Oasis of Crazy Fish

by Sasha Silver

  “Hi I am Brian, 34 (although on his profile information, it says 36). I work for myself and travel a lot due to the field of my work I am in! I have 1 year old son who is my world and comes first so someone who understands that is a must.

  I am looking for a friend to have lots of fun…. Iam not looking for a relationship to enjoy good times with a special lady friend. I am honest, straight to the point no lies or games, let’s just have some good fun”

  Let me translate that for you to real life terminology:

  I’m a horny 34-year-old man who doesn’t have a lot of time. I want to have sex and lots of it, but preferably with the same person(Although I might work my way through a few before I find the one I want to have regular sex with). I have my own business, but I have a secretary who clearly does all my wording and punctuating for me. I’m not a player because I am telling you up front that I don’t want a relationship. I just want occasional sex and don’t want to pay for a hooker. In return for my honesty and straight forwardness you will have lots of great sex with me because I am damn good in bed and you better be too.

  Being the curious girl that I am, I couldn’t help but chat him a bit. I wanted to know what made him tick.

  ME: So, from your profile I am guessing you’re just looking for a friend with benefits although I use the term loosely because I assume in between the benefits there isn’t a whole of friendship going on.

  Bryan: Hi Yes, I am looking for a friend with benefits. If we both get on then I wouldn’t mind the odd meal, night out or weekend away. Lol

  ME: Have you considered a hooker, not as expensive as you think?

  Bryan: Lol I just want a likeminded lady

  ME: I bet your finding it difficult huh?

  Bryan: Not really, but the majority are married or bored.

  ME: Oh well that’s a result then.

  Bryan: Not really, I want to meet a nice single lady. Then we can both have fun, no lies or cheating

  ME: You’re not getting this are you? If they are a nice lady she won’t want what you’re offering. Only get married, bored, slags, and hookers will give you what you want.

  Needless to say, Bryan and I didn’t hit it off, and he blocked me. I was fine with that, as I wasn’t looking for just the hook up.

  Charlie from Darwen

  I was sent a message from Charlie. He was so my type. I read his profile, which said he was a kind, caring man with a good heart. It also said that he had a good job, his own home and was looking for that special lady. “Yes! Finally!” I thought. A man who ticks several of my boxes…

  We started talking, but when he asked me what it was I was looking for, my heart sank. Normally, a guywho asks this question is just looking for a hook up. So, I decided to see if I would scare him off.

  ME: I’m looking for a boyfriend, a relationship that grows date by date. I never want a first date again and I want to get off this site.

  CHARLIE: Well, I’m looking to be friends first.

  Novel, I thought, as I waited for the, “but friends who fuck.” It didn’t take long.

  CHARLIE: You can chase me around the bedroom if you like.

  ME: Well, I don’t know about you, but there are not many friends I chase around the bedroom. So, really, you want ‘friends with benefits’, but more leaning towards the ‘benefits?’

  I give up!

  Real Men

  “Sasha, get off those awful sites and get out into the world and meet some real men.”

  A lot of people in my life tell me this. Well, here are a few stories about the real men that I have met in my life. I think you will see “real” men and no different from internet guys – there are still married ones, hook ups, and scammers.

  Policeman from Lancashire (A Married One)

  A few years ago, I was a witness to an awful car crash - the young girl is still in rehabilitation learning to walk and talk. A girl was stopped on the opposite side of the road waiting to turn right. She was blocking my path so I couldn’t drive(in fact, if I had gone like I was supposed to, the driver would have hit me in my car), but I saw the whole thing happen.

  The investigation that took place after that was quite stressful; solicitors from the girl’s family, from the driver, the police, all sorts.

  The policeman investigating turned up at my house to take my witness statement. Once my statement was taken, off he went. But he kept ringing me to clarify things.

  One night he texted me, “Do you fancy a coffee?”

  I was surprised because I thought I’d seen a wedding ring on his finger, and replied,“Aren’t you married?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Then, no thank you,” I replied.

