The first time you have sex with a woman is a complete minefield. I don’t want to do men a disservice or anything, but they’re mostly pretty easily pleased between the sheets. Just swing your legs around a bit and yodel and they’ll usually sort themselves out quite happily. Women, on the other hand, are far more complex: “Erm, left a bit…no, no, right a bit…okay bit far, go back? Yep, there. Bit softer…mmm…softer…yeah…that’s good babes. Okay speed up…no not that fast…yeah like that. Still soft though…but fast…but soft…but fast…oh yeah…oh baby…uh huh…mmm…keep doing that…right there…stay right there….don’t move…don’t move…don’t move…ARGH I’M TOO SENSITIVE JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GET OFF ME.” screams and hides in wardrobe.
“So…so, let me get this straight. You went to a party at her boyfriend’s house. You got very, very drunk. You told her you loved her. And later you were sick on your hands.” “And on my coat. And a bit on the carpet.”
The Writer suggests we meet at her local for a drink. I’ve buggered up my train times so arrive 15 minutes late with a damp face and wild hair, gasping apologies. “Oh no problem” she says smiling, “thank you so much for coming to me.”
When I meet the artist at a quiet pub near Bankside I’m immediately attracted to her. Her long, dark hair falls to just below where I imagine the curve of her breast lies under her white shirt, her hazel eyes peppered with honey in the late afternoon sun.
For our second date I invite the Blond over to mine. She arrives thoughtfully with a bottle of white and a bottle of red, which we sip curled up on my sofa putting the world to rights. After two and a half hours though neither of us has made a move and the evening is in danger of ending with a chaste peck on the cheek and an Uber.
I’m intrigued that thus far I haven’t been on a date with any bonafide lebians. Tinder seems to be awash with the curious, the bewildered and the confused, the kind of women who use the ‘two girls’ emoji on their profile and then collapse into paroxysms of doubt when they get a message from an actual girl.
When you first start dating someone even the simplest things can be fraught with indecision: What to wear, which bar to book, what to cook. We can all be strangely intolerant in those early days.