If I didn’t get myself in to all sorts of scrapes with men you lot wouldn’t bother to read my blog would you? So we all knew last night when I tweeted I was in a cab on the way to see The Arab that there would be a story.

It was going so well at the start, so how by 1am was I contemplating scraping the stiletto heel of my £400 Missoni shoes down the bonnet of his Audi?

I got to his house – and by ‘house’ I mean a shag pad attached to a larger house, probably inhabited by his parents. Oh and there was a maid, in uniform, that brought ice from the main house. I walked in and realised his friend was still there. That was awkward as the friend obviously had no idea I was going to turn up. So I made an effort to chat to him. The Arab revealed child-like attention seeking behaviors and when his friend went to the bathroom The Arab leaned over, told me I was beautiful and kissed me. One of those tentative, light kisses as if testing the water followed by hand in hair proper snogging. I leapt on to cloud nine and stayed there for the next hour.

When his friend left we sat on the sofa together listening to music and of course more kissing. Then someone must have hit fast forward on the disaster movie that is my life…

Next thing I know I’m being scooped up off the sofa, carried to a sunken bed behind a partition wall and laid on the edge. He then de-robed quicker than a man whose pants are on fire and dived in to bed. Within seconds he is breaking the kiss to push my head downwards. This is rude. I like giving head, and I will get there, but on my terms!

About 10 minutes later after refusing to take my pants off he’s asleep. We dozed for a bit and after more fooling around I lost my knickers, dignity and mind! I found the pants about 5 minutes later.

Once done he went to the bathroom, where I am convinced he was hosing himself down, and then sat on the sofa smoking. I was sat naked on his end wondering what the fuck had gone on. So I tried to call a cab.

Kuwait being a dry country there’s not much call for cabs at 1am. I tried three firms and no one picked up. He starts muttering that he had brunch with his family at 10am and I can’t be there, that the neighbors will see me leave if I stay blah blah. I suggested he drive me back at 6am and he said he couldn’t as he was drunk. Lightweight.

Thankfully a driver called me back and the cavalry arrived. The Arab had passed out and I crept out to wait outside. If any neighbors saw me then that’s his lookout. As my drivers all know me there were no words needed and I was taken home in silence suppressing angry tears.

The next morning I’m not bothered. He showed his true colours and I’m quite thankful. Wouldn’t it be worse to think he was the gentlemen he’d like to believe he is and swallow the line about me being his princess? (true story). I could waste days/weeks pining for someone that actually just wants to get his rocks off. And quickly at that.

And hey, the 14 month drought is over so I don’t need to get a cat just yet. I really am a sparkly bundle of wanton sex goddess!

The post date feeling SUCKS. Any first date that goes reasonably well results in two or three days of self loathing whilst you wait to hear from them. When 24 hours has passed you start replaying every last detail and wondering what you did wrong. In the UK that’s an easy answer for me as I’ll have got drunk and made a tit of myself. In Kuwait however it’s more likely to be that I was dull, boring or fat. By day 2 it’s the ‘well sod him I’m such a catch and he couldn’t see it’ phase. Trying to convince yourself of that as actually you’re still willing the phone to ring.

So when my mum text two days after the date with The Arab to ask if I’d heard from him she got a sulky reply. To which she demanded to know why I hadn’t messaged him. I said it goes against ‘The Rules’. Whose rules are those? She asked. I explained it was a book. ‘What do books know?’ was her response. She then proceeded to point out that she pursued my father as he was useless and even met him from work not long after their first date. Apparently if she hadn’t then I wouldn’t be here today (and they’ve now been married 35 years). Men are lazy, she pointed out. They also need a bit of tactical encouragement or they’ll bumble along waiting until a relationship just happens to them (my mum slowly moved her stuff in to my dad’s flat, he had no idea they were living together until my gran pointed it out). Girls are the more proactive race and are programmed to snare a mate. So why do we sit there and believe we should never make the first move? Disney. Disney is why. The truth of the matter is there are no white knights and your life isn’t a rom com. You are certainly no Disney Princess.

So after this lecture I text him. Just a question asking how his leg was as he’d hurt it the day of our date. No reply.

Thanks Mother.

But then the next day a reply was forthcoming and a brief text conversation ensued. Then he text asking if I was free this weekend. I said I might be. He asked what time I finished work. I replied and… Nothing.

Ok not nothing, that was only two hours ago but it feels like nothing. You see, the Mother’s advice may have just prolonged the agony. Or I have a chance to prove I am a sparkly bundle of wanton goddess. Or I have a chance to see that’s he’s dull and only talks about himself.