  But there you have it: real life married man and a policeman.

  Albert from Preston (A “Hook Up” Guy)

  One day, a good friend of mine told me that her friend had seen me on Facebook and wanted to take me out on a date. I asked her about him all she would tell me was that he was a lovely man…and loaded.

  “Stop telling me he is loaded, like it should make a difference.” I could never go with a man just for money. I mean, if you fancied him and he had money? Bonus! But I couldn’t be with someone just because of money.

  My friend kept on and on about me meeting this guy, reminding me that he used to go out with a mutual friend of ours and how he treated her like a princess. She kept saying how lovely he was, how gentlemanly he was, and reiterating how rich he was. Eventually, I agreed to a date.

  I met Albert at a local pub for a drink, and spent the whole night fighting him off. He pawed at me all night. This from a guy that didn’t kiss our mutual friend for three months because he was such a gentleman? I managed to get away despite him trying everything to get in my car with me.

  Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I got a text from Albert thanking me for a lovely evening. I didn’t reply. The next minute my phone rang. I don’t know why I picked it up, because I am one of these stupid fucking people in life who cannot leave a phone ringing. Boy, do I wish I hadn’t answered it.

  “Hello?” I said. I couldn’t hear anything at first “Albert? Is that you?”

  “Hi, beautiful. I just wanted to hear your sexy voice.” His voice sounded funny and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then he started breathing funny and then I got it.

  “Are you having a wank?”

  “Yes. Thinking about you. Wishing you were here with me now.” Ewwwww

  I hung up and blocked him. And oh yes, I went to see my friend and told her what had happened. She couldn’t believe it. I think she thinks I was lying, but I can assure you I wasn’t.

  Kevin the Lodger

  I mentioned my lodger, Les, earlier – remember…body builder? Well, he was just one of many lodgers I’ve had over the years. It started with one, then it got to two, and finally I always had three, and for some reason, mostly men. It was a nightmare. At one point, I was convinced by another lodger to allow Kevin into my home. He had a dog and I really didn’t want a dog, let alone a third lodger. But he was friends with the other two guys so they nagged me until I gave in.

  Kevin really wasn’t that bad. He did drink quite a bit though. And sometimes I would see the remnants of that in my kitchen the next morning. Which really was the only thing about him that bothered me. In the main, though, he was quiet and kept to himself. He looked a bit rough and ready and his face had all the little red veins showing he was a big drinker. Enid was his little Jack Russell Terrier that went everywhere with him. Kevin spent a year with me until the night it all went wrong…

  One day as I was washing up at the sink talking to Sven, the other lodger from Slovakia, when Kevin came in and sat down. We somehow got talking about fireworks and I told how much I loved them. Evidently, he was going with friends to Blackpool the next night to watch the International Firework Competition and invited me to come along too. I don’t usually “break bread” with my lodgers, but Kevin kind of persuaded me and because there was a gro
up of people going and it was to something I liked, I gave in decided to go.

  The next night, it was cold, so I wrapped up warm with my scruffy jumper, leggings and my welly boots and I didn’t even put make up on. After all, this was a firework display in the dark, why did I need to look good? Kevin seemed disappointed at my look and said, “You’re wearing that? And not putting make up on?” I couldn’t see the harm and besides I do what I like.

  “Oh, should I not come, then?”

  “No, it’s fine.” Of course, it wasn’t really fine. I found that out soon enough.

  We were taking the train to Blackpool. Now, I don’t usually like taking trains. I like to know I can get home, but Kevin talked me into it, so I agreed. When we got on the train, we met a group of people. Now, I can be very loud and familiar, so we started to have a banter with this group, but it felt like Kevin was trying to get across that we were a couple. This surprised me. I panicked because at this point I was on the way to Blackpool with this guy, and I feel like I’ve been duped.

  As we pulled into the station in Blackpool, there was an announcement echoing through the station, “Ladies and gentlemen, the International Firework Competition has been cancelled tonight due to strong winds.”

