Sex And Singledom: WTF

Single-town is a rather rubbish place to be, it’s like stepping into a sweet shop when you’re hungry and trying to convince yourself you’re only going in to ask for directions to the nearest gym. On one hand I’ve accepted being single, I’ve found peace and happiness alone with my two children and now have such wonderful balance and routine within life. Yet on the other hand I daydream about a rippling, baby-oiled hunk of a man growling into my ear before sweeping me off of my feet and throwing me up against a wall with sexy slowjams on the surround sound. Yet sex and singledom are two things that are marmite to one another aren’t they, you either love it or hate it.

As a single woman, if I were to test the single water by sleeping with multiple men I’d no doubt drag my reputation into the gutter, I’d be called all sorts of horrendous names by other women and any reputable good men would well and truly cross me off of their ‘wife material’ list. Yet if a single guy sleeps around, plays the field and takes a different girl home every night then he’s the man, a don, hero and champion to his peers getting a well deserved pat on the back and ching of a pint. You do the math!

I have just under three years until I reach my thirtieth birthday and to me that’s quite a milestone in life, the end of my twenties and an age when you can’t really blame irresponsible behaviour or poor fashion choices on an ignorantly sweet youth. It’s also an age where I’ll be needing botox in my wedding photos and a hip transplant before my honeymoon if I don’t find a serious partner and settle down soon. And it’s not for fear of wanting to, as I’ve only ever had a few relationships in my 27years which have all lasted a year or several at a time. When I meet somebody I meet them with the view to forming a relationship and having a future, not in a bunny boiler way but because I’m not into messing about. Yes, I’m a one-night-stand virgin, so to speak, as I guess what possibly would have been a one night stand as a teenager turned into a ten night stand and resulted in an undiscovered pregnancy whilst I was still on the pill. Thank you very much hormone imbalance!

So after an almost six year engagement ending it’s safe to say that I’ve been out of the dating game for a while now, and in the past several years the world has changed a lot. Back in the day if you liked somebody you’d simply ask them out on a date, and the date itself seemed to be the starting point of a relationship, the official ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ signature and anniversary marker, with the immediately compulsory xXx kisses at the end of every text message to each other and the holy grail Facebook status change to ‘in a relationship’ following within days if not hours. And now with thanks to social media, dating sites and swinging apps it seems that tying down men is harder than a military black ops mission in heels, as “what is this?” and “where do we stand?” seems to be met by “let’s see how it goes… indefinitely” rather than “honey book the church”.

And single town is tough for a girl, because we know that finding a man and finding a husband are two entirely different things. If you want a man meat sandwich you simply have to pull out your tightest little black dress and heels, backcomb your hair, spritz on some perfume and walk into any venue with an alcohol license, although a village hall isn’t always as successful as a nightclub or wine bar in my opinion, but Tesco’s is proving surprisingly fruitful at present. What I mean is, if a girl wants somebody to keep her bed warm she doesn’t have to try too hard to find a willing participant, but if you don’t want to be yet another notch on a secretly-taken man’s bedpost then don’t even smile or make eye contact because it will only end in sweat and nail marks.

And likewise, seeking a potential partner and future husband leaves you treading on thin ice as you hesitantly straddle the fence over how to behave on the tentative first few dates. As a sex starved female it’s hard to not tear a mans flesh off his bones piranha 3D style the second you get him alone but you risk him forming an easy opinion of you, yet if you’re too ladylike and reserved in the bedroom he could lose interest and seek somebody younger, slimmer, taller and blonder instead. FFS. FML. Ahem, more subtle highlights please hairdresser.

I’ve had only one piranha moment in life where I slept with somebody on the first date, which thankfully went on to last another four hundred or so days, but it did very little to relieve my annoyance of putting out within just a few hours of first meeting, as I felt like I’d let him down and he would forever hold such a low and unwifeworthy opinion of me, as usually I would never even dream of kissing on a first date, let alone throw down my best gymnastics all night. But although it may earn me a place in the Guinness book of records for being such an eager beaver, it resultantly didn’t earn me a ring. And it leads me to wonder what it is a man looks for in a prospective life partner, as from what I’ve seen across my years is both contrasting and conflicting to say the least.

