cancelled [censored].

And then he went quiet on me. I’m mystified, and not a little hurt that something that started so well has ended to abruptly and with that strange air of … why?

Saturday’s date has also been postponed; hence my ability to wallow a little in self pity tonight. However, that has happened due to genuine if self-inflicted illness on the part of my datee so this I can forgive. We are now meeting tomorrow evening Chez Moi; meaning I have two dates in one day tomorrow - assuming nothing awful happens during the meanstwhile.

I was tempted to ring round and re-jig all my other dates to fill the bounty this new slot availability could be turned into. But my instinct was that this might be considered a tad rude; I hardly need to signal on a first date to candidates for boyfriendage that they are a plan B!

I had a relatively enjoyable night in on Friday, notwithstanding an embarrassingly wine fuelled tête-à-tête with my neighbour about the synergy of 2am and Very Loud Music that finds me somewhat bruised today. I shall keep a low profile tonight and ensure that I am loveliness personified for my fellas on Sunday.

In the meantime I shall dwell not on Sam, gentle reader, but on this rather charming young man: Matthew Mitcham, an Australian Olympian, gay and…. *sigh*.

Mr Right. Who He?

It’s busy on the dating front, gentle reader, which is great news. I’m not entirely sure what it is that has prompted this surge, but I’m not going to argue – just accept it at face value and enjoy.

Friday I have what is technically my second date with Sam, which I’m very much looking forward to. But I also have dates on Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. My bank manager will be pleased ;-)

Yet with this veritable cornucopia of gorgeous guys all lining up to be Frumpella’s secret pumpkin how do I ensure I don’t let this opportunity pass me by?

I’ve never sat down and thought about who Mr Right might be; and while I know it does not pay to be too prescriptive I suspect one of the reasons I’ve never really been able to get a relationship off the ground since I came out is that I’ve not been very discerning. I’ve been just too pleased to get any interest at all; it’s turned my head and I haven’t ever considered the longer term.

Damn, it’s difficult. Am I still so new to this? Well, the only two people ever to call me their boyfriend didn’t really mean it. And while it is fun to have a string of guys come round, enjoy some naughty fun, be told that I’m fabulous and then be left to get on, I’ve always wanted…. more.

What am I looking for? It’s difficult to set out, as it’s still a moveable feast. My need to depend on an experienced gay man has diminished and so over time Mr Right has evolved.

He was a very ‘active’, mature, non-scene, out, guy who could and would very much be the dominant partner in the relationship.

Now I’m looking for more of a balance. Versatile, quite possibly late 20s to early 30s (though by no means am I excluding anyone older); someone who goes out on the scene sometimes; who is quite career focussed and can network well; someone who looks after themselves, has a number of gay friends and acquaintances etc.

In short, not anymore someone who can correct my deficiencies as a gayer; now someone who complements or balances (as necessary) who I am.

Naturally, there are things that haven’t changed. Double-plus gorgeous and an ass that won’t quit, if you please. The standards here in Strumpetville are tougher than ever!

I can be single minded when I want to be and usually get what I want through a mixture of tenacity and self-delusion. Though patience is not a virtue of mine, experience has shown that Rule One is a very important rule indeed; and instead of putting out and having an air of neediness about me perhaps it’s best to see what happens – or does not – in its own good time.

If you’d said two years ago I’d be asking men out on dates and openly flirting with other gayers I would have… well, blushed and scurried away probably. I realise I’m asking a lot, and I’m still a little uncertain what I’m offering anyone wants (well, if you’re going to love yourself it may was well be tough love). Nevertheless, I know I look good [ish] – I’m quite pleased with how things are turning out body-wise though I still know I won’t win any prizes! I have a great job that I love; great friends; I have good taste; I’m told I’m good in bed… I think I’m worth a whirl.

Double plus Kapow

Well, I hardly know where to begin…

Date One, the South African – whom we should really call Sam from this point on – visited me today…

Eagle-eyed as always, gentle reader, you will recall we were due to meet on 27 February. What gives?

Well, Sam and I have been chatting online; texting, calling and emailing too. We’ve been calling each other several times a day and it had become our custom to call each other to say goodnight. Today he texted to ask if he could see me, if only for a little while… And, do you know, I thought to myself “why not”?

