If only Everyman could look like this...

Music: Celebrity Skin - Hole

I've been in a bit of a fud for the past few days.  It's probably because I've got exams at the moment and all my free time is being eaten alive by hours of tedious revision.  As a result, my social life is about as exhilarating as staring at a blank wall.

However, a few things have cheered me up.

Firstly, and I know Fishy will whinge, but Cosmopolitan magazine has a steamy selection of male centrefolds this month - all to raise awareness of male cancer for the Everyman campaign.  It's a great cause, especially when they snap hot rugby players who look like this:

Ben Foden, England and Northampton Saints full-back

Ugo Monye, England and Harlequins wing.

Acres of sexy male flesh somehow always manages to put a smile on my face. ;-)

But then, looking at this foxy pair made me kick myself all over again about Mr I Wish I Had.  Damn it.

Anyway, on Sunday I'm going to watch a rugby game with my mates from work which should be a good laugh.  A few drinks, a bit of gossip and watching some men in shorts will no doubt help to cheer me up. 

Fingers crossed I meet a guy who looks like Ben or Ugo, eh?

Post-Joe Post-Mortem

Music: Girls and Boys - Blur

I told my work mate Mick about the lingering kiss from Joe, but since it happened I am almost doubting whether it actually did or not. Did I imagine it to be more than it was or did Joe try to kiss me?

Oh I don’t know anymore. Either way, when I relived the moment and described it to Mick I could see his face light up and his eyes twinkle, partly because he had almost predicted it but mostly because he now had some brilliant material to wind me up with for months and months. The wanker. I suppose that as a married man he has to get his kicks from somewhere and I seem to be an easy target. If only he knew what happened with me and Foxy Scott!

On hearing my news, Mick went into overdrive.

“Ha ha! I knew it!” Mick exclaimed loudly so the entire office could hear him. “I knew that Joe always had a soft spot for you.”

I slid down my chair and inwardly cringed.

“Just imagine,” Mick continued as he stared into the mid-distance. “You and Joe start a passionate affair, and after only a couple of months you move into his palatial mansion and give up work to start podding out babies. I can see it now: baby Tarquin in one arm and baby Fifi in the other. Of course, you can afford to give up work as Joe earns so much he can probably afford to wipe his arse on £50 notes. It sounds perfect. Don’t forget who saw it all coming first. I’ll expect a seat on the top table at the wedding.”

“Ha ha very amusing Mick,” I replied, “But that’s not happening anywhere other than in the twisted fantasyland that is your brain.”

“Ooh, get you,” Mick chided in an overly gay fashion. “Well, let’s just see what happens with you two on the next work’s night out. You could share a taxi back to his maybe? A couple of drinks, who knows…?”

“Shhh, will you be quiet!” I whispered to Mick.

I didn’t want everyone to hear my business, let alone make them think that something was happening with me and Joe.

As Mick babbled on I could see that Dan’s ears had pricked up and that he was taking it all in. Fortunately, unlike everyone, else he knows what Mick is like (and is my friend) so I wasn't worried about him spreading any gossip.  Usually he would be piling in with the wind ups but he kept out of it, I guess because he doesn't really know Joe very well...

But why did I decide to tell Mick about Joe when I knew he’d make me the butt of all his jokes? I’m struggling to remember. Oh yeah, it was to get a second opinion as to whether the lingering kiss on the cheek actually meant something. Not that Mick has any clue. Blokes are rubbish at that sort of thing, so I guess I’ve just embarrassed myself and received no real insight.

Great.

Must turn my attention back to internet dating.  I can hardly wait...

Kiss Kiss

Music: Kiss Kiss - Holly Valance

My friend Joe had never put a kiss on the end of a text message to me before and I’ve known him for a couple of years.

I read hs message again:

I can’t believe Leeds have stayed up! Sorry if I was a bit quiet after the game. I’ll look forward to seeing you soon for a few drinks :-) x

I had two choices:

1. Reply to his message and just be friendly, ending it without a kiss and hope that he got the subtle subtext. Do men understand subtlety?