  “Oh no. Now what?” I asked Kevin. My first thought was to just get right back on a train and head home. It should have done it, but I didn’t.

  “Well, I was meeting my friends in the pub, so we can go there tell them. Then, we’ll catch a train back home.”

  “Great, sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

  It was a Saturday night, so when we walked into the pub I could see all the ladies dressed up. To say that I felt out of place standing there’s me in my wellies, an old jumper, and no makeup would have been an understatement. But, almost immediately, a really nice looking, young guy came and stood next to me and started chatting. I assumed that he was one of Kevin’s friends because it had happened so quickly. I spent at least an hour chatting with him. Kevin was really giving me evils – I didn’t know what I had done. I was just being friendly to his mate. I ignored it.

  At one point, we went outside for a smoke. And we talked for a while before I asked,“So how do you know Kevin?”

  “Who is Kevin?” he asked. I looked at him for a minute, sure that he was going to say he was joking.

  “Kevin, the guy I walked in with tonight. You’re his friend, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’ve never met Kevin. Who is he?” I couldn’t believe what was happening. I honestly thought that I was just being friendly with one of Kevin’s friends, and apparently, I was flirting with a total stranger.

  “Oh, so why are you chatting to me?” I asked.

  “Because I fancy you.”

  “Oh, blimey. Really? I thought you were Kevin’s friend…” This, though not completely my fault, I knew was going to make for an awkward train ride home. Not to mention living in the same house together.

  At this point we were interrupted by Kevin. We ended up swapping numbers (Which, by the way, didn’t amount to anything as he wasn’t a big texter and he turned out to be not over his ex. I got bored waiting for him to make his mind up and it fizzled out). When Kevin had spotted us he said, “Come on, Sasha. We’re going somewhere else.” I said good bye to my new friend, and followed Kevin down the street to another pub.

  I glanced at my phone and noticed it was 11:00pm. I asked Kevin if he remembered what time the last train left. He said it was eleven-thirty. I figured he knew that because he was often in Blackpool. I said I didn’t want to stay that long, but he said that we were just going to this other pub to say hi to a friend, then, we could leave. I didn’t see the harm, so I followed.

  The bar was the poshest bar I’ve seen in ages. There were women all around me in their posh frocks, nice hair dos, makeup well applied, and the men eyeing the ladies up as they danced. And there I was in my jumper, no makeup, and my wellies. I was a bit miffed, and I stayed outside most of the night smoking. Kevin came out at one point to have a cigarette. He turned to me at one point and said, “Why don’t you like me, Sasha?”

  “I do like you, Kevin.”

  “Sasha! You know what I mean.” The tone of his voice had changed and I suddenly got it…

  “Oh, you mean…liiikkke.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m really sorry. I don’t think of you like that.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I had to be honest. I mean it wasn’t like I could just block him or delete him, he lived in my house.

  “I have loved you for ages. When Max used to come round, and you would both be on your phones, I would think what a foolish man he was. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you. I have money, Sasha. Lots of it. Just because I live with you doesn’t mean I have nothing. I’m an intelligent man. I have built machinery. I own a couple of houses in Spain, and I have loads in the bank.”

  “I’m sorry, Kevin, I don’t see you like that.”

  Then, to top off this terrible night, we missed our train home. I think Kevin was hoping we could stay in a hotel, but I refused. In hindsight, he probably planned the whole thing. We looked at taxis, but after finding out it was going to cost around £100 to get home we gave up on that idea. We were stranded. This is why I don’t take trains on dates.

  The only thing we found where we could stay was a gay bar that was open until six am. It wasn’t very warm or welcoming, however. I just remember feeling livid, tired, freezing and hungry – all at the same time. Kevin tried all night to impress me, but I was so cross with him. I felt he had conned me from the outset.

  Once we were home, Kevin came to tell me he was packing and moving that day. I tried to apologize, but he was having none of it. He packed his bags, and I never saw him again.

