Ansar 🖤

I was introduced to Ansar via a matrimonial service. This kind of paid service is usually run by a group of women with lots of social connections who find out information about the singleton, their family and what they want in an partner. They then match it up to someone else’s bio and introduce them. Things usually start with a text and then a phonecall, sometimes a face to face meeting and if things are good the families meet and a marriage proposal is made. Sounds simple doesn’t it? People can get married within weeks or months of being introduced. The owner of the matrimonial service is usually rewarded with a gift of money.

So, Ansar was a businessman from Pakistan. He’d been in this country for many years and spoke heavily accented English. The picture I’d been sent showed a fair skinned, chubby man with REALLY black hair and an enviable moustache. He was 46 years old and so that hair and moustache was most certainly dyed. He was taller than me and was able to converse with me in English, Urdu and Punjabi. I’m a sucker for a man who I can converse with in Urdu and/or Punjabi. I suppose it’s because I don’t get a chance to do it very often and it is of course the languages of my guilty pleasure; Bollywood films!

We spoke on and off for a few weeks. He didn’t talk much about his family in Pakistan but he openly spoke about his business and life in the uk. Ansar was super keen to get across that he was successful and his future wife would be well cared for.

He wanted to meet but I was unsure, something didn’t sit right with me. Fozia, the lady that introduced us spoke highly of him and encouraged us to meet.

One day whilst I was in Asda, Ansar rang me. I answered and as usual we exchanged pleasantries and what we’d been upto. Whilst telling him something about The Child he let slip that his little girl liked watching cartoons.

What now?! He had a child??

I asked where his little girl was, he answered “Pakistan”

I asked who she lived with, he said “my wife”

“Do you mean ex-wife Ansar?”

“No no my wife” he answered

“You’re married Ansar?”

“Yes but we are not together” he explained

“But you’re married? You’re not divorced?”I squealed

“Come on now, you know what would happen to her if I divorced her. She’s in Pakistan, her life would not be good”

I hung up and switched my phone to silent.

I was stunned. He was married and yet using a matrimonial service to find a wife. He wanted a second wife?

As a Muslim man he is able to practice polygamy and take upto four wives in Islam. As a British Muslim women I was absolutely against polygamy because I will not share a man. I’ll share my sweets, popcorn, hair brush, my favourite lip gloss and I’ll even share my ice cream sundae but I will not share a husband.

He was relentless in ringing me. After three days I answered.

“Are you angry?” He asked

“Yes, I’m angry. I’m not second wife material. You’ve misled me”

He explained “She is in Pakistan. She’s like my child’s maid, I pay her to take care of my daughter. I can’t divorce her, my family wouldn’t allow it.

“Do your family know you’re looking for a second wife?”

“Yes, I have my fathers support to allow a second wife but I’m not allowed to divorce my wife” he explained.

A successful, 46 year old businessman is ‘allowed’ or ‘not allowed’ to do things.


Ansar said “you’d be my main wife. I can give you a good life. I like you. You’re educated and we could be happy”

“I’m not second wife material Ansar. I can’t share a man, it’d drive me insane with jealousy. More than that I couldn’t as a woman steal another woman’s rights”

“You’re not stealing anything. She’s happy. I send her money” says Ansar

“No, thank you. Please don’t ring again”

I hang up. He rings.

I block him. Send an email to Fozia to tell her he’s married and ask if she was aware of this.

Polygamy was practiced by the Prophet Muhammed (pbuh) in the beginnings of Islam because at the time their were not enough men for remarriage first divorces and widows. In those times, it was vital for a woman to be ‘protected’ by a man. Either a father, brother or husband. As many Muslim men lost their life in the name of Islam. The Prophet encouraged and practiced polygamy to ensure the safety of women. He was clear that it was vital that all wives were treated equally in every way, psychically, emotionally, financially and sexually.

In the UK or any first world country, there is no need, in my opinion for polygamy. We are fortunate enough to live in a land of law, fairness and justice that provides for everyone.

Besides morally, I could not take another woman’s rights on her husband. Quite frankly I’d rather be single than do that because I know I’d be heartbroken if it happened to me.

Neil 🖤

Neil was a tinder find. He was nothing like my type. Blonde, short and thin but he had a nice face, he wasn’t gorgeous or anything but he had a kindly face as in nice eyes, genuine smile and clean! He was like Dale Winton or a Dermot’O Leary, he looked a good guy.