2. Reply to his message and be friendly and end it with a kiss, therefore effectively encouraging him and potentially setting the creaking wheels of romance into motion.

As I drove home from the game I considered all the pros and cons of leaving that one extra character at the end of a text message. It’s amazing that one little ‘x’ can mean so much.  It can turn a friendly message into so much more.

Pros of the ‘x’:

• Joe likes rugby. 
• He has a good job.
• He’s not that bad looking. 
• We get on well.
• I’ve known him for so long that I know he’s not a wanker.

Cons of the ‘x’:

• I don’t fancy him, and I mean really fancy him enough to put our friendship on the line.
• He’s a bit older than I’d like my boyfriend to be.
• It would be weird hanging around with him and my friends at the same time as they don't have much in common.
• I don’t fancy him. I mean, I just don’t fancy him enough. I must learn from what happened with John for goodness sake.

But Joe is good on paper, so should I settle for that? I’m not getting any younger and on paper he is an excellent catch.

No, what am I thinking?

I didn’t start out on this experiment just to “settle” for someone because I think they might be the best I can get, especially if there’s no real chemistry between us.  If I did that then I would feel like I had cheated myself despite everything I promised I wouldn't to do this time around.

To clarify my decision I matched Joe up against my Perfect 10:

The Perfect 10 Checklist: Joe

1. Looks

Joe is sort of good looking but more average I think – well, in my opinion anyway. As he’s a bit older things might have started to sag too... Put it this way: I don’t look at him and go weak at the knees/experience any dampness in the knicker region.  So it's a no.

2. Sense of humour

I never really laugh that much with Joe and he certainly has never had me rolling around on the floor in hysterics. Mostly we have quite serious conversations, and even when it’s light hearted I don’t really get much from him humour wise. Therefore as lovely a bloke as he is, it’s a no in this section too.

3. Being Down to Earth

Joe works as an IT consultant so you might assume that he’s up his own arse, but this is so far from the truth and I couldn’t be friends with him if he was, so it's a yes here.

4. Loyalty and Trust

Yes, I think so. He’s definitely loyal to the team we both support, but when it comes to romantic relationships I’m not sure as we’ve never talked about his romantic past. I mean, I assume he's had girlfirends?  He was always trustworthy at work though and I think it’s enough to earn a point.

5. Kindness

Sometimes Joe can be a little detached but on the whole he’s a lovely, generous man, so it's a yes here.

6. Have a strong sense of family

He holidays with his brother and his nephews and spends a lot of time with his family, so a definite yes.  Bit weird holidaying with his brother though, don't you think?

7. Solvency

Definitely.

8. Ambition and a drive to succeed

He is self employed and is successfully running his own business, so yes.

9. Different interests

I’m not too sure. I know he loves skiing (which I’ve never tried as I’d probably kill myself) so that counts, as does golf, but rugby is his main love. I’d still say yes to this one and give him a point.

10. Romance

No idea as I didn’t get far enough to find out.  As I’ve said, I’ve never heard anything about any previous relationships so this will have to be nul points for this criterion due to lack of information.

Marks out of 10: 7

Conclusion: I think that Joe is the typical “Mr. Looks Good on Paper” but in reality there’s still something missing. I think in his case it is the spark that lights up and shines when you really fancy someone. I’ve never felt that tingling sensation when he touches me and I’ve never felt my stomach flip when I see him. To me he’s just lovely, dependable Joe, who has dozens of amazing qualities but who just doesn’t set my world (or pants) on fire. I suppose that at least I learnt to step away this time before burning my fingers.

I’ve decided.

I sent him the following text:

It was a brilliant game - I'm still bouncing!  I’ll definitely see you soon and I’ll remind Mick to get a night out organised. :-)

Friendly, funny and no kiss. Although, reading it back to myself was I a little bit too flirty? Oh well sod it, I sent it and it was too late to change it.

A few minutes later my phone buzzed with an incoming text message, again from Joe:

Great I’ll look forward to it. I’ve not seen Mick and the other guys in ages. I’m off to go and have a couple of pints and celebrate our win! See you soon. Take care :-)

Phew, no kiss and problem averted. I think.

