Carmen Ali aka April Fiasco

I re-joined OkCupid a few weeks ago. I’m not sure why. I think I was probably bored. Or maybe I just wanted some attention. I guess I thought maybe it would help me get laid. ‘Why do I need help getting laid?’ I hear you ask – well there were a few guys I know that I could probably have sex with, but for whatever reason, I’d made the decision not to – maybe I didn’t fancy them enough, or maybe I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction (you know who you are), or maybe a bit of both.

OkCupid is different to Tinder in that anyone can message you, even if you don’t have a match, so as a woman looking for men, you get inundated, mostly from men who make you recoil in horror and/or can’t string a sentence together. After spending a lot of time deleting messages, blocking guys, and despairing at the world, you start getting a few half decent guys messaging you. I started talking to one, a student architect. He was 26, looked kind of cute in his pics, and it said something on his profile about how he was looking for a girl to corrupt him. Just my type, I thought.

We moved to WhatsApp, and talked over Christmas. It was discussed that we might go home together if meeting up went well, then he started sending me really weird questions such as:

‘Are you good at sex?’

‘Was that (bikini pic on my profile) recent?’ – I told him it was from 2014 so it was followed up with ‘Still got a slim body?’

‘How tall are you?’

‘What’s the height of the mattress on your bed?’

‘Have you got nice feet, do you think?’

‘Are these questions too weird?’

And then finally my favourite of them all:

 

 

 

 

 

 

DO I LIKE FOREPLAY??!!!

I was transported back to my younger days when I didn’t realise why sex didn’t feel that good because I (and some of the guys I was with) didn’t know that you’re supposed to spend lots of time on the pussy (and other places) before you stick your dick in it. I told him I like having my nipples pulled and being slapped in the face. He said he probably wouldn’t be comfortable with the latter, which reminded me of my most recent blog post.

I said I wasn’t sure about us still meeting up, I didn’t know if we would be sexually compatible, or that he was sexually experienced enough for me. He said that he’s different in real life, and we should at least go for a drink and see.

So against my better judgement, I went to meet him at the tube station and we went to The Duke of Edinburgh pub (shout out to old Wood Green work colleagues). He was cute, but there was something really awkward about him, and although we had a bit of a chat and found some common ground, (we both went to Uni in Leicester, although he’s a De Montforter, so I win). I didn’t really like him as a person, and there was barely any actual chemistry, just two bored people, slightly attracted to each other, sitting in a pub together.

We had a couple of drinks, then I suggested we play pool, as I thought this would bring some excitement into the evening. It was fun, and I very almost beat him, but then I potted the white ball, while potting the black, so lost by default.

After we finished, he said shall we go and play chess? (It says on my profile that I’m looking for someone to play chess with). The pool game had created a very small amount of tension, so I agreed, and we began to walk home. I thought this would be the perfect time to ask him about his political opinions, since I don’t remember him answering those bits of the OKCupid questions.

Me: So if you’re from Barnet do you vote Tory then?

Him: Well it’s more Chipping Barnet who are Tories, and I have voted for different political parties, but yes now I do vote Tory.

My head: Of course.

He goes on to fanboy over why Margaret Thatcher was so great, because she made it so anyone could better themselves, no matter whether you were a shopkeeper, or a lawyer. (Or something similar).

If anyone would have wanted one of those busts from that Sherlock episode, it would have been him.

Me: Yeah so basically she made it better for self-employed people, but not if you’re a single parent with a part time job.

Him: Yeah.

(No further discussion on this).

Me: So did you vote Brexit?

Him: Yes.

My head: Seriously…

Me: Why?

Him: *gives me a convoluted explanation which suggests that Germany want to become a superpower again and we should have no part of that*

Half way through this conversation, I nearly fall over because it’s so slippy and icy on the pavement, but he does not seem to find any humour in this. Just like earlier on in the pub when I told him his glasses looked like Harry Potter glasses.

Me: But how is leaving the EU going to be better for Britain?

Him: *avoids the question like he’s practicing to be a politician*

Me: Just give me ONE GOOD REASON why you voted leave?

Him: Well I can’t remember that far back – it was in July.

Me: It was June the 23rd actually.

We go into my flat. It turns out he’s OCD about tidiness. If you’ve ever been to my flat, you’ll know this is not a good mix.

It becomes apparent that he does not want us to play chess, which honestly I was quite disappointed about. We start kissing and I’m glad to discover he’s a lips-only kisser. We start doing other stuff, and at one point I end up sitting on his face. He’s doing quite well, I’d probably give him a B plus, but doesn’t seem to be enjoying it, so I ask him if I need to go and wash my fanny, as I have been out all day. He unconvincingly tells me that it’s fine, so I go to the shower and have a quick wash. I’m not that sensitive! If I blatantly ask you if it needs washing, then it’s fine to say so. I’ve stopped sexual activity before to ask guys to go wash their dicks real quick.

We end up having sex, but he’s one of those guys who can’t stay fully hard the whole time in a condom, so that’s annoying. I don’t self-lubricate loads usually anyway, but it keeps drying up more than usual, so we have to use a lot of lube. Probably because there’s no real connection between us, and my pussy knows the truth, and is not cooperating.

He keeps telling me what to do, but not in a hot way, and any time I get even a little bit rough with him he acts like a total pussy about it. Eventually he ends up cumming on my tits, which I haven’t had for a while, so it’s nice for nostalgia. I get out my vibrator, but my clit is also refusing to play ball, so I decide to give up.

I start to feel a little emotional, I’m not sure if he notices, but he immediately gets up to go and have a shower. Which NO ONE HAS EVER DONE TO ME AFTER SEX BEFORE, and it feels a bit rude. But given his logical architect OCD Tory personality, I’m not massively surprised.

After he comes out of the shower, I go to pee (determined not to get cystitis from this experience), and let myself cry a little in the bathroom, and when I come back he’s already got dressed. It’s obvious now that I’m upset. I sit on the bed crying and he leaves, and I realise I have not yet learnt my lesson about leave voters.

Awkward as fuck.

I think the whole experience reminded me of what happened with Tory 1, and the rejection that I felt from him. The fact that the sex I’d just had was devoid of any intimacy made it all worse, plus the fact that I hadn’t cum, and he had, and that’s why I got sad.

I’ve had some great casual sex experiences in the past (more with people that I already knew though), but I think now I’m a bit older, I need something more, or at the very least I need to be more into it to in future, if I do ever do that again, and not just doing it for the sake of it.

In short:

If your pussy ain’t pulsing, then there’s no point fucking.

Stop sleeping with Tory Brexiters because clearly they have no soul.

My favourite part of the night was playing pool, so I obviously need to do this more.

I’ve used the word ‘pussy’ in this blog a lot. But for some reason I always call it a ‘fanny’ when I’m talking about washing it.

No one seems to have a good reason as to why they voted leave.