I waited most of the day to hear from Brian. Every message alert made me jump. I even tutted at the sheer cheek of my mother attempting to call me for a catch up in case he was trying to get through. I felt like a crazed lunatic pacing around the house, talking to myself whilst checking my phone continuously with only the time changing. I was unwashed from the night before with patchy fake tan, Eeyore pajama’s, a combination of pizza sauce and red lipstick embedded into my cheek’s and I stunk of piss and sex. How could I wash? I asked myself. He could call when I’m in the shower and the signal in the bathroom is terrible, so I refrained from doing anything that day. I was flicking through Brian’s ex’s photo’s tormenting myself with there holiday in to Turkey in 2012 album when a message came through, it was him! My heart began pounding and I began pressing frantically to open the message for a mediocre,

“Hey, How you feeling?”

Oh, that was dry, I thought. He never gave me an x at the end. Perhaps, he is being polite first and about to pull me for pissing on him? Maybe send me a dry cleaning bill? I was thinking of different scenarios and decided to play it cool. I waited a few minutes to reply in a desperate bid to make him believe I wasn’t in momentous torture all day wondering why he hadn’t text sooner. I replied with the obligatory “I’m dying” protocol message and asked him how he was feeling? I thought I’d play dumb with the “I’ve got the fear, I can hardly remember anything” line. Maybe that will cover me for the piss gate situation. I thought. The fucker opened it and went offline? He had never done this before. We continued to scatter text that evening but only a few words at a time. He was giving the uninterested vibe and I wasn’t about to pander to his immature ways so I decided to be the bigger person and upload an old photo of me pretending to be out for dinner with an unidentified person. It was my sister a fortnight ago, but he didn’t have to know that. I sank my spunky smelling body into a bubble bath eventually that night, I felt sick and hurt. What was I going to do?

The week following my weekend with Brian was torment, I was in regular contact with him but not to the extent we had been. I wanted to ask him if we were ok and required urgent reassurance but instead, I opted for being relaxed and complied with the agonizingly long periods of silence. I felt optimistic at the small things he would say, then almost immediately, the dick deflated me with the mixed signals he was giving off. I began developing a nervous leg twitch and looked for any excuse to bring him into the conversation, I felt like I had Brian Tourette’s and I couldn’t concentrate at work or home. My friends banned me from talking about him saying he was a dick so I turned to my work colleagues and pissed them off just as much. I was in hell and had no idea how to get this cunt out my head.

I was stalking his Instagram one evening and read he was going out with his friends the following weekend. I smirked uncontrollably as the lightbulb went off in my head. I couldn’t help think that an “accidental” meet up was in order. I called my friends and unbeknown to them invited them out for a Halloween just “cheer me up”. This was the perfect time to get dressed up as a big old slut and impress Brian, I thought. The group chat was very busy that week with potential dress up idea’s and my poor friends had no idea I was planning this psychotic plan solely to bump into him. I went as Catwoman and wore a PVC catsuit that took twenty minutes and a whole load of talcum powder just to get into as it was so tight. I read one of his friend’s posts and established they were heading to the Merchant City, so of course, I casually suggested Metropolitian to my friends and we headed in. I hadn’t uploaded any pictures on social media because I wanted to WOW him when he seen me. We arrived at the bar and I couldn’t relax, I wondered where he was and couldn’t settle without scanning the room every few minutes. I drank with my phone glued to my hand in the off chance he had seen my Facebook “check-in” and decided to text. I was being very unsociable but I couldn’t help it, I was fixated and found it impossible to enjoy my night until he eventually text.

“Hey, Did you go out then? I forgot it was Halloween and half of the town was full of desperate wee lassy’s dressed up like skanks, ha! It’s an early night for me! Have a good yin! x”

Oh no, half of the town was dressed up as skanks and I was the biggest fucking one of them. I instantly felt sick. I looked down at my attention-seeking restricted catsuit, all this effort and I suddenly felt ridiculous.

I had tried desperately that day to recreate the iconic Halle Berry or Steffani Dean’s rendition of Cat woman, but in that split second, I became aware that I had more resemblance to fucking Garfield than them. I couldn’t even reply and admit I was one of the “skanks” who had also dressed up and let’s be honest I was the most desperate of them all. I felt embarrassed and couldn’t confide in anyone. My mates were all having the time of there lives and I didn’t want to admit I had invited them out in complete false pretenses trying to impress a guy who isn’t interested.

I headed home alone that night which was never my intention at all. I noticed Brian was online on Whatsapp and I couldn’t help but wonder who he was messaging at this time. I kicked off my shoes and lay depressingly on top of my bed to check all my social media. I noticed I had a snap chat from sugar Daddy… How did I miss this? I thought. I sat up in my bed instantly and frantically clicked on it to see a sexy selfie from him.

“Are you out sexy?” It said.

Yes! I hadn’t replied to him for hours, unintentionally of course, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Yea! Had a great night just home!”

I lied, my night was shit- But I don’t think Sugar Daddy would have appreciated the message of reply I thought about sending in my head;

“Yes, I was actually dressed as an overweight cat SQUEEZED into an outfit which gave me one of the worst camel toe’s Glasgow has ever seen. My vagina is literally throbbing from eating lycra all night. “

Instead I stuck with the politer lie.

Almost instantly he read it. Oh, has he been waiting for my reply? I thought. How the tables have turned! He sends a picture back of his dick captioned… “We have missed you”. I didn’t want to take my finger off the phone as I thoroughly examined his penis. I always enjoyed it and was undoubtedly the best I’ve ever had but looking at it from this angle made me realise it wasn’t even that big. I sat drunkenly staring at his manhood trying to understand how he gets it so deeply when another message came through.

“Let me see you, baby”.

I was starting to feel hornier and my alcohol levels were making my vaginal juices flow. I had never taken a picture of my fanny before but it’s only a snapchat? No one is going to see it apart from him and he has seen it many times before. I started to rummage around my bedsheets and put the phone down under the covers, I counted to three and aggressively sucked in my stomach. FLASH. I looked at the picture. Holy fuck. My vagina looked like roadkill. I couldn’t possibly send him that. I played around with my body for well over twenty minutes attempting to get a good vaginal angle when I gave up. My body is fucked. My vagina looked like an angry maw that had flung together a quick untidy sandwich and quite frankly it was no wonder I’m still single. I gave up, my arms had gone numb trying to get a photo and I had enough.

“I’d rather show you in real life, Daddy”. I replied.

No reply. No fucking reply. I was getting used to being ignored now and opted to lye with the lights off in my room anxiously awaiting a flash of light from my phone to radiate the room. Nothing. It was three in the morning and I rolled over in my bed giving up with life and men.

I suddenly heard unexpected noise from outside and jumped as there was a loud chap at the door. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it disperse throughout my entire body. Who the fuck was that? I thought. I leaped over last night’s mess and peered out the upstair’s window and to my surprise saw Sugar Daddy’s Merc parked in my drive. I frantically shoved my fingers through my hair in a desperate bid to fix myself and began running downstairs rubbing off the excess talcum which was falling off my already transparent body and opened the door.

“So… Let me see you, baby,” he said. I smiled from ear to ear and for the first time, that night acted like the cat who finally got her cream!