I’m going to have a chat about this with my work mate Mick to see if he’s picked up on anything from Joe, but then again it will probably be very painful as Mick will undoubtedly whip his big shit-stirring stick out and have a field day.

I’m glad I screwed my head on firmly over this one as I’d hate to ruin another friendship, especially as it would mean that I’d have to find another willing soul to watch the majority of home games with next season.

Joe is a brilliant guy, but just not perfect for me. 

I'm almost 100% convinced of that...

The Result

Music: Game For Fools - Jamie Lidell

So there I was at the crucial rugby game having just met up with my good friend Joe.  If my team won they'd be safe.  If they lost they could be relegated.  I was as nervous as hell and so was Joe.  I could sense it when he kissed me hello on my cheek...  My colleague Mick had been winding me up and saying that Joe could be the perfect guy for me, and on paper he is.  But at 13 years older than me I just didn't know.  And I wasn't sure if I fancied him - even with his villa in Spain...

As I'd arrived at the ground just before kick off there was no time for me to have a nerve-calming drink.  Instead Joe and I headed outside and assumed our usual position in the South Stand, just to the right of the touchline and behind the mini-orchestra.

The drummer banged his drum and the crowd cheered as the team line-up was relayed over the tannoy. The tension was building and I could feel it in the air.  The cheer leaders dashed out onto the pitch with flags waving and pom-poms bouncing as the players readied themselves in the bowels of the stadium. The butterflies in my stomach were flapping in anticipation as to what would happen next. Only eighty minutes separated my team from possible relegation and the desperate feeling of disappointment that it brings. Not even a couple of text messages I received from my work mates Mick and Dan with jokes about “going down” were going to make me smile. Well, maybe a bit.

The crowd roared and everyone was on their feet as the team ran onto the pitch. Flags waved and chants circled the ground before being whipped away on the wind. Joe looked pretty nervous too, and over the next eighty minutes we lived and breathed every tackle, scrum and lineout, cheering our hearts out for the team we both love.

The first half began.  Three successful penalties for us in the first 25 minutes.  A score for them.  We almost get a try but ball is knocked forwards.

At half time we were winning 12 – 3.  It was a lead but I was starting to feel stressed. The half time entertainment didn’t do much to lighten the mood and the entire crowd was on tenterhooks. Whilst I watched the cheer leaders bump, grind and shake their thang, Joe disappeared off to the burger van and returned a couple of minutes later with two polystyrene cups of steaming hot tea. It’s as if he’d read my mind.

We chatted about the game so far and how we'd been playing pretty well, just as the players started to run out for the second half. I could see in their body language that they looked really up for it.  I said a little prayer under my breath.

The second half started like a whirlwind, with the opposition throwing everything at us.  A stupid mistake let them run in a brilliant try, which was converted to take the score to 12-10.  I was feeling really uncomfortable now.  Ten minutes left.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Joe jigging up and down. I couldn’t work out if it was from nerves or if he trying to keep warm as it wasn't that chilly.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah. Well, no.” Joe replied. “This is torture. I can’t bear it."

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “I kind of wish I’d just stayed at home and listened to it on the radio.”

Joe looked at me and pulls his most wounded face.

“No I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed. “You know I love coming to watch the rugby with you!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Joe laughed.

We turned our attention back to the game.

“Come on Leeds! Get your tackles in first time!” Joe shouted anxiously.

I could tell by the look on his face that he was hating every second, so in an effort to try and calm him down I gently placed my hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze.

Joe diverted his eyes from the pitch and looked at me with a grateful smile. At least I think it was a grateful smile.

Five minutes of the game left and the score line was still 12-10. I could hardly bear it any more. The crowd cheered in time with the drum to try and lift the tired bodies of our players. If we could just hold on or score another penalty, that would hopefully be enough.

Just as I was silently praying for this, the opposition are awarded another penalty themselves.  It was 55 metres out.  Surely they aren't going to go for goal?  The kicker pointed to the posts and the entire stand held its breath.  A few people jeered in an attempt to put him off as he lined up his strike.  He ran up, boot connected with ball.....  And it was short!  He missed!

