As the lockdown was continuing, I found myself more than ever craving some male attention. This year the only guy to enter my desperate vag was the one incher who wasn’t worth a shave. Work started back, and any male customer who wasn’t clinically obese hit my radar. I began mentally undressing them as they entered the office, secretly hoping they were smiling at me behind their masks. I started role-playing potential sex scenarios that could occur through my warped imagination; clearly, I was watching far too much porn again. So, in a desperate bid to rid my vision from the gutter, I returned to Tinder before getting put on the sex offenders list, hoping to meet someone worthy of a good pounding.

It didn’t take me long before the familiar faces began reappearing. The old guy in the trench coat, the mirror selfie posers, the foreign European guys who were just farrrrrrr too good looking to swipe for, as you knew they were entirely out of your league. I was less picky than usual and even swiped for the ‘skinny jean guy’ who I utterly detested due to the questionable fashion statement. Still, at least I knew he was packing something decent under the monstrosities. I initially spoke to a few guys, but one kept my attention. He was filling me with good banter and cheeky messages, and I only hoped he’d be filling me with something much more significant later on.

His name was Phil, he was an Aircraft Engineer, recently divorced and had a kid. He stayed in Falkirk, but after his first message of ‘I know it says I live in Falkirk, but I only recently moved there, I promise I’m not a chookter!’ made me laugh. I was optimistic that not only his voice but his personality and sense of humour would suit mine too. He looked nice, with dark hair, pale skin, with hazel eyes. He wasn’t my usual type, certainly a downgrade in the looks department. Still, in these troublesome times, I was more than willing to make an exception. Besides, it’s not all about looks, is it? I mean, it’s not as if my usual pick of panty sniffers and T-shirt wankers have worked out for me anyway, right? The problem was he had a massive forehead, more like a fivehead, and he had spikey hair, which only brought more attention to it. I mean, for fuck sake, even Gareth Gates let go of the spikes over a decade ago.

Never the less, I was hopeful. I could meet this guy, have fantastic sex, eventually meet his kid, play at Mummy, slip in the hair issue (maybe suggest a fringe) and live happily ever after……

We were speaking for over two weeks every day and night. I found myself staying up to three in the morning before work because I didn’t want to say goodbye. He lived a remarkable life, well-travelled and seemed just as interested in all aspects of mine. Having the lockdown restrictions on full pelt, we planned on meeting at his house (poor Nicola made it pretty impossible to go anywhere in Glasgow, and at the time, it was only households outside the city that were allowed visitors). We arranged a Chinese meal and a walk along to the Kelpies. On the morning of the date, I felt overcome with nerves; they filled my stomach from the moment I opened my eyes. I looked at my phone, and he had text,

“Can’t wait to see you today! Finally x”

I felt reassured and excited. This could be the moment I’m meeting the man of my dreams. 

He seemed excited and nervous about the date on the lead-up, and I couldn’t help but think that made him even cuter. We had made jokes on the calls about how sexually frustrated we both were and how lockdown was ruining our sex lives. Still, We never mentioned having sex on the first date. I decided to shave everywhere, just in case. This year my morals were diminishing, and I was taking it when I could, fuck knows what’s around the corner! Before I left, I sent the obligatory, 

 ‘Just leaving,’ message, and he replied back with a picture of his dick captioned, ‘we can’t wait.’ 

What the fuck? I thought while zooming in on every vein and every skin fold.  Was this maybe for someone else? We certainly hadn’t had that chat before. Before my mind completely ran away with itself, another text came through,

‘Too much? x’ 

 Hun, just enough, I thought. I instantly ran to the bathroom, pulled my jeans to my ankles, dolloped a decent amount of Fem Fresh in my hand, and gave my Vagina one last vigorous scrub before I left. I was wide eyed and impressed by his decent looking dick.

I drove like Penelope Pitstop, following my Satnav directly to his door. He lived in a small two bedroomed house which was situated in a newly built estate. I could imagine myself living here, I thought. As soon as I drove up, he opened his front door, smiling. Phil looked handsome, wearing a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a white polo shirt. He was thin with muscular arms, but I realised he was slightly rounder at the stomach when I approached him than what his pictures suggested. Maybe it’s just lockdown bloat?

