Sex on the Beach

A holiday is not complete without sex on the beach. (The cocktail is not a respectable substitute, although can accompany well.)
Small tip: when given the choice of sun-lounger or sand, the correct answer is sun-lounger. Originally the image of tits and arse catapulting from an unbalanced sun-lounger terrified me into a mound of sand, second time round and I made the correct decision.


Man in the Sand

I met my sand encounter in true holiday style, on a tennis court. My interest in him was made quite clear by my mum who went to book some classes (the British must always take tennis classes when available, even if no interest has ever been shown in the sport.) When asked which instructors she wanted my Mother shamelessly told him she wanted him to be my coach, as I thought he was the most attractive. Yes, I was standing beside her at the time. (Who needs a wing man when you have family?)

He was young, (a given).
Blonde (obviously).
Cocky (believed himself to be in with a chance with me and my mother).
And not very talented when laid out on the sand (again, a given).

He was incredibly charming; asking me out to dinner and ordering wine. Dinner was at the hotel restaurant, on my room tab, I don't drink wine. Either way I'm abroad, temperatures are above ridiculous and there are half naked men everywhere, not getting laid is not optional. The most I got out of him in the way of conversation was that he was being stalked by a 16 year old in the resort; this did nothing for my questioning the standards I was willing to drop to for a shag and meant I spent the night anticipating having my hair pulled by little girls. After several overly dressed cocktails I hurried the evening along and agreed to a walk to the beach, partly because it had been over a week since I'd seen any, and party because dragging this out meant spending more time looking at a pretty face and having interesting conversations with myself. (If he speaks, remember to nod or show signs of attention, don't want to upset the pretty face.)

What I suppose you could call sex was unmemorable - hence the lack of description. If I could recollect much more I would share the antics of holiday sex, but unfortunately unmemorable seems to sum it up well. What I do remember in vivid detail however is a night of finding sand in every orifice despite stripping down in a toilet and leaving behind me half a grecian beach. This boy had been a tennis coach at a resort in Greece for the past 4 weeks, surely he should have been wiser than to give a lady the choice of sand or sun-lounger, (especially after one has been watching frolicking in the sand on MTV, false advertising if I ever saw it.) But considering the boys apparent lack of sexual experience it is possible he had not yet been met with sand in your nether regions. If you were wondering, I am calling him boy in the derogatory sense, but also quite simply because I can't remember his name. Guys if you want a lady to remember your name, learn to find the clitoris, it will serve you well.


Sun-Lounger Antics

Holiday romance number two had arrived on the same flight as me, I caught sight of him and his brother in baggage claim right when I was wondering whether agreeing to a holiday with the family (whether a free holiday or not) had really been a good idea. Presented with the prospect of spending 10 days with the screaming children grazing my ankles at the airport they shone out like a beacon. They were both gorgeous (lack of comparison probably helped) standing in Ray-Bands with their crisp shifts tucked in. They were little rich boys, the bonus being the drinks flowed all night, which helped to endure their impossible hearty laughs and incessant name dropping. I now know from where Russell Brand rents his flat, and how much 40,000 glow sticks from France costs for a 21st birthday party (sadly this information was no more interesting after 6 sambas and a fish bowl). The other bonus was their names had continuous comical value, obviously I can't state these for legal reasons, but image if you will the most pompous male names in the Queens english, repeat them in your best plumbed voice, now add Sambuca.

I had already sworn off brother no.1 after he insisted on explaining the rules of poker to me after I assured him I was no beginner. (Women can't play poker. Evidently neither can men as I cleared the table of his match sticks). However I amused myself by flirting with him none the less as we were sat beside his girlfriend. I use this term loosely, in fact I think she had been the only one to refer to herself this way as she had met the man three days previous, and had been sulking all night in the corner. Brother no. 1 had slept with one woman in 6 months. He had told her he wasn't a player.

Throughout the night brother no. 2 became more vocal with each unit consumed, and proceeded to do more than nod his head when spoken too. When drunk this progression in a gorgeous man is quite a revelation and we preceded to spend the rest of the night drinking, buying far too many glow sticks and getting covered in UV paint. You can always find a fellow Brit in Greece, they will be the only people unable to walk in a straight line, with street children zigzagging the streets with them trying to cover their bodies in more glow sticks. God Save Our Gracious Queen.