Or I spent another two days sulking before accepting that I need to get a cat.

Wish me luck

So I had an actual real life date. Not a fooling around on the sofa session with a dumb British personal trainer like the last two forays in to ‘dating’.

The date with The Arab.

After last week’s coffee date got cancelled he text over the weekend to say he wanted to fly back from Dubai early to see me Saturday night. He’d land at 9.30pm. I pointed out that by the time he’s left the airport and got back to town it would be quite late, and I work Sundays. So we agreed Sunday or Monday for coffee by the sea would be more appropriate. Sunday came, and nearly went by the time I heard from him. At 7pm he asked if I was around. I said no. The weather wasn’t conducive to an enjoyable date outside. We were in the middle of a dust storm. So his
suggestion of a coffee date became an offer of dinner the next night. Much better!

So Monday night I get home from work and have a mini meltdown that I have nothing to wear, that I look huge, that I have frizzy hair blah blah blah.

But I went. Whilst all the voices in my head are screaming ‘what’s the point?’ I dragged myself out to dinner.

He was stood on the steps leading up to the street when I arrived. As I looked up my nerves disappeared.

He led me to the restaurant and revealed he’d ordered a selection of starters to avoid that awkward silence as you read the menu. More food than I can eat in a day then arrived and he ordered our mains. The most expensive steaks on the menu. And a massive selection of side dishes so I could try a bit of everything. Topped off by a gooey desert… Ordered whilst I was in the toilet!

After dinner I let him drive me home. We were both quiet in the car and when he pulled up outside my building I thanked him for dinner, he said he’d had a great time and was glad he’d met me and…


Well, apart from classic SiS behavior of a clumsy car exit nearly landing me on my face. Leather seats in a low car on a slope aren’t helpful.

Now I know I was worried Arabs are after one thing from Western girls but a little kiss goodnight wouldn’t have been turned down! So he was either the perfect gent or ‘just not that in to me’.

I got home on a high but have spent the day since running things back in my head.

Was talking politics a bad idea? Was that silence too long? Why didn’t he want to kiss me goodnight? Did I look fat? Why hasn’t he text yet?

Only time will tell. Ball is in his court. But have I lost anything? No. Have I gained anything? Possibly 2lbs in weight!


I make too many excuses for people. Therefore I have been known to let people walk all over me, avoid confrontation, roll over despite being super annoyed and put up with general bollocksy behavior. I really should learn to trust my gut. We all should.

The guy that said he’d call and didn’t? He’s not in a coma/lost his phone/up a mountain. He’s not interested.

The guy that only texts late at night? He’s not super-busy and tries to make time for you. He’s bored, lonely and thinks there might be a chance of a booty call.

The boyfriend that takes his phone to the bathroom? He’s not doing it without thinking, he’s scared you’ll see something on it.

The boy that sends you a half naked photo before you’ve had your first date… Well we know what he’s after don’t we?

And that’s what The Arab has done. Clearly my brother was right and all Arab men think Western women are whores to have fun with and not for committing too. That’s fine because we think you are horny Arabs that are only after one thing. It’s good we’re on the same page.

But I’ve found myself making excuses in my head for this random behavior: ‘He must have been drinking’.

I need to trust my gut. He sees our coffee date as a brief introduction before I will ravish him back in my whore palace. But am I any better… I’m doing it for blog material?!

I was in my cab home chatting to the lovely @nuttycow on Whatsapp and our conversation made me think… Are us girls even more picky thanks to online dating?

We share stories of men online that have bad grammar, come out with idiotic statements and generally don’t reply in a manner to which we expect. I had recently shared a screen shot of the American’s overuse of the term ‘lol’ and she beat me with a man that thought Shakespeare was German.

Back in the good old days of meeting a man when you’re wearing Pinot-tinted glasses you went on the first date full of hope. Bad shoes, dodgy shirt or poor hygiene might ruin the chance of a second date but we got ourselves out there. Now, we sit at home browsing dating sites and playing on Tinder. We can be shallow enough to ignore a man because his eyes are too close together or his hair is receding. If we do decide the guy looks ok we then engage in conversation. Then it only takes a misplaced apostrophe, a you’re/your or their/there/they’re slip up or a LOL and we automatically decide the person isn’t worthy.

My ex was dyslexic. We lasted 7 years. It wasn’t his spelling that made him not worthy, it was sticking his dick in someone else.

Thankfully for The Arab I’ve let him off a couple of grammatical slip-ups. Well he was educated in the US after all. But maybe it’s not just people who have English as their second language we should give breaks to. Maybe us girls should turn a blind eye to the odd apostrophe?

