Lolllll soz. Bianca’s got me doing that taint massage thing so she doesn’t tear when she’s in labour and erm, yeah … I need lube, man. It’s harder than it looks.
My brother and his fiancée, Bianca, were expecting their first child – my nephew – next month. Ever since he learned he was going to be a dad, my brother had been putting in the effort to prepare as much as possible. I’d seen him diving into childbirth books, attending prenatal classes, and going all out on decorating the nursery. It was a remarkable transformation from the teenager who used to spend twenty-two hours a dayholed up in his room, doing who knows what. Loved that he was making the effort, but there weresomethings I just didn’t need to know, you know?
I replied back:
This sounds fascinating tbh, but I’m in Orthopaedics, we don’t really have lube on hand here, I’m afraid! Can’t you just get some KY Jelly from the pharmacist or Boots or something? xx
I was met with an immediate response:
I don’t want them to see me buying it though, it’s embarrassing, man! As if I would ever need lube on a normal basis. Not meeee!
I needed to wrap this up before I started getting mental images. I replied quickly:
All right, lol! You’ve officially made this interaction weird and so on that note, I’d suggest doing a quick next-day delivery on Amazon or something and I’ll chat to you later – send Bianca my love xxxxx
Because who needed visuals of their brother massaging his girlfriend’s taint? Not me. The hours slowly whittled away as I continued to work in silence, thinking about my dating goals this year.
I quickly opened up one of the many dating apps on my phone again for any updates on matches. I’d been swindled into paying for the privilege of seeing who had liked my profile, and as I swept through today’s selection of potential love interests and their messages, I groaned internally.
Uncles. All uncles. Again.
Tunde, 46, Camberwell: ‘Hey babygirl. You’re looking very succulent. I wud like 2 get to know u. Are you looking for marriage?’Mr Tunde clearly had forgotten to Photoshop his wedding ring out of his pictures. Delete.
Nathaniel, 58, Horsham: ‘My dear, you’re very pretty. Write back.’Nathaniel conveniently dressed like a 1970’s California pimp. No bueno. Delete.
Timothy, 32, Thamesmead: ‘Hi am looking for a wife, do you have any children? How much do you earn?’Bold. Succinct. To the point. It also didn’t help that Timothy was definitely at least fifty-one years of age and had used an obvious face-editing app to appear younger. Delete.
I sighed and exited the app. The Lord was clearly forsaking me for some reason.
I pondered briefly on the escort idea. Clearly it was a joke, but what could be the harm in having a browse online? If only just to see what the going rate was on male sex workers these days? I’d love to experience a ‘Great First Date’ for once in my life. I’d be doing it for research in order to share my findings with others who might be in the same predicament. It would just be a bit of harmless fun.
Right?
One more shitty date, perhaps. If I had more trash interactions, then I might allow myself to potentially consider the notion of even being open to that idea.
Parking that idea to the side, I’d taken a late lunch in order to make the day go faster; I crossed Westminster Bridge and took a right down Parliament Street to the nearest Pret a Manger. After buying my tuna and cheese panini, a packet of cheese and onion crisps (the only flavour that matters) and a Diet Coke, I took a seat in the corner and started googling escort services. ‘Purely for research purposes, just in case,’ I muttered to myself as I swiped lazily.
Little did I know that I would be bombarded with a litany of websites that catered to all kinks, fetishes and preferences;there was a site called ‘Feabie’, which catered to people with Feederism and fat fetishes, a BDSM website that catered strictly to those over the age of sixty-five, and a foot fetish site where visitors were encouraged to upload photos of their feet in exchange for cold, hard cash.
I screenshot the feet one. That could potentially come in handy later on, finances depending.
As I sat in the corner, going through various websites and giggling to myself, I noticed a couple who were standing in line waiting to be served. The woman was stunning; she had a short, blunt bob and big brown, doe-ish eyes, and was dressed impeccably in an oversized suit and camel coat. Her partner on the other hand – who had his hand clasped around her as he hugged her from the back – was a little scruffier. Beard unkempt, hair all knotted, and wearing beat-up trainers with ill-fitting jeans and a jumper with holes all over it – whether that was intentional or not, I had no idea. After they had ordered (I’d noted that she paid for both of them) they came to sit down at a table across from me.
‘So yeah, if you don’t mind me crashing at your place for about three months, I’d really appreciate it, babes,’ the man said, coyly. I briefly glanced up, almost admiring the audacity.
I was in the presence of a hobosexual, it seemed; I continued to eavesdrop under the pretence of looking through my phone. The woman’s face was blank; unreadable. I could almost sense she’d been here before.
‘Um, I mean, yeah, I don’t mind, as long as you’ll be able to help with the rent and stuff … if that’s OK with you?’ she replied finally. I mentally cheered for her for adding in the rent.
The man exhaled loudly, looking out of the window.
I glanced up again, looking past him slightly, pretending to look out of the window, hoping that shame and embarrassmentwould catch up to this man and that he would retract his earlier request.
I hoped.
‘You know I’m in between jobs at the moment – why would you bring money up now? After everything I’ve done for you over the last six months, if I were you, I would have allowed you to stay with me for free! You clearly have the space – I thought you loved me?’
The manipulative prick. I was fully invested now; don’t let him in, sis!