When drunk, horny and on the lap of a beautiful man at 4am the beach sounds like a wonderful idea, being now experienced in beach antics I took the lead towards the sun bed. To my great relief there were no "You've been Framed" moments and the bed complied with gravity. Unfortunately as it seems so did brother no. 2's penis. If you were ever wondering whether a penis that bends downwards when erect feels slightly like needing the bathroom - it does.

The Biter

There are many reasons I will not be calling over for round two after sleeping with someone for the first time, one of these reasons was demonstrated on Friday night when I decided to make a long overdue call to Sam's house after work one night. We had flirted none too subtly over the bar for longer than I care to remember. He was hot in the 'wish I was a rock star instead of working for my dads insurance company' kind of way, clean shoes - wore his vintage leather over a checked shirt with the collars almost as high as his self esteem. He was a ladies man and a player without a doubt, this isn't a complaint I'm making, quite the opposite. If I was looking for The Big Relationship I wouldn't have given Liam Gallagher jr. a second glance, (I'm not one of those 'oh but he'll change for me if I love him enough and agree to anal' kind of girls.) However given the qualities I am looking for (great in bed, non committal, pretty to look at, won't tell me he'll wait for me when I'm ready for him with a tear in the eye,) then Sam makes the list.

May this be a lesson to all of you, if you want a one night stand to turn into a two night stand, regular casual sex and/or a relationship then please take serious note of this chapter.

After a courtesy 'would you like a cup of tea' and momentary awkwardness of 'how did I end up in your kitchen being offered tea when the only words I've really said to you is 'would you like ice with that?' We made our way upstairs. The usual commenced when a guy is slightly nervous about the casualness of this encounter, he puts on a DVD to pretend the reason I came over to his house at 4am is to watch 'Home Alone 2.' Some men will still slide into their usual routines of needing to get a girl slightly drunk on at least a few rounds of cocktails and draw them back to their house with the idea of 'wouldn't it be nice to lie next to each other and watch a DVD in the quiet and get to know each other.' Men as a species are still not quite accustomed to women wanting the same as them - a hard fuck at the end of a nights work then back to my own bed where I wont wake up lacking my own coffee cup and toothbrush.
However I followed his lead and discussed the joys of 'Home Alone 1' compared to the less appeasing 'Home Alone 2' until he slid his hand across the duvet to reach between my legs and leaned in to bite me on the neck.

Let me make this clear now - I am not in anyway against biting, nibbling, running teeth along the body and any other teeth variety you can think of. Leaving a small bite mark on my thigh, shoulder etc is all quite welcome, (would be very hypocritical of me to say they weren't.) However I have limits, and these limits include biting me repetitively hard on my most sensitive areas - sensitive areas being the nipples and clitoris. (Yes clitoris - you crazy bastard.)

After one casual night with the biter my breasts were unable to be touched by me (or anyone else) for at least a week, this is a very unwelcome waste. I'm not one to blatantly pull away mid shag and condemn a guy for doing things wrong (thats one sure fire way to guarantee neither you or him are going to finish.) However the less obvious approaches of flinching, hair pulling and eventually a none too subtle 'careful!' was not enough to deter the biter. I drove out of his well kept drive unnecessarily sore, (not in the 'what an amazing night I'll be out of action for at least 2 days' way,) but with 'fuck me you're so dirty' in my head after having heard it on repeat for the last 20 minutes, a tally of no orgasms for me, and one less number in my phone.

I am slightly ashamed to say that I only sent 'sorry busy' or 'sorry who is this again?' in answer to many texts, I did avoid his head turn in the street and smiled sweetly when he turned up at the bar asking why I never text him back. 'Work is so busy love sorry,' (for all of you who have been fed this line - I'm sorry to tell you that work is never that busy, we can always fit in a good shag.) I could have been honest, but that would have been all the more time wasted, and unless I have been bought dinner or am planning on trying to fix these hiccups in the hope for a better next time I'm not going to play Agony Aunt to your biting ways. I want to make a formal apology to the women who succeeded myself, I hope your breasts will forgive me - may you be a stronger women than I.

Unfortunately men such as these are not fast learners. A year (and one girlfriend) on and I am still having his face pop up on my screen while facebooking, his persistence is relatively humorous otherwise I would have blocked his cute arse while applying vaseline to my nipples. After giving him a curt "have fun with that" and logging out when informed of his nudity, his smiling face popped up again the next day, inquiring for the 4th day in a row "how've you been lately?" While writing this I have had the following conversation:

Sam: "What you up to tonight?"
Me: "Just visiting the family."
Sam: "I think I'm just going to have some me time,"
Me: "Good idea."
Sam: "Lol. Naauuuggghhhtttyyy!"

