so i signed up with a dating website. i wasn't really expecting anything to come of it. i've been signed up to a dating site before, and i had a couple of fun evenings resulting from it in terms of having a drink and a laugh - but never so much as a snog, let alone trulove™. i had a browse of some of the ladies in my area, but didn't really make any effort.

then it transpired that someone had taken an interest in my profile. and she was gorgeous! so gorgeous, in fact, that i'd not even looked at her profile when i first ran a search - figuring that there was no point because she was simply too hot. she seemed quite nice and wrote well, so i expressed an interest in her too. i couldn't contact her without paying for at least a trial membership, so i made it so and sent her a message. in return i received a default one-line response... "i'd love to talk to you, but i haven't bought a membership yet." you couldn't swap contact details unless both of us had paid, so i dropped my full name into my response to see if she'd take the bait and tap it into facebook. which is exactly wot she did.

so we sent each other a few messages, had a bit of a 'get to know you' exchange of mail one evening, and eventually agreed to meet up. this took place over the course of a couple of weeks. we arranged to meet for a drink straight after work on a weeknight. the day came, and towards the end of the afternoon i was absolutely soiling myself. i had mentioned the date to my colleague. shortly before i was due to leave work, he asked to see a picture of her, so i showed him. my new boss (who i didn't know very well at this stage) insisted on seeing her too. "oh my god - you're punching a bit above your weight, aren't you?" he said. i wasn't sure how gutting my boss would look on my personal development program, so i chose to let this slide. but way to ease my nerves. tosser.

we met in a pub in the town centre. i recognised her straight away. and she was just as hot in real life. for the first half an hour i was superintimidated - partly by her beauty, but mostly by the fact she was quite severe, and was the type of person who would give no second thought to shooting you down in flames if you said something she didn't agree with. i was certainly kept on my toes. she was fiercly intelligent, eminently composed, and completely terrifying. for that half hour, i had no idea if the date was going awfully well, or well awfully.

we decided to go to another place for cocktails. a spiced mojito or two down the line, and she loosened up considerably, and accordingly so did i. she even smiled a bit. we decided to go for food, and she confessed her guilty love of chicken burgers. i suggested a place we could go without reverting to the type of establishment which would also serve food in buckets. "the problem with chicken burgers though is that they usually come with chips - and chips *just aren't* sexy," she noted. i thought to myself 'what does it matter if your food isn't se.... oh!' i think this was the first indication that the date could potentially go beyond friendly. i found myself terrified again - but this time in a good way.

we went for food. then to another bar. then to another. i think we took in seven or eight, and stayed out until two. and we got on really well, and laughed a lot. and she started saying increasingly nice things about me, in sharp contrast to the date's slightly frosty beginning. she told me she was comfortable enough to talk with me about anything, despite having just met. she seemed thrilled that i kept prefixing words with "super", "mega", "über" and "turbo". and she "admired" how I'd reintroduce themes from previous conversations later in the evening. i was tickled pink.

there was a bit of flirty hand touching in the last bar. then I walked her home. she invited me in, and had said earlier in the evening that I was welcome to come back to her place. however, it was now really late, and we were both drunk, and i thought 'i'm sure we'll see each other again - what's the rush?' we had a hug that felt like it could've turned into a kiss - but, again, I didn't go for the kill. she asked me to text her to let her know I'd got home safely.
"oh really? ok then..." i said.
"well it's what us girls always do," she replied.
"i'm not sure how i feel about the implication that i'm one of the girls."
"i don't think you're one of the girls. i just care about you," she said. i think i may have melted a little at this point.

when i got back to my flat, i texted her as instructed, and she texted back to say she'd had lots of fun. i told her i had too, and would she like to go for a second round at some point. she suggested breakfast the very next morning. i told her it was a great idea, but i couldn't imagine either of us would be up too early, or feel too hot either. this proved true - i had a lot of difficulty getting out of bed.

sometime later in the day, she changed her facebook status to say that she was "super turbo happy". i found that i felt an unfamiliar ascention in my chest, and levity about my soul. what was happening? had i caught a glimpse of the elusive 'h' word? i lay back down, and allowed the room to throb for a bit.

i went in to work. i was a bit tired. i am rubbish at staying up late. i excitedly told a girl that i work with that i had given velocity girl a lift home the evening before. i told her my plan as to how to ascertain if she was single or not. my colleague was exactly the wrong person to tell this.

velocity girl came into the pub about ten minutes into my shift. she was accompanied by another girl from her pub, and a rather headspinning cleavage top. actually, strictly speaking, i suppose it's not the top itself that sends one's head into a spin. my colleague started bossing me around in front of velocity girl, which i did not like. she struck up a conversation with velocity girl, and out-and-out asked her if she had a boyfriend within about two minutes. this was unsubtle. she later complimented herself on her discretion, as she had asked *both* girls if they had boyfriends. i had witnessed the interchange with my own ears, and can testify that including the other girl had been a very obvious afterthought. my colleague is a tactless mook.

and her answer? she hesitated, and then admitted that she did. my heart sunk into a pocket. i didn't get much of a chance to speak to her before her break finished. there was a weird moment when velocity girl went to pay for the second round of drinks, and was served by my landlord. she offered what she thought was the right money, which was in fact a fair bit less than what the round cost. at this point, it must have become obvious to both she and my landlord that i'd previously undercharged her deliberately. i could feel myself tighten for a moment, until my landlord accepted the lower sum. he is a sterling chap. i think he understands that the pursuit of love outweighs a number of coins. but it was small consolation.

twenty minutes later, baddielalike came into the pub on his break. "thanks for driving my lady home last night," he chirped. "oh, it was no problem," i said, not looking him in the eye. i could feel my face flushing. i hoped he wouldn't notice.

