Lucy’s face fell as she saw the steel chain fastened around the gatepost.
“Locked,” she sighed. Well, it was two in the morning.
Harry’s limpid blue eyes twinkled in the lamplight as he shinned up a tree and leapt athletically over the fence and into the park. “Not to us it isn’t!”
Lucy couldn’t suppress a girlish giggle as his powerful arms reached over and hauled her in.
“We’ll get into trouble!” she squealed, half seriously.
“Funny,” teased Harry, his strong hand brushing her hair from her eyes. “I thought you liked trouble.”
Now that he mentioned it, after three hours guiltily bopping to an anarchic psychedelic rock band and a further two knocking back champagne on a yacht moored in St Katherine’s Dock (not, sadly, Harry’s—it belonged to one of his advertising colleagues), Lucy was in the mood for a little bad behaviour. Especially if it was with this sport-loving, smooth-talking, fast-living hunk of a man.
“Race you to the swings,” barked the floppy-haired executive, setting off like a thoroughbred before she could respond. He slowed down to let her catch up, then accelerated effortlessly to the finish line, and turned so that she fell breathless into his arms.
The swing chain creaked gently in the breeze as their mouths met hungrily, and she melted in his controlled yet passionate kiss.
“And now,” said Harry, as he forcefully guided her hand down over his collarbone, his manly chest, his heaving six-pack, “now you’re going to do something really naughty.”
♦◊♦
I hadn’t wanted to do anything special for my 33rd birthday. I’d already seen enough to prove my Theory of Diminishing Turnouts—200 guests at my 18th, 100 at my 21st, 30 at my 32nd—and wasn’t eager to test it further. But Lucy talked me round. It had been ages since she’d had a good knees-up—and anyway, wasn’t it about time she met my friends?
So one evening after work, after scouting the neighbourhood for suitable venues, we booked a pizza place in Angel for the Saturday night.
The invitees filed in bearing the usual burnt offerings: mugs, clockwork penises, the books they’d got for their birthdays. Then Lucy arrived, looking unbefuckinglievable, and handed over a bag containing not one, but five parcels. She called it a “writer’s kit”: bottle of wine, wine glass, gourmet coffee beans, silver coffee cup and saucer, silver ashtray. I’d been harping on about writing my sitcom for too long, she said. This might be the kick up the arse I needed.
I was speechless. In all my born days, no one, but no one, not girlfriends, not parents, not even Nana Rose, had put that much thought into buying a present for me.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant daze; no one got punched or poisoned, and everyone seemed to get on.
As I lay in bed that night, the cogs refused to stop turning. I’d established nine months before that I wasn’t good enough for Lucy. But with the presents, things had changed. More to the point, I had changed. Round about the time I’d met Lucy—perhaps not, it now occurred to me, coincidentally—I had cut out the excess boozing and started going regularly to the gym, with the result that I could now face the mirror again. I’d started to put more thought into the way I dressed. I’d joined the office choir and discovered a reasonably impressive tenor voice. I’d had a couple of half-decent articles published and was building a reputation as one of the more able subeditors on the paper. I’d had one relatively normal three-month relationship; and as my party had just proved, there were still at least 25 people in the world who liked me. Most of all, I’d got my confidence back. I was, as much as I’d ever be, a marketable proposition. Was there a glimmer of hope after all? Was it time to reassess the situation?
Five days later came the perfect opportunity to do just that. Lucy and her flatmates had decided to flick the Vs at the accursed saint by throwing an “anti-Valentine’s” party for their single friends. Since available men were in short supply, Lucy asked if I could help. Only two candidates sprang to mind: Guy and Phil. While Phil wouldn’t have been my first choice for Phone a Friend on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, he was usually a fun addition to a gathering, and was as far from Lucy’s type as I could imagine; and Guy, for all his flaws, wouldn’t dream of screwing me over.
Things warmed up fairly quickly thanks to a crate of champagne courtesy of Lucy’s rich friend Quentin and Phil’s patented icebreaker games. Then, after about an hour, Lucy retreated to her room. Personal phone call? Makeup adjustment? Five minutes passed. Was this the time to say something? I might never get a better chance.
I was steeling myself to knock when a squeal came from behind the door: “Phil!” I’d never heard her sound so … girly before. “Come in here.”
As I stood frozen in the hallway, Phil strolled up to the door, winked, and pushed past me into her bedroom.
♦◊♦
An ambulance wailed in the street outside as Phil closed the door behind him. Lucy, glancing up from the bed, tried to look as insouciant as possible.
“What’s occurring, babe?” drawled Phil, depositing his can of lager on the bookshelf and wiping a blob of guacamole from his lip.