The ability to turn every conversation dirty single handedly is truly a skill. This man is going to be a valued facebook friend for life.

The Newly Single

The Newly Single

The newly single man is a dangerous subject for the young and foolish women, if you want to find your soulmate, life partner, husband to be (fill in as appropriate) then stay clear of the Newly Single man. The Newly Single is usually mourning the loss of someone to wake up with in the morning, someone to sit along side him at lunch with his parents and someone to introduce his friends to as his girlfriend - which is why he will do all three in the first week of meeting you. (Diagnosing fact no.1 - relationship on steroids.) He will shower you with what every women is programmed to fall for, declaring that you are everything his ex wasn't, he has never met anyone like you, he feels more for you in a week than he ever did over the 4 years he spent with his ex. (Diagnosing fact no.2 - continuous comparisons to his insignificant ex.) The other and most significant diagnosis of the Newly Single Man is his ability to completely disappear after approximately 1-3 weeks of dating him. You may be lucky enough to receive a basic text giving hint to his absence, you will not be lucky enough however to be given an explanation or even worse any of the things you happened to leave at his place. I have lost many a DVD to the disease.

James Green was such a man, I met him through a friend who had overheard him saying "I love that fit blonde behind the bar." Brownie points to James. When finally introduced he went on to tell me how he'd also seen me in my previous job and hadn't been able to take his eyes off me. Said by an older or attractively challenged man this would be cause for the purchase of a rape alarm. Said by the hench smiling blonde it was cause for a phone number and a date. Over the next week his continuous charm and confidence subtly hid his slightly obsessive behaviour, (as did flowers - known female weakness.) Being young and easily influenced I happily accompanied him to view flats and smiled hiding confusion when asked,

"do you like it though? as you'll be spending a lot of time here." (Date no. 2)

I sat politely through Sunday lunch with the family,
"When I said I'd take you to lunch I meant at my parent's house," (Date no. 3)

I flirted down the isles of Tesco on his arm gathering ingredients for macaroni cheese, which after a night of cuddling on the sofa, great sex and a cuppa in bed, he wrapped up for his packed lunch.
"We should cook extra next time at dinner so I can always take it to work." (Date no. 4)

He charmed my friends and even my mum who declared that her physic had told her there would be a wedding that year. Mum's can always be counted on to get excited over a week new relationship, especially those who see physics.

When becoming accustomed to this emotionally available, heart on his sleeve evolution of a man I began to relent and followed suit. This began with equally sweet texts and proceeded on to the making of a mix tape, after a comment he made on my wonderful music taste. Don't judge me people. We have all been there. In true Newly SIngle style, once feelings are reciprocated he must retreat into the cave in which he came from where mobile phones are unavailable.

Once diagnosed a datee of a Newly Single must watch carefully for the these warning signs. When the texts and calls have ceased many women like to play "guess the problem," the problem is not he's busy at work, or that his grandmother may have pneumonia. His lack of texts, calls and visits is simple, he doesn't want to see you. Sure we may bubble wrap it in "he's afraid," "he got so hurt in his last relationship," "I shouldn't have slept with him so soon," yada yada - either way, he doesn't want to talk as much, so please ladies, don't you talk more. Unfortunately I gained my rings of wisdom a while later, so I shamelessly did what a sobbing young girl would do, I told him I didn't want to see him anymore, (in text of course, us youngsters can't handle the face to face just yet.) I then proceeded to change my mind after getting no reaction, tried to call him at work and ended on a pitiful text of "please talk to me." Safe to say he never did again.
Words of wisdom - in moments of self doubt, neurosis and slight paranoia, delete his number. It's the only way to go.

The saddest state of affairs is that I will now live on in the minds of all who knew him as that girl who went a bit crazy. It's too late to play the "you were crazy first" card. I am still shamelessly waiting for my moment in that bit of the film, where you bump into a man who shamed you with a gorgeous bloke on your arm, looking inexcusably hot and overly important. Just for emphasis he may be packing up his bankrupt business or have gotten nice and plump. Call me sad but I'm not one for unfinished business.

Several months later I met a guy who knew of this James Green, who looked suitably surprised to find that I had dated him.
"You know he's been with a chick called Sophie for the past 4 years?"
"Yeah they broke up."
"No, they never broke up, and they're still together. Didn't you notice the tattoo of her name on his neck?"
"He told me he was getting that covered.."