I was delighted that we’d swiped right on each other and did something I wouldn’t normally do, I messaged first. I never was age first because although I’m a modern girl who likes to drive herself to a date and go Dutch on the bill, I have an old fashioned sense of romance. This means a man should make the first move or be the one to ask me out or ask me out.

I realise that its 2020 but I’m a complicated girl 🤷🏽‍♀️

When I messaged him and told him that he was rather a good looking man, he replied with ‘is this a wind up!’

Once we’d got past that, he was easy to talk to. He had never been married or had children. Neil explained his ex had cheated on him via Tinder and so he’d gone on to find himself someone.

Now, this red flag should have been enough to make me run away but I’m a hopeless romantic and so dismissed it.

We talked on text for two weeks, we never spoke. Another red flag but I persisted.

We eventually arranged to meet outside Debenhams in the Trafford Centre. Unbeknown to me he was stood watching whilst I walked across the centre to our rendezvous point. Thankfully he didn’t run away 🙌🏽

He was shorter than I expected but easy on the eye. That nice man face sucked me right in. We sat in Las Iguanas and had a drink. We talked about everything from the weather to politics. He divulged that he had a house in Scotland as well as in Bolton and spent his weekends there either on his own or with friends drinking, watching Formula 1 or playing golf. A proper bachelor.

He walked me to my car and got in (Zak 🖤 cake to mind!) Thankfully he was entirely appropriate. He thanked me for a lovely evening and then moved in for a kiss.

Now, the first kiss is pretty important. If it too hard and touchy it reeks of desperation. To soft and polite and it’s not effective. It needs to be gentle but firm and with absolutely no octopus hands!! (Octopus hands=someone touching your body all over without express permission!)

It was a decent first kiss, he kept his hands to himself and kissed me gently and didn’t try to shove his tongue in, winner winner!

Following our first date we continued chatting. He was always busy and so almost a month passed without meeting until one evening when he suggested he would come to mine for dinner.

Not going to lie, I’d already Facebook stalked him and found him on LinkedIn so thought I know enough about him to have at my place and also the fact that the bestie had been given all his details in case he killed me 😬

Having asked what he’d like for dinner, I cooked individual lasagnes, salad and wedges. He didn’t want curry, which was another red flag because let’s face it, ego doesn’t like some sort of curry?!


He came, he ate and we sat and talked for hours whilst I sipped Diet Coke and him Malbec (red wine!) We talked about families, school, friends and aspirations. He spoke so well and seemed so genuine that I got giddy and when he made his move, one thing led to another and basically we bumped uglies! And what bumping it was!!

I woke up earlier than him and lay watching this rather ‘easy on the eye’ man. When he stirred and made noises akin to waking up, I did what any weirdo who watches people does; I pretended I was asleep!!

He left for work after an shower. I stood at the front door and suddenly felt a bit emosh. Not sure if the emosh was because I’d been super giddy and the serotonin was subsiding or because the realisation that I’d bumped uglies with a man I barely knew 🤷🏽‍♀️

I did what any insecure and emotional singleton would do and obsessively checked my phone to see if he’d rung or text and you know what they say about a watched pot never boiling, well a watched phone never pings!

He did eventually text, relief filled me and the insecure and emotional singleton was relieved. It was short lived.

Neil changed. I don’t mean in his looks but in his texting habits. It stopped being about life and it all became about sex. He wanted nudes from me and he sent me dick pics. I’m not particularly body confident so the nudes from me were non-existent but he sent me many a dick pic. Now, these dick pics arrived at various times but usually in the evening. I was fascinated by how many different angles a penis can be photographed from and how it can be photographed to look a lot bigger than it is….

Once the rose tinted glasses started to become clearer I realised his ‘evening’ dick pics had an awful lot of light in them, surely he didn’t have a collection on his phone or did he? (Red flag!)I started to question why there was so much light? Why he needed to send me so many? And would I ever get to see it in reality again? About six weeks passed with the sexting and no date. He’d arrange to meet and then cancel (another red flag!) but I persisted because surely he wouldn’t have opened up so much on our first date and text me so much or share intimate pictures with me if he wasn’t keen? Or would he?

One evening he’d promised he would come for dinner. Like proper promised but guess what?

He didn’t.

The dinner went in the bin and my self esteem hit rock bottom.

I told him my friends thought he was stringing me along and I should stop allowing it. Instead of reassuring me all was well, he agreed. He said perhaps he was.

That was the last conversation I had with him. Even I know when I’m flogging a dead horse.

