The Middle-Aged Virgin_A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel_Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles...

by Olivia Spring

  On the other end of the scale was Luke, a banker who sadly lived up to the stereotype. Proper geezer, or wanker as I’d prefer to phrase it. Well dressed and handsome, but also flashy, fast-talking and bloody annoying. Mum must have been having an off day with that recommendation, as he was the complete antithesis to the people they like. Oh, I get it. She probably thought that because I was into fancy designer stuff, he’d be right up my street. Definitely not.

  Whilst I knew she was trying to help, sadly none of her proposed suitors were remotely my type. If her friend’s son could make me laugh like Ryan Reynolds or Will Smith, with the body of Channing Tatum, then it would be a different matter entirely…

  But then again, maybe it was time to open my mind a little bit more. Charlie seemed interesting. I hadn’t looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, but maybe he was single?

  Oh, stop getting carried away, Sophia, and go and make some food.

  I was currently in my office on a call to Martha, an old-school journalist who could talk more than a chat-show host, when my mobile rang with a number I didn’t recognise. It was 1 p.m., and chances are I would be on the phone for at least another hour at this rate. Still, she was incredibly influential, and if she wrote about one of our products, it would make the sales go through the roof, so it was time well spent.

  The phone rang out, and then about a minute later, a voicemail flashed up. When eventually my call ended, I played the message.

  Sophia, Charlie here. Hope your appointment went well and you got home okay. I didn’t hear from you, so I’m assuming you did. Er, right, so, regarding the repair of your vehicle, it all seems straightforward. I won’t bore you with the details now. Give me a call back and I’ll run through it with you then. Also, you said you didn’t know how to repay me. Well, I was thinking, whilst repayment isn’t necessary, if you do insist, then how about dinner? I’m going away to Australia on business tomorrow for two weeks, so perhaps when I get back? I’ll leave that thought with you. Call me. Goodbye for now.

  Dinner? Mmm. I couldn’t help it. I started grinning. I was kind of excited. See, Reasanna? Maybe it wasn’t all in my head.

  Now I’m sure there were rules on playing it cool, waiting X amount of hours and minutes before replying so I didn’t appear too keen and all that nonsense, but I couldn’t be bothered to play games. I checked my diary. Yep, dinner in two weeks could work. Friday would be best for me.

  After my marathon phone call, I didn’t have time to call him back right then, as I had a stacked afternoon. I launched WhatsApp and started typing:

  Me

  Hi, Charlie, thanks for your call. I’ve got a hectic afternoon ahead, but glad to hear it should be straightforward re: fixing the car. Maybe we can discuss later?

  Dinner sounds lovely. How about two weeks on Friday?

  Enjoy the rest of your day.

  Sophia

  There. Simple. Now back to work.

  Well. Working was the plan. But I started getting carried away again…fuck.

  First I began picturing his chiselled jaw, sparkling eyes and megawatt smile. Then I was thinking again about how lovely and kind he was. Oh, how much my mum would love him. Such a nice, polite young man, she’d say. He also seemed successful. I liked that. Driven, ambitious, kind and handsome. He didn’t seem remotely weird, like some of the guys I’d met on Tinder. He was just so selfless and not at all sleazy. He seemed reliable, trustworthy, solid. Maybe even potentially good father, or failing that, sperm donor material…?

  Jesus! What was wrong with me? I had barely known the guy five minutes and already I was thinking about the future. After Lorenzo, I couldn’t go down this infatuation black hole again and waste hours dreaming about him, stalking him on Facebook, waiting for messages, then analysing messages. No fucking way. Not again. The whole point of making mistakes like that was to learn from them.

  I would not, I repeat, I would not spend the next two weeks letting my mind get carried away with this fantasy of some stranger I’d met yesterday called Charlie, that I didn’t know from Adam, being some sort of knight in shining armour.

  I would not, I repeat, I would not…

  As if it were a sign from above, my mobile rang.

  Maybe it’s Charlie, I thought before I’d even had a chance to check the screen.

