[Web] BeautifulPeople.com :: The Ugly Face of Online Dating

‘You find a lot of the other websites, you know, there’s a lot of - to put it nicely - riff-raff. With Beautiful People, I mean, there’s - they’re just, you know, sort of, more people like us.’

- Ashley Peaulac, Beautiful Person

There is something distinctly unsavoury about BeautifulPeople.com, and I swear this is not just sour grapes.

I first heard about ‘The sexiest website in the world today’ a week or so ago after they'd apparently kicked out 5,000 fatties after they'd beefed up over Christmas. I wondered if it could possibly be true. So I went along to the site.

Sure enough, it really is a club where only the beautiful may gain admission. Now, like Groucho Marx, and pretty much anyone else with a healthy streak of self-loathing, I find myself automatically suspicious of any club that will have me as a member. At least to a certain extent. However, there is also the flipside to consider, for like many practised self-loathers, I am also, in part, enormously conceited, and the idea of being excluded from a club, from any club – especially on the grounds of something so superficial and arbitrary as my outward appearance – really grates my Johnson. So what I did, I stole the face of a hunky Turkish footballer and set up a fake account. Boom! Eat that, my pretties!

And once I was in, I have to say, I was disappointed. To be fair, there are an awful lot of loltards everywhere on the internet these days, and if you go to any live chat forum on pretty much any dating site, there will be a scarily high number of these excitable fools communicating primarily in punctuation marks. Beautiful People, however, is crawling with the fuckers. In retrospect, I should really have left immediately, but I was determined to give it a fair crack of the whip, so I hung around, an ugly man in a sexy mask, and I made notes.

For the rest of this remarkable review, Stan recommends you go here and purchase a copy of The Little Book of Shame. Not only does it contain the article you're currently reading, it also contains around 50 others, and all for the incredible price of whatever price it happens to be at the moment. You lucky thing you.

Tatyana :: My Russian Doll

Tatyana got in contact a couple of weeks ago through Love and Friends. I was very excited because Tatyana was a) blood-pumpingly beautiful, and b) incredibly keen on me, particularly considering she’d never even seen so much as a photograph. In fact, it almost seemed too good to be true. Here is what she wrote:

Hello Dear Friend !!! I am very pleased, that you have decided to answer mine the letter. It means, which us will connect friendship. But I to think, which will be time of pass and we can answer on each other with mutual feelings of love. Yes??? Now I wish to inform you about me directly. My full name Tatyana. My name means "Womanly both soft. Lyrical both shy. Hot and indulgent. It externally careless, in complex situations it is unexpectedly independent. To make imagination before loss of feeling of the validity. This loved and love. Given birth mum."

To me 26 years. My Placed Birth May 1. On an Kozerog of the Zodiacs, I am left. And when your Day Birth??? I average growth, my growth 170 centimeters and my weight of 55 kg, I think, the rest to operate about me you can see all in my photo which I have sent you in this letter. For me the question is very important, whether my appearance of you liked??? In Russia there is such statement "Meet on clothes, and see off on opinion." :) Therefore I think, that the first impression is very important. Though for me occurrence does not play value. I examine, that the person should be beautiful from within and beautiful should be this heart. You agree with me, my dear Friend???

I live in Russia, in city, which Cheboksary addresses to. This city the purest city in republic Chuvashiya. My city - very beautiful city. At us a lot of interesting, though also city not such big. At us it is a lot of museums, parks, monuments, restaurants, cafe, clubs.

I work as the hairdresser and the stylist. I work at this job 3 years. And to me very much to like. I think, that my job is good business. To me there come many people: women and the man, also ask to make their beautiful. I try him to help. If you want, I can send you some photos of hairdresses by which I do.

Now it is a little about my family. I live one. My mum and daddy were lost in accident when I was still absolutely small. And I almost do not remember them. Me has brought up and my grandmother has brought up. But she too has died one year ago. It is hard, when you remain absolutely alone. But I have many friends and girlfriends who always support me. Probably, you will ask me, why I still unmarried and why I do not search for the friend and the future husband in Russia??? I shall answer you it simply. Because 3 long years, I cannot find anything here. And I have decided to try to find my love abroad. My girlfriend has advised me to address in the Internet. My girlfriend is already married. 2 years ago she has met on the Internet the future husband, and now they live happily.

My dear! I to think, that I can answer you to time in two days, but I can be and once a day. I shall try to answer you as it is possible - more frequently. As I very much wish to study you as soon as possible! You also want it??? My Fine The friend! On it I shall finish my letter to you. I shall wait with big impatience of your letter.

Your girlfriend Tatyana.

