godiva forgot about the voice....

Internet dating.  A new year, a new crisis.  Yes, after successfully ruining two london boroughs last Friday, this week I have managed to create several minefields and blitzed the entire site that is known as…..sugardaddie.com.

he calls himself 'warm'.  I call him 'jouster'.

phwoaarrgh, he could tinkle me ivories anytime

daddy.

 Poor daddies. 

Well; inconsequently-‘rich’ daddies.  A prospective client, (none of the above by the way),  has been messaging me persistently for the last couple of days.

He can’t write for treacle-toff-ee, and drops his ‘g’s at every available opportunity – ‘runnin, readin, thinkin, drinkin, darlin’ - AAAAAAH!

As the chirlish flirting extends itself through time and space and recreates itself on the turgid screen before us, I elect to move the insults up a notch, and jibe his terrible use of our god-given language that I so adore. 

He is not best pleased.  He rebukes:

“u fukstick! i write like a school boy?! i, my dear am published i'll have you know! X” Charmingly thumps my latest faux-beau.

“got your fires flowing though eh?”  I impudently reply.

He’s having me know that he’s written articles for prominent psychological journals that are all over the internet. 

But when he tells me he’s published, I already know. Godiva stalks back. I found out at 6am this morning, and I tell him so in all my unabashed glory:

“I happen to know that you are published.......and the dropping the gs thing, sorry if it got to you.  You will be pleased to know that I am capable of loving anything about anyone, so you're safe.....or potentially at risk......”

He is a doctor.  Of psychology.  A public schoolboy with loaded parents.

We’ve been messaging for a few days, and on paper he fits:- 34, rich, posh, cheeky smile, all that. 

And I suddenly realised, with absolute delight, that I could arrange a proper date without leaving godiva towers. 

McSkype. 

Yup, no train fares, no paying for rancid wine in a wine-bar, no persuading yourself you like him by the fourth drink just because you made the effort to turn up…..

Imagine:- you can see each other’s kennels, change costumes midway and get fucked up without leaving your lounge.  Stare at his bulging cock without being quite so close up…

And film it. 

With four cameras. 

It was all in the can pete…..

But today, he messages me and says he doesn’t have a webcam.

I tell him to buy one. 

He doesn’t seem overly keen on the idea.

However, he does seem keen on my odd transexual-esque messages.

So keen, that he breaks the code.

And calls me on my cellphone. 

‘How exciting!’ he is thinking.

No, actually, how disobedient.  How fucking inconvenient, I’m spinning four plates: trying to edit my film, cramming ryvitas into my maddened gullet, tapping away at my blog and trashing the internet.

No, we do NOT speak tonight.

We speak tomorrow night. 

You buy webcam from argos. 

We flirt.

That’s how it goes.

But he rang.  AND, when I snarlingly rejected his call, he left a message:

“hello, it’s g**** (yes, beaten even my wife in the weird name stakes with this one).  I….I just thought it would be easier to talk than to send endless emails”  (think hugh grant stammering in the rain)

No buddy, you got it wrong.

We have a date. 

On skype. 

On cameras 1, 2, 3 and 4. 

“pussie”, he texts after my non-response.

Oh spell it RIGHT, will you, ‘doctor’?…..

Linguist snob.  Yes sir, that’s your baby.  And for this to work, I invite you to join my hideous, cuntish cult.  

I had carefully scrutinized his picture – no discrepancies to report. 

But I’d imagined him low-voiced - a bit rough and ready, a bit ram-against-the-door-y.

Men may have any abundance of aberrant features:  rotten teeth and bad shoes and annoying twitches and habits; and when people ask for my advice on internet dating and suchlike, I tell them to carefully study the photos to see what’s really there.  What they might be hiding.

Why does he cover his eyes?  What’s behind those glasses?  Black vortexes?  The odd stye or two?  Lizard-eye? Nothing but a gouge?

For me it’s all about the teeth and chin, the way they might move their mouths should you ever have the misfortune of throwing all of your well-earned principles out of the portal that is reality and meet up with someone you will have no chemistry with whatsoever. 

Mouths - think cows chewing the cud, think Robbie from eastenders.  Don’t think about this too much - you will have nightmares.

But this one, who had to beg me for my real name, has a lovely mouth.

It’s what comes out of it I rebuff:  high, dry, distant, disinterested lisping lilts, ‘droppin’ the gs off every word possible.

*SCREAM*

I AM A LINGUIST!

Some people may agree with Voltaire when he writes ‘I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.’

Well, let me beg to disagree……

I omitted to tell him, by the way,that I am also in the publishing game. 

And that at this minute, as we splat and re-defecate all over each other on the already poo-brown swamp that is sugardaddie.com, I am indeed publishing him all over again….