* * * * *

i have seen velocity girl more regularly since then. we've been getting along well. i have been over-analysing our interchanges, however. i know, i know - this must seem out of character. she came into my pub when it was quiet a couple of days later, and seemed excitable. i think she'd had a few beverages. "you know when you gave me a lift home the other night?" she said.
"yes?"
"well [her bar manager] asked if i was shagging you."
"really?" my mind began racing.
"yes. she seemed very disapproving. i of course said 'no'."
"of course."
"well obviously."
"well quite." i felt awkward, and hence the need to crack a joke. "why would you be anyway? i'm *quite obviously* gay."
"exactly!"

exactly? what did she mean 'exactly'? she had swallowed my shtick without question. this seemed to be backfiring quite spectacularly.

i discussed this incident with a good friend of mine (some busty farm girl or other) later.
"you realise that she left there thinking you were gay, don't you?"
"that had crossed my mind, yes."
"you muppet!"
"thanks. this was something i'd also realised. i'm glad i called you now."
"you're going about this all wrong. what you should have said was 'why should anyone be disapproving about shagging me? i've got a cock like a tree trunk'. that way, she'd have left wondering if you did actually have a cock like a tree trunk. instead, she just left wondering if you're a fairy."

my friends are nothing if not supportive.

i did wonder for a while why she was so upfront about the question of us shagging, however. i couldn't work out if it was to put the concept out there, in a flirty kind of way; or if it was simply a by-product of being young. it had been revealed somewhere along the line that she is a mere baby at twenty-one years old, you see. so possibly a combination of the two. i will probably never know what motivated her to say that. but even i were to conclude that it was because she was interested, it could never progress any further than that.

she clearly likes me in some way, however. she introduced me to one of her friends as "great", and seems to now rely on me for a "quote of the day". this is mainly due to disagreeing with her that she was too old to go to gigs, on account of her being "still warm from the testicle". i'm glad i amuse her. one can never have too many friends.

*sigh*

of course, wot life could be like, and wot life is actually like are two entirely disparate things.

the following day, i showed up fresh(ish), and excited as to what the day might hold. what the day held was a constant throb of open plugholes in vaguely human form. i didn't really get a chance to take a break. when i did have a bit of time to breathe, i went to the nearby newsagent, and bought a large bar of caramel-infused chocolate as a present for ****. i had a pint or two with the landlord for dutch courage, and went into her bar armed with my gift. it is slightly intimidating riding towards death or glory on foreign soil. but i was feeling valiant.

she wasn't there.

nor was she there the next time i called by. nor the next.

the following weekend, i bumped into a lady who i assume to be the bar manager. i asked when **** would be in next. she told me at eight. so i called in shortly thereafter. she wasn't there.

this carried on over the course of a week or so. i became aware that the chocolate was not wearing the journey as well as one might hope; so i stashed it in the pub in which i work, where it was promptly devoured by the landlord.

time went on, and i would occasionally call in, and ask if **** was about. this was entirely fruitless. i'd written her a note. i never handed it in, as i didn't want anyone else to read it. on my friday and saturday night fagless fag-breaks, i would walk past the pub, and look to see who was on the bar. i never saw her. which harmonised well with the curious twilight-zoney feeling i had the day after i'd met her, which told me that i would never see her again.

after about a month, i concluded that she had been a figment of my imagination all along. but hey - at least this meant that things could never go catastrophically wrong between us. my 'love life' reverted to its usual vacuum, and equilibrium was restored.

* * * * *

then yesterday i saw her. or at least i think i did. i was 80% sure that it was her i saw crossing the road, and i was also 80% sure that the guy who she was hand-in-hand with was a chap who works in the same pub, who i see far more frequently. nice chap. reminds me a bit of a young david baddiel. sadly this fitted into place with some latent memories. i remember the baddielalike having a drink in our pub sometime before, and thinking his girlfriend was incredibly attractive. then it occurred to me that i'd in all probability met **** once before. nuts.

but hey. at least he's a good chap. i always find this more life-affirming than the ubiquitous 'amazing girl goes out with prize dildo' scenario. but it's go to jail go directly to jail do not pass go do not collect £200 for me.

* * * * *

this evening, the pub filled with carling-swilling, robbie williams loving cunts. this is sadly far from atypical. i served them drinks. as my wages of sin hobbled their wretched way into my malnourished bank account, coughing the phlegm of a thousand rotten livers, i watched a girl being loaded onto an ambulance outside, and listened to someone complain in some slurrish dialect that £6.15 is too much for three drinks.

i went outside to get some air. i wandered past the next-door pub, as is now habitual. and for the first time i saw her working there. her hair tied back, her face enpinkened with toil. i didn't lurk for too long, as the doorman was watching me. i also spotted the baddielalike. i thought to myself how lucky a chap he was, and went back inside to collect glasses.