  FFS, Sophia! screamed Reasanna. I thought you weren’t going to obsess over this guy, yet you already think he’s calling you one minute after you messaged him? Get a fucking grip!

  Reasanna was right. It wasn’t Charlie. It was, in fact, Roxy. Even though I was supposed to be working, I answered the call quickly.

  ‘Hi, Rox, how’s it going?’

  ‘I’m bored,’ she replied. ‘I’m supposed to be spending the afternoon working out the prices for a new range of tweezers we’re launching,’ she said, ‘but frankly I’d rather use them to pull out my own teeth right now than do that. I’m just not in the mood. So,’ she added, her voice brightening, ‘I thought you could cheer me up with some more of your Tinder tales. Come on, love, spill!’

  ‘Sorry, Rox. You’re all up to date. I told you all about last week’s dates and haven’t really messaged any of them since.’

  ‘Oh, what?’ she said, sounding disappointed. ‘Things are a bit quiet for me on the romantic front too, so I was hoping to live vicariously through you until my current FWB gets back tomorrow’.

  ‘FWB?’ I said, confused at another one of her acronyms.

  ‘Come on, Soph, that’s an easy one. Friend with benefits? The twenty-six-year-old I’ve been screwing? Remember?’ she said matter-of-factly.

  I racked my brains. Nope. Nothing.

  ‘Is that the one that plays football?’ I asked, still trying to scan my memory for clues.

  ‘No! That was Wayne. He was like two months ago. This is Danny. I mean actually, he’s more of a FB than an FWB, because technically we’re not really friends. And before you ask, FB is fuck buddy. More casual. We’re always safe, of course, but it’s purely fun, nothing less, nothing more.’

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve mentioned him to me, Roxy. I really don’t know how you do it. How do you switch off? How do you not get carried away and start planning your future and all that stuff that even the most sensible, logical woman might be tempted to do?’ I asked, clearly with myself in mind.

  ‘Fuck that future shit,’ she shouted. ‘Remember, been there, done that, worn the t-shirt. I have no intention of getting shackled again. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, and I’m still having fun. So that helps me not to get carried away. But also, I keep my options open and see other people too. That way I don’t have all of my eggs in one basket or waste time sitting around waiting for one guy to call me,’ she explained casually. ‘Why? You’re not still pining over the chef, are you?’

  ‘Oh God, no. That’s done. Finished. I’m over him now,’ I said as convincingly as I could. ‘No, it’s just this guy Charlie—’ Before I had a chance to finish she jumped in.

  ‘Charlie? Who the fuck is Charlie? You didn’t tell me about him! I thought you said you didn’t have any stories. Tell me now!’ she said, sounding like a showbiz reporter desperate for the latest celeb gossip.

  I recounted the story of what had happened.

  ‘Oooh, this is exciting, Soph!’ Roxy said enthusiastically. ‘It’s been, what, about a month since you drew a line under the whole Lorenzo thing? And you’re picking up men left, right and centre, aren’t you? Can’t believe you’ve pulled a billionaire. Who needs Tinder? Just drive like a madwoman and a rich toff can be yours!’ she cackled.

  ‘Well, Roxy, we don’t actually know he’s rich, and I’m not bothered by that anyway—I’ve got my own money, and I never want to be one of those women who just goes out with a guy so he can pay for everything. Not my style,’ I insisted.

  ‘Chill, Soph—I’m only joking! A lot of the rich ones are arrogant wankers anyway, and that’s the last thing either of us needs in our lives,’ she said.


  ‘I was just really taken by his kindness, and now I’m starting to get carried away, wondering if we will go on that date, how it will go, what will happen next. And I can’t allow myself to get sucked in again,’ I said like an addict on the verge of relapsing.

  ‘Honey, the best way to avoid that is to keep those options open. If he’s the only romantic prospect you have, you’ll put all of your focus on him and that’ll be disastrous. Especially if your goal is still to have a bit of fun. My advice is to get back on those sites and organise some more dates. You did well last week, but you’ve got to keep the momentum going.’

