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PROLOGUE
Being attractive has its ups and downs when it comes to
trying to secure husband. The up is I’ve
met loads of men, loads. Men like me. I
don’t struggle to meet men. The real struggle is meeting a decent one. The
downside to being attractive is believing when one man doesn’t meet my
expectations I can just go out there and meet another man…since I started
dating at the age of 19 I’ve always found myself on a quest for a man who is
better than the last, a worthy successor. But does better even exist? It would
appear not. I’ve started to realise at the age of 38 that I should have just
settled years ago. That’s what ugly girls do. The first guy who wants them they
cling to. We’ve all watched The Undateables. Those people aren’t in a position
to pick or chose who they want as life partners. They take what they get. Have
you ever seen an episode in which the facially challenged woman says about her
date ‘Oh no…he’s just not quite my type.
I prefer my men with a little less facial hair and a stronger jaw’. No. That’s
because they can’t. Their choices are limited and they will take what they can
get. They will love the man with the freakishly bulbous eyes and withered
hands. Lower expectations and lower standards. I’ve come to the realisation
that I need to lower my expectations and standards if I want to settle
down. Why didn’t I just make it work
with the 5ft 4 man (I’m 5ft 8) with the gunshot wound in his back (shot in his
back during what I presume was a failed criminal escapade) and the knife scars
on his face (and we’re not talking Seal style cultural scars either). Cutty was
the name I gave him for obvious reasons. You’ll read about him later.
My point is that
being attractive has given me a degree of confidence. Confidence that I can
meet someone else…someone whose back hasn’t been blown out by an AK47 and
someone who doesn’t need to stand on a stool to kiss me. Why should I settle
for this bullshit when I’m certain I am worthy of better?
I often look back and analyse my men and often wonder
what the fuck I was thinking but I don’t regret any of my encounters. I’m sure some of the men regret me and those
who don’t will do after reading this book.
I sincerely hope none of these men try to sue me when they work out it
is actually them I have written about. I hope they understand that these
colourful experiences are worth sharing, if only for comic value alone. I don’t
want to shame any of these men. I enjoyed my time with all of them…even you
Cutty.
The first thing to do, before I start, is put my men in
some sort of order.
I realised about 5 years ago that I was losing track of
how many men I had slept it. I knew I’d reached double figures but remembering
each individual guy and was too great a challenge to contemplate. I wish all
the men I’ve met left a lasting legacy in my memory but that would be a lie.
Some of the men I slept with have been so forgettable I may never even ever
remember them. So I’ve started my list, not in order of priority or preference
but just as the names spring to mind:
Andrew- married man. Say no more.
Flavio- exceptionally pretty Brazilian beach boy. I was
33. He was 19. I really should have paid him for services rendered.
Jonathan - a victim of the recession. Broke was an
understatement.
Brian – oh god.
Frank- I actually slept with this one weeks after he’d
had a tumour removed from his brain. Please don’t judge me.
Leon- first love.
I was 17 at the time. I took my pretty friend to his house and behind my
back he mouthed to her ‘will you go out with me?’
Sean- Oh god. Huge dick laden with STIs.
Dexter’s friend- I can’t believe I’ve forgotten this
guy’s name.
The American guy from the Dalston club – will never
remember his name
Mike- the cute young guy I met on POF. We’ve all done it.
Please don’t judge me
Ryan- successful, arrogant and short.
Lee 2- ‘What sugar you been eating baby?’ Don’t ask. Some
people just shouldn’t talk during sex.
So how many is that now? 12. I haven’t had as many men as
I thought. 12 isn’t that bad. Oh shit…more have sprung to mind.
Jermaine
Shawn
Gavin
Simon
The white Portuguese guy (the ONLY white guy on my list)
Toni
Troy/Matthew – whatever his name was.
Bobby
Roger
That’s it now. I’m sure. Phew. So 21 it is. Not bad for a
woman of my age. Did I mention I’m 38 by the way?
Oh how could I forget…
Cutty
Robin
Michael
Floyd
Justin
There – that’s it. 26 men
Oh and the guy with the green eyes.
27.
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