The linesmen waved their flags to indicate that the kick was bad, leaving the score still agonisingly poised at 12-10 with just a couple of minutes left to play.

The butterflies in my stomach started to flip over and over and I just couldn't watch it any more. I turned to Joe and placed my cheek on his shoulder and linked his arm with mine, then faced the opposite way to the pitch.

“I don’t want to know what’s happening unless it’s another score for us,” I said into the wooliness of his jumper. “Please, please let us score.”

I really couldn't look.

One minute left and the crowd was still cheering and willing the team on, when all of a sudden the noise stopped and for a few seconds there was almost silence. I felt Joe’s body tense up before the crowd erupted into cheers.

“What just happened?” I shouted and span around to face the pitch.

Everyone is punching the air and the rest of the squad is running onto the pitch.

"It's over!  We've won!" Joe yelled.  "They tried to go for a drop goal, but we charged it down and kicked it out!  We've won!  WE'VE WON!"

I started leaping around and clapping and screaming.  A few tears welled up in my eyes.  Tears of pride.  The atmposhere was amazing.  Everyone was clapping and cheering.  It was brilliant. 

I looked at Joe and he smiled.  Suddenly he stopped clapping and grabbed me for a massive hug.  I was so caught up in the excitement of the victory it felt totally natural.  And nice.  It felt nice.

But it ended all too quickly when a drunk guy stumbled into us.  Joe made sure I was OK then carried on smiling at me.  I quickly turned back to the pitch and started applauding the players again.

What was that?

Was I imagining things or did he want to be more than friends?  I was about to find out....

Game On

Music: F.E.A.R. - Ian Brown

Last weekend really was action packed.

First up on Saturday was the much heralded Blogger's Night Out where I met up the lovely Tuppence, Rapunzel, Gingerella and Helen. 

We all had a great time.  We talked, drank copious amounts of wine and shared the blogging love.  Well, something like that. 

Happily on Sunday morning I woke up with no real hangover, and I got back to Leeds just in time for the main event of my weekend.  (No offence ladies!).

The big game.  The crucial game.  The rugby game of the season.

The game that ended up with two results: one that I hoped for; the other that came totally out of left field.

And yes, one of those results involved a man. 

In order to get there I have to tell you about the rugby first... 

Call me weird, but I really love the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach as I walk toward the rugby ground with other fans on the day of a crucial match. It feels like there is a kaleidoscope of butterflies flapping around before they manage to escape and burst into a shot of pure adrenaline.

As usual, I was wearing my replica shirt and I was rushing to get into the ground as I was running late.  There was absolutely no way I was going to miss kick off though. Sunday's game was so important as it was a dog eat dog relegation battle.  If my team won they would survive in the Premiership and the other team would be relegated.  If my boys lost, it would mean a tense final game of the season with the spectre of relegation looming large.  I was as nervous as hell.

I really hoped it would be a big turnout to support the lads, as over the past couple of months the crowds had been dwindling. As I approached the ground and the number of fans increased I could see a sea of yellow and blue flags pouring in through the turnstiles.  I sensed a buzz in the atmosphere that I only seem to feel on days like this. I smiled and felt thankful that the faithful were back out in numbers.

I was meeting up with my ex-colleague Joe to watch the game, as he’s also a season ticket holder and is one of my regular rugby match day mates. If Joe’s not around then I’ll either drag my Dad along (having learnt never to bring him when I’m going with a bloke, oh the embarrassment) or if he’s not up for it then I’ll go and watch the game on my own. I know, it sounds a little bit tragic but honestly it’s not. None of my friends like rugby but it's fine, as when I do go and watch games on my own I still feel part of a combined force of fans all willing the team on to win.  I invariably end up chatting with the people around me and have a bit of a laugh.

Oh, and I silently drool over the players and any fitties in the crowd. Obviously.