“Hi, mo’n in.” He shouted, and I followed him inside of his newly built home. It was clean and manly; I could see small reminders of his kid lie about the house, which made me smile. I could smell Chinese as I walked through the door, and he had already ordered my favourite meal as we discussed this on one of our late-night calls. Sat on his kitchen table were pickled onion monster munch, galaxy’s, orange Fanta and all of my fav snacks I told him about too.  Surely, this must be the one?  We tucked into our dinner, and I occasionally giggled like a teenager as my heart was still racing from all the excitement. I stared at him, unable to make my mind up if I fancied him in person or not, he looked like an average guy with a big head, but his personality as the night progressed made up for any doubts I was having.  

The rain began pouring, and our trip to the Kelpies was postponed. Instead, we cuddled up on the couch, watching Anchor-man. He made me laugh with his Ron Burgundy impressions, and I felt so comfortable in his arms. Phil asked me to face him, and as I did, we both smiled staring into on another’s eyes before kissing passionately on his couch. He started rubbing in between my legs over the crotch of my jeans and, after ten minutes, stood up, took my hand, and marched me upstairs.  Finally.  We entered his room, and both started kissing again on his bed. His hands wandered and down, and I unbuttoned my jeans, keen to have a decent fingering after months of abstaining. He poked around, inserting his fingers once or twice inside me, then got off the bed, “Kneel down.” 

He stood in front of his mirrored wardrobes and gestured for me to give him a blowjob. I did as instructed and watched his hands raise from his side, holding on to the back of his head in enjoyment. I struggled to get his dick in my mouth, not because of his average size, but every time I went down, something stopped me from going deeper. Then I realised his incredibly round stomach was hitting off my forehead. The Chinese had only made the bloat worse, and I gave myself a stiff neck trying to position myself into a decent sookie angle. I watched him in the mirror, enjoying himself while I was suffering on my knees like a fucking dog. His body looked so thin, but all of his weight deceivingly hid under his T-shirt, and I quickly realised standing there, how much he resembled the Grinch.

I stopped myself before I had to drive home with a neck support and jumped back onto the bed, surely it was my turn now.

I was excited and eager for the favour to be returned. I felt I did well considering the obstacle, and Phil clearly enjoyed his time in the mirror with the amount of groaning he was letting out. Instead, he lay down beside me, kissed me briefly, and with a lift, pushed me on top of him.  

 “On you go, babe, fuck me.” There I was, pushing his dick inside me and riding him. 

I wanted to make an excellent first impression, so I smiled through gritted teeth and began bouncing on him. He was moaning while my thighs were shaking, not from an orgasm but from the lack of fucking exercise.  

 “I’m gonna cum, keep going.” Oh, no. Not again, I thought and jumped off. 

“Fuck me from behind,” I demanded, he laughed, and I went on all fours, determined I would orgasm that night. He began thrusting in and out. Finally, this is what I was wanting. I could feel myself get wetter and wetter. I was beginning to pant in enjoyment but the thrusts lasted only a few minutes and stopped and pulled out.

“Fuck, my legs cramping. I need a drink of water, want one?” I looked around at his large shiny head and just nodded awkwardly. He swaggered out of the room with his semi swinging proudly on his return.

He handed me some water, and when I realised we weren’t getting back to business I sat disappointedly with my arms folded. I felt how Katie Price must have felt after her own session with the real Gareth. He seemed quiet too, and I couldn’t help but think he must be embarrassed in his performance.

“I better get organised for work Phil, thanks for tonight, though.” I pecked his lips and began pulling up my jeans as he replied.

 “No, not at all. I think someone needs to work on their cardio, though, eh?” He replied with a wink lying bollock naked while sipping away at his water.

 “Sorry?” I laughed, hoping I had misunderstood.

 “I told you I was gonna cum, and you stopped?”

 “That’s because I gave you a ten-minute blowjob and was on top the entire time.” I could feel the anger take over my body.

 “Aye, calm down. I bought your dinner and that.”

And with that, I left. No more, Phil. No more sex. With only the realisation that even the downgrades are the same. So, here I am, still searching, not only for a decent orgasm but for a Mr right with a big dick and some manners.