  I often wonder what would have happened that night if I’d felt better about how I looked; if I’d dressed properly for a date. Would I have been in a better frame of mind and able to accept what was happening? If he’d been honest, it might have been different. He wasn’t meeting any friends. Kevin had just arranged it for the two of us and not told me. But, in the end, I think his drinking scared me.

  Hans from Germany (The Scammer?)

  I wasn’t going to include this next story, but my closest friends who know I am writing this book keep asking me if I have written it yet. The reason I wasn’t going to include it, is that I haven’t told anybody the real truth. In fact, I’ve told so many lies, at one particular point, I stopped talking about it because I couldn’t remember who I had said what to. So, to my friends who are reading this, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I felt foolish and embarrassed and I didn’t want you to judge me or berate me. I know you might not have, but I was judging myself and berating myself enough. I didn’t need my family and friends to add to it. So here is the true story in ALL its glory.

  My best friend, Ann and I went on holiday to Turkey. The lies started right from the beginning; I told my family Ann had paid, I told others that somebody dropped out and I was offered a bargain. I’d had the shittiest year ever and was stony broke - on the verge of bankruptcy. So, you can see how going on holiday was a frivolous expenditure, and I knew people would think I was being silly. I just needed the sun on my face and to get away from life. I’d found a bargain £256 (about $325 American dollars) all-inclusive to Turkey for a week. I put it on my credit card, and Ann agreed to pay me back the next month.

  If you’re a single woman and in the need of some male loving, you need to get yourself to Turkey. Everywhere we turned a gorgeous young Turkish guy would try to chat us up; the barmen at the hotel, the waiters, the pool guys, the maintenance guys, guys on the street…the list was endless. Honestly, you had to see it to believe it. My word of advice is to follow your heart, but take your brain with you.

  I really wasn’t looking for a holiday romance, and had no intention of falling for the charms of these Turkish guys. I didn’t want to be a notch and another English woman on their bedpost. What’s that saying abou
t best intentions?

  On the first morning at the hotel I was collecting towels for the poolside from the Spa. I noticed a big sign on the reception desk advertising a Turkish Bath. Now, I’m not sure why they call it a “bath” because you never actually even see a bath. For those of you who don’t know what one is, it usually involves things like a massage, lots of bubbles, a good old body scrub and a warm water/freezing cold water experience. It’s supposed to revitalize the body by opening pores and then slamming them shut with cold water. I’ve heard that sometimes you get slapped with some sort of leaves as well. It was something I’d always wanted to try, so I asked about the price. The manager showed me around and explained what I could expect for the Turkish Bath. It sounded amazing and not badly priced either.

  When I caught up with Ann, I told her about the spa and the Turkish Bath. I told her how it was the one thing I always wanted. Ann had always wanted one too, apparently, and since it wasn’t too expensive, I went back and booked it for both of us.

  Later, aswe were sitting by the pool, a tall slender man wearing a baseball cap came and started talking to us. He looked like he might Turkish, but clearly didn’t sound like it as he spoke in a thick accented manner – I just couldn’t make out what the accent was. As he started trying to sell the different therapies in the spa to us, I stopped him and explained that I had just been down and booked the Turkish bath. That was that and off he went.

  The next morning, we excitedly went to the Spa. I thought the Turkish bath was one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced; a rock salt steam room, a coffee scrub down, and “the quiet area.” The “quiet area” was by a beautifully lit swimming pool, with sun loungers and relaxing soft subdued lighting. We were given a sweet apple tea to drink which tasted lovely. I felt clean and relaxed. It was at this point that the man from the day before with the baseball cap entered the area and joined us. Hans.

  Hans chatted about all sorts of the things; ensuring that we were relaxed and happy, his house in Turkey that he rented out, how his mother was Italian and his father was Turkish, abut he’d grown up in Germany - that was the accent I’d detected. He seemed a bit overly friendly to me.