As first date conversations go, I think I can safely say I never expected to be sipping my Sauvignon Blanc to tales of a well-built Kenyan man (not the man sitting opposite me) ejaculating all over my date’s hand when he pressed on his hernia to ‘push it back in’.
His ‘cock’ was ‘huge’, apparently, and his aim ‘impressive’, so much so that Doctor Dick, as I had now silently christened my freelance GP date, had to rinse his entire arm before seeing to his next patient – the lady with scabies – in her mouth….
“I mean, why would you suck someone off who had scabies?”
I swallowed (my Sauvignon Blanc). “Er, I don’t know, why would you…”
Fresh on the dating market again at 40 after a four year marriage and, let’s say, several experiences before that, I thought nothing could surprise me. How wrong I was.
“Everyone thinks I’m really conservative but I’m not, it’s just my job – I have to be”, he said, for the second time that evening, while glancing nervously at my (only second) glass of white wine.
Well, first of all, I would hardly refer to his conversation as ‘conservative’ – the ‘cock’ count alone saw to that, although there was more, in the form of lurid tales of gay men who wore their love on their sleeves – literally, when visiting Dr Dick in his London days after a night of love on the common.
And secondly, yes, I was ‘sure’ I’d be okay with a second glass – I wasn’t driving.
“What do you mean, they think you’re conservative?” I ventured.
“Well, that I don’t get drunk and stuff”, he said, looking pointedly at my glass again.
FFS! He’d had a gin and tonic himself and he WAS driving!
ACH! I didn’t fancy him at all anyway – he was too short for me and that mustard sweater made his Irish complexion look wan.
I also had the distinct impression throughout our date that he suspected me of having a dirty fanny…
“Oh, I used to do gynaecology”, he said.
“You’d see some women, honestly….., dressed all nice like you but down below, ugh!”
The Dating Ambassador 