“I wanted to talk to you … alone.” Lucy rose from the bed and wafted elegantly across to where he stood.
Phil gazed up at her through his inch-thick glasses and smiled, revealing his crooked, yellowing teeth. “Phwoarr. D’ya fancy it then?”
He stroked his hand contentedly over his paunch as Lucy stepped back and unhooked the straps of her dress.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” ejaculated Phil. “Well tasty!”
♦◊♦
I recognised the feeling straight away. It was the same twinge that had hit me the first time Lucy mentioned another man, only a thousand times more powerful. It was all I could do to stop myself throwing up on the spot. I asked Guy to pass on the message that I wasn’t feeling well and ran into the street to find a cab.
That night, unable to sleep, I weighed up my options. The correct thing to do, clearly, was nothing. The grown-up course of action was to take a deep breath and keep quiet. Except something wonderful had happened.
I felt shit.
It was as if I’d been Arsenal’s most loyal, most passionate supporter my whole life, and they’d just been beaten in the Champions League final by a last-minute goal from Man United. There was a cavernous void in my stomach. I was crying. Heck, for the first time in 15 years, I actually wanted to kill myself.
Excellent!
If I could still experience misery this profound, this intense, then I could also, theoretically, still feel joy. And if it was Lucy who was inflicting this misery on me, then surely she was the key to any possible future happiness. I had to tell her how I felt.
Besides, this was Phil we were talking about. Phil, who openly boasted of having bedded more than 300 women. Phil, whose reaction on meeting Mirjam had been to pull a face and suck air in through his teeth. Phil, whose idea of safe sex was to only fuck virgins.
So on Monday morning, at work, I asked Lucy to join me for a cigarette in the corridor. “I’m sorry,” I said as she took her first puff, “but I love you.”
The first clue as to which way the wind might be blowing came a couple of days later. Lucy was telling me about another nice, intelligent male friend who had fallen for her: “He’s another one I wish I liked,” she said, without any apparent premeditation.
|
I admitted my timing could have been better; and I assured her that I was not deliberately trying to undermine her budding relationship with Phil. (Although I may have let slip that if she did carry on seeing him, I couldn’t see them lasting more than two weeks.) I was simply acquainting her with all the relevant facts so that she could make an informed decision.
Lucy’s initial handling of the situation was masterful. She took me out to lunch for a sneaky couple of vodka and oranges. Her emails were sweet and perfectly judged: she was “so flattered”, she said. I’d made her feel “amazing”. She promised she wouldn’t see Phil again for a while, at least until she’d had some time to think. And she agreed to go on a “zeroth date”, a no-pressure drink and meal that ended up back at her place with Lucy sitting on my lap as I read parts of her novel on her computer.
I also, of course, had to explain things to Phil. He was less understanding. But eventually I persuaded him that the matter would be settled more conclusively by Lucy than by fisticuffs.
The games evening we had scheduled for the following weekend turned into an emergency summit meeting where the rival parties put their cases. Lucy’s options, essentially, were to choose neither of us; to go for a short, thick Essex paparazzo who’d known her for 90 minutes and wanted her because she was, and I quote, “a fit bird”; or to go for the nice, intelligent guy who had been her closest companion for nine months, who had seen every side of her, and who loved her more than life itself.
She pleaded for more time to think.
The first clue as to which way the wind might be blowing came a couple of days later. Lucy was telling me about another nice, intelligent male friend who had fallen for her: “He’s another one I wish I liked,” she said, without any apparent premeditation.
But things were not yet set in stone. There was still time for my closing statement, and I knew just when to deliver it. Lucy’s birthday party was the following weekend, and Phil wasn’t going.
I took the three days before the party off work. I got out the wine, the glass, the cup and saucer, coffee beans and ashtray, threw in two bottles of vodka, and buckled down. Sod the sitcom—this was my metier, my chef d’oeuvre, my raison d’etre.
I’ve explained how Lucy, despite her abundance of natural advantages, suffered from a crippling lack of confidence. A large proportion of our emails and most of our conversation had consisted of me reassuring her about her weight, her looks, her writing ability. But as I wouldn’t always be there to give her that support—even if we did get together—I figured she needed a more permanent resource.
And at 8am on the morning of her party, the “Little Blue Book” was finished. A handmade volume of 366 pages—one for every day of the year—each featuring a different reason to be cheerful. So if ever Lucy woke up one day and felt a bit down, she could open it to the relevant date and find a joke, an aphorism, a poem, a memory or a cartoon reminding her how special she was.
And she took it, and spent so much time reading it that she hardly spoke to any of her guests, and at the end of the night she looked up at me with tears of gratitude and begged me to hold her all night long.