* * * * *

i finished work, and left the pub at about quarter to three. my car was parked utterly illegally outside. baddielalike cycled past. we waved at each other. **** stood in the doorway of their pub. i called "frigo" to her (which she had told me was italian for 'cunt'), put my key in the driver's side door, debated for a moment if i should leave or initiate contact, and then found myself walking towards her. she greeted me as if we had known each other for years. and remembered my name. i offered her a banana. an actual banana - i had taken it to snack on during my shift, but someone had given me a packet of hula hoops, which were altogether less healthy and hence more appropriate. she accepted the banana, and began to munch on it there and then.

conversation passed quickly. i had forgotten that one of the things that i liked about her was that she was challenging, and relentless in her patter. that is to say, she's fucking gobby. she mocked me for sounding too posh for where i'm from. i mocked her for being from wurzel country (or so she claims). she told me that her italian tutor had attempted to seduce her after i saw her that night. she had none of it. i asked why not. she told me he was sleazy, and too old. she mentioned nothing of having a boyfriend.

i offered her a lift home. she lives in completely the opposite direction from me. i know this because she accepted. she seemed amused that mine was the battered rusty chunk of spunk with a surfboard on it that had been squatting outside her pub all night. we got in. i couldn't quite believe i was driving her home. i hoped that i hadn't been listening to something horribly embarrassing like b*witched, that was about to fire up on the cd player. it was velocity girl. which was perfect; not only as it was melodious, but also because it suited our very own beautiful velocity chick with the supersonic maw. i was concerned that i was in love with her. i still am.

she recalled the evening we met for a second time, and told me that she owed me a gin and tonic. and a banana. i told her that she owed me nothing. i asked where she had been for the last couple of months since i saw her. she had sat an exam, and had been sailing. her landlord was a grumpy twat, and was losing his marbles. she read me an out-of-context text message, which included an apology for swearing. i laughed, as her mouth is contaminated with filth beyond reprieve. she's moving away to italy come september. a customer had asked her on a date, claiming that he liked her as she reminded him of his daughter. she kept saying my name quizzically. i look back on it now, and wonder if i had time to say anything. i dropped her off at a garage. she told me that she'd come and visit me on her break tomorrow, and hugged me. i wasn't sure we knew each other well enough to hug. is this because she's inflicted with mutual neediness so often found amongst bar staff? or because she felt affection towards me? or just because i gave her a lift home? i have no idea. somehow she was now less of a mystery, but more of an unfathomable question.

i will see her tomorrow. sorry, today. so i'd better get some rest. i might ask her how her impending trip to italy is going to affect her relationship, in order to know for sure if she's actually in one. i can only be thrilled about the lose-lose nature of this proposition. either she's in a relationship; or she is in a position where she can be won, only to be lost again in a couple of months.

but if things were uncomplicated, wherein lies the challenge? 

so i've started work in a bar, in what i'm hoping will just be a 'tide-over' job. my birthday is rapidly approaching, and i realised that - if i am going to be able to afford to go out on it - i am gonna have to make some sacrifices. this has meant missing a few good friends' 30 birthdays and my ex squash partner's stag do, among other things, so that i could spend all of the bank holiday weekend working.

in addition to it being bank holiday weekend, there is a big rugby tournament going on in the city at the moment; so the pubs are all posted at battle stations. i woke up yesterday morning after getting home from work at twenty past two slightly earlier the same morning, in order to get in to work at eleven to begin my fifteen-and-a-half-hour shift. my eyes were like cracked pool balls, and it felt like i hadn't slept. when i left the house, i felt like crying.

the first half of the shift was something of a pandemoniacal blur. this wasn't altogether awful, as most of the punters were good-humoured northerners on holiday - all too willing to have a giggle, and use magical phrases such as "and one for yourself". after a few hours of sustained chaos, we had a chance to breathe and prepare ourselves for the evening.

the two longest grafters - another girl and myself - were working in the function room upstairs in the evening, for what was rumoured to be a 25th birthday party. i assume that working in this environment, rather than with karaoke singing (sic) rugby fans who'd been drinking for far longer than a working day, was our reward for doing the long shift. and *what* a reward. the room was brimming with fresh-faced, polite, friendly - and often hot - twentysomethings in fancy dress; whose common ground was that they were all taking a course in italian.

my work colleague hasn't known me for long enough to tell me to shut the fuck up when i start harping on about women. so she listened patiently as i told her how lovely most of the girls in the room were, and why.

then i saw her. she was dressed as a hippy - with a long, unflattering dress, and a 'natural' headband in her gushing blonde crop. she managed to outshine a room full of attractive girls, many of whom clearly knew they were 'it', because (a) she didn't, (b) she was unaffectedly beautiful, and (c) she just looked so... sad. the d.j. put on 'barbie girl', and i saw another part of her die. i told my colleague that i now knew the girl who i wanted to marry. i knew that she was perfect, and i had yet to speak to her.

yet i had to speak to her. which is difficult for me. even when i served her at the bar, i was too crippled to hazard beyond the niceties of establishing what she wanted to drink, and communicating the tender i expected to receive in return for it.

i saw her standing on the 'non shimmy' side of a bar-ette (a demi-bar? a wallflower-bed?), at the edge of the well-subscribed dancefloor. she was, as seemed common, not talking to anyone. a force that i attribute to something other than myself compelled me to walk up to her and capture her attention.

"excuse me... i hope you don't mind my saying, but you've been looking forlorn all evening. are you ok?"

she seemed more willing to talk than i had expected. first she tried telling me that it was alright, and she was just tired; then she told me that she worked in the pub next door, and that she'd just discovered that one of her regulars - in his late seventies - had died that day. not only that, but it had been her duty to inform his best friend of this the very same afternoon. she wasn't really in the party spirit. i wasn't surprised.

nor did i really know what to say. i ventured that, although it was important to grieve, he would surely not have liked to have thought of her moping around like this. although i didn't know him - nor indeed had i even met him - i imagined that he would will her to be happy, if he could. her face lightened.