Headingley Stadium is a fantastic venue but then again I am rather biased.  As I finally reached the turnstile and heard it click when I scanned my ticket I could smell the unmistakable smell of fried onions and hotdogs wafting on the breeze. From the South Stand I could hear the trumpets and the banging of the drum which roused the supporters into song. Ten minutes to go until kick off and I rushed towards the bar which is where I was meeting Joe.

Joe and I used to work together until he left about a year ago to follow the more lucrative path of the self-employed IT consultant.  We still see each other pretty regularly though at rugby games and on the occasional work night out.  I really like Joe and we get on brilliantly well. 

I’ll never forget the first time we had a proper conversation with each other when a few of us went out one Friday after work.  Everyone had sunk a few shandies and I was busy mingling when I bumped into Joe and we ended up talking to each other for the first time. I knew that he liked rugby so we chatted about that for what turned out to be a couple of hours.  At the end of the conversation he announced that he was really impressed: finally he’d found a woman who could talk intelligently about sport. I felt rather pleased with myself, but then grimaced slightly. I didn’t always like the tag of being “one of the boys”, but it was nice to meet someone with similar interests.

Since then Joe and I started to watch games together and when he left the company we stayed in touch. My colleague Mick takes great pleasure in winding me up about my friendship with Joe and pointing out that he would make an excellent Sugar Daddy. It’s true, Joe is thirteen years older than me, is quite attractive, very single and from all accounts very comfortably well off. The problem is I just don’t fancy him and I’m not sure if I ever could.

I have thought about it though.  Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if we did get together: amazing sex (with age comes experience after all); fantastic holidays; great lifestyle, and maybe he would want to have children reasonably soon (he’d definitely be able to support a family with his income).

But then again he probably has a saggy arse, is incontinent and struggles to get it up.

However, all that aside, I’m not sure if we would have anything to talk about other than rugby...

Mick does make a very good case for Joe, painting the picture of spending a month chilling at Joe’s Spanish villa or swooshing down the slopes with him in France (as Joe goes on at least one skiing holiday a year) but there’s something missing. A spark maybe? Or is it because he’s so much older than me?

Either way, I tried to put all these thoughts out of my mind as I swept into the bar and caught Joe’s eye. I worked my way through the scrum of people and we said hello and kissed each other on the cheek.

To be continued...

100% New Zealand Beef

I have a new crush.

He is a 6ft 1", 17 and a half stone hunk of pure New Zealand beef.

And I think he is gorgeous.

Allow me to introduce you to Dylan Hartley, Northampton Saints rugby star.

Dylan and his Northampton side are playing my team, Leeds Carnegie, this weekend.  Needless to say, I am VERY excited at the prospect of watching him trotting up and down the pitch in a pair of thigh hugging shorts.

But here's the thing.  Is he good looking?

I ask the question for a couple of reasons. 

Firstly, I told a couple of my friends that I had a bit of a soft spot - OK, a raging wide-on - for Dylan and they laughed in my face.  You see, when he plays, Dylan looks a bit more like this:

Hmm, not quite as hot.

Secondly, I need to know if my man-radar is a bit iffy.  You see, I'm thinking of dipping my toe into the dreaded internet dating pool, and I need to make sure I'm not going to inadvertantly stumble into Minger Alley.

Oh and one last thing.  Dylan is only 24.  I am a bit older than that.  Does this make me a Cougar in Training?

Agh. 

Whatever.  I'm going to Headingley Stadium nice and early on Saturday to watch him warming up.  And maybe do a spot of gentle flirting with him.  If I'm lucky... ;-)

Game Over

Music:  Lovelight - Robbie Williams

So my weekend with Craig wasn't going exactly as I'd hoped...

Last week when he suggested coming over to see me I thought it would be a good idea to take him to watch a game of rugby. When I asked him if he fancied it he was really positive, especially as Sunday's opposition was a strong team and he’s never been to see a live match before.

What could possibly go wrong? 

Well after our less than fantastic second date, the answer was plenty.

The game started at 3pm so Craig and I had plenty of time to enjoy all the difficult silences and awkward moments in between waking up and kick off.

We were just about ready to set off to the ground when my phone started to ring. I fished it out of my bag whilst Craig leant against the kitchen table.

