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Monthly Archives: January 2012

Stalkers get more sex

Dear Rose,

What does it mean when a man says he’ll call you, and then doesn’t?  Is it appropriate to track him down to his house and leave him love letters? 

My friend says I should read ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’?  but I said to her ‘If I wait for someone who’s THAT into me, I’ll NEVER get laid!’.

Dear Stalker,

The short answer is, when a man says he’ll call you and he doesn’t, find another man.  There are plenty lying about on the street, and a woman with initiative need never go hungry.

Indeed, this is a perennial problem, about which many films have been made, to heartbreaking effect.  Let me relate my own experience on the subject, as general guidance.

You may remember that in a previous post I mentioned an African-American gentleman with whom I went home one night.  Well, at the end of the encounter, I gave De Wayne (as I’ll call him), my phone number and assured him that I would be happy to hear from him again (just as soon as the friction sores had healed).

A week went by and I heard nothing.  He had said he was going to Melbourne to visit friends, so not to worry.  However, as time went by, I began to feel cross.  I called him rude names.  I cried to the heavens (at least, to the dog) ‘Why? WHY????’.

Was I too old?  Was he allergic to cats?  Did he dislike my friends? Was my house too messy?  Did my refusal to participate in the tenth act of congress in one night disappoint?  Or was he, even now, at a bar in my home city using the same line on another innocent divorcee??

Eventually my resolve broke.  I went around to his friend’s house (where he was staying during his Australian holiday) and put a note in the letter box.  Then I decided to forget all about it, so I made another date with someone else (as the only reliable antidote to one man is ANOTHER man).

The next day I was having dinner with friends and, guess what, who should ring but Tarzan, fresh from the jungles of Melbourne.  At this point, the usual rule is to sound studiously cool (‘Who? Oh yeah, I remember now. I’ve been terribly busy..’).  However, since I had left THE NOTE, this option was closed off.  So instead I greeted him enthusiastically, accepted all excuses offered, and made myself available at the first opportunity.  You may think this was undignified, dear Stalker, but let me tell you, if you had SEEN that body, you would know that a man in the hand is better than one in someone else’s bush, no matter how much bullshit you have to swallow first.

Yes, there were a few issues.  For instance, looks aside, De Wayne was one of the most unfit men I have ever met.  This may have been because he drank vodka for breakfast.  In any case, there is nothing like a man who can barely drag himself up a short flight of stairs without panting heavily and asking for rest stops, to make an ageing chick feel like superwoman.  Don’t underestimate the pleasure to be got from feeling physically superior to your man.

For another thing, he was seriously ‘fucked up’.  Look at it this way though, Stalker, when you date a man with a split personality, what you are REALLY getting is two for the price of one.  For instance, with De Wayne, not only could I enjoy the staid, academic, anal retentive middle-class mathematician (his job back in the US) but I ALSO got a chauvinistic, domineering, womanising, callous and foul mouthed brother from the hood.  While the one buys dinner (and informs me that he doesn’t mind bad table manners in a woman (on the contrary, I can ‘rub my pussy in it’ if I feel like it) the other wants to ask my sister in for a threesome.

A little walk on the wild side is usually worth it, just to broaden your experience of the world, dear Stalker.  However, don’t attempt to form a longer-lasting relationship with a man of this kind unless, of course, you like being treated like a doormat..  De Wayne once told me that he had three rules for all his women.  Rule One was ‘do what I say’.  Rules Two and Three were ‘Refer to Rule One’. This is three too many rules to remember, in my opinion.

When playing with a strange man, remember that you are not his mother, nor are you Emergency Services, poised with helicopter and defibrillator to rescue him from his tragic life.   When he tells you about his abusive upbringing in the deep South, his crack-whore mother who overdosed at 16, his chronic lung disease, his lifelong struggles to climb out of the criminal underworld, and the fact that he had to eat grits for breakfast as a child – and when these tales are accompanied by prolonged and satisfying congress – you may feel a tide of love and pity welling within you.  Crush it.  It will all end in tears.

Did I crush it?  Of course not.  Did it end in tears? Yes it did, Ms Stalker (though, as he left for the US, not for some time). Still, the tank was well and truly filled up, the horizon widened, and you know what, when De Wayne got back to the US, he RANG – just to say those three little words (got any cash?)

So my advice to you, Ms Stalker, is that if you feel inclined to pursue your man, you should do just that – a shitload of hot sex can be worth a little damaged dignity, in the end.

Corny but hopeful

Dear Rose,

I have heard that corny pickup lines such as ‘what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this without her boyfriend?’ don’t work on real women? Is that true?

Dear Corny,

Like so many things, Corny, it depends. If you approach an attractive, sophisticated woman of the world with this intro, she will probably choke on her drink, or tell you to get lost.  On the other hand, if you trot out this line to a recently divorced woman who thinks she’s approaching her use-by date, you may well be exchanging heavy pillow talk before you can say ‘Wait, I forgot my coat!’

For example, some time ago, I found myself sitting in a low dive, contemplating a mineral water, when an African-American gentleman sidled up to me and used this very line.  Did I snort? Did I tell him to go get a life?