"you're right. he was a dirty old bastard; and he just kept talking about my tits all the time."

i could feel both of our moods lift. i asked her name. she told me it was ****. we discussed my unusual name for a short while, and started jabbering like we'd known each other for years. we high-fived. she confided in me that she hated people, and started teaching me how to swear in italian. before we'd known each other five minutes, she taught me how to say 'cunt' and 'go fuck yourself'. she was magical.

at one point she said "i saw you earlier today, on your break". i'm not sure that this followed from anything in particular; just that she wished to share the observation. i interpreted this as significant.

it was now fairly early in the morning, and the bar was scheduled to close at two. i had to get back to doing some work; but was distracted by **** hanging out at the bar, and hogging my appeal. at one point she apologetically explained that she was also having difficulty getting 'into' the party, as she had to work the following morning as well. "it won't be so bad - there are only three more matches tomorrow," i said, alluding to the impending bedlam. at this point she wished my family unspeakable death. it takes a remarkable person to say this to someone they hardly know, i feel. i told her that this was fine by me, as i was an orphan. at this point, i knew that i loved her more than i can possibly cope with.

"i'm wondering if i should have one more drink," she mused. it was very almost two.
"well, you've got one minute to decide," i said. then, for the second time, i was guided by a force beyond my will. "if it helps, i'll buy it for you."
"really? what are you going to get me?"
"what would you like?"
"surprise me."
i surmised that she wanted a change from cider and black. "i'm guessing you want something with a short..." i began.
"a shot? urgh, no!" she protested; "i'm not really a sambucca kind of girl"
"no, not a shot... i said a short. like, y'know... something with a mixer." i knew that **** was sublime enough to warrant a special occasion, so i decided to apply my brain. "gin and tonic?"
she mouthed something at me. there may have been softly-spoken words, but they were drowned out by some infernal disco. they were either "i'd love that", or "i love you". either way, i felt as if i was about to fall.

we called time, and everything was a rush. my colleague had endured a long day, and wanted to go. i had worked the same hours, but did not want the day to end. but i indulged her, and we got to collecting and washing glasses as if they might save us from impending rapture; whilst the doorman ushered the punters out with the level of nuance that one has grown to expect from such chunky fleshbots. although i saw **** glance at me a couple of times, she did not call at the bar to say goodbye.

my landlord and his girlfriend emerged to cash up, and my colleague alerted them as to my newest infatuation. it was clearly too late to keep a strategic lid on this pot, so i bubbled over with spellbound rhapsody; creating what i imagined to be a conceptual casserole too piquant for most, but ambrosial for the few. that is, until the d.j.'s wife - an effusive troll in her mid fifties with seemingly no redeeming features - interjected "that girl? you're old enough to be her father"; hence disrobing, squatting, and dumping gracelessly on the immaculately-laid table of my (admittedly laborious) metaphor.

"fuu-uuuu-uuu-uuuu-uuuccckkk you!" i replied, temporarily robbed - as i was - of refinement. i realised that this must have seemed beyond rude; but my colleagues tacitly acknowledged that it had been a response to a harsh call, so i felt justified in further requesting that she pick a window.

this aside, i was dancing on air. i had met the most enchanting and deliciously wrong woman who - against all odds - not only works in the very next pub, but seemed more than happy to make my acquaintance.

the pub in which i work is in the city centre, where it is a rotten ballache to park. so i tend to go by foot from a nearby suburb. although i had just finished what i suspect to be the longest shift of my life, my thoughts were sufficiently enraptured that i willed the walk back to last for a week. it concluded in a quiet street shrouded in orange; at a car with a surfboard on top, both frosted with fallen blossoms.

right, parts ii and iii are bundled together, as i've had two 'dates' with the femme fatale, and each followed a similar pattern. that is we go out as friends, everything is fine; then she gets drunk, and turns into a 'kookie' monster.

the first time, i went to her mum's house and she made me dinner. there was some flirting (eg - per femme - "before we met, i remember walking past your office, and i caught you looking at my legs" ); but nothing that suggested anything else would happen. she was now apparently seeing someone from work, for a start.

we got drunker, and were joined by a mutual friend. she started to become more of a general flirt and a menace after he arrived. at one point, she claimed that she was a virgin, and defied her company to prove otherwise. this is clearly some sort of game; but as i didn't know whether or not our friend knew of our dalliance some months ago, i decided not to present the indisputable evidence i have witnessed to the contrary. nope - i kept shtum.

our pal went away the bar at one point, and she leant in and snogged me. "there - that'll ease the tension a bit," she said. albeit creating tension of a different kind.

after a bit of ear nibbling and a few more drinks, the femme announced with almost no warning that she was leaving right now. i offered to walk her home. she declined and ran off.

and that was that.

which is where we roll into part iii.

i met the femme and a lovely (and seemingly sane) friend for drinks about a week ago. now, she was even more boyfriended up than before, or so she claimed. i'm sure you can see where this is gonna go.

a few drinks down, and the pattern starts re-emerging. the femme works with problem children, and announced that she plans to foster one of the kids she looks after. "she's inappropriate, socially terrible... that's why i love her. and when we're married, you're going to have to be accepting of that."
"when we're married?"
"yes."
"both of us?"
"that's right."
"to... each other?"
"you're getting the picture," she chirped.
she asked if i was prepared to marry her in three years time. i agreed to this. she shook my hand. i figured that she would have forgotten about this 'pact' soon enough. otherwise... well, god help us all.

her friend left, and we were joined by our mutual pal mentioned above again. we wandered from pub to kebab shop to pub, drinking ourselves into the ground.

