Background

Meet Martin: super-hot, blonde, six-foot tall, with blue eyes. A man who worked for the media. I liked him from the beginning of my Match.com adventure, and for once so did my dearest friend Bianca. He had a daughter who lived with her mother and was looking for a serious relationship. He also mentioned that he longed for more kids.

Pre-date

After we exchanged a few rather boring emails on Match, we swapped numbers. But for the first time in my dating history, I was confronted with a real communication problem. I struggled to find things to say and he didn’t help with dead-end questions, such as: “What’s up?” and “How are you?”

It all kind of fizzled out and I didn’t hear from him for a while. But then one day, I received an unexpected text message…

Chat No.1

Martin: < Hey, how are you? X >

Moi: < What’s up? xxx >

Martin: < Im good. Still single? X >

Moi: < I’ve been single for a few days. Ha ha >

Martin: < Really. Wow, why did it end? X >

Moi: < I’m not good at long distance relationships. What about you? Xxx >

Martin: <where did he live? Been single x >

Moi: < He lived in Leeds >

Moi: < How come? A good-looking man like you? Any date? I won’t believe you if you say no. Xxx >

Martin: < No dates. Im waiting for u. Youll look great in ur sexy underwear xxxxxx >

Moi: < Why didn’t you call then? You’re so funny xxx >

Martin: < Ill call u a bit later. Wot u doing this eve? X >

Martin: < We shud be practicing for children u know x >

Moi: < Ha ha… Very funny! I’m in Paris and I’m coming back tomorrow. Xxx >

Martin: < Can u text me a pic of ur face again? Luv ur dark eyes x >

Moi: < You already have some pics of me, or did you delete them?Xx >

Martin: < New phone dont ave the now x >

Moi: < Just sent you an email. xx >

Martin: < Ill check my email now >

Martin: < V nice xxxx >

Well, his spelling left a lot to be desired, if I am honest. Seriously, why can’t people make more of an effort when it comes to dating?

I deliberately ignored the lingerie comment and was not particularly impressed by the text that mentioned ‘practising for children’. I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not. Again, I felt like I was missing something - maybe I didn’t get the joke. Maybe he was a freak? Not again, please!

As promised, he gave me a call later that day. He didn’t mention his inappropriate allusions to kids or lingerie. He sounded completely normal on the phone, although we only had a very quick chat. We promised to text each other to make plans for our first date.

Chat No.2

Later that night, I received this text from Martin: <I like u. Lu to hear u talk french to me whilst im pumping u hard and fast xxx>

The spelling was outrageous!! I questioned whether he was truly English, it was that bad. What sort of man writes this way? I almost requested a translation from my friend. And where was this sex thing was coming from? I didn’t recall inviting this sort of thing, so I didn’t respond and decided to ignore him.

He continued anyway and his spelling didn’t get any better:

< come to mine some day, ill like to suck and lick ur breasts whilst fingering ur warm wet pussy until u beg me to fuck u deep hard and fast. Then ill take my cock out quickly and spray my white cum all over ur body. Wud u like that?x >

Moi: < How long are you going to keep me? Lol. You seem to have lots of things on your mind. X >

Martin: < Forever i hope x >

Martin: < Youll be pregnant by xmas x >

Moi: < You’re joking, right? >

Martin: < Perhaps x >

It was suddenly crystal clear in my head: this could never become a serious relationship, but Martin inspired me to something new - he would be my booty call. My sex-friend! This concept was new to me, but I was now inspired to try it.

Martin was very interesting to me: he was the antithesis of the idea that I had of English men. I thought of them as much more reserved, even a little too shy for my liking.

Well, I had dreamed of finding someone more sexual than my former husband, and God gave me Martin. God has a weird sense of humour, eh?

Martin called me two minutes later to ask if I was available for a date with him that Saturday evening. Curiously, once again he made no reference to the texts we had just exchanged. Weird... was it all a bluff? Was he just a fantasist? Was he (to use one of my favourite English phrases) all talk and no trousers?

I needed to find out more for sure, so I accepted his invitation and was still excited to finally have the Friends wit Benefit experience, I had never had. As Saturday drew nearer, I was dreading the worst. What if his lovemaking was as bad as his spelling??

The Date

Date day! My fears had evaporated and now I could not wait. My first NSA (no strings attached) relationship! I was excited and the anticipation was delectable. Even as I was getting ready I knew I was not going to behave.

