Sex & The Single Girl - Textual Healing

I met Dan in a bar three months after Matt and l broke up. During that time the only man I'd been intimate with was Gino Ginelli and he was no longer giving me the satisfaction I needed. So, after 13 weeks of abstinence, it was time to shoehorn myself into my tightest jeans and drag my flatmate, Lucy, into town. Dan was like a gift. Six foot two – tick. Cheeky grin – tick. Musician and writer – tick. Looking to have some fun – bingo! So why the hell didn't he ask me out?

Lucy consoled me the next day. 'You know what those tortured artists are like,' she said. So l was pleasantly surprised when he texted me that night. In fact, he texted every night that week. But texting was all he did. The distinct lack of 'meeting-up' talk from Dan was beginning to concern me. Was he just looking for friendship? On day eight, my question was answered, in four little words.

I was performing my bi-monthly home hair-dyeing ritual – and while l was waiting with a plastic bag on my head for the colour to take effect, my phone beeped. It was Dan - 'What are you wearing?'
If we were sticking to the truth, the conversation would have gone like this:
Him: 'What are you wearing?'
Me: 'A Snoopy T-shirt, a Tesco carrier and a pair of rubber gloves.'
Him: 'What are you doing?'
Me: 'Rubbing milk into my head – a dye-stain removal trick.'
Him: 'Are you wet?'
Me: 'Yes, there's milk and red dye all over the place.'

But dating isn't about the truth, is it? I'll spare you the details of the conversation, but let's just say the words 'milk' and 'head' were replaced with 'baby oil' and 'breasts'. And that marked the start of a beautiful textual relationship. I was too busy stressing about my hair to get any physical satisfaction, but I certainly got satisfaction from the knowledge that I could turn a man on with just a few words. It was the perfect post-break-up ego boost. It did the trick for Dan too, because from that moment, we were 'virtually' inseparable – for an hour at bedtime, on the train to work, in my lunch break... And as our textual relationship grew, so did our confidence. The more experienced we became at dirty talk, the more addictive it was.

Dan had a vivid imagination and a way with words. More importantly he made me sound like a goddess, because in his mind I was a goddess. No cellulite or streaky fake tan – imagination comes with an airbrush facility. In our fantasies, he had Superman's stamina, I had the moves of a pole dancer.

Of course, when we agreed to meet up after two months, the reality was very
different. Dan turned up at my place and pulled me straight into the bedroom, but he was clearly embarrassed about his generous descriptions of his vital statistic, and the sight of me looking nervous in a pair of slouchy vintage boots didn't quite match his vision of a dominatrix in thigh-highs. The sex was pedestrian, and so our first date marked the end of our relationship.

That's not to say I regret it – if you're over the worst of a break-up and dipping your toe in the dating pool again, no-strings text is perfect, as you can indulge your sexy side without any messy mixed-up feelings. But before reaching for the phone, take heed of some textual wisdom: one – 'Dan' is one letter away from 'Dad'; two – 'lick' comes up as 'kick' in predictive text; three – text sex in your lunch hour is a tease, text sex before a meeting is torture. And lastly – cybersex is best kept in cyberspace.

Author: Georgia Barlow