"i love you," said the femme (post kebab).
"i love you too," i forced out.
"no, i really do love you. spiritually, emotionally, biologically."
hmmm. there's not been much evidence of biologically lately.

we went to another pub, and ended up - rather rudely - snogging in front of our friend. he didn't seem to mind. she announced she was soon to head off. on the weekend, she left for prague for six weeks. i think she asked me to go visit her out there at some point. anyway, i said "well, i won't see you now before you go".
"will you email me?" she asked.
"i can do, certainly."
"will you send me pictures of you naked?"
"er... that depends. what would i get in return?"
"i'll send you pussy pictures," she claimed.
"yours?"
"i'll send you pictures of a wet pussy."
"well, you'll be in prague. you can probably find a club where someone'll let you take a picture of theirs for a euro. if i'm going to pose naked, it has to be you. otherwise it isn't fair," i recall reasoning. "ok?"
"is it ok if, when you write to me, i touch myself whilst thinking of you?"
"..."

she got up to leave. i offered to walk her home. she declined (again). myself and my buddy finished our drinks, and left about five minutes later. i walked him up the hill, and we both spotted the femme meandering rather unsteadily to her mother's house. i saw my mate to the top of his street, and then phoned the femme.
ring ring.
"hello?"
"hi there," i said; "do you wanna meet outside your mum's house in a minute?"
"oh [breakupcam], i can't. i'm not staying there tonight anyway."
"you sure? not even for just a brief midnight snog?"
"i can't. i'm not even there anyway. i'm four miles away. so i can't. sorry."
i elected not to tell her that i knew she was lying, on account of seeing her not one minute before. i let it slide, and bid her a good trip.

this whole thing has become an investigation for me now, rather than a pursuit of love/sex/whatever. i am journalistically interested in (a) why i am a perpetual tease magnet; and (b) what exactly makes the femme tick, when she is clearly a bit of a mental. it doesn't bode well for our impending marriage.

i went to a gathering on friday night, which was a leaving do for a girl i used to work with. i knew that a lovely girl who i fancy would be there. she does my old job. she is just the most adorable person. she fills me with joy. you get the picture.

she was already a bit tiddly by the time i arrived. she was in fancy dress as camilla p-b. she gave me a big hug and a kiss on greeting. i gave her a badge that i made her, and this seemed to make her happy.

it all seemed to be going rather well. she sat on my lap, and kept demanding that i kiss her on the lips. at one point she - rather surprisingly - told me how she liked to be fucked. her words. i was rather taken aback. i told her that i probably wouldn't be able to stand up for another ten minutes. i think steam was escaping from my collar.

and then there were the blow-job gestures from across the table. this was a real eyebrow raiser. now, some of you might be doubting at this juncture that the young lady in question is really 'adorable', as stated above. but trust me - she is so incredibly charming and lovely, that she manages to pull it off (so to speak). it must be quite a rare talent to be filthy whilst still convincing that butter wouldn't melt. saucepot!

anyway, she left at the end of the evening with another female colleague. as she bid me goodbye, she hugged me, and gave me what i perceived as a lingering kiss on the lips. i sent her some texts later. i was a bit drunken, and probably a little incoherent, but i do recall telling her she was beautiful.

i sent her some texts the following morning too, to apologise for my boozahol-induced nonsense. she seemed perky, and there was a bit of a dialogue. i asked her what she was doing later. no response was forthcoming.

i went for a walk with a couple of my chums and their dog. the girlfriend bollocked me for pussyfooting and being vague, and ordered me to ask my successor out. so, after delaying a while whilst wondering how best to tackle this, i sent her a text which read :

i want to ask you out on a date, but i don't know how. any ideas ? x

now, before anybody castigates me for asking her out by text, i would like to point out that (a) we were walking along some cliffs with limited reception, (b) i was a bit too hungover for my conversation to sizzle, and (c) i am a lily-livered chicken-shit motherfucker. what of it ? anyway, she responded :

oh [breakupcam], im seeing someone. but im very flattered hun. x x

this was a shame. but hey, i was proud of myself for trying.

this has highlighted a problem, however. either she isn't seeing someone (she certainly hadn't given the impression that she was the evening before), and was letting me down gently - in which case, fair enough. or she is seeing someone. but whichever is true, it's difficult to escape the conclusion that she is a *little bit* of a tease.

i wondered for a short while if this area of the country produces a disproportionate amount of teases. however, considering that all county females over the age of seventeen can be seen pushing prams regularly, this seems a bit too paradoxical. so, the answer must be that i am a tease magnet.

any long-term readers of this blog and one of my others will know that getting led up the garden path is a recurring theme for me. i am a permanent string-alongee. it is rubbish. and, somehow, it is my fault. you may think that this is all in my head. but stay tuned for part ii of this entry, where i shall furnish you with indubitable proof. and more excessive italics.

i bumped into the femme fatale by accident today. since last time, we have agreed to meet up one day and get hideously drunk. i think that the femme gets a bit of a bad rap. i don't think our relationship is just a sex/security issue. we do actually get along surprisingly well.