Well, that was the plan. In the event, of course, she had no time even to open the book. In fact, she didn’t get back to me the next day, or the day after that.
When we did finally meet, she was odd, terse, guarded. She loved my present, she said, but … yes, she was seeing Phil. And she had been since Valentine’s Day.
Their relationship lasted 13 days.
♦◊♦
According to a 2008 study at New Mexico State University, men who are narcissistic, thrill-seeking liars and all round “bad boys” tend to have the greatest success in finding sexual partners. College students who scored high in the “dark triad” of qualities—a tendency to lie and manipulate others, narcissistic selfishness, and an impulsiveness that gave little thought to consequence—generally had more partners and greater desire for short-term relationships. The authors of the paper theorised that the root of these males’ good fortune was simply that they tried it on with more women, and were therefore, by the law of averages, likely to ensnare more.
Do women prefer louts? Read Andy Bodle’s Keep That Wanker Away from Me on The Good Life.
Image credit: ClickFlashPhotos / Nicki Varkevisser/Flickr
She was the most available women you will ever find & you blew it through lack of confidence & ability. Beautiful women are like racing super motor bikes – you can either handle them or you can’t. You couldn’t & if this was a motor bike like a Ducati 996 you would have been hurt very badly.
Beautifully written story. I worry that I might be exactly like Lucy, and it makes me feel horrible. I’ve got amazing guy friends (one stands out in particular), but tend to date hot, rugged assholes, and confide my frustrations about my piss-poor luck in love in my friends- several of whom I’m pretty sure have feelings for me. It’s senseless and illogical, I know. My best guess is that I’m just really shallow, and am drawn to conventionally attractive dudes who woo me like crazy at first, and then treat me like shit after. I’m mad at myself for being… Read more »
Wow, what a miserable story: TWO people with lousy self-esteem. *She* kept throwing herself at undeserving guys, probably because she didn’t think she deserved better, and *he* kept pining for silly her, never once thinking that he deserved better than some gal with such low self-esteem (was she ever going to be able to appreciate him, under those circumstances? Doubtful!). That story should have ended a LOT sooner. is As for the New Mexico study, perhaps this is one partial explanation: self-confidence by itself is an attractive quality, and narcissists never doubt themselves. Whenever something goes wrong, it’s always someone… Read more »
Been there, but its your own fault my friend. If you don’t value what you have to offer a woman then how is she to do so. Sounds like she gave you all the opportunities in the world on the first date, and you failed to take them. Nice writing.
I sympathise, having basically been through the same thing. But eh, like you, I never told her how I really felt early on. That kinda lays the foundation for all the frustration to follow. The other part of the problem is building up of one person into this potential life-partner. It’s good that people know men do feel these things and can want them even when it’s entirely one-sided. Ultimately though, I don’t think it’s really beneficial to anyone. Which is why if I ever return to the dating game, the candle-holding thing is well and truly over and done… Read more »
Not that men don’t have the right to not have sex with someone. Of course they do. But to a horny woman it’s rather taxing hearing these fallacies of women getting all the sex they want, whenever they want it, whoever they want it with.
Shunned Lady It is impossible for anyone to obtain sex anytime, anywhere, with whoever they want, merely due to limitations of logistics and time and space. I am not claiming that. You are making that up because this claim is very easy to refute. My claim is that all other things equal, an average woman can obtain sex much more easily than an average man. Its a comparison I’m making not some absolute claim. You should ask yourself why you’re not having sex. Why do you feel the need to blame it on sexual unavailability of men. Are you afraid… Read more »
I’ve been single and horny many times in my life, yet the thought of going to a bar and meeting some random guy for sex sounds revolting. It sounds like a good way to catch an STD. I’ve had a few casual experiences in my life (with friends or acquaintances) and the sex was mediocre at best. It’s also a good way to ruin a friendship, because afterward it’s just extremely weird and awkward. So, while I’m not denying that it is probably easier for women to find casual sex, it’s not an appealing option. I’d always prefer to have… Read more »
Ah, female advantage in the dating marketplace rears its head again.
Women get to worry about the “quality” of the sex. They never have to worry if they’ll never get any.