In my opinion when a man looks for a partner he primarily wants somebody he is attracted to, as lust is a powerful tool, or rather it makes a tool very powerful, and that spark, electricity, hair standing on end and heavy breathing is ultimately what seals the deal and builds the foundation of a possible relationship. Without lust I don’t think new love can survive from the get go. Men and women alike want to feel the butterflies in the stomach moment, making that first phonecall or point of contact with your fingers trembling and voice shaking as you anticipate their response. It’s the thrill of the chase, the hunt and ultimate prize of ecstasy in one anothers arms.

And if a woman has an annoying habit, donkey laugh or lack of brain cells then it’s a necessary sacrifice for a month or ten of jockey club jollies before letting her down with the old chestnut of “it’s not you, it’s me, but it was good while it lasted” as he moves onto the next Barbie doll before finally settling down for a slightly plump and nicey-nicey brunette wife. And for those lucky lucky girls who make it past the honeymoon period, into the timeframe when it’s ok to sneak into the bathroom and let out a cheeky fart instead of holding it in all night and giving yourself labour pains, then the relationship takes yet another sinister turn and the issue of trust and longevity come to the table. Whatever you’ve said, done or reacted to during the honeymoon period can and will be held against you, by both parties. You know when you’re light heartedly getting to know each other when you first meet and you ask the usual “so when was your last relationship?” “do you still speak to your ex?” “what’s your favourite position?” suddenly becomes “who else have you been messaging?” “I saw you flirting with that barmaid” and “did you always finish on doggy with your ex too? I know you’re thinking of her!”

And whilst men learn to gradually fall head over heels in love with our quirky little ways, how we methodically brush our frizz-ball hair in the morning, the face we make when we cum or how we obsessively fold everything at right angles, it’s then that they realise as their walls come down their fear of losing us grows. And what first attracted them to us, a pair of long legs, white teeth and perky gravity-defying breasts now pose the threat of encouraging other men trying to snare us away and the paranoia and control seeds are planted. It may start off as light hearted banter when your phone unexpectedly vibrates late in the evening “that’ll be your boyfriend messaging you again!” which then kicks off the “why has so-and-so liked all of your pictures?” and “what are you getting sent on snapchat?” And sadly once that seed starts growing it’s easily fed daily by the actions and reactions that build because of it; snappy answers, perhaps recognisable behaviour or expectations of a previous partner who cheated and the compulsory watching and patrolling of social media profiles and activities for anything to suggest foul play.

And I guess the same can be said of women, as we too understand how girls enjoy the chase of snaring a man, some finding those already in a relationship or marriage even more of a challenge to bag, or bed. We all silently believe that every man is capable of cheating, and no matter how much we love and trust them, if they knew they could get away with it they probably will. The more a girl invests into a relationship, the more openly she loves, gives herself and expects her partners attention and adoration, the more suffocating she unwillingly becomes. And the biggest test of clinginess is when a man goes on a lads night out, even if it’s only once a year for their birthday or best friends wedding, every girls alarm bells start ringing and we think “oh shit, he’s going out to meet a sexier girl and leave me!”