Gutted, I was gutted. I wasn’t gutted about the sexting or the dick pics

I was gutted because I’d fallen for him, hook line and sinker. Apparently my red flag radar wasn’t just playing up, it was dead. I liked him so very much that I’d chosen to ignore the many red flags and instead of being giddy, I was heartbroken.

I told my bestie how gutted I was. I rambled on about how did he play such a convincing decent man? Her answer?

“To get you into bed obviously. He played the character you had wanted him to be, you ignored the red flags because you wanted to”


I’d seen what wanted to, I’d heard what I wanted to and anything that I didn’t like the sound of, I ignored.

Neil was a hard man to get over. Not the dick pic sending, sex god Neil but the Neil I’d created in my head.

I didn’t date for almost a year after him. He’d hurt me and it had led me to question my ability to correctly judge a character but most of all, it made me feel silly and cheap.

It made me realise that just because a man looks nice, doesn’t mean he is.

Brody 🖤

Brody was an United Utilities engineer. He wore glasses, had a smile that changed his entire face to make him look almost handsome and blue eyes. He was older (obvs!) and was a silver fox(double obvs!)

I’m nothing if not consistent in the kind of man I find attractive!

We messaged for a while on and we then met at a pub. He looked exactly like his photo and I was totally overdressed for the pub (in my defence I don’t go to many pubs🤷🏽‍♀️) He insisted on buying me a drink so I had an apple and mango J20 (totally the best flavour!) and he had the same. I discovered that Brody had no children or pets but he had a great passion for camper vans. He talked a LOT about camper vans and I tried my very best to look interested 😇

He finished his J2O before I did. He asked if I wanted another and I insisted I’d get him a drink this time.

Now, let’s talk money. I find it really awks dealing with money. I don’t like having my meal and/or drinks paid for by a man I’m on a date with. I’d much rather go Dutch or just pay for it all. Even in the year 2020 I’m told that I’m emasculating a man by doing this but I’ve learnt from experience that some, certainly not all, except something in return.

Anyhow, I digress!

After we’d had our two drinks, he asked if I’d like to see his camper van. His little face was beaming when he asked me and I said yes. Thankfully he was a gent and didn’t pull a Zak 🖤 or say anything that scared me.

He took great pride at showing me all the ‘mod cons’ in his camper van from the bed at the top to his hidden seating area. He was that excited, I wondered what he needed a lady friend for…🤣

We said our goodbyes, Brody very gently put his lips to mine and then off he went in his van.

He was keen, even before I’d got home, he’d text to ask if I wanted to see him again tomorrow at the same pub. I agreed.

Same thing happened the following evening, he bought me a drink (appletiser) and I then bought him a drink (blackcurrent and lemonade). He wanted me to come to his camper van, I jokingly asked if he’s missed anything the previous night when showing me round?

Once in the camper van he sat me down and he started talking about camper vans again and how he was going to go around Europe in one. I couldn’t think of anything worse but each to their own. About 15 minutes into his monologue about his love for camper vans he stopped talking and moved in for a kiss. He had thin lips but he looked determined! The kiss was gentle and a bit wet but it wasn’t bad. He stopped and said ‘that ok?’ I didn’t think he’d appreciate me giving him a score out of 10 so just nodded. He came in for another and it was alright.

Once again we said our good nights and he kissed me again.

This little pattern of two drinks, a sit down in his camper van and snogging carries on for a further two dates.

On the fourth date, he did the stopping and asking ‘that ok?’ Thing again. Except this time he smiled and added

“Suppose we better sort out a time to make love”


We better?

Blimey don’t sound to keen, making it sound like a chore that needed ticking off! 🤦🏽‍♀️

Shan’t lie, it miffed me off and made me a bit uncomfortable and so I made my excuses and said goodnight.

A couple of hours later he texted and asked if I wanted to go out on the weekend. I said as long as it doesn’t involve the pub or his camper van, yes. He said

“Well, I was thinking of taking you to one of my favourite places to relax in”

I’m listening…

“I want to take you to a club”

Still listening…

“I want to take you to a swingers club’

What now?! What did he just say??

That’s right, a swingers club. Brody wants to take me to a swingers club.

“Are you a swinger?” I ask in rather a high pitched, panicked voice

“You don’t have to do anything. We can have a drink and just watch”

“Watch?” I ask

“Yeah, watch the couples having sex”

Live action porn?!