But not LOL. You can never forgive LOL.



Last Friday I bumped in to my latest work crush at an Embassy party. We chatted, he bought me a drink and it looked promising. He then spotted a prettier, skinnier girl and moved on. I was a little put out, ranted at Gay Husband and another male friend, had a cry that I was fat (Gay Husband said my top did make my bingo wings look massive) and moved on. Crush has been crushed and he’s in the file of ‘useless British men’. So why continue to date British men? I’m 3,000 miles from home in an international expat community. But my brother’s last words at the airport echo in my ears:
‘Don’t date a local’.

My brother is ex Services and had spent a long time in the Middle East. He has nothing against Arabs but doesn’t want his Catholic little sister falling for a Muslim man who has his fun then dumps her to marry a nice Muslim girl.

Then there’s my colleague who dated a Lebanese guy. He went back to Beirut for a holiday and got married whilst he was there. She found out on his Facebook an hour after he’d text saying he missed her.

So the other night, bored and on Tinder I hit like on an American and a Kuwaiti. The American used at least one LOL per message and the Kuwaiti was a bit too charming. It’s nice to be called gorgeous but I’m a cynical British lass over 30 so come on, there’s a limit to what I’ll believe is genuine flattery.

The American’s chat was poor. Really poor. He even tried to convince me that we should meet up so I could meet a real life Army man. My first boyfriend left me to join the Army at 16 and my penchant for men in uniform continued from there. Thanks but no thanks!

The Kuwaiti however didn’t need chat. We just ended up talking for hours on whatsapp. He’s even called me. Actually picked up the phone to hear my voice. Not used to that!!

So the American is being ignored and a date was set with the Kuwaiti. Then the old panics set in. I spent the day thinking of canceling! So much for being stronger. The old me came creeping out. Fate intervened and we had to cancel anyway… But immediately a date for next week has been set. A long walk along the sea front with his dog and a coffee on the way back. That sounds less pressure!

But don’t tell my brother!

Apologies to those that still follow this blog and haven’t left in boredom because I am STILL single, haven’t had sex in a year and have very little to write about these days! It’s been ages since my last blog but as the previous sentence alludes to… It’s hard to be a sex and relationships blogger when the only sex you have is solo and the only relationship you have is with a gay man (no sex, lots of arguing… It’s like we’re married).

The most depressing thing about living in a dry, conservative country as a single western expat is the lack of chances to meet men! You get invited to dinners, parties etc and everyone is either married or gay. And those that aren’t are in their 20s and are personal trainers… And we know I’m not making those mistakes again.
I did go to dinner with a friend a while ago and she bought two guys with her. The single one was funny, had an accent (I love some accents) and was rather tasty in a clean cut kind of way. I’ve bumped in to him a few times since and he always greats me with a broad smile. Not sure I fancy him because he’s fanciable or because he’s just the only bloody option for a crush right now.

So then there’s the online world. That one is full of men to chat to. On nights I’m not so fussy on Tinder I can be matched with 90% of my likes straight off. Although then the mind numbing ‘chat’ begins. No one in this region gets the concept of ‘banter’. Too many Americans I guess. Not famed for their understanding of British humour are they?!

Then there’s Twitter crushes. All Twitter girls get them. There’s the guys that always reply to your tweets, have full on chats on direct message and make you smile with their witty, flirtatious 140 character replies. But these guys aren’t just messaging, flirting and DMing the one girl are they? You only have to look at their tweets to realise they only ever tweet girls. So do you really think you’re the only one on their message window? Of course not. They don’t however realise that us girls talk! I have had a few occasions where I have tweeted a guy only to get a ‘excuse me, he’s mine’ or a ‘steer well clear’ message from a fellow girl. But are the boys really to blame? They have a forum where they can harmlessly flirt with women that in real life they wouldn’t have the balls to approach. It’s an ego boost, and men love an ego boost. Is it actually us girls with the problem? We develop crushes on guys that (for those of us with anonymous photos or ones that are clearly airbrushed beyond belief) haven’t even seen our true selves! Now isn’t that a teeny bit desperate? So could a relationship start between a boy that tweets 20 different girls and a girl that hides behind an anonymous profile? I doubt it.

So I’m doomed really. Slim pickings in the real world, needle in a haystack in the virtual world.

But still, life isn’t all bad. I have my scary birthday coming up. I will turn 32 in a hotel in Dubai with a gay man that calls me a slut on a daily basis. Now that’s love!


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