anyway, this was the first face-to-face meeting since the last snogging/inappropriate suggestions debacle. we went for a walk up and down the beach. the village we were at has a big mound of stones just over a storey high, which separates the sand from the main road. we climbed to the top of the mound for the walk back, and were engorged by an icy breeze.

femme fatale : god, it is *fucking freezing*.
breakupcam : you're not wrong.
ff : shall we get down onto the pavement, and get some shelter ?
buc : well, it won't work, because the wind's offshore. but we can give it a whirl.

we shuffled down the stones, ran across the road, and jumped onto the pavement. there wasn't much protection there either. i originally walked on the inside of the pavement, to shelter her from the wind. but then remembered that it's more chivalrous to walk on the outside. she took my arm.

buc : which side would you like me to go ?
ff : the outside, so that you'll stop me from blowing into the road.
buc : do you know why it's more gentlemanly for blokes to walk on the outside ?
ff : so that women don't get splashed if any cars drive past through puddles ?
buc : well maybe. but i heard that it dates back from when people used to throw their excrement out of the window.
ff : oh ?
buc : yes, apparently - before people had sewerage - blokes would walk on the outside, as folk would just chuck their buckets of faeces and urine out onto the street. so, as this would form an arc, the person on the outside would be more likely to be hit.
ff : mmmm... lovely. do you think people would then go and wash ?
buc : well, surely yes.
ff : not necessarily. as if it was that commonplace, then it would be an everyday sight to see people totally covered - perhaps standing next to you at a bar.
buc : well, i suppose there'd be less stigma if it happened all the time. "goddamnit, i *will* go to the ball - turd in hair or not!"
[the femme giggles, and squeezes into my arm]
ff : that story is *so* romantic.
[pause]
buc : it's conversations like this that make me realise why i don't have a girlfriend.
ff : nonsense. conversations like this are exactly why you should have a girlfriend.

she beamed at me. we drew closer to a nice, warm pub. i like cold, sunny afternoons.

so i went out in town on friday night. later in the evening, we went into a pub. femme fatale was there, and i'd not seen her in well over a month. she seemed pleased to see me. actually, that's a bit of an understatement.

"you are so much hotter than i remember."

"thanks."

she was drunk.

"i've missed you so much," she said; just before grabbing me and snogging me.

"do you know what i've missed most about you ?"

"no. what ?"

"grabbing your ass and pulling you in as you're fucking me."

"what ? really ? er... that hardly ever happened."

did i ever mention that the femme fatale is totally shit in the pantry loop-de-loop ? no ? well, i should have done. she's a proper nutter.

unfortunately, i am male, and - although the femme is incorrectly wired - she certainly knows how to say the right things. there were a few snogs, punctuated with conversations like :

"how come we never ended up together ? we would be so good together."

"er... it's not like i didn't suggest it enough times."

"did you ?"

"of course i did. plus you were in the process of getting together with that *** chap, so i didn't get much of a look-in."

"yeah, well he's gone. bye bye." at that point she waved at some random bloke, who looked understandably confused.

she pointed out that we needed to go on one last "date" before i left the area for good. and told me what the date should degenerate into. now, i know she's a tease - but it's difficult not to enjoy hearing these things.

she left. i went to get some chips with surf-film-maker chap my friend, and went back to his house. she called me as i was walking back. i can't remember the conversation really, but i think she probably wanted some company. i decided against joining her. which was most likely the right decision, as i doubt if i'd have been up to much by that point. but i am still kicking myself for not doing so. when my mate passed out on his couch, i texted her to see if she was still up. no response. so i sent her another text :

i hope our overdue date is soon. i am secretly hoping that it will be hot, bare, covetous, grappling and sensational. but i'm not gonna tell you that. miss ya xx

she hasn't responded. i suspect i might be an idiot.

it's been a while, has it not ? well, i'm not here to make apologies. and i'm sure you're not in the least aggrieved. so i'll press on.

a few small things have happened. i wrote an entry a while ago about reinitiating contact with the love of my life, for the good of my soul. well, i did.

but that's another entry.

back to the femme fatale for now. we hadn't seen each other for a long time. she popped by for a quick two minutes last week to arrange a proper catch-up. despite having been bed-ridden with an occasionally hallucinatory illness for a couple of weeks prior to, she was luminous. and she seemed pleased to see me also. she got excited that i have grown some hair. before i had a grade one. now i have something almost resembling a mop. it really had been a long time.

so we arranged to hook up this evening. chilli and mulled wine, thought i. although i did have concerns that the evening might descend into our old pattern. to wit, we both get roaring drunk, end up in bed together in some state of undress - which is immediately followed by a very long and searching chat. groo.

but something work-related had come up. she has to drive oop north tomorrow. she's leaving at six, and has basically a day of driving ahead of her. so she restricted herself to one cider, and left after dessert.

i am glad it worked out this way. we had a smashing time. it works very well as friends. proper friends. just friends. no sex politics. we'd missed each other. it was good.

i feel kinda bad, mind. i asked her if she was sharing her journey with anyone else. turns out she's driving her boss. all day. although she loved her meal, i suspect she will love it less tomorrow. garlic, onions, chillis, kidney beans. flageolet beans for good measure. all those indigestible sugars.

beep.

i promise i didn't do it on purpose.

some years ago, a young lady and i broke up. see if you can spot the pattern. anyway, for a change, the dissolution of the relationship was nothing to do with a 'decision' made by either party. she had to move back to her home country. and that was that. please don't give me any of that 'love crosses all borders' shit - we're (nominally) smart folk, and know how to play the hands we're dealt.