“You want me to come with you to a swingers club, do nothing but have a drink and watch strangers shag each other”

‘Yeah but you don’t have to do anything” says Brody

“Brody, I’m not a swinger and I don’t want to go to a swingers club. Why on earth would I go to watch? It’s not for me”

“It’s got a lovely ambience” says Brody

“Ambience?! I can think of lots of different places with a good ambience but a swingers club isn’t one of them” I say in an even higher pitched voice.

“Babe don’t be upset, we don’t have to go. I usually go alone but thought you might want to go with me”

At this point all I can think about is Brody in his grey hoodie sat on a barstool getting excited watching couples? Threesomes? Groups? I’ve not a clue what happens in a swingers club and I’ve no desire to find out.

“Brody, I’m sorry but I can’t see you again. You’ve got me seriously wrong. I’m not a swinger and nor will I ever be”

“Babe, the ambience is the main reason I go, you might like it?” Pleads Brody

“No thank you Brody. I wish you well”

Call ended and blocked

Well, that was the end of dating Brody and the beginning of me asking in the messaging phase if they were into swinging

God, I miss the days of when the only swingers I knew enjoyed going to the park to sit on the swings

Tej 🖤

Tej was a Tinder find. Tall, bearded, turbaned man with the most ‘proper’ English accent I’ve ever heard. We did a Tinder tango for a few weeks, he was keener some days whilst I was other days. We’d then not talk for a few days but he’d always initiate contact usually late at night.

He was from Birmingham which is the main reason I didn’t agree to a date because long distance isn’t for me. If I’m with someone (dear God, it’s been a long time since that actually happened 😬) then I want them fairly close so we can actually see each other.

One June evening he caught me off guard when he said he was going to be up north for business. Tej wanted to take me out for dinner and in that moment when he asked I was really rather keen for adult company, so I said yes.

We arranged to meet at an Italian restaurant, he got points for remembering I liked Italian food!

He had arrived early and when I peered through the window, I saw a well dressed turbaned man. He had the air of Rupert the Bear in his attire, checked mustard trousers and a dark red jumper with a black turban. He was super polite and stood up when I was being seated. From the moment I saw him I was fascinated by his beard. It was salt and pepper (obvs 🙄) and incredibly neat but I could see that it wasn’t rough from being trimmed, it was smooth. I realised that it wasn’t cut, it was neatly tucked under his chin. I could see thinly wound bits of beard hair neatly tucked under his chin and held in place with gel? Hair spray? I really wish I’d asked him.


I had gnocchi in a spicy tomato sauce and mozzarella whilst he had steak with chips. I was ridiculously jealous of his chips, they looked crispy 😩

After arguing over who pays the bill, he won because he charmed the waitress. I always insist on going Dutch or just paying for the whole thing. We decided to wander around area, it was still light and warm.

As we were walking, Tej does a double take as a car whizzes past us. I ask if he’s ok and he says he’s fine and then casually says

“I just had a vision”

What now?

“Yes, a flash of light and then a vision of Jesus”

Jesus? He’s Sikh?!

I asked if it wasn’t just the light from the speed camera from the car speeding past

“No, definitely a vision. I saw Jesus. He didn’t say anything but it was him. He comes to me often. I have a gift”

Now at this point I’m thinking what on earth is going on. Am I being filmed? Did the peppercorn sauce for his steak have a hallucinogenic in it? My bewildered look obvs didn’t register with him because he continued telling me about his ‘gift’

When lightening strikes, when he lights a candle, in the moonlight amongst other lighting scenarios is when Tej has visions of Jesus. He tells me that Jesus talks to him and tells him about events around the world and about future events.

Now, I understand religion and spirituality is an intensely personal thing. People interpret different things as an expression of their beliefs or a confirmation of their spirituality.

I continued to listen to Tej mainly because I didn’t know how to run away in the heels I was wearing (damn the kitten heels 🤦🏽‍♀️)

He asked if I’d like him to walk me to my car, I declined (since Zak 🖤, I walk myself!) Tej said in that case his car was just across the road and he would say goodbye. As we approached his black VW Polo I saw a yellow sticker, he has a ticket!! Tej got rather angry and was flustered at seeing it.

I had this overwhelming urge to burst out laughing but controlled it because all I could think was…

Why hadn’t Jesus warned you not to park there?

Sami 🖤

Sami aka Samir was one of the first people i spoke to online. He was Scottish (the accent was swoon inducing!), had a fabulously styled quiff and lovely, hazel eyes.