A little after 5pm (the efforts of TfL to transcend its usual caprice ridden whimsy and finally prevent anyone getting anywhere, ever, notwithstanding) we met: I’ll admit, as an aside, my first face-to-face sight of him left me (mentally) clicking my heels together and going ‘yippee’…

Anyway, we opened the wine he brought, and sat on the sofa. And we talked. And, my God I was nervous. Really nervous; more so than I’ve been on a ‘first date’ for quite some time. Me being me, of course, I burbled incontinently about inconsequential matters until, seemingly impulsively (though I suspect to shut me up) he leaned over and kissed me.

Well, if it was to shut me up it worked. Anyone who knows me would – if given the chance of course – happily confirm that very little leaves me speechless. But this did.

One kiss led, as these things will, to another and another – each of us breathlessly exclaiming throughout that Rule One was not! No! Never! To be broken.

Yet after the wine, when I went to put on some coffee, and he followed me into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around me and begun to nuzzle my neck it was that exact moment I decided I simply don’t care about rules any more.

Fortunately Sam is in better control of his baser nature than I and despite us both reaching a state known as dishabille, we – by a hair’s breadth to be sure - managed to keep to the letter of Rule One.

It wasn’t just the you-know-what though. We each talked about various things; he’s been so open with me, it really makes me want him more: The death of his father, his life growing up in South Africa as a non-white person (half Indian, half Indonesian, all yum) his [to be revealed another time]. Also, I think it rather civilised that we managed to end what I suppose we’d call date zero with a coffee and game of chess…

Well, I’m sold. Actually there’s nothing here I don’t like (at the risk of sounding crass, we pushed the boundaries of Rule One sufficiently for me to be quite sure of that) and apparently he feels the same… so until 27 February, then, let us raise a toast to South African food technologists named Sam.

Meme

Meme... me me me me me

I stole this meme from a friend (with permission):

Kissed any one of your Facebook friends? Yes. A couple of lovers and exes on there.
Been arrested? Yes!
Kissed someone you didn't like? Then or now?? And yes!
Slept in until 5 PM? No, but nearly.
Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes.
Held a snake? No. Unless that’s a euphemism.
Ran a red light? Yes.
Been suspended from school? No.
Totaled your car/motorbike in an accident? No. Other people’s...
Been fired from a job? Taken voluntary redundancy once.
Sang karaoke? Yes. A few times, always badly!
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Almost always.
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Yes.
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes.
Kissed in the rain? Yes.
Sang in the shower? Yes.
Sat on a rooftop? Yes. The rooftops of London allow for many an adventure.
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? No.
Broken a bone? Yes. Collarbone/Stairs; Nose/Fight; Foot/Idiot
Shaved your head? No, but am thinking about it.
Blacked out from drinking? No. I seem to have the capacity to get very very drunk without any kind of real memory loss. Not such a blessing really.
Played a prank on someone? Oh yes. I've often been described as a pranker.
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? Oh, I hope not. I can’t stand the thought of doing that to someone.
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? Erm… is that another euphemism?
Been in a band? No. Wish I had though!
Shot a gun? Yes. long story.
Tripped on mushrooms? Not that, no.
Donated Blood? No - believe it or not homosexual men aren’t allowed to donate blood in Britain.
Eaten alligator meat? Yes, at college.
Eaten cheesecake? Yes. Yum!
Still love someone you shouldn't? I don’t think there’s anyone I shouldn’t love. At the risk of sounding trite everyone in my life has had their place, even if that place has been a difficult one.
Think about the future? Yes, always. The trick is not to be frightened of it. I'm still learning!
Believe in Love? Yes. I hope it believes in me!
Sleep on a certain side of bed? Yes, actually I do.

Datesville continued...

Let me tell you more about another one in particular of the lovely meN who seem to be just dying to take me out; double-plus hurrah!...

This time I refer to a guy from gaydar who asked me out on Valentine’s Day. I referred to him as date 2.5 because I think he’s very good looking indeed, and that we would not go out because of how exceptionally beautiful he is. How could he sustain an interest in Frumpella?

Nevertheless, as I said to friends in the week, I think I’m due a touch of the exceptionals, and here we are; date still on.