Now you may have heard similar words before. Tatyana may even have sent those very same words to you. The reason – and it breaks my heart to tell you this – is that Tatyana is a goddamned whore. Turns out she’s been feeding the same line to millions of blokes all over the world.

The horrible thing is, I really wanted to believe it. Part of me ached for Tatyana to be real.

OK, sod it, I should be honest: I actually started replying to Tatyana. My first thoughts were, this is obviously spam, maybe a bunch of Russian Mafia types sitting in an office in Tbilisi or Rotherhithe, stinking of sweat and cigarettes and semen, spending all day trying to trick poor desperate dating site saddoes into stumping up the flight money so Tatyana can come out to London, or Sheffield or Mumbai or Carcassone, and blow them. But then I thought, ‘Hold on a minute though, you never know. Life is full of very strange things. She might be real. There really is a genuine possibility that this beautiful woman, whose grasp of English isn’t strong enough to pull a hair from an old woman’s head, was so severely impressed by your scintillating - but probably for her quite difficult to understand - profile, that she simply had to declare herself your girlfriend instantly. Happens all the time.'

So I started replying to her email. And sincerely. Trying to be funny and sweet and all of the wonderful things that I really am. Then I did a search for ‘Kozerog’, figuring it was her star sign in Russian and I’d find out which one and pretend that my mother was also Kozerog, or some such delicious bagatelle. Then, in the course of my searching, I came across this, a website dedicated to Russian dating spam, and there she is two thirds of the way down. Tatyana. My girlfriend.

I was upset. Very upset. To be honest, I was momentarily destroyed by the ease with which one waves aside common sense when one is thinking with one’s dick, or one’s lonesome heart, or any other part of the body that isn’t one's brain.

So then I pulled myself together and wrote and sent the following reply:

Dear Tatyana

Yes! Da da da! My Fox-Coated Queen! My Gull-Eyed Wolf-Woman! My Kozerog Blood Orange! My Own One!

I have been waiting all of my life for a woman like you. No, not for a woman like you, but for you, Tatyana, and no other. Your words have touched me deeply. They have melted my heart like naked flames of sweat-drenched passion all over a chocolate moth. And all the while your silver-brown moon-foxed face gives me full throb, hard and wet, something akin to a cement mixer and a tropical dishwasher going at it like mechanical bullfrogs in full view of a thousand cock-fisted jackhammers. Christ, woman, do you know what you’ve done to me? You’ve given me hope again! You have brought music back into my life!

I trust at this least answers on you mutual feelings of love from my part. My Day Birth is December 14, making me also Kozerog! It’s in the stars! And you can bet your six pair of sweaty balls I absolutely adored your appearance! Not only do you float my boat, you sail it to the moon and back on a sea of writhing lesbians. Not only do I agree with you wholeheartedly that the person should be beautiful from within, but also, I totally very much wish to study you as soon as possible. I’m here, baby. Truth on the table, I’ve just recently been hurt – I guess you could say I got in too deep, too quick, then suddenly I was left danglin’, high and dry – it’s the same old story and I’m still sore like a open wound in a brine storm if you want the God’s honest. Or in a family bag of salt and vinegar crisps. Your choice. And I’m ready for more. Now tell me about your vagina in unnecessarily gruesome detail. Just to get the ball rolling like.

Your boyfriend,
Stan (It means “Unexpectedly gullible”.)

Tatyana replied saying she was more than happy to come to London and blow me, but she’d need help with the airfare first.

Bloody Tatyana. I really thought we coulda had something.

I even had a wank over her.

Feedback Friday :: Turns Out I’m Really Not That Bad After All

bulk :: 17st 6
cigarettes smoked :: 0
units of alcohol imbibed :: 14
runs run :: 2
small deaths (alone) :: 1
small deaths (accompanied) :: 6
pigeons in flight :: 12

This has been a very good week. I’m not at home at the moment and I don’t really have the time to compose a haunting paean to how dashed pleased I am. Besides which, it would be dull and unbecoming. No one likes a gloater.

One thing though – I found a book in a second-hand shop on Wednesday and finished reading it on Wednesday night. It’s called e-luv, it’s written by Dave Roberts and it’s a very, very ugly book indeed. Thankfully it’s also extremely funny and eminently readable. It's the story of a fat, ugly man with agoraphobia and a rash, who becomes addicted to the internet - specifically to online chatrooms. I would love to know how close it is to reality. I’m guessing not very, simply because I’m assuming that someone so amusing could not possibly be such a gargantuan shit. This is probably hugely naïve of me.