He was keen for us to stop chatting online with and to get my number. I encountered Sami quite early on in my dating life and so was still trusting and had faith that male species was decent on the whole (what a fool I was 🤦🏽‍♀️)

So I gave him my number. He rang me almost immediately. He had a smooth Scottish accent and spoke really well with the odd phrase in Punjabi. I’m a sucker for a punjabi and Urdu speaker, think it’s the perma-tan in me 🤷🏽‍♀️

We spoke on and off for a week. He was in Edinburgh and I wasn’t so the chances of us developing anything real minimal but I was still a naive, hopeless romantic back then.

So, I’m going to set the scene here…

It’s Monday lunchtime and I am sat in the staff room with my work besties. We are all chomping through our leftovers from Sunday lunch when our banter is interrupted with a WhatsApp message from Sami. I’m thinking…

‘Awww he’s thinking of me at lunchtime’

Then I opened the message 🤦🏽‍♀️

There he was in dazzling white Y-fronts posing with his hands behind his head and his left leg turned out slightly with what I can only describe as an attempt at a smouldering look which in fact made him look like he was sucking on a lemon sherbet 🙅🏽‍♀️

I’ve questions running through my mind…

1. Whose taking the picture?

2. How has he styled his quiff so epically

3. Why is he wearing black socks with white pants?

4. How does he get his whites, so white?

5. Is he on something?!

Now, at this point the three work besties have sussed that something exciting is happening because I have no poker face, literally none and I’m quiet which is a rare occurrence.

I hear a squeal of laughter from the Red Head which grabs the attention of Brunette and Bearded Boy. They’ve spotted the Y-fronts and are in fits of laughter. Bearded boy then says

‘Tell him how to pose!’

Erm no, that’s encouraging him

Beaded Boy says

‘It’s funny!’

So Red Head says

‘tell him to lie down with his hands behind his head!’

I’m easily led…

More squeals when he sends back the requested pose.

Brunette says

‘Tell him to stand with his hands on his hips!’

The posed picture pings through!

Bearded Boy says

‘Tell him to show us a cheeky cheek!’

Oh lord this is accelerating quickly and all before the watershed 🤷🏽‍♀️

We sit and wait but no picture.

10 minutes later and nothing. Oh dear. Sami isn’t playing anymore and I’m relieved. I don’t want him to show us a buttock, perhaps he’s not that bad…


A picture of him with his back to the camera, the sherbet sucking pout from his sideways turned head, his right hand on his hip and his left holding the elastic of his ridiculously white Y-fronts down travelling a really rather hairy buttock!!!

Beaded Boy is well chuffed, Red Head and Brunette are giggling like teenagers and I’m gutted. He’s a poser and idiot!! Not the best combo.

Bearded Boy pipes up

‘Let’s see his meat and two veg!!’

I think not!

Red Head and Brunette are in complete agreement with him and are saying ask him.

I said I was easily led…


There it is. His groomed penis and testicles. This time his right hand is holding his clearly erect penis and his left cupping his testicles but no sherbet picking pout. Just his genitalia 🤦🏽‍♀️

Now, it’s not my first ‘dick pic’ but it’s the first ‘dick pic’ on request and honestly? It’s a bit disappointing.

The trio are hysterical by now and I’m somewhere between disappointed and ‘what else can I make him pose as?!’

Our lunch break is near ending and so is Sami. I stop responding much to the trio’s despair but I’m done. I’m not vain and don’t have the patience or tact for someone vain. So…BLOCK ✖️

Once I’m home and reflecting on today’s events I realise my overriding thought isn’t that I’m sad he turned out to be a poser and vain. It’s more that I didn’t get to ask how he gets his whites, so white?

Oh and who on earth was taking the pictures?

Charlie 🖤

Ah Charlie, 6ft, chunky, blue eyed and bearded silver fox. Basically hubba hubba!!

He sent me a message on POF during the first week of lockdown. He was in Southport, he took great pride in sending me pictures of the view from his penthouse apartment overlooking the promenade. I’m not about the materialist things in life, I’ve enough of my own but I humoured him and told him how epic it was.

Anyways I digress…

When he initially sent me a message on POF, I wasn’t sure. His profile picture showed a tattooed man, with an impressive tan and shaped sideburns. I was undecided until I scrolled to the last picture and saw him with a beard. The most impressive salt and pepper beard with piercing blue eyes.

As you can guess, I replied.

We got chatting and of course I shared my number thinking of running my hands through THAT beard.

He wasn’t a prolific texter and that was fine because his sporadic texts were consistently sporadic. He was a talker and rang every other day.

He had a hint of a Scouse accent and you could tell when he was smiling whilst talking. He very much like to talk about himself and his family. He told me often how he had a huge house, lots of cars and money in the past. No matter how much I told him I didn’t need to know what he used to have, he very much liked to talk about it.