When he’s getting ready to go out, gelling his hair, ironing his shirt and polishing his shoes we’re literally clucking over the thought of Brazilian waxed vaginas imminently thrusting in his face to the rhythm of ‘my neck, my back’. And to discover him wearing his most expensive cologne we’re almost ready to smash his kneecaps with a sledge hammer before he carelessly breezes out of the door to the manly cheer of “oi oiii” and a taxi fuelled by testosterone charged single mates out on the pull and in need of a wingman. Cue the sleepless, sickeningly paranoid, Facebook status checking night until he finally falls through the door in the early hours and throws up over the cat and curtains. We frantically scramble out of bed, halting at the top of the stairs to rub our eyes and fake a yawn, pretending he’s woken us up from a graceful slumber, yet with nails chewed to the quick and eyes bulging and bloodied from clock watching Facebook on our phone in the darkness, only the copious amount of alcohol he’s consumed spares us the bunny boiler title. And every girl does the he’s-home-check by first looking him square in the eye and assessing his body language to see if he seems guilty for having sex with a tart in an alleyway, if he can maintain eye contact for more than two seconds and not falter his tone of voice the chances are he’s been faithful or he’s a serial cheat. This is then usually followed by an awkwardly enthusiastic insistence of a hug as a fake greeting, not because we want to reward him after going out and leaving us home alone because inside we’re dying to punch him in the face and make him suffer with days of sulking and snappiness, but moreso so that we can check for love bites, lipstick smudges, stray blonde hairs and sniff for women’s perfume. If he passes all the checks then it’s just his pockets and phone to hack after he walks up to bed and passes out and then maybe we can get a few hours sleep before daylight.

In choosing a prospective partner I’m shockingly rubbish, as I’ve never had the confidence to approach a man I like. You see that’s the problem of being an ugly duckling until my late teens, I’m used to being the underdog, laughed at, pushed past and left waiting on the bench as even the last, last-restort is picked before me. And when I questionably cut my feathers and glided onto swan lake, inside I’m still that awkward little duckling, I have no high or superior opinion of myself because my mirror shows me the same lanky, beak nosed, high-foreheaded geek that has always greeted me with every reflection to this day. So I’ve never approached a man for fear of rejection, which leaves my partner choice down to the men who actually approach me which strangely seems to be either those cocky guys who want to bed me and use me as a trophy with no intentions of settling down and taking on a mother and her two children, or the polar opposite of somebody who is ecstatic obsessive and ultimately aims to own me, shuttering me away from the public eye and denying me heels and makeup for fear of me finding a more suitable match. It possibly doesn’t help that I have 120,000 men sending me erect penis pictures on a daily basis, nor the fact that I publicly model lingerie and sunbathe naked.

But as I’ve got older I’ve become more in touch with my body and sexuality and I unashamedly and wholeheartedly enjoy what I enjoy. Growing up I was forever unhappy with how I looked, I wanted my hair to be thicker, my breasts larger, my skin more tanned and my stomach tighter, I’d feel self conscious with the lights on in the bedroom and failed to appreciate the youth and natural beauty that I had, but never saw. Now I’ve learned to accept my imperfections, be happy with what I have and love the skin I am in warts and all, because no amount of hating myself will ever change what God gave me. I will never be as young again as I am now, and gravity will only become my enemy with time, so I keep calm and carry on and since I stopped worrying about my body I’ve never felt so free and happy. I literally smile from within as I sunbathe with the breeze on my breasts, I have the time of my life playing with whipped cream and toys as I swing from the twelve arm chandelier in my bedroom, and I haven’t faked an orgasm in years. It’s true what they say, confidence comes with age and I can totally understand why cougars thrive in the wild.

To me, at this time and place in my life, when I think of finding a prospective husband I both panic and laugh at once. I know that the more I stress about it, the less likely it is to happen, as I’m at my most peaceful and happy when I’m just being myself and not concerning myself with other people. I don’t want to be a hunter, stalker, bunny boiler or whatever you want to call it, because to me that just breeds negativity and bad energy. So if I happen to cross paths with the man of my dreams as I go about enjoying my life then if it’s meant to be it will be. And if one day somebody catches my eye and I finally manage to approach a guy or even ask him out then spank my arse and call me Steven, because stranger things may happen! Looks aren’t the be all and end all in a partner, because looks don’t last, hair recedes and waistlines increase, whilst a kind heart, positive outlook and good personality lasts a lifetime. Equally age doesn’t bother me, and whilst I’ve never dated anybody younger than me, I have no cut off point from 27-99, so long as you’re compatible as people then age is just a number. You could meet the love of your life at 30 and get hit by a bus six months later, or marry at 70 and live the next 30 years in blissful romance. Who is to say how long we have left, but true love is worth the wait and I would rather spend the next forty years alone for the sake of having just one day with the love of my life. I don’t mind how much a man earns, what car he drives or where he’s from, because I’m not in the slightest materialistic or status driven, everybody has to start out somewhere and life is what you make it, so long as you’re happy then who is to say what measure best defines success, is it a bulging bank balance or loving family? The view of a plush cityscape or the twinkling stars at night over a grassy knoll?

