Last bank holiday, in Baa Bar on Deansgate Locks, I did what I’ve wanted to do my whole adult life. I picked the fittest-looking girl in the bar, approached her, got my picture taken with her, pulled her, took her home and shagged her. That may sound like a normal night out for most people, but when you have massive anxiety issues it’s not so easy to close the deal.
Dark hair, young, big boobs, gorgeous, good dress sense- she had a lot that I like. AN’s then-girlfriend JR gave me a kick up the arse when she spotted me watching her. She practically forced me to go and have a word. Thankfully I mustered the balls and remembered a trick from Neil Strauss’ book The Game: Go and ask to get your picture taken.
So that’s what I did- I gave my camera to AN and he took a couple of pics. We got talking and it transpired that the girl- we’ll call her C- was pretty drunk. Sober enough to know what was going on, though, and it wasn’t long at all- a minute or so- before we were kissing. I left AN and JR to go with C to Lola Lo’s, which I knew as Loaf about 10 years ago. She towed me into the VIP area- it seems she knows the doormen and gets in VIP whenever she wants. She’s fit. She can do these things. She told me she was 20. We danced. I bought her more vodka cranberry. I was driving so on bottled water.
When the bar closed, her mates got in a taxi. She argued with them for a moment- at which point I thought I was going to lose her and she’d have no recollection of who I was when I would text her the next day- but she ditched them and I offered her a lift home. Problem: My car was at the total opposite end of Deansgate. I managed to drag her the whole way down to the Northern Quarter where my car was parked, with her molesting me at every opportunity.
I drove her to mine, which was MILES away from anywhere she’d ever been. We tried to have sex but even though I’d drank nothing I was shattered and I put in a shocking performance. Her insistence that I “man up and fuck her” was killing the mood even more. So I fingered her and ate her out instead, but women take ages to come and I didn’t have the stamina so I sacked it off and fell asleep.
The next morning I made her some toast and dropped her off around the corner from her home so her parents didn’t see her.
She texted me the next day asking if I’d found a ring that belonged to a relative- it wasn’t in my flat though. She didn’t sound too positive about meeting up again, but I realised that her tone was pretty snarky and that I shouldn’t take her seriously. We kept in touch.
A couple of weeks later we met up again- She told her mum she was meeting friends and met me at the end of her road. I drove her back to mine at about 10pm- a much more manageable time- and the situation was relaxed and comfortable. She brought baby oil, which I plastered all over her. She admitted she was only 18. I fucked her so, so hard. She gave great head and even sucked my balls, a first for me. It was glorious. I made her tell me how old she was when she was riding me. I tongue-fucked her for ages. She was so hot.
But I still couldn’t come. I’ve never come for a woman. I now realise the reason for this: I got the Flash plugin for my computer in 2007. I lost my virginity in 2008. I was already a porn addict by the time I first had sex. I had to get satisfaction from somewhere, yeah?
It doesn’t matter how fit the girl is, I can only come if I’m watching two girls together. That’s the only type of porn I watch. C is hot. Tracy who I lost my virginity too was hot in a different way, but still a stunner. I couldn’t come for her either. It’s taken me years to realise this, but it’s porn addiction that is stopping me from having healthy relationships- not just an insecurity around women. But what the fuck else do I do? I’m still waiting for this referral to mental health, but it’s never going to be acted upon because I live in a town full of alcoholic fuck-ups, dreadful parents, weed-heads, psychos and dole-scroungers (okay, I’ve been on the dole myself, but I always worked when possible).
The point is, who’s going to help some middle-class office worker who’s eloquent and polite and is- on the surface- very capable? All the counseling, time in psychology, time on employment schemes and numerous reports about me won’t amount to shit because I’ve had the common decency not to act on my urges and not go out and rape someone / batter some bloke / rob an off-license. Because my parents are reasonably successful and supportive, and because I can describe the problems I face, I never get the support I need. Hence, when I meet women I just can’t find the happiness that others can.
But that night in Baa bar was a huge step forward. Now I just need to stay in touch, not get emotionally involved, and get out there and meet someone else. It’s not going to last forever and it’ll be her that calls it off. We’ll just have to see what happens…