Looking at his old blog, I found a link to this, allegedly a compilation of stolen dating tapes from the 80s. Not only is it very amusing, it’s also a warning not to ever ever allow yourself to talk like a psycho when there's a camera running:



It also made me feel so very much better about myself. AtleastIcanstringasentencetogether.

Gosh. Check out DogMen:



Have a smashing weekend.

The Long, Dark Soap Opera of the Soul :: An Open Letter to a Friend

So, as you know, I started keeping this blog so that I could help force myself to pursue a healthy lifestyle and, somewhere along the way, find myself a lady. A lovely lady at that. One with silken skin and leathery skirts. Or vice versa. One who would make me giddy with adoration and fill my nether regions with hot blood and gristle. A lady to laugh with and love with, to have and to hold, to tickle and tether from this day forth, as long as we both shall live. Or at least for a couple of months, till the inevitable withering or betrayal.

Finding such a thing of course requires me opening my heart and telling my tales. It requires me sharing my intimates and spilling my beans. And my beans of course are smothered in the brightly coloured sauce of other people, other things. The occasional colleagues. The pets I’ve known and loved. The women I ogle on buses and the ones who give me hope in parks and online. And my family, I suppose. And my friends. Aaaaaaaaah yes, my friends.

I haven’t really got that many friends, and of those that I do have, only Keith is aware that this blog exists. (As far as I know.) Because I told him. Because I had to tell someone. But now, as of last night, I’m kind of regretting it. Because as of last night, I realise I want to talk about Keith. And not in a good way.

I’ve been struggling with this all day.

But if blogging is like therapy, which it definitely is, I can’t just lie here on this virtual couch staring out of the window or talking about America’s Next Top Model every week. There are things that need to be said. Even if they sting. So I may as well say them directly. And I know I may regret this. I may end up not even posting it. I don’t know. If you’re reading it, it’s probably safe to say I forced myself to click ‘publish’. I hope I don’t regret it…

Dear Keith

I’ve known you a very long time and you’re my oldest and dearest friend in all the world and I love you.

But.

I got a call from Patricia yesterday, your girlfriend of more than a year, the woman you love and want to marry, the woman whose children you have pledged to support and threatened to adopt. She was crying. She said that you’d betrayed her, that you’d slept with someone else on Friday night. She didn’t know the name of the woman you slept with, but of course I do. You slept with Ange.

I’m amazed. I’m disappointed. I’m shocked and hurt and totally bewildered. I don’t know how you could do this. I don't know how you could do this to Patricia. I really can’t get my head around the fact that you’ve gone and jeopardised the very thing you’ve always yearned for, that which you’ve described a million times as the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And for what?

Ange is great, don’t get me wrong. She’s a fabulous woman. She’s warm, witty and wonderful. But she’s hardly the most emotionally mature mental patient on the ward, is she? She said to me sometime last month: ‘I’m not a very good girlfriend. I’m a good fuck, but I’m not a good girlfriend.’ I replied that I thought that’s all most men wanted anyway, was a good fuck. She said: ‘Not the ones I meet. Nine out of ten times they fall for me. Or they think they do. And they want to go out with me. Or they want to take me home to meet their parents. I’m sure the fact that I don’t want any of that is what makes them think that they do… But I really don’t get off on being in a relationship. I like my independence. And I like my friends. And I don’t want kids. So what’s the point? I just happen to have a very high sex drive.’

I’m guessing that’s what swung it for you. The sex. I understand it’s a very powerful force. I hope it was worth it.

I could be wrong of course, and I’m sure I shouldn’t be writing all this without having heard your side of the story. But for now you’re not sharing; and I have to.

In a way I hope I am wrong. I hope Ange is the one for you. I hope you’ve fallen in love with her and you both make each other blissfully happy. But even if that turns out to be the case, you could have handled it a lot better. You didn’t have to hurt Patricia like this. She spent most of last night weeping into my arms, trying not to wake the kids with her sobs, wondering what she’d done wrong, what she'd done to deserve the pain she was in.

I can’t believe it.

I know I shouldn’t because it’s ludicrous, but I can’t help feeling a little guilty for bringing the two of you together. I keep thinking, if only I hadn’t got sick, or if only Ange hadn’t got sick before me, or if only I hadn’t got back in touch with Ange in December, or if only you weren’t such a selfish fucking short-sighted arsehole.

But this isn’t about me. It’s about you and Patricia; it’s about you and Ben and Dina; it’s about you and Ange. And neither you nor Ange are answering your phones tonight. Hopefully you’re round at Patricia’s and you’re going some way to starting to sort this out, one way or the other.

I’m sorry I’m writing this to you in a public forum and not in a private email. But I kind of lied when I said it’s not about me. It is also about me. And this is where I write about me and my life. And this ugly mess you’ve made is now part of my life.

