Tits and Ass

My last blog seems to have struck a chord with many. The feedback has been amazing, and thanks to everyone that has taken the time to message me, provide feedback and share some of their own experiences with me. It’s definitely made me think, and that’s what today’s blog is inspired by. Although the last piece involves a major player from the last few months, there’s a consistent theme that will and has run through all of my dating stories since I was old enough for a cheeky finger at the back of Chicago’s.

I have a type. Not a type on paper, if you lined my exes up you couldn’t have a more eclectic mix of men. No distinguishable trait, no hair colour preference, no body type that I prefer. Just a long line up of men (think the queue outside B&Q in the mornings these days), but all with one very key feature. You can’t see it, I can’t see it. When I first start dating someone, I can’t see it at all. Time passes and it becomes apparent, and those are the guys that stick. They’re the ones that get beyond the magical 4th date (that isn’t the ‘sex’ date, it’s just usually the date where I or they decide if it continues beyond).

My last two significant exes from the last 3 years both have similar stories. I’m going to tell you about both, briefly, and see if you can spot the trait I’m attracted to. It’s taken me 20 years to figure it out, but I think it’s obvious to everyone else. Firstly there’s A. We met on Tinder. A is successful, a managing consultant, a father of two, a homeowner, a divorcee. Our first date should have been a drink in a local wine bar. It was rearranged to be a BBQ on his parents terrace as he was house sitting whilst they were away. He was the perfect gentleman. The second date was a homemade picnic by the river. Third and fourth were in my home town. Drinks, lunch, pretty casual, nothing too over the top. He wasn’t working very much, I didn’t question it, I just thought he was a jammy bastard. It was summer and easy to get swept along. He was so different to guys I had dated in the past and I was enjoying myself. Charming, romantic, made lots of effort to see and communicate with me.

I started to notice some odd patterns in his behaviour. He was never at work, when questioned it was because he worked for himself and had decided to take some time off. He never drove to mine, he always got the train. Initially it was because his car was in the garage. Then it was because the train was easier. He seemed to house sit for his parents every fortnight. I’m naturally a suspicious person, from a very young age I wanted to be a copper. I studied law at uni, I watch crime dramas like they’re a soap opera. I asked him outright, no answers, just excuses. I started to do some digging. I messaged an ex girlfriend of his on social media. Her response rang immediate alarm bells. ‘Call me, it’s easier to explain on the phone.’ By this point we had been dating for 6 weeks, not very long, easy to shut down and move on.

Reader, I’m sure you can guess that nothing he had told me was true, but the depth of the lies was something I wasn’t expecting. He was unemployed. Owed 150k to the tax man because his self employment had been a disaster and he hadn’t paid his taxes. He was on universal credit. He lived with his parents. He couldn’t drive, he didn’t have a car and had lost his driving licence due to drink driving. I slowly found out more and more. I won’t reveal how. I’m not proud of how I went about things to find out everything about him. But I needed to know. It’s a real weakness of mine, having to know everything, having to know someone’s motivation. His divorce had been caused by his alcoholism, he had remortgaged their house, he had pawned her jewellery and spent the money in a strip club. He was on anti depressants and still drinking heavily. His sleep patterns were erratic, he slept all day and stayed awake all night.

I wanted to help him. We talked and talked. He explained everything, I couldn’t help myself, I started to see him as a project. Romantically, things had cooled off, I wasn’t attracted to him anymore, but we still spent time together. He started going to AA, he went to the doctors to change his meds, he spent time with his sons for the first time in months. He had interviews, I helped him prep. He started looking for a place of his own near his circle of friends to feel less isolated. He started a new job, a great job. Based in the city, he found a place to live, could move in in 6 weeks. I offered him to stay with me in the interim. He was working away Monday-Friday, and I was close to a great train link. We agreed rent, he was staying in the spare room, it was all above board, I didn’t consider him my boyfriend, but I wasn’t dating anyone else. He still had strange sleeping patterns, he would stay up till around 4am when he was home. He wasn’t drinking, at least not to my knowledge. That’s when things became really terrible.

