Chat maths equestrian dick: the Covid months, pt. 4

‘Uff, yes, this year has been terrible. Especially for a man like me, who is very sexual.’

In the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, ^Big sigh. Huge^. I may be paraphrasing.

Yes. Yes, I’m absolutely sure it’s been an awful time for *checks notes* your penis.

Just remind me, this is 2020, right? The year isn’t over yet and a million people have died so far, no? Yep, thought so. I’d hazard a guess, it’s probably been pretty bad for the families of those guys. Maybe medical professionals too. And those who have lost their jobs. But, you know, poor you.

‘I like sex.’ Well, yes, I suppose you do. There’s probably some statistics somewhere that verify a really high percentage of people do. And let’s face it, we ‘met’ on Tinder, so I pretty much had that all figured out. Come on dude, you’re an academic, you could probably quote sex statistics at me. (You probably will at some point.) Also, you could possibly tell me something more interesting, maybe about why you are standing in front of a whiteboard with an incomprehensible equation on it and what it means. Por ejemplo. This guy told me he couldn’t believe how many women actually said in their profiles that they weren’t interested in sex. I proffered that maybe, if they were anything like me, they were just absolutely fucking exhausted by second sentence sex chat. And also like me they do like sex and just want it to happen organically. One night, one date, whatever, whenever – just organically.

Just in case you were wondering, the not so subtle sex mentions came in response to such things as, ‘Hey! Nice to connect. How you doing?’, ‘What a batshit crazy year this is’ and, ‘so, where were you in Russia? I’ve never been, but it’s on my list’.

I connected with this guy because he seemed interesting; travel, martial arts, maths equations and a twinkle in his eye. That is attractive. This is the outstanding date guy from my last blog post. When I say outstanding, I don’t mean ‘exceptionally good’ (information extracted from Oxford Dictionary on 10/10/2020). He is the second man in as many months to say, ‘…I’m going to seduce you.’

Uh oh, Simon Cowell just called and he wants his ❌ back.

If you warn me about it, you are not doing it! Seduction, by definition, is subtle. Not bludgeoning someone over the head. Someone do workshops with these guys. Please. In fact, I’m going to call up the hot French boy and give him that million dollar idea. Again. Now he seduced me. I just did a big swoon. Five years later and thinking about it still has that effect.

Don’t. tell. me. about. it. Just do it already!

You’re really attractive – ok.

I bet you’re really dangerous ^purple face horny emoji^ – not ok.

If by dangerous you mean so clumsy that I could trip over my own feet on the way back to the table with two glasses of wine and accidentally stab you in the jugular with one of them, then yeah, I guess I am.

In fact, it just dawned on me, maybe it’s not trying to steer a conversation that way that annoys the shit out of me per se, but the cheesy freakin’ lines. Thinking back to that night in the Born, the French boy said, really close to my ear while we were standing at the noisy bar after chatting for a couple of hours, ‘I’d like to spend the night with you.’ He was direct and his delivery sexy and he immediately held my gaze so intensely that I’m sure I felt my ovaries try to rip themselves free of me right there and then and attach themselves to his face, like Alien.

So, maybe it is the cheesy bullshit that gets my goat.

Science guy tried to steer it towards sexy chat approximately every two messages. I batted it away like a lardy cricketer from the seventies – with not enough force to make any real impact. So ineffective were my efforts that I finally had to literally say, ‘if you want to get on me, stop hinting you want to get on me. Not once in my life has great sex happened as a result of someone telling me that.’ Don’t make me type and actually send that message.

Annoyed, I logged in to an app again last night, in sheer frustration. There must be someone out there who can have an interesting conversation without mentioning their dick. Surely.

Ooh, hello Madrileño in breeches…

Breeches? Yeah, yeah, I’m a sad cliché, I know. But I’m happy being a cliché if I can just get a NORMAL CONVERSATION without a ‘cock’ being mentioned or a 😈. Seriously, just tell me about your tiny pony.

But you know what, sexy as this guy is, in his shiny, knee-high boots, and as much as I am fantasising about the possibility of him actually wearing this exact same outfit to meet me and what might happen as a result, I think I can manage to have a brief text conversation without actually saying that or telling him how sad my vagina has been during confinement.

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