  ‘Yep, you’re right,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. So keep the Tinder thing going, but also try some of the others. Maybe a paid one like Match.com. Or, I know…’ she said like she’d just had a brainwave. ‘Try Bumble. As a control freak and a lady who isn’t afraid to take charge, that’d be right up your street, because only the women can make the first move. Stops a bunch of creeps you’re not interested in from contacting you.’

  ‘Hmm, that sounds like a plan. Thanks. I guess that’s this evening’s activities sorted, then. I’ll get on those tonight, then message you later to let you know how it goes.’

  ‘Good luck, Soph! Now stop all this gossiping, young lady, and get back to work. You’ve got a PR empire to run!’

  Keeping my options open. Signing up to some different dating sites. Taking control. Yes. I liked the sound of that.

  Let online dating round two commence…

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  So today marked day five of my new phase of online dating. It also showed that I was continuing to be brave and throw caution to the wind, as not only was I currently on my way to my first non-Tinder date, but said date had been arranged just ninety minutes ago. How’s that for being spontaneous and grabbing life by the balls?

  I could have very easily stayed at the office or curled up with my iPad in bed, looking over the team’s plans for Anoushka’s campaign, which is what had almost happened when I’d arrived home at 7.40 p.m. and found myself bored out of my mind by 8 p.m. But then Vincenzo had messaged to say he’d finished work earlier than expected and wondered if I wanted to meet for a drink. And like the spontaneous, social butterfly that I was (well, outside of work I clearly wasn’t, but I was trying to be…), I remembered my MAP plan and said yes.

  So here I was. It was 9.55 p.m. on a Friday night, and after throwing on a body-hugging sleeveless navy dress and some nude heels, quickly adding some loose waves in my hair, then swiping on some red lipstick in the back of the cab, I was now hovering inside the WH Smith’s at Waterloo, waiting to spot Vincenzo, the guy I’ve been messaging for the past three days.

  Since speaking to Roxy on Monday about keeping my options open, I was now managing three apps: Tinder, Match.com and Bumble. I was excited to try Bumble as it’s touted as the one that allows women to ‘take control’, so I made a beeline (ahem) for that first. Once I’d uploaded my pics, then copied and pasted the profile I’d used previously on Tinder, I’d started swiping immediately and could not believe the calibre of men. It was incredible.

  Whilst on Tinder, I’d be lucky to swipe right for one guy in every hundred (I know, very picky), on Bumble, I found myself liking literally every third guy. And it wasn’t just for purely shallow reasons (although hello? The men here all seemed to be stunning specimens). The guys also sounded fascinating. There were company founders, directors, musicians, actors, scientists…wow.

  Just like when I’d first started using Tinder, the swiping was addictive. Plus, if you swiped left too hastily, Bumble also allowed you to backtrack three times for free. Once I’d matched with someone, I was then able to message them and take control. Yes! Here we go, I thought. No more waiting around for them to make the first move. I, Sophia Huntingdon, am in the driver’s seat now. And because each match expired in twenty-four hours, there was a speedy turnaround too.

  I quickly matched with a gorgeous Italian (I know, I know) who loved food, films and music. Sounded perfect. I couldn’t wait to craft my message:

  Ciao, Pierluigi, come sta? I also enjoy good company, conversation, films, music and Italy (I’ve been twice in the last few months). If you fancy chatting/meeting, then drop me a line.

  Nice, enthusiastic, light and not too long. Great.

  And then it happened…

  Nothing.

  Rien.

  Twenty-four hours passed and no reply. After this happened a few times, I quickly realised that whilst, yes, as a woman you do have the so-called ‘power’ to be the one to message first (which, let’s face it, you could also do on Tinder if you chose to), as with any conversation, it still takes two to tango. Thus, it doesn’t eliminate the fact that you still need to wait for the man to make contact by replying.