I’m sorry I’m coming across all self-righteous too. Maybe if I had the opportunity, I’d be a treacherous son-of-a-bitch too, and maybe you’d be up here, poncing around on the moral highground, all holier than thou and smug as a Samaritan. Maybe. But I doubt it. You're not as self-righteous as I am. And I'm not as selfish as you are.

Most of all, I’m sorry this has happened. And I hope it can be resolved without too much more pain. I just don’t want to see the people I love hurting each other. I know, I know, me, me, me…

I’m sorry.

Good luck.

Love,


Stan.

In other news, someone pointed me at this dating site, OkCupid, which wipes the floor with loveandfriends. Just as soon as I have a moment, I’m going to beef up my profile and find that woman I’m after, the one with leathery skin and the jasmine-scented undergarments. And when I find her, I swear to God I'll treat her well and never ever be swayed by another woman's leather. Or jasmine. I swear.

Oh, crikey. It really is good. I just had someone message me!

I’m in!

Sex in Cyberia :: Like a Leopard On a Dove

So yeah, as I mentioned, I lost my cybersex virginity on Sunday night. And now, because blogs are all about making public that which once would have remained strictly private, I’m going to share the experience with you. If I had had real sex with Grace – this was the name of the lady in question, if indeed she was a lady – then what I’m about to do would be the equivalent of me embedding a video of us going at it. Which would make me nothing more than a lowly peddler of smut. However, all we actually did was type words to one another, and although at times the words do get a little spicy – if you’re of a prim disposition, consider this a warning – it is just a conversation, so I feel less like a pornographer, and more like a purveyor of spice. A spice boy.

Zigazig aah.

I had been chatting on and off to Grace for a few days by the way, so we had already got to know one another a little, but the conversation had only recently taken on a zesty thrust. So here it is, with permission, my virtual cherry, laid bare and pulsing...