Here is my lesson to you all, where one woman fails another one must succeed, (or escape in full possession of all her DVD collection.) When dating a Newly Single man take note of the following rules:

* Wait until that tattoo has been covered.
* Always book a restaurant yourself if told you're being taken to lunch. If you are driven to a residential area, calmly step out of the car.
* Never follow another man's pace when it comes to declaring feelings.
* Don't make a mix tape.

The 'B' Man

The 'B' Man

I should have known a man who's whole facebook 'wall' reads 'Dan is moving up on Zombie Farm!' and who's every profile picture is taken in the same club on the same night of each week, with the same blue v-neck jumper, wouldn't be one to get involved with. Women are made to be overly observant and more importantly overly judgemental for this very reason, a lesson to all women who ignore these first instincts in A) the hope to be more open minded, B) because the man in question has a pretty face or C) because you cant remember a time when changing the sheets was a thrice weekly occurrence. Do not undermine the force that is facebook, no you cannot fully judge a person based on an online profile, you can however see if your potential date is the type to have your friends calling with an overly dramatic emergency before the night is through.

I met Dan at the club, a none too remarkable request for my number along with his WKD, (never trust a man who drinks alcopops, if he can't handle a real drink I question his ability to handle much else.) However sucker to a pretty face as I may be he was granted my name and digits. The first date was equally unremarkable, he was socially awkward and none too interesting. Due to physical attraction I had accounted that he was worth a midnight visit or two but didn't succeed to take me on a date number two, meaning he was hot and we got on, but this wasn't a man I was going to roast marshmallows with in front of an open fire with my parents laughing at his charm and wit. The sex was reasonable, a lady can tell in the first kiss whether the sex will be hot or just better than no sex at all. Unfortunately the first kiss occurred in his bedroom so it was a little late to pull out on the terms that the sex would have been better elsewhere. His kiss was both too light and too hard, slightly too wet and with an unenthusiastic and slightly limp tongue, transfer these qualities onto every sexual act that was most likely to happen in the next hour and you've got just reasonable sex. Either way I came (with much help from myself) so the night wasn't a complete waste of time. The sex wasn't the problem however, after we'd finished he did what no casual fuck should do - try to spoon me. Yes I did just have the man inside me, but something like cuddling after sex is reserved for the roasting marshmallow's kind of guy - not this sweaty man pressed up against me whose last name I neither know nor care to learn. Over time I have learned to translate this kind of body language, expert that I am. A man who spoons you after casual sex is A) newly single and unfamiliar with the casual sex code, and/or B) lonely. An 'A' man will get confused and proceed to cook you breakfast, let you use his toothbrush and ask you to stay the night, tomorrow and the next day. A 'B' man will fight back tears while giving you every dull detail about his ex and how she changed her number and wont return his many letters. Both are slightly annoying turn outs and not quite worth the orgasm it came with, I had bagged myself a 'B' man. Sex can do strange things to a lonely man, such as confusing a fuck for intimacy and connection, and believing me to be interested in who lay in this bed before me, it is both distasteful and rather dull for myself to hear these details. To the lonely man: follow in women's footsteps and rent bridget jones with ben&jerry's as your companions, do not call me with the promise of an orgasm.

After many unreturned texts Dan did what every self respecting man would do: over look the fact his texts have been ignored and continue to make contact as if I have been replying all along, his messages becoming more graphic as time went on. (No the prospect of fucking you with a strap on does not excite me into texting you back. I'm no prude but I have no desire to fuck some strangers arse. Thank you. ) To all self respecting men, when this doesn't work, the next step is to turn up at the women's work place, drunk and emotional, this will get her to stop ignoring you and come fuck you again, honest.

The following week I had been watching a man lean drunkenly into a wet and sticky bar before realising who the lolling head belonged too. I had proceeded to continue serving in the hope his last WKD had been one too many. When he gained control of his neck I noticed for the first time that he smiles on one side of his face, a trait that becomes slightly creepy after too many units. He was wearing the same blue V-neck jumper. Catch. A chorus followed of "I text you," "Are you free tonight? You never text me back, come see me tonight," and "You never text me back, why don't you text me back anymore? Come see me." After a none too enthusiastic response from myself he proceeded to grab my wrists with what I hope was drink induced watery eyes where I contemplated calling for a bouncer and whether his hands were wet with alcohol or sweat. Eventually he let go and swaggered off into a sea of swaying drunken bodies, like a defeated broken heart at the end of a film, but with slightly less grace, and "my lovely lady lumps" as his sound track instead of Mariah Carey.

Lesson learned, don't ignore a questionable facebook profile.