No! Instead, I was flattered, as I hadn’t thought of myself as a girl for quite some time, much less pretty.  I was also suddenly reminded of the great joy of being boyfriend-less, and I thought to myself, well, this seems like the perfect time for a little post-break-up risk taking.  The moral of this story is,  choose your prey wisely, and then have a go – you may get lucky.

But were there cross-cultural issues, you ask shyly?  Me being pinkish, and him being brownish.  Well, yes.  Nothing to do with colour though.  He was probably the most stunningly masculine man I have ever met.  Racial issues only matter if one of you is not very good looking.

However, you probably should establish, before you take your conquest home, whether you share the same general rules of engagement – in particular, the kind of talk you are willing up with which to put, and the exact definition of ‘nymphomaniac’.

To wit, we got home to my place at about midnight, and after some brief preliminaries (mainly consisting of me being pinned against the hall mirror), he ripped my clothes off and we started having sex.  He remarked casually at this point that he very much wanted to fuck my arse off.

After several vigorous encounters and some amusing anecdotes about life as a drug kingpin, I indicated, by turning my back and shutting my eyes, that I’d had enough.  He hadn’t. The thing to remember here is, face your enemy, as you will find you are much more vulnerable from behind.

At four in the morning, I said that I had now REALLY had enough for one night, and that I was tired and bow-legged and wanted to go to sleep.  HE said he didn’t care how tired I was, and that if necessary, he would ‘dry fuck’ me.  He also added that he wanted to ‘fuck my brains out.’  You may find, Corny, that some gently-brought up women will not have heard these terms before, so if you are going to use them, you may want to be prepared with a pocket dictionary, for ease of reference.

At five, I was just about to pass into a coma, when he said he needed a lift home because his car belonged to his friend who used it as a taxi and whose shift began at 6am.  At this point, I dragged myself out of bed, took him home, and heaved a sigh of relief.

You are probably wondering, Corny, at what stage of a one night stand should the complete gentleman say ‘I love you’?  Well, of course you can say it at any point, if you mean it – but I have to warn you that saying it after you have known the woman for ten minutes can be regarded with suspicion.

On the other hand, any compliment, no matter how unlikely, can be put in the box labelled ‘Nice Things Some Man Once Said To Me’ and so therefore my advice is to lay it on thick unless she actually tips a glass over you.  For instance, the man I have been discussing told me after the requisite ten minutes’ hand holding outside the pub that he was in love and had been waiting all his life for me, and, well, if you knew me, you too would realise that in some circumstances passion like this is completely understandable.

Divorced and Desperate

Dear Rose

I am recently divorced from a husband who suffered from extremely low sex drive.  As a result, I am VERY eager to begin a new life, but too shy to frequent bars and clubs.  How do I get the ball rolling?

Dear Eager

Although many modern women will dive right into the dating scene via the internet, I divine that you are an old fashioned ‘lady’ and that a more gentle, mannerly approach may be in order.  I suggest that you put an advertisement in your local paper, setting out your requirements, and I am sure that a number of suitable offers will flow in directly.

I myself was in just your situation some years ago, and here is the advertisement I submitted:

Wild, sweet, different f seeks rock god ono for fun.

I received a number of enquiries, although some (for instance, a young man from the country seeking ‘a good woman, with curves’) were clearly inappropriate.  However, my advice is to interview even the unlikely candidates, as this will give you a chance to enhance your ability to make conversation with dull and stupid men – an important ‘dating’ skill.

Take self-posted descriptions with the proverbial grain of salt.  For instance, one of the gentlemen I met described himself as ‘VERY attractive –  tanned, tattooed, and blond.”  This turned out to mean bald with a sandy moustache, sun-damaged and pot-bellied.  During our little chat it also turned out that he used to beat his ex-girlfriend (‘she deserved it’) and that he was an official of the Wicca movement.

Don’t make hasty decisions in low light.  After you’ve met six or seven ‘hopeless cases’ you may well be feeling dispirited and that dating is not for you.  This is the most dangerous time to make decisions, as you are now officially ‘desperate’.

A case in point.  My seventh – or was it the eighth – date was standing on a street corner in a bow tie when I met him.  He was NOT short and fat, and we met under a streetlight in the early evening.  He was lively, though not intellectual, but – bear in mind that even the most unpromising male is good for target practice.   Thus, I dyed my hair and wore my low-slung hipster jeans with the big belt, a low-cut black tee-shirt, and all the charm I could muster.  We went to a nightclub and Mr Positive seemed fascinated with the hair, and all went well until he said it was time for bed.  Would I like to come too?

Ladies, I did not.  BUT, based on my assessment of HIS charms under soft lighting, and his assessment of MY charms under the same, three dates later, we did.  Big mistake.  Flat full of cigarette butts, left-over dinner that looked suspiciously like dog food, hair-raising tales of orgies past (more of that later), and what’s more he fell in love.  And if there is anything more painful than having an unrequited love for somebody, it is somebody having an unrequited love for YOU – for the soft-hearted, the first hurts much less than the second.

So my advice to you, Ms Eager, is that there are WORSE things than being desperate.