we've met up a few times since, and it has always been emotionally intense. it has kinda fallen into the pattern of a week together every two years. we re-initiated contact a few months ago, and agreed to holiday together in spain. we've exchanged dirty texts, and it was clear that both of us were looking forward to it.

i take it you all spotted the key past participle. a sticky gold star for you.

i got an email from her yesterday, politely gibbing out of the holiday. she cited her (hitherto unmentioned) manfriend as an excuse. i don't really know why she apologised - this seems like a perfectly valid 'get out of jail' card to me.

he really didn't like the idea. i still don't get these jealousy things. didn't we use to argue about them too? i really want to see you but I know that if we do, we won't be just sitting and drinking beer. and that's a problem. not for me but for this person.

maybe it's just me, but the last sentence rather intimates that the present chap isn't - for her - the right one. not that this is important. my opinion on all this is rather clouded by having always been fettered by some kind of monogamy 'instinct'.

i haven't really found this particularly uplifting. a part of me is disappointed, sure. i was really looking forward to a sex holiday. and - please don't tell anyone - it would have been wonderful just to have seen her and hung out. but there is something that bothers me more. as much as it is probably romantic that we have clearly had a little place for one another for years - despite seldom seeing the other party - i think we have both always willed the other to move on. i'm not sure that a sex holiday with an ex-boyfriend being vetoed by her new chap is an especially good sign in this respect. i hope the poor guy isn't losing any sleep over this.

as much as i love her, i'm not sure she's all there. either that, or i'm projecting my backward values onto someone who doesn't need them. again.

the femme fatale suggested we hang out at some point, as she had a few days off work. it seemed to be time to resolve the 'relationship' issue once and for all. just to add further confusion to the mix, she had been unable to come to dinner a week ago, and cursed her work for interfering with her "love life". i was under the impression that there needed to be some lovin' involved to qualify a state of affairs as being a 'love life'. but then what the fuck do i know ?

so she called round on friday, and i made her lunch. evidently she enjoyed it.
"that was amazing! you rock my world," she gushed.
"i know." i think i was having a bit of trouble with humility.
"can i keep you ?"
"of course you can."

things were going well. we went for a walk on the beach, and she suggested we try all of the ales in the local shop. so we drank away the afternoon on the beach, she drew around me in the sand (this was alarmingly erotic), we got out a film, went back to my house and made banana cake. sadly, 'banana cake' was not euphemistic.

the ales began to take their toll, and we went to bed early. then, as per usual, there was no sweet sweet loving - just a load of intense talking. she said she just wanted to be friends. i pointed out that this would be made easier with less confusing signals. such as all the hand-holding, kissing, snuggling up to me in just a t-shirt and a thong... you know - the type of stuff that just friends don't usually do. and saying things that leave an impression. such as she was afraid that she was falling for me; and that i regularly made her heart jump in that way. she conceded these points, and admitted that she had made a conscious decision to stop hanging out with me so much a few weeks back, as she was frightened of the strength of emotion she was feeling. this is not the paradigm of chummy behaviour, i suspect.

i think i may have been a little liberal with the home truths. i told her that - whether she realised it or not - she was leaving a trail of wounded men in her wake, their hearts torn clean out of their asses. i also told her that i thought she was something of a nutter. she took all this rather well. but it wasn't like a row. by the end of the chat, it was clear that we were both fully paid-up members of the mutual appreciation society. she told me that, although she didn't relish the prospect, she suspected that a woman who would be swept off her feet was just around the corner for me.

although i tend to subscribe to the notion that if you like someone - and you know they like you back - you should just go for it, i did accept her assertion that we were probably very bad for each other. this is something i've known all along. but i believe there's an expression about a rock and a hard place.

she was supposed to cook sunday lunch yesterday, but blew it out, claiming that she had too much paperwork to do. i suspect i won't see her much in the immediate future. which is probably just as well.

i've been away. i came back. it often works like that.

when i was away, myself and my chum put the world to rights. and we decided on plans of action for one another. i find mine daunting. very. but, i guess, it wouldn't be much of a plan of action if it wasn't a shake up.

a long time ago, i was out of my depth in love. we both were. we were never engaged. i think we were a bit too young. but we joked about being married, and having children. and - although the jokes adopted the form of denial ("if we were married... and i'm not saying that we would ever get married - that would be far too forward - but if we were, then..." ) - i don't think that either of us really thought that it was such a crazy idea.

we don't have the time to go into what went wrong. it just did. and, although i have certainly been in love with others since, it was never quite the same.

my friend ordered me to reinitiate contact. it has been some years. i am terrified about doing so. i'm not sure things have been left that well. but i know i should. it's a big deal though. i am deeply rueful that i managed to fuck up the best thing that ever happened to me.

twice.

oh yes. most people, i'm sure, don't get that second chance. i did. i'm not sure what i did to deserve it. but i messed things up so much worse the second time. now that i think about it, it occurs to me that everything that has gone awry in my love-life ever since has been richly deserved.

get in contact with her was one stipulation. the other was not to allow the femme fatale back into my bed.

she popped by this evening. i haven't seen her for over a week. she'd done something with her hair. she looked heart-stopping.

