"Everybody's gotta learn sometime"

Last night I was one bad date away from being bitter, today I am just bitter.
I am through with men. Oh yes indeedy. That’s it. Over. I will date men no more. This Homo is closing down for season. I am on the Celibacy Express. I am relocating to Baron Island. Alone. I used to think that I was genuinely unlucky with men, today I know it is the only thing I am certain of in this show called life.

I had met Dave whilst on holiday a few weeks back, on the island I have now renamed as Gross Canaria. We got chatting on a boat trip and he was definitely the type of guy I fantasize about. An ASBO. A scaly lad, very straight acting, with a real London accent decked out in tracksuit bottoms and trainers. The gay ideal. The dream. We were from very different worlds, He was a baggage handler at an airport, and I work in events for a charity. He shopped at Morrisons for his food, I wouldn’t be seen dead in anywhere but M&S. I wore a simple silver bracelet and he was dripping in the entire Argos jewellery collection. My spare time is spent going to galleries or exhibitions; his spare time was spent sitting in a mate’s studio flat above a kebab shop listening to drum and bass, getting stoned. He was what I would call Chav-tastic, I mean this guy should have been in a laboratory being studied. So when he asked for my number I practically tattooed it on to him for fear that he may forget it or lose it. I couldn’t believe my luck. We said that we would meet once back in London. He wrote down his number for me and signed it with his tag, a smiley face and also a message, to remember him by ‘Grrrr’. Perfect.

So he contacts me last week out of the blue to ask if I want to meet him for a drink. In fact his text message said ‘wana meet up wiv u soon m8. U up 4 a drink’ I hadn’t contacted him because I had thrown his number away when he had given it to me eliminating any chance I may start to stalk him. Although I didn’t recognise the number, I knew who it was, it had Dave all over it.

We arranged to meet last night and have been sharing a bit of banter via text for a few days. One of his messages said ‘I really wana sleep wiv ya 2nite m8’ I have never really understood the whole ‘text talk’ and hate it when anyone uses it, mainly because I am not an imbecile and have a good grasp of the English language but that was quite possibly the most perfect text message I have ever received. I sent one back saying ‘you are very forward. I like that’. The more text messages he sent the more excitement within me grew and I started to really look forward to this date. The possibility of one of my fantasies actually coming true was almost too much for me to bear. Having sex with a scaly boy has always been at the top of my list. I think for most Gay men it is up there. There is even a whole gay porn company that makes movies with scalys and nothing else and they have titles like Scaly Boy Orgy, Trackie Lads and Scaly Football Orgy. Those of us who are of the lavender persuasion really cannot get enough of dirty little scalys.

As I navigated my way along Oxford Street last night to go and meet Dave, I called my friend Telstar to rub in the fact that I had a date with a scaly. He quickly pointed out to me that not only was I living the dream, I was living his dream. The realisation that I could lose his friendship started to appear very real indeed. Telstar dreams of scalys. His entire porn collection is dedicated to them, so the fact that I had a date with an actual scaly was, in Telstar’s eyes, the ultimate betrayal, and completely unjust. I worried that he might even sabotage the date and ruin my chance to turn a fantasy into a reality by turning up and pretending to be a jilted lover, or tell Dave he was pregnant with my child…

Dave came straight up to me as I entered the bar, which I was thankful for because I had only met him once, about a month before, on a gay cruise during which I had drank twice my body weight in beer and tequila. So although I remembered that I was attracted to him, I couldn’t actually remember what he looked like. We got a drink and then sat down, and I had to stop myself form laughing at the sight of us. He was over six foot, wearing trainers & trackies, and me 5’ 5” wearing a suit. It was all so Pretty Woman and I felt like Richard Gere in the leading role. Dave was very talkative and kept saying things like “Ur ‘Orny” (he found me attractive) and “u look a lot branner than me” (I had more of a suntan) and "wanna novver one?" (was I thirsty) He also told me about his new car, he described it as bullet. As in: have you heard the new Madonna single? It’s bullet. It was all so deliciously scaly.

There were a few problems though, mainly his lack of diplomacy and tact. At one point he asked how old I was. When I told him I was 28 he said “nah mate, I thought you were about 35” and asked me to prove that I was in fact 28. He then said that he was really into bigger guys who didn't spend too much time taking care of themselves. A minute later he told me how much he fancied me and asked did I want to go to XXL with him? XXL is a well-known gay club for chubbys and their chasers. I weigh 76 kilos. Yes I could probably do with losing a stone but would hardly call myself fat. However in Dave’s eyes I was Richard SImmons before he found aerobics. Basically Dave was saying I looked old, overweight and had let myself go. I should have been insulted but I wasn’t. I actually found it highly amusing. He didn’t have the intelligence to see how offensive he had been, and for some reason this tickled me. I was not tickled though when he started showing me explicit text messages form some bloke he was having a fling with or when I came back from the toilet to find him setting up another date. I came back to find my date on another date. I hate it when that happens. I realised that if Dave couldn’t be faithful to me for 2 hours, he wasn’t really the sort of man I want in my life. So I made my excuses and left. My fantasy wasn’t about to come true this evening

On the way home I bought Scaly Boy Orgy and decided that scalys are best left as fantasies.