“It is my Dad,” I said to Craig. “I really should take it, just in case”.

“Yeah, no worries,” Craig replied.

“Hi Dad,” I said cheerily. “I’ve got to be quick as I’m just about to set off for the rugby.”

Craig smiled at me, before motioning that he was going to nip to the loo before we left. He bounded up the stairs as my Dad replied.

“Hiya love, the rugby is why I’m giving you a call.”

I was at a loss.

“I just wanted to arrange where we’re going to meet at the ground today,” he continued.

Oh shit. I had completely forgotten.

Sunday was the game that my Dad had arranged to come and watch with me, my Uncle John, and his friend Roger.

Shit, shit, shit.

I had to meet up with them as it has been arranged for months.

Shit. How could I have forgotten? And what was I going to do about Craig?

“Are you still there?” my Dad asked.

His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I replied.

Upstairs I could hear that Craig was finishing up in the loo and was washing his hands. I needed to think quick.

“Erm, I’ll meet you outside the bar under the south stand,” I said to my Dad. “Oh, and it’s a little bit awkward, as I’m bringing Craig. You know, the guy I went out on a date with the other week.”

“Oh are you now?” my Dad replied in a teasing tone.

“Yeah. I totally forgot that you were coming today....” my voice trailed off as Craig bumped down the stairs.

“OK then love,” said my Dad sounding distracted. I could hear Roger chatting away in the background. “I’ll see you there in about half an hour.” And then he put the phone down, leaving me smiling uneasily at Craig who was now standing at the bottom of the stairs.

I smiled back at him nervously and said:

“I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plan.”


I knew that if I told Craig just minutes before the game that my Dad was going to be there he would freak out (and quite rightly too) and it would look like something I’d been planning all along. All of a sudden I was about to be cast in the role of a Sharon Stone-esque bunny-boiler.

Wonderful.

There was no getting out of it though.  I explained the situation to Craig and apologised profusely, and despite looking like a total idiot I think I managed to convince him that it wasn’t an elaborate plan for me to introduce him to my Dad.

Or maybe not.

Craig and I would spend half an hour or so with my Dad and chums then go and watch the rest of the match on our own.  It would all be fine and it wasn't going to be an issue.

Craig looked really foxy as we walked towards the rugby stadium. He was wearing a black Ralph Lauren jacket and jeans, and I think he must have had his hair cut since I saw him the other weekend. It was super short on the nape of his neck and it looked so delicious that I just wanted to stroke it.

In the same way as when he arrived yesterday, the sober Craig was proving difficult to speak to.  He was very quiet and didn’t want or seem to have much to say. It couldn't all be down to nerves about randomly meeting my Dad, could it? No, I didn’t think so, as he was like that before he started on the beers last night and also this morning.

I tentatively took hold of his hand, and we walked along holding hands for a while before he commented that he was freezing and they are firmly placed in back his pockets. OK then.

I called my Dad and I met him next to the bar area as Roger and John were getting a beer. Craig disappeared off to the loo, probably to shart himself and look for an escape route whilst I had a word with my Dad and ask him not to give Craig a hard time. As Roger and John arrived back with beers, Craig appeared from the gents.

Great.  Here go the introductions.

Just as I was about to introduce Craig to them all, simultaneously my Dad, John and Roger all held out their hands and said in unison:

“Hi, I’m Kate’s Dad, John.”

Oh my God I just I died on the spot.

I didn’t know where to look and neither did Craig as my Dad and the others all laughed heartily at their hilarious joke. Let’s just go into the ground please so I can die amongst the other fans.

What then occured I can only describe as the most toe curlingly awkward eighty minutes of my life.

The game itself is great as for once my team were unstoppable.  I couldn't enjoy it though as I was stuck in between Craig and my Dad, and I wasn't entirely sure what to do with myself.

Craig fully retreated into his shell and only peeked his head out a couple of times to ask why a decision had gone the way of the other team.  All the time my Dad worked the intimidating strong and silent look (albeit unknowingly) which I think made Craig feel even more self conscious.

To make matters worse I couldn't bring myself to abandon my Dad after he'd come all the way over to Leeds to see me.  Guilt is a wonderful thing, isn't it? 