He works for a major national fashion retailer co-ordinating their window displays (I don’t think I can describe the job in a way that does it justice) and so travels all over the country. Thus he has a fair bit of time to text and chat and so we’ve also been in pretty much constant contact. I’ll admit he has a filthy mind – perhaps as filthy as mine - and we’ve exchanged more than just casual chat but we won’t actually be meeting till 28 February: dinner at his place!

Date 2.5 really made me smile recently. He asked me why I was single and I explained, briefly, that whilst at that precise moment I wasn’t technically looking, I was open to offers.

So, gorgeous romantic type that he apparently is, he later sends me a mock CV with covering letter in application for the position of Mike’s Boyfriend. What a lovely thing to do! As soon as I saw that a number of positions came to mind that might provide a suitable opening…

Dear me, gentle reader; I’m very lucky. I wonder what it is about February that makes a young gayer’s heart turn to love? Well, whatever it is, it’s most welcome.

Again, I’m glad I didn’t just rush off and jump into bed with him. And while the tone – in marked contrast with the South African – suggests after dinner there might be quite a show (pending the final test of actually meeting of course) our interaction done with an emphasis on building or starting a relationship.

Assuming all goes [very] well I’ll need to pick one of them eventually, but for the moment I’m enjoying the attention from these great guys… it’s certainly keeping me smiling!

Rant!

It didn’t work out… you need to not exist.

That’s usually been the way with me and my ephemeral boyfriendettes. But with International I was hoping it would be different. Perhaps it still can be, but he’s annoyed me such a lot today.

We were friends on Facebook, but he’s decided not to do that anymore. And that’s fine. Well, it isn't actually. But what really riled me was his explanation to me that it was in case he found happiness and that, through the medium of status updates and similar, touched a nerve with me as I’d still be, at this unspecified time “raw” after the break-up.

How dare he?!

Thoughts of Rule 7 rose unbidden in my mind and in my terse reply I set out my disappointment at his presumptuous projection of his feelings onto me.

How the very dare he?!

There. Rant Over.

And none of this “two sides to every story” business, I beg you, gentle reader. The distinction between his side and mine is that I’m right and he’s wrong ;-)

Datesville

I was going to write about a couple of funny experiences I had with guys on various sites who became a little… obsessed I suppose, and in one case seemed to follow me from place to place for a while. I found that a bit unsettling but it seems to have stopped, so no harm done!

This is good, gentle reader, because I can tell you more about one in particular of the lovely me who seem to be just dying to take me out; double-plus hurrah!

I refer of course to the food technologist from Wanstead. And I will admit to you gentle reader that Frumpella is, for the first time in some time, quite the smitten kitten.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall tell you the story of the smiting…

We’d continued exchanging messages after he’d asked me out. And so it went, back and forth, in the usual manner… until Monday. After I got home from what was a truly challenging day at work, he suggested – not a welcome suggestion, I’ll admit – that we chat over MSN messenger using the webcam. Being a bit ticked off by the experience of the day I was not keen. Nevertheless, not wishing to put him off I reluctantly agreed to his proposal and so set up, began streaming, and…


Double plus gorgeous! His photos just don’t do him justice. To go with the gorgeousness he’s very sweet, very kind, very fit. Very much my type (tall; slim; not so far up his own arse there isn’t room for anyone else; and apparently afflicted by very poor eyesight!)

Poor eyesight, you ask? Well he seemed unaccountably taken with what he saw – and the camera does not love Frumpella. Yes, 27 February is still on for our date…

We chatted and chatted for hours and hours... and I’ll admit our conversation did tend to Rule one. Yes, the rule still stands; but we did carefully explore what the boundaries of rule might be, as it was agreed that we were mutually predisposed to some friendliness on the occasion of our meeting.

Since then we have called each other, texted, exchanged emails and he even 'phoned me today at work to see how my day was going.

What a sweetheart! Yes, he makes Frumpella a very cheerful (and very friendly) Fairy indeed.

I shall, of course, tell you about the other guys in due course… but in the meantime I must admit I’m glad I didn’t just rush off into an ill advised Rule 2 type date and took my time, insisting we stick to the end of the month. Well, even on this blog there’s a first time for everything!

Jekyll and Hyde

I have decided that this blog was drifting too much recently what with my seeming inability to get a relationship started - so far - and my tendency to jump online for man fun instead.

When I started this blog I chose the URL because, blind fool that I was, I wanted to talk about how full my heart was with love for Darren. Of course then I did not realise he was going to progress from bruising my ribs to breaking my heart [LMFAO]; nevertheless, every-detail was still meant to refer to what's going on upstairs not down.

