If my life was a comic strip there would still be an ironic speech bubble with the words "..I think one night stands are behind me..." gently hovering above my head. As these were the last words I said to a friend before heading out for the night.
I was really looking forward to last night's date but was equally knackered. I put on a layer of make-up as a substitute for missed sleep and was more excited than nervous.
I needn't have had any apprehension - the evening was lovely, we had a few drinks, shared equally heart-warming and embarrassing stories and half-way through the night a small kiss turned into a bigger kiss etc. When the last orders bell went, we agreed to meet up at the weekend. Somewhere between leaving the bar and getting to the station, we stumbled into a late-night bar and then a taxi.
So back at mine and the romantic in me would have been happy to have kisses, cuddles and maybe some petting. The harlot in me thought otherwise. Actually the realist in me, doubted the romantic in me. How many personalities to contend with?! I liked him, he had potential. If we had finished the night at the station, I would now have huge expectations of him, his penis and what his penis could do to me together with looking forward to another 'great date'.
The kissing was great, the petting not so good and the attempted sex was awful.
That may sound harsh, but I'm not judging on the overall performance (we'd both been drinking and it was our first time together), I mean that would be unnecessarily cruel, but the attitude. He just didn't want to seem to want to please me, he came three times without going near my clitoris and thought that was acceptable.
I hadn't intended it to be a one night stand but that's how it's ended up.
Back to the drawing board.