The Pencil

So there was a time whilst internet dating thatI thought that like so many others I would give Plenty of Fish a go. It’s free, it’s active and it has the highest number of black men on there that I’ve seen on the web. Did I mention that it’s free? Hmmmm

Apart from all the angry men on there who would block you for daring to suggest (nicely) that they may want to use spell check or a fullstop once in a while or put up photos of them from after the 80s (the 80s soul glow gheri curl dates you immediately) it wasn’t an awful experience. I quite enjoyed being blocked as it became apparent that some of them were emotionally unhinged.

Then I met The Pencil. He was from the US and was a delicious male specimen. I am not one to fall for the topless photos but this time I did. It takes a certain sort of man to pull off those shots without making you want to throw up. The key is one topless shot, a head shot and then a couple of you socially or on holiday to show that you had a life before you succumbed to internet dating. A witty profile helps.

His profile said he was 6.’3, he had a Masters degree and no kids. Hooray! A tall, smart, no baggage candidate. I imagined climbing that frame and figured why not send him a message. We quickly got talking but like many of the better looking ones he was a man of few words.  He wasn’t too far away in Fulham so we agreed to meet at the Nandos there. Now, as you know Nandos is my favourite place and mixing that with a potential dodgy date was risky. But when he turned up he was as big and hot as his pictures so I dismissed the salad and gleefully ordered a meal platter.

We sat down and started talking. This was a mistake. Turns out that The Pencil wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box. I explained that Nandos was a South African / Portuguese concept. He didn’t seem to know where South Africa was despite the answer being in the name and so I said, “You know, where Nelson Mandela is from?”

“Mandela?”

I spluttered peri peri sauce all over my chips. Who was this man? I tried to explain who Mandela was without sounding patronising but even to my ears I failed. So instead I figured discussing his profile would be a safer topic. So I asked him what subject his Masters was in?

“What’s a Masters? I don’t think we have them in the States”

Further investigation revealed that The Pencil was an ex American footballer and he confessed that he had never had to read at all. He had read one book in his entire life. at College they had given them the test answers in advance of his exams. He also had a kid.

But despite these cerebral differences I still figured he was worth a shag. It was winter, it was cold and I deserved to be cuddled. Besides, a man this ill-informed and verging on stupid must make up for it physically right?

Sadly this wasn’t the case. As the winter clothes came off it became apparent that the pencil hadn’t been working out since his football days and the photos of his taut body were a few year old. I was greeted by a belly and…….a pencil dick.

I did the best I could but my enthusiasm had waned by then. As I rode him and tried not to bang up against his jelly belly I kept thinking to myself who the fuck (apart from Posh Spice in her autobiography) doesn’t know who Mandela is?

So after that night I never saw him again. He emailed and texted but I just couldn’t face it. I can forgive a lot of things my precious but I cannot forgive a pencil dick.