wicked.grace: so do you want to ‘cyber’, as I believe the kids call it?
elbows: but i'm eating my banana and peanut butter sandwich
wicked.grace: well hurry up. I’m feeling sexy.
elbows: oh my
wicked.grace: what are you wearing?
elbows: oh god, lots of clothes. It’s freezing in here at the moment. I think the heating’s busted. I keep meaning to have a word with the landlord but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. And he’s not the easiest person to get hold of at the best of times, let alone when I want something doing. You still feeling sexy?
wicked.grace: You’re not taking this seriously are you?
elbows: I’m sorry. Am I supposed to? Are you?
wicked.grace: A bit. Well, I was going to try and give it a try
elbows: OK, hold on. Right. Sandwich finished. Now I just need to establish a couple of ground rules here – I’ve never done this before you see and I really don’t know how it works. So – am I supposed to tell the truth? Or just tell you what I think you want to hear?
wicked.grace: I’m not sure. The truth I guess. Maybe with a couple of sexy lies thrown in.
elbows: Really? OK, here we go. I’m wearing a large tee shirt with an amusing slogan on it ('Warning: this t-shirt may contain tits' - hilarious), plus a big fisherman’s jumper, plus a woolly hat pulled down over my ears. On my bottom half however, I’m wearing skintight sexy rubber pants, and no underwear. Woof!
wicked.grace: Hmmm.
elbows: what are you wearing?
wicked.grace: I’m wearing leather boots and tight blue jeans. On my top half I’m wearing a green shirt and a green scarf round my neck.
elbows: Long or short sleeves?
wicked.grace: long sleeves, pulled up to the elbows.
elbows: Please don’t say ‘elbows’.
wicked.grace: Sorry. Long sleeves. I’m also wearing red lipstick and my hair is tied back in a pony tail.
elbows: gosh, I’m becoming aroused already. It really works!
wicked.grace: would you like me to take off some clothes?
elbows: I’m not sure. Is your heating working OK?
wicked.grace: tip top, yeah. I’m actually quite warm.
elbows: OK then. Maybe you could slip something off.
wicked.grace: will you join me?
elbows: OK then.
wicked.grace: I’ve loosened the scarf around my neck first. I’ve slipped it off and let it drop to the living room floor.
elbows: I’ve taken off my hat. And thrown it at the cat.
wicked.grace: I’ve undone the top button of my shirt. Then the next.
elbows: You’ll be here all night at that rate. Hold on… There. I’m naked.
wicked.grace: Hmmm.
elbows: Nnngh! Nurk!
wicked.grace: ?
elbows: I came.
wicked.grace: I don’t think you’re very good at cybersex. I’m sorry to have to say that to you. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you should know. In fact, you’re the worst I’ve ever had.
elbows: I’m sorry.
wicked.grace: Meh.
elbows: No I really am sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.
wicked.grace: Maybe you’re better in real life.
elbows: much better, yes.
wicked.grace: I bet you’re not as repulsive as you say you are.
elbows: Honestly, I’m worse.
wicked.grace: I kind of wish you were here anyway, so I could see for myself.
elbows: I am here.
wicked.grace: I mean here.
elbows: So do I. I’m standing behind you right now. Can’t you hear me breathing?
wicked.grace: Oooh, hello.
elbows: You’re sitting at your desk in the living room. I’m standing behind you. I reach my hand out and run my fingers over your neck, over the hair at the back of your neck.
wicked.grace: that’s nice. Would you kiss it maybe?
elbows: kissing's later. First I pinch your ear lobes with my fingers, then lean forward and smell your hair
wicked.grace: you're making me slightly moist
elbows: it smells nice. Your hair I mean. Not your moistness. I can’t smell your moistness. Not yet.
wicked.grace: you're making murmuring noises into my ear
elbows: Yes, I kiss the top of your left ear, slowly, murmuring.
wicked.grace: mmmmm
elbows: you are a little tense though – I think I need to apply some pressure to your back. My hands move down and my thumbs burrow into your flesh.
wicked.grace: I groan and reach around to you
elbows: i kiss your neck
wicked.grace: i can feel how hard you are
elbows: lightly. I groan.
wicked.grace: I start to touch you
elbows: where?
wicked.grace: gently rubbing the top of you. You’re poking out of your trousers
elbows: i've moved my hands round to your breasts - i can't resist
wicked.grace: I'm loosening your belt and reaching in to hold all of you in my hand
elbows: i'm caressing your breasts with both hands. I want to kiss you
wicked.grace: i want to turn around and take you in my mouth
elbows: I really need to kiss you
wicked.grace: I'm turning around and looking up at you
elbows: I stroke your face
wicked.grace: I offer you my tongue
elbows: I bend toward you
wicked.grace: I lick your hand
elbows: I move your face to mine
wicked.grace: I look into your eyes
elbows: I kiss you lightly on the top lip
wicked.grace: My lips are throbbing with desire
elbows: i lick them, lightly
wicked.grace: mmm, you tease
elbows: with the tip of my tongue
wicked.grace: i intake breath, sharply
elbows: my hands are on you. my hands are all over you. I unbutton your shirt.
wicked.grace: please...
elbows: i unbutton you quickly and pull your shirt over your shoulders while I’m kissing your cheeks, the corners of your mouth
wicked.grace: i lick you every time you come near me
elbows: i pull away a little, teasing you
wicked.grace: i'm still offering you my tongue and i'm still holding your cock, lightly. i start to move my hand
elbows: i need to feel you
wicked.grace: it's throbbing, moving on its own
i unzip you
i turn to get close to you
i pause to lick your stomach and breathe hot air on the part i've just licked
i move down, slowly, peppering your body with kisses until i reach your man-hair!
and I feel your cock, throbbing, pulsating against my cheek.
i rub my cheek against it for a moment, and it responds, nudging me back