"so, how was amsterdam ?"
"good," i said. "really good."
"so - did you sleep with any women for money ?"
"no, i didn't," i answered, truthfully. she seemed satisfied, about faced, and left the room. she went to drink with my (female) housemate, and i carried on about my business.

i went to the pub. i returned. i bumped into femme fatale on my way home. we chatted for a bit. she told me about muse at reading festival. i didn't tell her much. in our 'relationship', she mainly speaks. she asked me if i was about to go to bed.
"not yet. i've got a bottle of cider to finish," i replied. "would you like some cider ?"
"well, i would," she pondered. i was transfixed by her lispy tongue catching the half-light. "but i've just told [your housemate] that i'm tired, and want to go home. if i came back to drink with you, it wouldn't make for very good house etiquette."
"i guess it wouldn't."

i have managed to keep to one of my two stipulations. thus far. and entirely by accident.

i'm not sure how i feel about it, though. i've missed her. i wish she was here now.

i bet you do too. just so i'd fucking shut up.

i realised that it was sunny outside, so i decided to embrace it. i went to the beach with a book, and sat myself down near a large sandcastle. it was a proper mott and bailey, with a gate at the front. it is very impressive. i might go back down and take a photo.

a couple were sat near me. they wore hideous matching shirts with multicoloured needlestripes (slightly wider than pinstripes). the woman was reading a book called 'to be a christian'. i couldn't see what the man was reading.

i saw sand leaping out of a hole. i could just make out a child's head. maybe he wants to get to australia. he will probably hit magma first.

more people than i would have guessed were wearing speedos.

i did not see her down there. i wanted to. she texted me to ask me if i had a kite. she informed me that she is 'working' on the beach today. i'm sure i have a kite somewhere; but i couldn't find it. i even looked in the attic.

i haven't said much nice stuff about her on here. i suspect that the modest number of readers see her as a manipulative, attention-seeking nightmare. which she is. but also so much more. she is upbeat and child-like. she is generous and affectionate. she is witty and engaging. she smells gorgeous. when i catch her aroma, i find myself sighing. i really do. she also has long legs, and a lovely bottom. hey - i'm still male.

i spend all my hours nowadays in perpetual confusion. part of me is glad of this. the rest of me is terrified.

i haven't told you about the girl at my brother's party. my sister had been right on the knuckle in forewarning me. she was a voracious sexual predator. i'm not saying that this is a bad thing. nor am i saying that i'm afraid of women (i am). she was just not my cup of tea.

her opening gambit was to push between myself and the girl i'd gone to the party with (a friend) in the queue for the buffet, and then demand to know if i would dance with her later. she then asked me to look after a camera for her as she had no pockets, and made a rather insincere apology for having pushed between us. "don't worry - we don't have to be physically attached in order to eat," my friend sneered.

predatoress and i had had not three minutes of conversation all night before she attached herself to me in a corridor.
"i find you very attractive," she said.
"er... thanks?"
"i really fancy you," she continued.
"ok... er... i don't really know what to do with that."
"i might just go to the bathroom for a wank."

disbelief.

i decided to change the subject. somehow we got onto hobbies. she said that she was into, among other things, potholing.

"potholing sounds rubbish, i think," i said.
"why do you think that ?"
"well it sounds dangerous... and boring."
"how can something dangerous be boring ?" she enquired.
"well, just the idea of being stuck in a damp, cold hole; a mile beneath the ground's surface; hours passing as you wonder whether or not you're gonna get rescued. sounds dangerous... and boring."
"there is nothing wrong with getting stuck in a warm, wet hole," she countered. eeesh!

i'm hoping that you're reading full-on into this. way too full-on. my brother and a friend of his did not help. when predatoress told the friend that she fancied me, the friend's response was to grab my cheek and say "i know... he's a little monkey!" my brother stood by both of us, took each of our hands, and tried to unite them. i resisted this. then ran away when i had a chance.

much of the rest of the evening was spent with her chasing me about, and me escaping when i could. i think this was a sport that most of the guests greatly enjoyed watching. at one point, a good friend of my father's offered me some friendly words of advice. "she's just after a good, hard shag," he said; "why don't you just give her what she wants ?" i told him that he mightn't be saying this had he experienced the whirlwind first-hand. later on, as he was about to leave, he did. the predatoress was distracted from me for just long enough for him to look me in the eye, and bid me a very earnest "good luck".

later, my step-niece came up to me, grabbed my hand, and led me onto the dancefloor for 'new york, new york'. as soon as i got onto the floor, the predatoress butted between us. now, either she had just stolen a dance from a seven-year-old; or she had ordered the step-niece to go and fetch me for the dance. either way, i wasn't sure i particularly liked her tactics. plus, i wish she hadn't kept groping my ass during the song. as soon as it was over, i ran off to hide with my friend.

mercifully, she was distracted for a while by another chap who was burning up the dancefloor. however, as she was about to leave, she grabbed me again. she asked if she could have a kiss. i am very bad at saying no, so i pecked her on the cheek. "anything else ?" she asked. "yes... goodnight!" i said, and walked off.

i was told that the predatoress was a lovely girl, by my brother and several others. i'm sure that they are right. i just never got the chance to see it before the wanton urges were acted upon with the subtlety of a hammer in the face.

seems femme fatale had nothing to worry about.

i roll over in the night, and stretch my arm across her like a downy seatbelt. she sleepily removes my hand from her far shoulder and places it on her breast. i sigh, and fall back asleep.

at some point later, it is all a bit much, so i get up and leave the room. i go into the kitchen, and fix myself a drink. i bring it to my lips, and notice my hand is enshrouded by her scent. she is all over me. i cannot get away.

i go into the garden, and look to the stars for guidance. this has happened innumerable times throughout history. the stars are bored, and do not respond.