He said he wasn’t much of a drinker but he drunk rather a lot and ate rather a lot. Now, I’m a foodie but he liked to eat to excess. He didn’t have one chicken breast, he had three. He didn’t eat one of his favourite cider lollies, he ate the whole pack of six in one go. I don’t care who drinks or eats what unless all they talk about is how they want to lose weight, which he did; a lot 😩

Half way through lock down when the weather got better, he decided to start cycling but not build it up slowly, just cycle for miles and miles, in red and white Lycra. I fancied him but even I wondered how to tell him Lycra on a chunky man is NOT a good look especially when you have to cut certain parts of the top to make it fit.

So, he’d cycle for miles then complain he was dizzy and weak, eat copious amounts of food and then repeat. I listened to this over and over for weeks, still I persisted…he had the beard, height and eyes!

I’d made myself clear that I don’t do nudes or expect them so he sent me pictures of himself in his underwear for various reasons. To show me his newly shaved chest, his new cycling shorts or to share his tan top ups. I really didn’t need to see these but at least his nether region was covered and he had the beard, height and eyes!

You can see the pattern can’t you?!

We persisted talking for about seven weeks. He gradually got braver and talked about stuff he liked to do sexually. I refrained from encouraging it because we were in the middle of a pandemic and their is no need for getting excited when you’re single!!

One night he rung after a few drinks and told me he’d like me to sit of his face (erm nope! I’m all for sexual fulfilment but killing him by sitting on his face is really not worth the prison sentence!!) I asked what else he’d like (it was a weak moment!) and he said…

“I want you to squat on my chest and piss on me”

Yup, he wanted a golden shower.

Dear lord 🤦🏽‍♀️

I actually considered it for a few days because of that beard, those eyes and his height until I gave my head a wobble and realised I’m a clean freak and would spend an ridiculous amount of time thinking about cleaning the mattress.

In the end, I had to just stop avoiding talking to him and trying to make peace with a golden shower in exchange for that beard, those eyes and his height.

I explained it wasn’t for me and it’s best we should stop talking. He needed someone a bit more sexually liberal than me. He said he didn’t want liberal just someone experimental. I explained that I would never be THAT experimental, he said they ALL say that.

I did what any girl who doesn’t find urine an aphrodisiac would do and blocked him.

Azam 🖤

I came across Azam on I’d just signed up and literally two hours later Azam popped up. He was tall, dark eyes, big lips, had salt and pepper hair and stubble! Well, hellooooo!

He had hooded eyes, as in his eyelids were droopy and so with the combination of these and his full lips he looked a bit like a St Barnard dog…cute tho.

He didn’t use abbreviations when he messaged and didn’t say anything that made me think he was a not right. He was a security man and worked a mixture of days and nights, so it wasn’t uncommon for me to fall asleep texting him when he was on nights (not sure anything was secure when he was texting me!) or to wake up to a lot of texts when he was on days (did he actually work?!) He told me that he was divorced and lived with his mum. Now, I should say that it’s not uncommon for south Asian men, divorced, married or single, to live with their parents. He explained that after his divorce his ex moved down south with his daughter. He didn’t see her often. I’m a sucker for a sob story and boy was his story a sob. I’ve since realised that their are always three versions of a story involving divorce; both parties story and then the actual truth.

The first time we met was at a Costa in Manchester. He looked like his pictures which is always a good start, I realised when he spoke that his tongue poked out of his mouth, not sure why but it bothered me more than it should!

He explained that he believed the only place for sex is within a marriage and that he wanted to do things ‘right’ He meant that if he found someone he got on with he wanted to marry quickly. The alarms bells were blaring but I was too busy ogling his salt and pepper hair to hear them.

We met a couple of times for walks and drinks, we held hands and had the odd sideways hug but that’s it. It was all very ‘proper’ We were a month in and we’d never kissed, not even a peck. He had explained that kissing was for a couple who were married. I’m not sure why but allowed myself to be carried away with this man’s explanations and beliefs. The naive romantic in me was loving it! 🤦🏽‍♀️

He sent me a huge bunch of roses to work and all of us were swooning. I got giddy and started to believe in it all. Obvs this is where it all started to go downhill…

Imagine the scene…

I’m dressed in my finest velvet frock with smoky eyes (always a fine line between sexy and looking like I’ve had rounds in the ring with Tyson!) and my hair twisted is a manner of ways to create a fancy up do.