elbows: i need to remove, i need you to remove - pull my pants down! please!
wicked.grace: i slowly tug at your pants
and they fall down around your ankles
elbows: i feel like i'm about to lose control. it's all too much
wicked.grace: keys and change in the pockets clinking
and I take you in my mouth, your hot hardness, and I take my tongue and offer it to your cock instead
elbows: my cock accepts your tongue
wicked.grace: i'm feeling your every movement inside my mouth
elbows: i put my hand on the back of your head and push it onto me
my cock is deep inside your mouth
wicked.grace: i take you as deep as i can
my throat opens up too
elbows: nnngh
wicked.grace: and I move back and forth, tickling the underneath of you with my tongue
elbows: this is too much for me. i lift your head from my cock and kiss you passionately. Then I drag you to the bed and leap on top of you, like a leopard onto a dove. my tongue is deep in your mouth
wicked.grace: i'm trembling with lust
elbows: i am kissing you hard
and my left hand has moved down to your crotch
wicked.grace: i'm scratching your back with my nails
elbows: i am rubbing you violently
wicked.grace: and moaning
elbows: i undo your belt
your top button
scratching at your zip
i undo it
i use my other hand and start to pull at your jeans
wicked.grace: i am very wet now
i let you
elbows: i move down your body quickly and pull off your jeans - down your legs - off!
wicked.grace: i raise my ass off the bed to help you a bit
elbows: don’t say ass
then i remove your knickers in one swift movement and while your bum is raised i flip you over onto your stomach
then i move up between your legs and thwap my cock against your buttocks
wicked.grace: mmm, i love being face down
elbows: thwap thwap
i push my hand into the small of your back
my thumb finds its way into your bum
wicked.grace: mmmm, it slides in because you've licked it
elbows: my fingers are in your vagina too
of course i've licked it. it's dripping
wicked.grace: that gets wetter as you play with my ass
elbows: sigh
my hand is in you like a bowling ball
(sorry for the bowling ball analogy)
wicked.grace: dirty. i like it
elbows: Ok then. i bowl you across the room and the furniture goes flying
i follow you
wicked.grace: erm
elbows: and launch myself at your rectum. then i'm in you like a light sabre through a knob of butter. fffshoom
wicked.grace: no no no.
elbows: fffshoom. shhhhhvummm. fffshoom. fffshoom
wicked.grace: stop with the analogies. keep the butter, lose the lightsabre
elbows: what about the knob?
wicked.grace: so, you're buttering me up
and slipping in
yeah, that can stay
elbows: i slide in slowly
like, real slow
wicked.grace: in and then out and then in again, ever so slowly
i can feel myself opening up to you
bit by bit
elbows: i can feel myself throbbing inside you
wicked.grace: i can feel that too, inch by inch, you're filling me up
i'm wriggling away a bit, as it's so intense, and then coming back for more
pushing myself back onto you
enjoying the impalement
elbows: i push myself into you a little harder as you try and inch away
i'm not letting you get away
i pull you onto me
grabbing your hips
pulling
i grunt involuntarily
wicked.grace: i'm clawing at the bedsheets and the pillows
i'm grunting too
elbows: i scratch your back and slap you hard on the right buttock
slap!
wicked.grace: i'm almost there, you're almost all in
the last part is the most fulfilling
elbows: slap! slap! slap!
wicked.grace: when everything opens up like a flower, and I feel the whole of you
elbows: my right hand snakes around your hips to your frontal flower and slips and slides and rubs and gently pinches
wicked.grace: i feel your front against my back, and your hand on my petals...or should that be my stamen?
elbows: my hand is sticky with your love pollen
wicked.grace: i'm moaning with agony/ecstasy/ mostly ecstasy
elbows: i'm pumping into you quite hard now
wicked.grace: yes, i'm so wet, i'm leaving a wet patch on the bed
elbows: and squeezing you
slapping your buttocks
scratching your back
pulling your hair
it's like i have 12 hands
wicked.grace: i'm moving against you, pushing when you pull
elbows: and three cocks
wicked.grace: you feel huge. and hard.
elbows: the bed is juddering
wicked.grace: i'm biting my lip, biting the pillow, anything in reach
elbows: . i'm bellowing
someone starts banging on the ceiling from upstairs.
i carry on bellowing
wicked.grace: the rythym quickens
elbows: like a mad fuck-wizard
i pull back your head by your hair and lift your legs
wicked.grace: i'm moaning loudly
elbows: you're floating
we're both floating!
wicked.grace: i'm calling your name
elbows: a frantic floating fuck!
i'm calling yours!
i can't hold out much longer!
wicked.grace: i'm going to come with you
I'm going to judder as hard as the bed
elbows: you'd better be quick then - I.. I...
wicked.grace: i reach down and touch myself to quicken my orgasm
i'm coming with you
elbows: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh
I am screaming
weeping
coming from every orifice
wicked.grace: I'm speechless
just breathless
still shuddering, weak-kneed
elbows: i'm blind
and deaf
there are lights behind my eyes
i cannot breathe
where am I? I feel your breath
i open my eyes
wicked.grace: i feel your come pumping into me, like foam from a fireman’s hose
elbows: nice analogy. i look at you. you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen in my life
i kiss you tenderly
wicked.grace: i'm pink-cheeked and sticky
i kiss you back
softly
elbows: i hold you
wicked.grace: i run my hands through your hair
elbows: i pinch your cheeks and punch you on the shoulder, like the Fonz. Eeeeeyyyyyyyyy.
wicked.grace: eeeeeyyyyyyyyy
elbows: Heh. You know what? That was fun.
wicked.grace: Did you come?
elbows: What, really? No, I wasn’t even touching myself. Were you? Did you come?
wicked.grace: No, not quite. I’m going to go and finish myself off now. You should send a photo.
elbows: I’ll try.
wicked.grace: Try hard. x