“Women get to worry about the “quality” of the sex. They never have to worry if they’ll never get any.” I worry about the quality of the sex all the time. What she says is true. Casual sex is mediocre. The basic fact is math doesn’t lie. There are as many women as men.. Every time a women has sex, a man has sex. Women simply don’t have it easier than men and its a lie that they can get casual sex easily. That said men have the role of initiating and if you can’t perform that role as a… Read more »
@Byay Area Guy — WOW, you are so completely wrong it’s mindboggling. Age has a lot to do with it, too. Hit 35 or 40 and be female and single, and you soon discover that many of your male contemporaries are eyeballing younger women. Hit 50 as a single woman, and too many of your male contemporaries are chasing 20-somethings to convince themselves they’re still attractive. It’s ugly. Your choices and chances are *much* slimmer than guys think. Especially true if you’re a really intelligent woman: the average guy really isn’t for you anyway, because you’re looking for a peer… Read more »
Webdiva Your choices and chances are *much* slimmer than guys think. Especially true if you’re a really intelligent woman: the average guy really isn’t for you anyway, What about intelligent men? Why don’t they have your mentality of ‘if you’re an intelligent guy the average woman really isn’t for you anyway’ ? Why don’t they complain that they have a smaller pool of women who are good enough for and measure up to them? Why are only women obsessed with men ‘measuring up’ to them? Why are you using hyperboles like dating a brick layer? No one is talking about… Read more »
Would you agree that there’s a qualitative difference between going to bed hungry because you haven’t been to the store in a while and there’s nothing appetizing in the kitchen, versus going to bed hungry because there’s no food in the kitchen because you can’t afford to buy any?
I’d be curious to know how much interest Lucy was actually showing in these guys.
If she was essentially just picked up, then that at least is an example of the gender disparity here.
Low-confidence guy goes home alone. Low-confidence girl goes home with someone else.
We are told she is gorgeous in looks. So even if she had low confidence its understandable that men were interested in her. But what I cant help but notice is that, to a young woman, as long as she is alright in looks and above, literally no man in the world is off limits. No man is beyond her league. Even men who are larger than life – the real life Christian Gray’s, Br Big’s and Don Drapers…they’re all within reach as long as they are in physical proximity. These men don’t mind if a woman is much lesser… Read more »
Tim: Sadly, not so with the sex part, either. (” Women face romantic rejection but rarely sexual rejection from men”) 🙁 I’ve had it happen to me more than once, that the man I was romantically intrested in wouldn’t reciprocate my love, BUT wouldn’t “give” me any sex, either. And no, I’m not ugly in any way.
I guess they just thought it was too intimate. Which of course is their right.
Really awesome article. Bravo, Andy. Before this conversation gets too Mars-and-Venus-ified, I want to point out that the male/female dynamic here can be easily reversed. Twice in my life, I’ve been in the position of a male “Lucy,” where my close (female) friend fell in love and/or lust with me. The first time this happened, I denied the girl’s advances, because I was at a point in my life where I just wanted to be free and have fun, and I knew that I couldn’t hook up with her without it becoming a “big thing.” The second time it happened… Read more »
Jay Let me point out some nuances in the “dudes can do this to women too” 1) Women face romantic rejection but rarely sexual rejection from men. Even when a woman has a huge crush on a larger than life, way out of league, amazing male, she can still, in most cases, have a sexual relationship with him. 2) Breaking hearts, rejecting and playing…its something few men can do to women. Most men aren’t amazing enough to hurt women. But most women are amazing enough to hurt men. Many women in their lives get to be in a position to… Read more »
Tim – you’re grouping apples and oranges in your second point. I agree that rejection is predominantly a woman’s instrument of selection (not always, but a clear preponderance), but breaking hearts implies a connection has been somewhat established, and I don’t think that the casualties of broken hearts are primarily men.
Hey Tim, Definitely agree with your first point. For reasons partly biological and partly socially-conditioned, I think men are much more likely and willing to have sex with just about anyone reasonably attractive. Your second point is ridiculous though. “Most men aren’t amazing enough to hurt women. But most women are amazing enough to hurt men.” What, are you serious? You’re telling me the average woman is just plain better than the average man? Better in what way? Smarter? Stronger? More talented? Better sense of humor? Nonsense. That’s some real internalized misandry there. XY folks are awesome, too. Start telling… Read more »
I too disagree with Tim. I have rejected women sexually twice. I have been sexually rejected once. And I really suck with women. I rejected the one because I didn’t like her and i thought if we had sex I would feel obligated to have a relationship with her. I was actually on the verge…we were making out and I was touching her but said I had to leave because it was getting late. The second I rejected because I thought she would end up growing attached to me and getting angry because I didn’t want to have a relationship… Read more »
@assman….
I rejected a woman I really wanted to have sex with while I was married and in a sexless marriage. But, I just could not bring my self to be an adulterer. I am not a very religious man. I just that there are lines I will not cross.
She no longer talks to me, at all. Even if I text her Happy Birthday, she never replies. So, I stopped.