The babysitter had arrived, I’ve ordered Dominoes for both her and the child. It’s 6.50 and I’m ready to be picked up by Azam at 7 for our date at Akbar’s (THE best Chapli kebabs in the world 🙌🏽)

7pm arrives, as does 8pm. No text or call from dog face. By 8.30pm the spotty, teenage babysitter is giving me pity looks. I look at the clock one last time (8.47pm) and it hits me…

I’ve been stood up.


Like actually fecking, stood up.

I’ve read about being stood up but never experienced it. I get up, send the babysitter home and wipe away the smoky eyes with a mixture of eye make up remover and tears. Wash my face and put on my fluffy pink bathrobe and share my sorrow with two men who’ve never let me down,

Ben & Jerry. The ice cream is cold against the hot tears of embarrassment and humiliation.

The next day I get a text from dog face telling me he’s sorry. He rings later in the day.

“Your phone working now?”


“Enjoy standing me up last night? Did it make you feel well hard? Making an girl cry over you?”


“What do you want?!”

He mumbles something quietly


“I spent all my money on the flowers and don’t get paid till Wednesday”

Now it was my turn to be silent

I hung up the phone

Dog face had stood me up because he had no money. Hmmmm

He had no money because he’s sent me flowers. At this point I should have done one of the following:

*Carried on being silent forever

*answered the phone calls from dog face

*tell him to jog on

Guess what? I did neither

I took is as romantic!.

I’m a turd

Like proper turdy

The following day he caje to visit and I made him a curry and chappatis. He was loving life, a woman (me 🙋🏽‍♀️) who he (dog face) had stood up was cooking for him and serving him 🤦🏽‍♀️

We carried on texting and I carried on cooking for him. This continued for about a month.

We’d arranged to go out. Again I got ready, the babysitter came and pizza was delivered. Guess what? Go on, guess..

Dog face stood me up



When he rang past midnight this time, I didn’t answer. When he texted me, I didn’t answer. This continues for three days, when I got this message

“If you don’t talk to me, you’ll regret it. You’ll not find someone like me”

And that’s exactly why I didn’t talk or text him ever again because I want someone who is nothing like him.

Arfan 🖤

I’ve spent the last five years on and off internet dating. At one time or another I’ve used the following sites…



*Guardian Soulmates

*Single Muslims






Although each site has had their fair share of weirdos, POF wins hands down.

Arfan pops up guaranteed everytime I log on to POF after time away. I block him everytime he contacts me but he just makes a new account. I can only imagine he does this because he must get blocked a lot.

Arfan is tall, fair skinned, bearded and polite but he has a strange fetish. He likes women who fart.

You read that right. Women who fart.

He doesn’t like just women who fart in his presence but women who fart in public whilst he’s with them.

I think it’s pretty self explanatory as to why I block him and why others do too.

Upon asking professor Google about fart fetishes I found out that this is a commonish fetish and is called Olfactophilia. It is a paraphilia in which individuals derive sexual pleasure and arousal from smells and odours.

Even though I now know it’s an actual thing, all I can think is…

Farting turns you on?! Like really?!

Ewwwwwwww 🤢

Billy 🖤

Billy was a find on He was tall, had a Gallagher brother haircut and a cheeky smile. He wasted no time in asking me out, he asked me out for a drink the second day. I was reluctant because I like to get to know someone before I meet them but my best friend at the time encouraged me to seize the day.

So off I twaddled to a pub in the hills at Saddleworth Moors. He was just like his pictures, so first impressions were ok.

I had a Diet Coke whilst he had a pint of something alcoholic (no idea what, it had a foamy head on it) We sat outside on wooden benches and talked.

Now, we talked about the weather, children and funnily enough cars. I literally know nothing about cars, nothing. I know so little that when I went to buy my first post divorce car, my exact words to the Nissan salesman were…

‘I want the car with the big bum, please’

Whilst I was feeling all liberated going to buy my own car, Bob the speckled salesman must of thought Christmas had come early.

Anyways I digress.

After chatting for an hour, we said our goodbyes. He walked me the two metres to my car. I shook his hand, he pulled me in, gave me a sloppy kiss and my arse a squeeze. Uh uh, he was an octopus boy 🤷🏽‍♀️

We carried on talking and two days later. asked to meet again. Same pub but evening and inside. We had a chat about random stuff again for about an hour. There was no specific topic, just random talk.

As he walked me to my car, he pulled me in and snogged me. Like full on.