Yesterday morning I wrote to Grace and asked her if I could blog our exchange. She said I could. I sent her a photo.

I’ve yet to hear back.

Putting My Money Where My Mouth Is #1: Online Dating

So. I’ve just signed up to an online dating site. I reckon this is a good, fairly easy first step on the road to hearts, flowers and rumpy pumpy. It would be all kinds of rash madness to dive straight into the deep end of, for example, a night of speed dating, and frankly, even the thought of it terrifies me. At least with online stuff, I can do it all from my study - or if it gets saucy - my bed.

I considered putting an actual picture of myself up on my profile. I considered it for a long time. But then I decided against it because it would be a bit like being at school, hoping to be picked to play football whilst sitting at the edge of the pitch in a wheelchair. So I put up an Elephant Man photo instead. Which is a bit like being at school, hoping to be picked to play football whilst sitting at the edge of the pitch dressed as the Elephant Man. In a wheelchair. I'm just not ready to put my face on the internet yet is all.

I’ve been pretty honest – brutally honest actually. Otherwise what’s the point? For example, when asked to describe myself, I wrote the following:

Last month I turned 30, and I decided it was high time that I sorted my life out. I decided to take positive steps to find the things I need. Or rather, the thing that I need. For I only really need one thing. All I need is love. Love, love, love. Love, and to lose some weight. 112 pounds to be precise. Those are the only two things I need. And to stop smoking. Love, lose weight, and stop smoking. Those are the only three… Oh, and I need to stop blaming my big fat ugly body for lack of success with women.

So that’s why I’m here. For the love part. But of course it has to be genuine. Which means in turn that I have to be genuine. Which is why I’m being honest about being hideously ugly, severely obese and seriously unhealthy. In other words: quite a catch.

What I do have going for me however, are the following:

* I have a good, steady, fairly well-paying job.
* That’s it.
* No, wait, I also have a sterling sense of humour, as you can see, and a beautiful, open heart.
* Plus, I’m fairly smart.
* Oh, and I dress well. And I have impeccable taste in all things.
* Finally, if I can find someone I can actually love, I believe I’ll do a better job than anyone else has ever done. Does that sound scary? Shit, it does, doesn’t it? I’ve come across as a proper psycho, and ugly to boot.

Ah well. There it is. Form an orderly queue.

I’m anticipating an awful lot of interest.

The only problem with the site is that you’re only allowed 400 characters to fill in your little boxes, and I accidentally wrote considerably more. Rather than just waste my words then, I’m going to put them here. This can be my second online dating page in fact. Why the hell not?

Religion:

I used to believe in God. Then I grew up. Now I prefer the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I even prefer the idea of total and utter nothingness. Meaninglessness. Maggots. However, if God does exist (against all the odds), then He is reading this, as well as my mind, therefore He knows full well what I want. So come on God, you old bugger. Let’s have it. Find me someone to love, and I’ll pretend to believe in you. I promise.


Disability:

Severe obesity and extreme ugliness. The former is my fault, I know, and I’m working on it. It’s not me glands. It’s me steak pies and Snickers bars. The ugliness however, is congenital and chronic, and although it’s not usually recognised as such, I genuinely believe it *is* a disability. Just not one that comes with any benefits.


Musical Instruments played:

I play the ukulele – the banjo ukulele if you will – the same one played by George Formby. Not literally the same one, but the same kind. I saw my first Formby film when I was around seven. I was spellbound and wanted to be him. What really amazed me was how he’d be in a situation with people deriding him, hating him because he was such a preposterous, unsightly fool – then he’d pull out his ukulele and within seconds he’d won everyone over. Men who were bullying him were now smiling wildly and slapping him on the back; women who were at best previously unaware of him, at worst openly hostile, were now fawning over him little girls over a puppy. I wanted that power. It would be another eight years however, before I managed to get my hands on a ukulele, and another four years to become proficient. It was only then that I realised that you should never, *never* base your life on a George Formby film.


Music Enjoyed:

If there were any justice in the world, I would be a gay man. Firstly – and correct me if I’m wrong – gay men will shag *anything*. My mate Eric for example – face like a puzzled tapir yet there’s not a week goes by when he doesn’t find someone new to have sex with him. He is built like a brick shithouse on Hampstead Heath though, which probably helps. My point being – if I were gay, I get the feeling I wouldn’t be quite so damnably lonely. But I’m probably wrong. Secondly, and this is where it becomes relevant, I love show tunes. The Sound of Music, Cabaret, Sweet Charity, West Side Story, Guys and Dolls. And I know this is the music of the sexually flimsy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I also like a lot of music from the 20s, 30s and 40s. And George Formby of course. Gotta love George. George Formby also has a huge gay following. Believe it or not. Oh, and I like West Life.

Just kidding.