  After a day or so, I did start to get some messages. And once again, it didn’t take me long to see that just because you messaged them first, even if they did reply, it didn’t stop the responses from being overtly sexual. For example, the response to ‘Hello, Nathan, how are you?’ was ‘You are sexy, I want to lick you.’ Okay, then… At that point, I decided it was time to try Match.com.

  As it was a paid site and required you to fill out an extensive list of questions about yourself, your hobbies and the kind of guy you were looking for, I hoped it would attract a more serious clientele. After all, if you just wanted a quick shag, you probably wouldn’t want to sit there answering questions about your religion and how important marriage was to you. Right?

  I signed up for six months, which I thought demonstrated my commitment to the cause and recognition that I wasn’t expecting to find ‘the one’ overnight. I uploaded the photos I’d used on Tinder as well as a couple of extras, diligently completed the questionnaire and was ready to go.

  Initially, I was bowled over by the hundreds of favourites, winks and views I’d received within the first twenty-four hours of joining, but then my fast lesson was that quantity does not always equate to ‘quality’—i.e., someone that you personally feel ticks your boxes.

  I’d also received about thirty messages from guys of all ages, including Connor, aged twenty-one (whose message read: ‘Hey, age is just a number, right?’) and Reginald, aged seventy-two (yes, really—despite setting my parameters to ages thirty to forty-five). What was also interesting about the messages was that, whilst many were short, others went in completely the opposite direction by sending full-blown covering letters.

  For example, ‘Theperfectguy’ (oh, that’s another thing about this site, people can give themselves silly usernames), who revealed himself to be Roger, aged forty-three, clearly put a lot of effort into applying for the position of ‘potential boyfriend’:

  Hi, Thea,

  I have just come across your profile and I would love to get to know you.

  Unfortunately my membership expires tomorrow and I do not plan to extend it.

  If you would like to get to know me, you can contact me either via email at:

  roger@rogergreen.com or call/text my mobile/whatsapp at 07001 222 313

  As I am leaving this site and I would love to get to know you, let me disclose more about me in case you would wish to contact me in the future. My full name is Roger Green. You can find me on different social media sites including Facebook and LinkedIn. Please feel free to connect with me. If interested in what I do professionally, you can visit my website at www.rogergreen.com

  If I do not hear from you, I wish you all the very best in your search for true love and happiness.

  Roger

  Well, he’d certainly supplied a sufficient number of ‘references’ to verify his suitability for the position. It was so polite, I was almost tempted to reply, but as I wasn’t attracted to him, it would be fruitless. I also found it hilarious that two days later, I spotted the green dot on his Match.com profile, indicating that he was online. So much for that expiring membership!

  As well as the polite covering letter, just like Tinder and Bum
ble, there were the sexual messages:

  Javier:

  HIM: wow I love your legs. Can I gift you louboutins?

  ME: Thank you for the kind offer of shoes, however I already have a few pairs of my own so I’m fine thanks. Tell me, what are you looking for on this site? Just a hook-up?

  HIM: Probably…your legs and feet excite me Lol

  Aaaargggh! Clearly, it doesn’t matter which app you use. Men are men. And whilst I was looking to lose my MARGINITY and wanted some fun, the direct, one-night-only hook-up wasn’t really for me.

  Then, just as I was about to tear my hair out, Vincenzo got in touch.

  Although he wasn’t my normal gorgeous, bearded type, I was attracted to his lovely warm smile, full lips—oh, and of course, the fact that he was Italian. Plus, I loved that his messages were respectful and attentive.

  Through our frequent messages over the past few days, I’d learnt that he was thirty-seven, from Naples, had been living in London for five years, worked as a manager for a boutique hotel in Piccadilly, and loved wine, travelling and cooking. Crucially, he actually knew how to hold an online conversation. This was rarer than you might think as many of the conversations I had attempted to have on all three of these dating apps often went a little something like:

  First contact

  Them: Hey beautiful

  Me: Hello, how are you?

  (Yes, yes, ignore the fact that I’d responded to someone who had started the conversation with hey beautiful. I was trying to keep an open mind and not be so rigid. Don’t judge…)

  One day later…

  Them: Good thx, u?