This of course meant that I felt like a total tit for the entire duration of the game.  Craig was practically mute.

What a brilliant idea this was.

I have never been so relieved to hear the final whistle before in my life as it meant that the torture was over. (Happily my team were fantastic and clinched their first home league win of the season.  That really was the only positive of the day, and I'm gutted that I couldn't really enjoy it).

My Dad, uncle and Roger headed off in one direction and luckily as my car was parked at the other side of the stadium Craig and I left via another exit.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said again as Craig and I walked back to my car. “I honestly totally forgot that they were coming along today.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that already,” Craig replied sounding distinctly annoyed.

My apologies were becoming embarrassing. Craig must have thought that I was a total nutter.

As we walked in silence it was really obvious that there was nothing between us. He was quiet, the scant conversation stilted and it felt like such an effort on the drive home that we didn’t really say much and just listened to the Top 40 on the radio instead.

When we got back to my house Craig immediately rushed upstairs to collect his things. Five minutes later he is in my lounge giving me a peck on the cheek and telling me that he would speak to me soon. Two minutes later he was in his car and heading off, the engine of his car growling loudly as he drove away.

What a f*ck up.
What a total and utter disaster.

I’ve got a not so funny feeling that Craig and I won’t be seeing each other again.

I’m a bit disappointed if that turns out to be the case, but deep down I know that the past couple of days have proven that we don’t actually click and there’s no real spark between us apart from when we’ve both consumed a few units of alcohol.

It’s funny, but after our weekend together I do feel slightly disappointed.  Craig was only supposed to be a bit of fun and the guy to help me get over my fears of sex and being naked: my Getting Back in the Saddle Guy as it were - but I still feel a bit deflated.

I’m really doing my own head in about Craig as I just can’t see it for what it is, or was.

Why is it that even now I’m looking for more? Maybe it’s just the way I’m programmed and maybe I just don’t do being single very well?

Or maybe it’s because in the back of my mind I’ve got the Perfect 10 list just waiting to be started on. I think it’s probably all of the above.

Agh!

FAIL!

The Beginning...

I watched intently as he stood still, catching his breath. Hands on his hips. His muscular arms were gently tanned and his shirt clung to his sculpted biceps, beads of sweat prickling on his skin. Through his shirt you could see the definition of his torso: the undulation of abs, broad, strong shoulders and his arms. His amazing arms. His thighs were toned and equally tanned and his legs were perfection. He ran his hand through his short dark hair leaving it ruffled and messy then wiped the sweat from his forehead. Briefly rested he was ready to go again.


He was watching, ever carefully and waiting for his moment. Walking quickly he broke into a jog.  Pointing ahead he shouted his instructions, arms and legs now beginning to pump as his pace increased into a run. The material in his shirt was like a second skin and as his body moved every ripple was visible. Every muscle was in perfect synchronisation, powering forward and yet he made it all look so effortless. His face was of total concentration as he neared his opponent, stepping left then right like a dancer, arm gripping his prize and pushing away anyone who dared to try and take it from him. His arms and legs pumped faster, he was going to make it, every sinew straining to reach the goal. The noise was unbearable. A cacophony of voices rose and surrounded him. Thousands of faces focussed on his every move. He was almost there. I watched enthralled, edging closer. He drove his body over the line and skidded into the dirt.

And there he was. Victorious.

His face broke out into a beaming smile as he looked up, his boyish good looks edged with sexiness. Despite the mud in his hair and smeared all over his face he was perfection.

I ran towards him and he got to his feet. We stood looked at each other before he grabbed me and pulled me towards him. His amazing arms were holding me, wrapped around me. I was getting mud all over my coat but I didn’t care. I lifted my face and he kissed me gently on my lips. He was about to speak, when we were interrupted by the noise of a shrill, screeching whistle...

It was half time and I had drifted off into my favourite daydream again. I sighed. Time to watch the half time analysis and his incredible try all over again.

I also knew it was time for me to snap out of it and get real.

Music:  Dreaming of You - The Coral