Sports and exercise:

I’m a big man, but I’m out of shape. Horribly out of shape. In a word, I’m fat. In fact, I worked out my body mass index recently and I’m ashamed to report that I’m actually ‘severely obese’. But before you start sending me your salacious winks, you chubby chasers, you should know that these things are about to change. Although I haven’t done any exercise or sport since the early 90s, all this will change just as soon as my coccyx is better. For by the end of this year, my body will have become my temple, and I want you – yes, you! – to be first through the doors on worship day. (Friday.) And you don’t even have to take off your shoes. Although it would be the polite thing to do.


Animals and Pets:

I would like four or five dogs and four or five cats and a couple of horses and some goats. I would also like a large house with substantial land to keep them all, and until I get the latter, I’ll probably just settle for my devil-black cat Pablo, who sleeps on my neck and doesn’t care how fat or ugly I am. As long as I feed him. And let him sleep on my neck.


Interests and activities:

I’m something of a film buff. I watch at least four films a week, which probably seems like an awful lot to you. Two things are worth remembering though: 1) I don’t watch rubbish – I mean, it’s not as if I’m into martial arts or horror or porn (although if I’m honest I have on occasion watched all three, but rarely at the same time) – I like good films; 2) I have nothing better to do with my time. Which is where you come in, baby.

I also read, write and play the ukulele. Plus, I’m the best cook you will ever meet.


Newspapers and magazines:

A couple of times a month I read The Sun because it reminds me that no matter how depressing my life sometimes seems, at least I will never be Jon Gaunt. Or any other tunnel-visioned, self-centred xenophobe. I read everything else as and when it turns up. Plus I kind of collect unusual specialist magazines – the kind of thing that turns up as ‘this week’s guest publication’ in Have I Got News For You. I also read cookery magazines as I’m always on the lookout for recipes to modify slightly and pass off as my own for the couple of cookery columns I write for old ladies’ magazines.


Books:

Get stewed. Books are a load of crap. Not true of course. Just a little allusion for the poetry fans amongst you. But I don’t read as much as I should. I guess I prefer films. I do tend to read on holiday though. I like biographies. And funny novels.


Favourite Films:

I could probably list a couple of hundred films that I love, but that would be very tedious. So here’s ten: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, MASH, A Night At the Opera, Together, The Elephant Man, The Apartment, Mask, Secrets and Lies, It’s a Wonderful Life, This Is England.


Enjoyable evening out:

Loads and loads and loads and loads of dim sum followed by a film premiere in a swish Soho screening room with a woman I love. Oh, and she’s in love with me too. I’m fed up with all the unreciprocated stuff. I wrote the screenplay for the film we’re watching by the way, and when it ends, the whole audience jump to their feet and start cheering. But we can’t hear them because we’re too busy doing it.


Ideal Holiday:

Being a big fat bloke, activity holidays are impractical, but I like them nonetheless. In theory at least. So my ideal holiday would be one I take this time next year, when I am eight stone lighter and wildly in love. It’s something of a world tour wherein we visit 15, maybe 20 cities, smooching across Europe and Asia, maybe popping briefly into Australia before flying down to Rio, then up through the Americas. Lots of mountain climbing, water skiing and paragliding along the way. Then we might finish up with an Atlantic cruise, setting sail from New York, back to Blighty.

By then of course, I’ll be superfit and profoundly tanned, so despite having a face like a bag of elbows, I’ll be the happiest man alive.

I tell you what, let’s stop off in Barbados and get married. Yeah? Yeah, why not.


In another life:

This one is easy. In another life, I’d still be me, but I’d be so good-looking that women would look at me and would gasp from every orifice.

I know it’s superficial to go on about looks all the time, but until you’re properly ugly, you don’t really know how much it affects your life. And I’m sure being gorgeous brings its own set of problems, but yes, in another life, those are the problems that I would have.


Personality:

On the whole I’m a happy-go-lucky, laid back and funny kind of chap. I have opinions and wit and generosity and warmth. I’m imaginative, spontaneous, creative and… yeah, and so on. But also, I do get down. I get terribly lonely and sometimes quite depressed. To be honest I don’t know whether this is because I have so much love to give and no opportunity to give it, or because I’m actually deep down inside a rather miserable sod. I hope one day to find out.

So there it is. It’s on Love and Friends. UK internet dating for thinking people. Thinking people! That’s me! I think you have to be a member to look at profiles. If you are a member – no shame in that – look me up. I’m ‘elbows’. Cool huh?

And if anyone has any tips, any dating website optimisation tips, I would very much appreciate hearing them.

So. I guess now it’s just a matter of sitting back and waiting… Or should I be more pro-active?