I’m not out to change or suffocate anybody, but to share my wrinkles with another likeminded person and welcome in the rest of my days with a lifelong companion and best friend. Although I’ve yet to find ‘the one’ I’ve had great experience of knowing what ‘the two’ is like, and how I shouldn’t be treated in a relationship. I’ve been used, neglected, put down, ignored, cheated on and left in tears holding two young children who are the most incredible and loving people that I have ever met and deserve a million times better. I’d resigned myself to a relationship where I became the slave, the housewife, the cook, the laundrette, childminder and gardener treating the man as the king whilst I crumbled into a worthless Cinderella who was refused entry to the ball so that he could go out with his friends, get drunk and chat up strippers. That’s no kind of life, that’s not a relationship that’s ownership, and I’ll be damned if I ever let a man stand above me ever again, as a relationship should be equal. In loving my family I provide and care for the people I love, which easily gets taken advantage of when it’s the wrong person. But being on my own has taught me to recognise what I deserve and given me a bar to set and not accept anything less. I’m not overly picky, I just now realise my worth, and that’s to have a man who is a man, not a boy, with a good heart and strong mind, the ability to love and be loved and the conscience to think of a family as well as himself.

If my heartbreak thus far has taught me anything, it’s to recognise my judge of character and avoid those who aren’t 100% genuine. If and when I find the one I know that he’ll be my missing puzzle piece, the one I trust, believe and turn to in times of need. The one who kisses my forehead, holds my hands to keep them warm and crinkles up his nose and smiles back at me everytime he sees me. To never question faithfulness, never doubt somebodies whereabouts and feel safe in their arms is something that is completely priceless and only happens when you’re with the one. I’m a laid back and standoffish girl, I have the independence of Indiana Jones and am more than capable of raising my children with respect and humanity throughout life alone. But it’d be nice to share my days with a soulmate who laughs and learns along with me. This seems to be turning into a bit of a dating ad, you know the ones in the back of the weekly local that states ‘woman seeking man, GSOH, 8 cats and likes bingo’. Most of that is shockingly true, only minus seven cats and I’m not sure if laughing at my own jokes counts as a good sense of humour or not, but I never win at bingo I just go for the buzz. I also enjoy long walks, eating ice cream in bed, cooking a Sunday roast whilst the football is on and playing the trombone. Yes. Just yes.

One thing that I do know is that regardless of where life takes me, the ups and downs, heartbreak and copious cans of hairspray, I will always be the same little duckling inside, grounded, humble and with a heart of gold ready for a lifetime of love and smiles whenever my true love should pop up to say hello. But I won’t stress myself about finding the one, I won’t scowl at blushing brides nor add to the notches of testosterone-fuelled mens bedposts. I’ll simply paddle swan lake enjoying the sweet sunshine until one day I’m knocked off and stuffed to be used as a love boat for canoodling couples to sail me into a manmade cave to smooch. Only kidding, I know those swan boats are actually made of fibreglass! Taxidermy swan boats would most certainly sink under the weight of anyone over 3ft, let alone two adults.

So my question to you is, am I the right material to be a wife for life or for one night only? Your thoughts in the comment box below if you will, and please don’t worry about offending me, I’m a big girl I can handle it! Honesty all the way! 🙂 Feel free to share this with your friends for a laugh at my expense and experiences, or moreover to inform the love of my life that I actually exist, and he’s already running late, tsk tsk!