I asked myself a lot of questions as I preened and pampered myself: are we going to have a drink and then go straight to bed? Once at his, are we going to jump on each other, and have sex passionately and immediately like two bonobos? And once it’s done, would it be rude to go straight home? I could see myself during the intercourse saying whatever I wanted to, without any restraint - shocking or not. Bianca-style... I decided to call her but…

Merde! 6pm already?!? We were meeting at 7pm at Victoria Station. I was not ready at all, so now I was in a hurry. Wanting to have a quick shower and confusing speed with haste, I accidentally wetted my hair...shit! I could not leave with half of my head curly. I decided to wash all of it and go natural. Now I looked squarely like Diana Summer in State of Independence video. Except that my hair was being especially unruly and for some reason was un-stylable. I looked like a little poodle.

No, this would not do! I needed an emergency blow-dry and I could not take my hairdryer with me in the cab. I texted Martin to ask if we could meet at 7:30pm instead.

He responded by interrogating me.

Martin: < U going by tube? >

Moi: < Nope, cab. >

I did not appreciate this questioning, why couldn’t he just be accommodating?

Martin: < Actually I'm walking to station now so please be ASAP. >

Far from being a gentleman and accommodating my request, he was almost commanding me with this last message. The "be ASAP" part really galled me and I began to sulk. I mean the guy had me wait months for a date and then he complained about having to wait just thirty more minutes! I decided that I preferred to arrive late, rather than on time and not quite ready. He’ll wait, I thought, so be it.

Martin was waiting for me in front of the WH Smith inside the station. I recognised him instantly, even if he looked a bit older than his photos. Long live Photoshop! Also, while I was wearing very nice clothes for Monsieur, he was dressed quite poorly. A grey hooded sweater, dark jeans and brown moccasins. I was not impressed by his naff style.

I kissed him on the cheek à la French, as I always do. That’s when he requested that I follow him.

He sort of hop-walked along to begin with, but then noticing the way I was looking at him (and unashamedly judging him), he switched his walk to something that made him resemble John Travolta in Grease. I wondered which one of those two walks I hated the most.

Martin led me to the Slug & Lettuce where he ordered a bottle of wine. This surprised me because I thought we would just have a drink and make to his place. Is it not how hook-ups work?

But this date took a different turn, we even ordered a second bottle of wine. We couldn’t stop chatting! Nothing substantial was really said, but still, we were two happy little chatterboxes.

Martin revealed his lifestyle to me, and…wow. He told me that he goes to bed every night at 10:30pm, does not smoke and dislikes smokers (ouch!). He never eats between meals, never adds sugar or salt to his food. He cooks every day, doesn’t tolerate junk food, hates fat people, eats at least five portions of fruit and/or vegetables per day and drinks at least two litres of water per day.

All very different to my lifestyle…I am one of those people who think that whatever you do e.g. eat right, stay fit, don’t smoke, blah blah blah - we all die anyway.

And I do like junk food… And I smoke… I rarely cook… Add sugar to my coffee… Eat between meals…

Well, did I really care? No. I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted to fuck him that night.

Then, we talked about anything and everything: weather, politics, France, London, work, his daughter (he showed me the pictures, she is too cute). But to my increasing amazement, Martin made no reference to our sexting. I tried to mention it once, but he interrupted me by saying that he had changed his mind about the sort of relationship he wanted with me. He ‘did not want me to think that this was just about sex.’

What the hell?! It was all about sex, wasn’t it?

Post-date

What was this guy looking for exactly?? I was so confused! Okay, okay, get it together, Valérie. Martin was looking for a serious relationship; it was not just about sex for him. The question for me now was: what did I want? Did I want to commit to him? I struggled a lot with this question and still couldn’t be sure, so I decided that I would see him again, this time without expecting anything.

One Week Post-date

I got a text from Martin the following weekend: < What a fucking week, worked 2 much been thinking bout u... >

Oh! The neutrality of his text surprised me for once. I smiled back.

Three Weeks Post-date

It’s a good thing I had decided to continue seeing Martin ‘without expecting anything’, because it was at least another week before I heard from him again, imaginative with his greetings as ever:

Martin: < How are you? >

Moi: < Hello, my preferred ghost :) >

Martin never responded to my sarcasm, either because he didn’t get it or didn’t appreciate it.

Oh well, c’est la vie - I didn’t give a flying toss! By then I was dating Stephen. You’ll read, he’s no better...

Six Weeks Post-date

Martin and I had another little chat via text (his spelling and grammatical errors just washed over me by this point):

Martin: < how are u? >

Moi: < Fantastic! And you? >

Martin: < fancy a shag sat eve? >

Moi: < I have nothing planned. >

Martin: < Cool, can’t wait x >

Moi: < me too x >

Martin: < I’II cum all over your body > I had no response to that one.

The following Saturday morning, The Ladies called me in the morning to catch up. I said I would pop by ‘before and after meeting my sex-friend.’