But most women are amazing enough to hurt men.
While I agree with most of what you say, Tim, I disagree with this statement. Most women are hardly “amazing.” I guess the point you’re trying to make is that since men find a wider variety of women attractive than vice versa, they are more alluring and influential over men than vice versa?
I’m sorry she didn’t love you back, but it sounds like she really did in a way. Just not the same way you did. I hope you see how valuable you were to her and don’t think the value is diminished by the fact that she didn’t want to have sex with you (which is really what all of this is about). Guys are bitter about the friend zone, but I will say this: a friend is someone you love but don’t want to sleep with. So she did love you back, she just didn’t want to sleep with you.… Read more »
I take all your points on board, and I have over the intervening years learned to find the positives in this (after a period of estrangement, I’m pleased to say that Lucy and I are friends again). But it most emphatically was not all about sex. I’d spent a year being her best friend. Yes, I fancied her – but I also wanted to marry her, have her babies and spend the rest of my life with her. Phil’s attraction was only physical; that’s why it hurt so much.
But here’s what I’ve noticed: Of course, women don’t date men because they are louts. Of course, they date them in spite of the fact that they are louts. But the kicker is that the traits that make men louts are the same traits that give rise to the qualities that women often seem to prefer… Confidence? The grandiose self-image and entitlement of narcissism begets a lot of confidence. A focus on his own self-interest and a disregard for what she wants also helps a guy display confidence. Excitement? The thrill-seeking impulsiveness that makes a guy exciting goes hand-in-hand with… Read more »
^^^^Comment of the day.
Too true. It wasn’t until I built a cold, hard exterior that I started becoming successful with women, and it really is a shame. I feel like I had so much more to offer, before this.
I think its the same with women. Those average looking girls with shy personality have no better deals I guess. Maybe they are just invincible to many men ( who only think of attractive girls as a potential lover ). Sometimes we see many attractive and charming girls all have been taken and feel bad and lonely about it, but we never saw the average and shy girls who were not popular back in school. I’m guilty of that one too. Statistics showed that there are more single women in USA. But where are their voices? Because in the internet… Read more »
John I am more inclined to sympathize with a person who has zero options, than someone who has 5 but feels they aren’t good enough. There is an important difference between men and women who are single and lonely. Most women who are single don’t necessarily bemoan their inability to attract men. They complain about the dating landscape being full of ‘players’ and ‘losers’ – Players being the men they find attractive but are only available for sex while losers being men who are available easily but not good enough for them. That is totally fine. I don’t judge them… Read more »
Now I try to remember many girls who are invisible to me ( or I never think of them seriously ) in high school. Those average girls, those fat / skinny girls, those shy girls, those quiet girls, those nerdy bookworm girls. And I really really doubt if they can get sexual relationship with any hot guy they want. I wasn’t really a popular guy back then but I was well known as a great guitarist in high school, although I’m quiet shy. There was this average looking girl who are not popular and she kept approaching me, gave me… Read more »
Average girls who stick to their principles definitely cannot get any guy they want. There are some who bemoan the fact they can’t attract anyone and then get a reputation as ‘easy’, but while they might be able to get sex they still can’t get any guy they want. I’ve been approached by average girls and pretty girls, but if I don’t like how they act or their personalty I don’t go for them. I was attracted to an average looking girl back in high school that not many people liked. She was religious and a goody two shoes as… Read more »
John & Jamie
All I can say to you is that I’m not talking in absolutes. The difference is of degree. Stop looking for chinks in my armor.
Katherine
You dont have to sound apologetic. Its patronizing to men.
What’s attractive is attractive
“a short, thick Essex paparazzo who’d known her for 90 minutes”
On a complete tangent, here it is again: When you want to disparage the romantic potential of a man, one of the common go-to words is “short.”
I have a similar problem with “bald” (and before that, “ginger”). Please understand that I don’t routinely disparage people because of their height; but I can’t deny that those thoughts passed through my head at the time. When it comes to competition in the mating game, our primitive brains don’t play fair.
Understood, Andy. Our primitive brains don’t play fair, and they go to “short” because it works, fair or not. I point it out in hopes of spreading the word that height bias is a real thing.
You know Andy. I am a thinker much like yourself. I found myself in a stage of my life, tired of being hurt, by people and circumstances. So I decided to be the cold hearted ahole that always gets that girl. And it worked. But it made me cold and even more bitter. Cause as soon as I dropped the fasade with the once I actually fell in love with, they lost interest. This just made my hole of darkness deeper. Finally I found myself dating three girls at the same time, in three different cities. The worst part is… Read more »
Nice writing!
You got played. Sorry man, I really am.