It wasn’t a good snog

He was pressing me into him, invading my mouth with his tongue and he literally spat in my mouth.

That’s right, spat. As we separated I had an usually large quantify of saliva in my mouth and most of it was his. Ewwwww 🤢

I’d had my fair share of bad kisses but this was a whole new level. I actually wanted to spit what he’d left on my out out but I couldn’t. People who spit in public are mingers. So I swallowed it. Ewwwww 🤢🤢

Safe to say I never went on another date with him, ever and I’d found a new appreciation for the travel size bottles of mouthwash.

Ankers 🖤

Ankers was a lovely man, not as tall as I like my men to be but lovely nonetheless. He had slightly greying, short hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. One of the things I remember most about him was his stubbly beard, it was just the right length to add an extra layer of interest to a snog but not enough to give stubble rash. This rather impressed me.

I’d found him on on POF. Initially I didn’t respond because of the distance but he persisted and I agreed to meet him.

He was just as lovely as I expected him to be, he was worried I wasn’t going to arrive and I was worried I’d get lost. We met in Nantwich at an Indian restaurant. The food was pants (it was no Akbar’s!) but Ankers was the perfect gent. He walked me to my car, pecked me on the cheek and off he went in his rather well fitted Levi’s accentuating his peachy bum 🍑

Sounds too good to be true doesn’t it?

Well it was…🤦🏽‍♀️

Turned out Ankers had a rather colourful past. Although he was now working with his brother at the family’s haulage company, in the past he’d driven round in a lorry which often had things falling off the back of it! He had a criminal record and he was for want of a better word; a hard man 💪🏻

Still I persisted, thinking what’s in the past will stay on the past. We all have one, right?

Anyways he was the perfect gent and didn’t try anything drastic till about three months in. I’d made him a lamb and potato curry and vegetable rice. We smooched on the sofa, the slight whiff of curry in the air; believe me when I say that is not an aphrodisiac though it got Anker’s going!

There we were on the sofa when he smoooooothly took my hand to his penis. Except his penis was nothing like the penis (or is it peni? As it’s plural 🤷🏽‍♀️) I’d felt previously. I stopped the stubbly snogging and moved in for a look and excitedly squealed…wait for it…

“It’s got a jacket!!”

Ankers looked at me and said

“what the fuck are you on about?”

“You’ve got a jacket on your willy! A jacket!”

I think I clapped my hands at one point and exclaimed…

“You’re not circumcised! Your willy has a jacket!”

I demonstrated my point to him by pulling the ‘jacket’ back and forth! He was not impressed or aroused any longer.

Erm, no shit Sherlock 🤦🏽‍♀️

I explained to a rather bemused Ankers that all the men (I sound a complete hussy, I’m not 😇) I’d bumped uglies with, were circumcised so I’ve never seen the foreskin. I told him…

“You’re going to pop my foreskin cherry 🍒”

He didn’t seem eager and we just cuddled. Boy was I gutted 🤦🏽‍♀️ Mental note, don’t compare man’s foreskin to a jacket.

How was I supposed to know 🤷🏽‍♀️

When we did eventually bump uglies, I can honestly say, it was no different with a foreskin but I had amends to make and told Ankers that he was the best I’d ever had 🙄

So things were going well, I even introduced him to Desi Jnr. They seem to hit it off.


Of course there is a but! It’s me 🤦🏽‍♀️

He disappeared. No calls or texts for three days. Going over every text and conversation we’d had. I couldn’t figure it out .

On the eve of the fourth day, he rings

“Babe. I’ve been in the cells. They took me in because I was about to ‘do’ the boy that punched my boy”

“Just punch him? They took you in for three days, just for punching?”

“Well babe, I had a gun”

I literally had no words. I hung up. I had to think. He relentlessly contacted me until I gave in and answered.


“Babe let me explain. It wasn’t a real gun, I just wanted to look the business!”

I again. naively accepted this. Until about a month later he sent me a set of pictured of him holding a gun!!! WTF?! In his black wool coat, slicked back hair, trimmed beard and a mean look on his face. My job is too important to jeopardise and I can no longer be with him. My heart and brain both hurt.

In the end my brain ruled, he was too dangerous and there is only one way to stop it. To tell him, it’s over. Not because I didn’t like him but just because he’s a bit of a wanna be gangster and my job is too sensitive to allow it.

He cried, I cried. We both cried. His jacketed penis wasn’t mine anymore and neither were the two small oven dishes I’d made lasagne for him to eat whilst he was at work.

Separating from Ankers hurt ☹️

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