I'm reveling in a huge amount of sex, and have been for some time now. And whilst I think it cheap and puerile to go into detail about this assignation or that guy I clearly have a need to talk about it, maybe brag a little...

So the thing I've done is this:

I now have two blogs. This, Number One Blog if you will, shall continue much as it ever has; but I will not talk about sex or assignations except where, in context, it is necessary. This is the blog of Dr Jekyll.

The other blog, whose URL I do not propose to share - nor do I intend to mention it here again - will be a totally open, explicit, adult, full and frank discussion of my sexual habits, experiences, tastes and desires. The blog of horny old Mr Hyde.

Fear not, gentle reader, I remain Frumpella and this is ever yet Strumpetville. But I have to acknowledge the two sides of my nature and that you have better things to do than read about my smutty escapades.

And, no, I’m not going back to hiding my sex life or sexuality. It is the nature of the blog, not the blogger, that must change.

Of course there remains much to blog about, not least my remarkable foray back into the dating world. Alongside the three guys that have asked me out I am chatting to another on Parship and whilst...er... about my business today I saw a guy’s profile that really struck me; and I was inspired, after my recent experience, not to seek him out for an assignation but to ask him out on a date.

To which he said yes!

So then; let us think of the creation of my new blog and a re-assertion of the object of this one as an attempt not to make the same mistakes again but to seek out and explore strange new ones!

Normal Service

… has been restored. Yes, gentle reader, The Cheerful Fairy is back.

Last night I drank a lot of wine and had a good old cry; one that was some two weeks overdue. So, this morning, the combination of booze and tears had inevitably found me somewhat hung over. And amazingly horny! Which I only mention now because I hooked up someone who turned out to be a former rent boy from San Fransisco. He was really interesting and alongside some very good-but-naughty fun indeed we talked for hours and hours… He isn’t really my type in many ways but being nearby and so very interesting I think I will keep in touch as a friend.

But that is by the by, because the real reason I’m cheerful if this:

I have been asked out not once, not twice, but three times for a date. Well, two and a half times possibly – as I shall now explain:

Date 1 is a food technologist from Wanstead who messaged me on OUT and we got chatting. Because work is so busy we can’t meet till 27 February, but we're keeping in touch, so it all seems good.

Date 2 will be a TV producer I’ve been exchanging messages with via Parship and who asked me out this very morning. Parship uses psychometrics and on the face of it we’re not compatible but he and I get on well so far. So I replied that I’d love to; we shall see what comes of it.

Date 3, or 2.5 I suppose, is the most surprising. It’s not really a date as such, not yet – merely a request for one. The surprise comes in two parts. The first is that it is from a guy on gaydar. Since joining it about a year ago it has become abundantly, if delightfully, clear it isn’t a dating site… on my, no. So I’m really quite pleased. All the more so because the gaydar guy is insanely good looking. He’d looked at my profile before but had not drawn my attention (no pictures either; he sent me some with his message) so I’d thought nothing of it.

I call it date 2.5, should we actually go out, because I’m surprised at the interest from him. He’s that good looking!

Oh, don’t worry; I’m not going to sit here and stress over how he's so much better looking than me. A resounding yes will be winging its way back to him too.

So there we have it. As if by magic, dating arrived.

Frumpella Interrupted

With perfect timing – as I was just beginning to move forward – International got in touch.

He sent me a very long, carefully worded and very sweet message explaining how, though he does not want to get back together, he still loves me; and how much he feels for me in a number of ways.

I was chatting to a friend of mine when the message came through, and it just happened to catch my eye but somehow I just knew this message (we’ve remained in touch since The Split) was somehow portentous…

After a quick glance at the content I simply couldn’t talk to my friend any more so left the conversation and headed off to get some wine, instinctively feeling this would take time and booze to assimilate. And so, sitting quite uncomfortably, I began.

It really was a sweet message, recognising that we couldn’t carry on while he was in another relationship he had no intention of ending; and that in his view I deserve someone who could give me 100% of himself 100% of the time.

I wish I could post the message here… but I shan’t because it is not fair on him. And the same holds true of my reply. But in response I did say that as he still loves me so I love him and the process of splitting up is still one we both have to come to terms with. And as for me, I feel in many ways he was too good for me and he deserves every happiness.