Bianca was impressed, but Camellia hated the idea: “You’re not that kind of person, Valérie and you never will be; you’re a Parisian romantic.” This was true. But Martin didn’t inspire romance in me, he inspired sex. Full stop.

Later in the afternoon, while I was still with my friends, Martin advised me that his daughter’s mother would only be able to collect her much later in the day. She was coming at 9pm and since he had to be in bed at 10:30pm for his self-inflicted curfew, we couldn’t meet that day at all.

I didn’t mind. I was dancing all night at the Roof Gardens with my ladies and (honestly) didn’t want to leave anymore.

And I had no curfew.

Nine Weeks Post-date

A Tuesday night, I received another text from Martin. Shit! I had forgotten all about that guy in between all my new adventures...

Martin: <Wot u up to?>

Moi: <been chilling. How are you?>

Martin: <Im good U free later or tomorrow>

I was out that night for a date, so I declined.

Moi: <maybe tomorrow.>

Martin: <OK. U wont need any underwear x>

I think I smiled, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him. My desire for him had ceased a while ago. I wasn’t even interested but I liked to play his game.

Eleven Weeks Post-date

Monday morning and I was on a bus packed with people, all of us on our way to work. I received a text message with a picture attached, which I naively opened:

Martin: < Imgonna cum over ur tits and massage my cum over ur upper body and face. Then u can lick the cum off my fingersx >

I blushed straight away, and frantically tried to hide the dick pic that had appeared on my phone’s screen. I was mortified and I couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. I smiled around at everyone - as if nothing was wrong. But, got off the bus at the next stop. I walked for the rest of the journey completely ignoring Martin’s unsolicited texts.

Five Months Post-date

The morning after a very, very late night with The Ladies, I woke up around 11am, still drunk from bad wine from Camellia’s local pub. I was surprised to see a message from Martin on my phone – because I had not heard from him since his last X-rated text.

Martin: < Cant wait to cum over ur face. Im gonna fuck u like a dirty slut xxxx >

Then, when he had gotten no answer from me: < When can i stick my hard cock inside u?>

Martin: < Ill fuck ur ass if u want ?>

He concluded with: < Imgonna fuck ur mouth with my hard cock until u gagg. Then ill explide all over u x >

I was too drunk to even try to play his game.

Nine Months Post-date

Martin’s name on my mobile - again! I was like, God! Didn’t I block that guy yet?!

Martin: < we shud start practicing for babies soon X >

Moi: < this is really funny >

Martin: < Its true. Do u want to X >

Moi: < No >

Martin: < Can i call u to discuss tomottow ? X >

Moi: < Um, not really… >

Martin: < Stay single >

Moi: < Very LOL >

After this I blocked him from my phone. I didn’t want to hear from him anymore…

Fifteen Months Post-date

Martin left a voicemail on my phone. He said that he was in Knightsbridge and wondered if I was around. I didn’t bother responding. The sound of his voice gave me the shivers – and not in a good way. He was really beginning to piss me off; I couldn’t bear him anymore.

Eighteen Months Post-date

I received the following message on WhatsApp:

Martin: < drink this week? >

Moi: < who’s this? >

Martin: < Martin  >

Moi: < Oh my god Martin, you really, really don’t give up, do you? >

Martin: < drink this week? >

Moi: < send me a text when you’re free and I’ll see >

Martin: < a naughty one? >

Martin: < do you wanna fuck me? >

Moi: < No >

Merde! I needed to make sure I had blocked this guy everywhere: Skype, Facebook, Messenger, WhatsApp… Everywhere. He was already trying way too hard. I spent the next few minutes going through my phone and blocking him on any apps that I had spoken to him through. Now, he was blocked everywhere and he couldn’t contact me at all.

At least that was what I thought…

Twenty Months Post-date

A message through Viber…

Martin: < Are you in London>

Moi: < Who’s this? >

Martin: < Martin >

Martin: < Fancy a drink? >

Conclusion

Ooh là là…

This time I replied that I was in a serious relationship and I wasn’t interested.

I couldn’t believe it! This guy had been texting me all the time I had been playing the field, but nothing had ever come from it. We met once, we chatted a few times, we texted a lot. We kissed once or twice… but we never had a proper thing together.

He just kept hanging around…I wondered again what was wrong with him. Or was it me??? What was he looking for? At first, I found him fun and sexy and I really wanted to experience the ‘Friends with Benefits’ thing. But when I thought about it after all the texts and strange behaviour, I felt like I was just a piece of pussy to him. Martin never tried to go beyond the physical; we never connected throughout all those months that we were in touch.

Sacré Martin! Next!