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.