It remains to be seen whether we shall truly become friends. International and Darren are probably he only true relationships I’ve had in the last year – or ever when it comes to men; my constant infatuations with this guy or that in the meantime notwithstanding. So it’s not easy for me to understand what is happening or will happen as the two Endings are completely different.

For some reason, strange enough to me to mention here, I’m really angry with Darren. I vaguely suspect he either should have broken up with me properly or not at all… odd though. And I also seem to want to talk to my mother, though relations have been somewhat strained since I came out to her – immediately after Darren abandoned me, actually. Hmm.

As for the rest, I am very very sad tonight which is a pity as otherwise things have been going rather well (and I don’t mean sex, for a change; more about this later )

So forgive me if I stick two fingers up at Valentines Day this year, gentle reader. It’s the Cheerful Fairy’s night off!

Still a slut?

I will start, if I may, with a bit of a confession.

You may recall, gentle reader, my aim to keep my sexual activities in check and try and keep to one new sexual partner a week (or thereabouts. Ish. Terms and conditions etc). Well, since International and I went our separate ways I have been making the most Strumpetville has to offer and - to cut a long story short - my encounters now run for 2009 well into the 20s.

OK – I know I talk too much about my sex life to the expense of other things and I should get back on track with the sometimes [always] difficult search for Mr Right. So, after a whole lotta fun – and a spirited attempt to move away from the vanilla into what a friend described as double mint chocolate chip – I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t time to Just Calm Down.

Alongside a very handy distraction from the inevitable, and very deep, sadness I feel after my split from International (I battle even now with the impulse to tell him I think we’ve made a mistake…) there have been a couple of other elements to my recent behaviours.

Firstly I have not been on the dating scene at all. I have studiously ignored it, in fact. Hence my interaction with gay men is limited to a few friends and neighbours. So a little stimulation goes a long way and having the sex drive that I have…

There is also the job. Alongside becoming a bore about sex I am probably, certainly to close friends, becoming a bore about work. But the work I have now is incredibly challenging and complex and I quite often leave work buzzing and really pumped up, especially mentally. So a release of some sort is often helpful; just to help me switch off.

Yes there is nothing like a good assignation to help me off to sleep these days. But perhaps it’s time to start exploring the possibilities of a hot chocolate and a trashy novel.

I suppose I started to think like this after a little shock I had a while ago; you see like most bloggers I can see the searches people undertook to get here. I was somewhat startled, to say the least, that a simple Google search for the term 'slut' brings up in the results my blog (Google scans webpages using programmes called spiders and defines the content by keyword to facilitate searches. Hmmm) and so I wonder what impression I must give you!

Well, it did make me laugh but now I think (in a reality check style of wossname) that it mostly illustrates I need an early night once in a while. And not in That way!!

Dissonance

I am surprised sometimes that I can keep two entirely distinct ways of thinking in my head.

On the one hand there is the biggest strumpet in Strumpetville; the one always on the look out for a causal assignation or two online. Flirting with guys on the train; eyeing up guys in the office. The part of me that derives enormous satisfaction from just sleeping around.

Then there is the part of me that wants to be in a loving, monogamous relationship with someone I love and who loves me. The idea of even looking at someone else would fill me with dread and instead I would get fat and happy picking out curtains, going for walks and snuggling up one the sofa with my double-plus one to watch romantic movies.

Of course there are other sides to me too. The ambitious hard worker; the vain and pompous bore; the shy and retiring introvert. All part of Frumpella’s rich tapestry.

Yet it really strikes me that I’m living a very Jekyll/Hyde lifestyle; searching for Mr Right whilst quite happy to make do with Mr Right Now (And, occasionally, Friends).

I have, it is true, put myself about a bit since New Year. Well… more than a bit. But more of that another time. Yet last night I gave myself the evening off and had an early night and caught up with my television viewing and had a really nice evening.

And, gentle reader, you know what would have made it perfect? Snuggling up in someone’s arms; under the covers there with someone. Nothing frisky, though certainly a sexual element, the undertone to kisses and cuddles… but the most important thing would have been laughing a the same things, commenting on the same storylines, slowly drifting off to sleep together. The nice things that couples do [I’m told].

