‘Tis the season for the christmas party of shame. The party where you are provided with free booze and an opportunity to hug the office hottie that little bit too closely. I managed to get close to Work Crush over a tub of Celebrations. It’s a time to utilise every little chance to get your leg over. We know this. Sadly Work Crush then opened his mouth and I realised that the best thing about him was the tub of Celebrations. Sigh
And so goes the social events too. This year I was at my regular networking event except this time there were no free drinks. Just guys offering themselves for free. I know my precious, this is what we say we want but there is something about free dick that turns one off.
Let me go back. I’ve known these guys for a while now. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Let me start with the Naija guy in a basketball cap and a t shirt in the middle of winter. He’s special. He’s at every singles event and on paper seems to have what most women would want and yet, he’s still single despite the searching.
Earlier in the year he asked me out. I said yes and we agreed on the following Saturday. He said he’d call. I’m still waiting on the call. This was in May. So when he starts telling me again that we should go out I ask him why. Why should we go out when clearly he’s not that keen? I don’t have that many Saturdays left to waste.
The truth is that he’s been working his way through the black women of London steadily but, they don’t want him. He says the reason is that he’s Naija and because so many of this brothers before him have lied, cheated, stolen etc he’s been tarred with the same brush. And yet, here he is lying to me about how into me he is when I saw him chatting up my friend in the corner half an hour ago and he agreed to call her.
So I say no and go back to posing for pictures with my besties. This is something I can do with no worries of it fucking up.
Then there’s the other guy. He’s married but is quick to make sure every time I meet him that he tells me how unhappily married he is. I don’t give a fuck. He then does that thing of trying to make me feel special by offering me babies whenever I want them.
Whilst he thinks this is a compliment I’m left feeling pissed off and insulte
d. The offering of sperm may seem generous to the fevered male mind but, I don’t want any old sperm. I want sperm attached to a body and mind that will help develop and love their progeny.
So whilst he’s there in suburbian misery he wants to impregnate me and leave me to raise a kid or 4 by myself? And I’m meant to be flattered?
Alas, Santa has chosen to send me tests again this year. Every year I ask him for a kind, generous, more than average sized dicked man who just wants to explore the world, chill and watch crappy TV with me or, talk about putting the worlds to rights over bad snacks and good prosecco.
Why is this search so hard, Santa?
I beg you try harder in 2016 and bring us better bets at the Christmas party.
Merry Christmas one and all x . Well, nearly all .
© Chelsea Black 2015