He started to use my credit card to order takeaways. He would order one every night after I went to bed, and have it delivered through the front window, so as not to wake me. I noticed the rubbish in the bins. Then I had a credit card statement through. I never use my card unless I’m booking a holiday, so it was a red flag. Money was going missing from my purse. 20 quid at a time. He was stealing from me. I confronted him. He denied the cash, admitted the card and said he would pay me back. I told him he had to leave the next weekend. It was my birthday this weekend, and we had lots of plans with his friends and mine. He had made a big show of how much he was going to do for me, it was his first pay packet of his new job, he wanted to show me how much he appreciated me. Instead, he missed his train back from London, called to say he couldn’t make it and stayed down there. His photos were all connected to his iPad via the magical cloud. Let’s just say it might as well have been his birthday! Strip clubs, booze, lads lads lads with his new work colleagues. I went out for my birthday with his friends still invited. I asked his closest friend if he could put A up, and come to mine the next day to collect his stuff. I told him everything. He agreed, and that’s what I did. The next day I packed all of his belongings up, and shipped them off with his best mate. Called A and told him. It was one lie too many. I never spoke to him again. I discovered afterwards that every single bottle of alcohol in my house (and I have A LOT of booze) now contained water. He still owes me my rent. He still owes me the money he stole from me. But I’m free of the lies, free of the exhaustion of him letting himself down.

Shortly after A, I met T. Well I re met T. We had had a one night stand a year before, but the next day he messaged me to say he had a girlfriend, so I said I wasn’t interested. He contacted me via social media, him and the girlfriend had broken up, did I want to go for dinner? I was recently single after A and figured I had nothing better to do. We immediately hit it off, and were spending most weekends together and a few weeks. Unsurprisingly he had his problems. A small drug addiction, a bit of a temper, and a very tempestuous relationship with his ex. She had been violent towards him (I only have his word for that), and things were fraught with her family. He decided that he should move back to France, to be near his family and get away from all his problems. I did my usual trick of letting him move in for a few weeks in between the move out and emigration. Life was brilliant. He was a chef, so I ate like a queen. He did everything he could to make me happy, bringing me coffee in bed every morning and having dinner on the table every night. We were happy, even if we both knew it was only temporary.

Then, one night in January, I had a phone call from a withheld number. T had been arrested. Needed me to come and pick him up. The ex girlfriend had said he had abused her. I won’t go into details, but it went all the way to a court case. I never doubted him for a second. I had spent 2 months living with this man, and I’m no angel to live with. He had never even raised his voice to me, despite him Mediterranean temperament. He asked me to attend court, I did. It was thrown out after 20 minutes and she was prosecuted for wasting police time and contempt of court. Shortly after he left for home.

I went to visit him last year. We are still friends. We still message. He’s a beautiful human. We will always be in each other’s lives in some capacity or other. I think he’s the only man I’ve ever truly loved, and he says to me frequently that he thinks I saved his life. That’s without the fact he had a dog, and I fucking a love dogs. I bloody miss that dog.

But there’s a common theme. These are just my two most recent exes. It’s taken me my most recent experience to realise that there’s something fundamental to my psyche. I want to fix people. I need to try and make people better. Recently, someone has pointed out to me that all I do is try and solve problems. I do it without even trying. Someone states something and I offer a solution. My job is being a problem solver, always has been. I was made to do what I do, but I need to avoid the temptation in my personal life. I’ve never wanted children, but I mother people because I have so much love to give, I want to give it to the people that deserve it. It’s as if I seek out projects, dedicate my time and energy and then fix them vaguely and send them off into the distance to meet their life partners.

I know this about myself now. I don’t need to go to therapy and talk about it, I’m very self aware. I know I’ll never change my caring side, my desire to help. It’s fundamental to who I am. I don’t just do it with men, I do it with my friends, with random strangers from the internet.

I just need to make some better choices. Don’t choose the piss takers. Pick the T’s and not the A’s. Go for the tits and not the ass.

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