Guess what else? I wasn’t too sad about it. Of course I felt a bit lonely and wistful; only to be expected I suppose. But I was also rather hopeful in a suspiciously cheerful way that it will all turn out for the best. “Goodness knows”, the cheerful fairy said to himself, “I have a lot to learn about this relationship lark, it is true, but I’ll get there in the end”.

I often wonder how this story will end; half a century or more down the road. However many guys I sleep with (yep, still carrying on with that carry on) I wonder how many assignations, boyfriends, lovers, True Loves and true friends there will be before the two parts of me resolve into one.

Although "They Lived Happily Ever After" does have a certain ring to it…

75

I don’t know quite how to describe my low mood at the moment. I’m afflicted by some kind of ennui and while I’m dissatisfied with my state I am not motivated to do anything about it.

This is no way for the Cheerful Fairy to behave!

So being at a loose end and, somewhat unusually, not really in the mood to hook up with anyone, I thought I would write about things about which this Fairy can be cheerful:

75: I am at my target ideal weight of 75kg (11 stone and 11 pounds); hurrah. That means since starting this blog I’ve lost nearly 17 kilos. (2 stone and 8 pounds). And boy do I like what I see in the mirror!

It’s all bound up with coming out I suppose because (a) I’m looking after myself properly and (b) I’m happier with myself generally, but I really do like my body now. I toyed with the idea of shaving off my body hair to show off the rippling gorgeousness that is yours truly but decided on balance not to as guys seem to go crazy over my furry tummy ;-). So I’m really into being and keeping fit and that onward goes into nice clothes and shoes and so forth; trying to be attractive properly.

50 is another number that we can put squarely in the cheerful camp as this weekend marked fella number 50 since I broke up with Darren. You might or might not consider it a figure to boast about, gentle reader; that’s not what I’m trying to do. But I am secretly pleased because it shows that some people find me attractive at least some of the time.

Put the two together and I’m much happier because I like what I see; evidently other people like what I see; and so a rather shy and introverted closet case becomes more outgoing and confident. Much work remains to be done of course and sometimes in my darker moments I wonder how wide the streak of cowardice running through me really is…

At the end of the day there is nothing about me or my situation that is not entirely within my power to resolve. I probably need to stop being a bit scared and lazy about things and seize the moment a bit more. At the present time I’m not focussed on looking for Mr Right (though I should not say No were he to present himself, with his papers in order, for inspection). Yet there are other things I want to focus for a while. Other things to keep me cheerful!

Bore Vs Whore

I’ll start out by being a bore… I’ve been so busy at work as per, but more so, that I deliberately put away my feelings until I had time to deal with them. Last weekend was the plan but, oh my, what a fun weekend it was. And then the sky quite literally fell in this week so there wasn’t much time to think and… although there wasn’t much in the way of man-flesh I still didn’t get to grips with the end of my affair with International.

We remain in contact and through this I have moved from my anger at his somewhat indifferent attitude, to an almost panic-stricken feeling that I’ve Made A Terrible Mistake… it became so oppressive last night I could barely breath. Eventually it all became too much, and I had to address my anxieties via the medium of a full and frank discussion with a neighbour about how playing music too loud late at night, when I’ve got a broken heart, and will barely get four hours’ sleep anyway, might - for example - result in certain people being stabbed through the eye with a pencil.

So, yes; well done to me for moving from denial to anger to despair and even bargaining (thinking briefly that perhaps some accommodation between Ouch and I might be reached) . Perhaps we will get to acceptance. I had planned to approach this through a new stage of getting blind drunk on inferior Hungarian plonk but instead…

Now for the whore bit:

I took my administrator (a pleasant temp with whom I have fast become good friends and who now wants to work with me permanently YAY!) out for a few drinks as a prelude to variations on a theme of Hungarian plonk. When I got home, though, I decided to jump online and see what might be on offer instead of said plonk…

Eventually I ended up making arrangements with six guys for various assignations over the weekend – including a couple not too far from me and two neighbours of mine with whom I have hooked up before. The most interesting of these, incidentally/so far is the very first guy, whom I met tonight. Partly because he was a rather better put together version of me (disconcerting) but mostly because he turned out to have a phobia of semen [spermatophobia]. Thus a perfectly good assignation up to and specific point… after which he left in some distress very, very quickly. Oh dear…

Well, gentle reader. At least I managed to pull of that most gayest of gay tricks: use casual sex to avoid real emotions. Double plus YAY!

Scarey

I’m beginning to miss International badly. I feel very lonely; knowing he is out there living while I am left with nothing but to drift on an endless ocean of sex and parties. But then whose fault is that, eh?

I think of the times we shared and I am happy… I think of the times we won’t share and it makes me sad. So then Frumpella is human after all (don’t tell anyone, gentle reader; it can be our secret).

I think of the way he just placidly accepted our break-up, and did not argue with me one jot, and I am sometimes very angry. Yet I want to tell him how much I appreciated our time together and how much they meant to me.

Perhaps wallowing in self-pity is not the best way forward. However, I did once explain to my counsellor – ex counsellor now, finally having lost patience - that every time I met a guy and became infatuated and it didn’t work out for whatever reason it was like falling off a cliff. Except that cliff gets higher and higher with each passing guy until, one day, the cliff will be so high and I shall fall so far that…

Yes I wonder sometimes if I want to carry on with this looking for Mr Right lark. He didn’t turn up on demand which is frankly not what I signed up for. Instant gratification has always, as you might have noticed, been a significant motivating factor for me.

Or perhaps this particular fecund spell of man-flesh is my attempt to distract myself from the emotional side of my Odysseus-like journey home to gayness. I’m still jealous when I see gay couples out and about. I still want that… what they have.

What’s scary about it is that, though I’m stronger than I was, the thought of being fundamentally unlovable is quite an abyss to look into.

I currently worry more than usual I might never find it. It might never, ever happen. And that’s a fact I have to live with. Over the years I pretended I didn’t want it, thus it was all fine. Now I no longer have self-denial as my comfort and shield I have sometimes grappled with the thought that no-one will ever want to be with me because I’m dull and frumpy and missed the bit in school where other people got told how to fall in love and be happy.

The mild distraction of this guy or that is, for all the fun I have, not really enough to cover it all but at the moment thoughts of dating again find me ambivalent. So I know I’ve done nothing but blog about sex recently but bear with me please until normal service from the Cheerful Fairy is restored.

I know I have it within myself to make all the changes I need to; I do know it. So much jolly luck to picking myself up and dusting myself off and once more into the breach, dear friends…

Dating

Went out last night with my good friend and had cocktails and wine and dinner and wine and I ended up staying at her place. It was a great night marred only by the fact my trousers fell down as I got out of the taxi (few of my clothes fit well now I’ve lost so much weight) but frankly if I worried about looking like a fool I’d never have made it out of the 70s.

After getting home today I [predicatably?] jumped online for man flesh. This proved much harder to procure than I expected and I was about to give up in a huff when I spied, with my horny eye, a cute horny guy but a hop, skip, and jump from Strumpetville.

Yes, I very much enjoyed meeting this guy; and we both agreed it would be double-plus fun to meet up again. In truth he was a bit more… bitey that I’m used to, but he did warn me he was likely to be a bit rough and to be honest I’m not totally averse... Unfortunately I’ve been bitten hard on the neck and cheek which I fear is liable to cause comment amongst my colleagues on Monday.

On Friday I also hooked up with a nice Scottish guy in his mid forties and that too was fun.

But it is Thursday that should be the real topic of this post because…

I had a date. Yes, gentle reader: a proper date. My first date of 2009. It was a guy I started chatting to on gaydar but we got on so well we decided that rather than a mere assignation we should meet and get to know one another. And so we did. To summarise: 30, tall, slim, good looking, works in fashion. When I discovered this I did get a bit of angst as I’m most certainly not a dedicated follower of fashion but, no. He was great.

The upcoming London fashion week is consuming his time for a while now but we said we should meet again when that’s out of the way… so here’s hoping.

I suppose I should try to get out on the dating scene a bit more but in terms of both time and money I can’t commit too many resources to it. I’m stacking up since the New Year quite a few messages from guys on Guardian Soulmates; of which I’m no longer a paying member, which means I can’t reply just yet.

I did wonder whether, so soon after International and I split, I should go on a date. But then if I was expecting us to be together why set up the date in the first place? Oh, this damned dissonance. But I’m pleased to have done it and do think it’s time to look at the options again. After all I don’t really dislike dating like some people do… and most people I know who met someone online had to go on hundreds!