November 19, 2013 14 Comments
I’m walking down Oxford Street near Selfridges in the summer of 2012. My approaching has already started to wind down after gorging myself in a month’s tour of Yugoslavia. I’m relying on autopilot to push me along but it’s still pleasant. I see a tall African girl dressed elegantly with a colourful headscarf.
Hmmmm. I believe in going after Unicorns. This means girls who are completely outside of my normal catchment demographic but of such rare and unusual beauty that I really ought to give it a go on general principle. I don’t have any expectations of how they’ll react or how well I can get them. Just push the comfort zone and chase the beauty.
So I open this Muslim telling her I love her stylish fashion. Probably I compare her to a giraffe. I forget. She loves it. Her accent is posh and measured, her dememour very classy…. she’s just adorable. Sharp intelligent eyes, a free easy smile. Yummy. My humour is free-flowing and Im’ feeling good:
Me: I’m Nick
Her: I’m Afaf
Me: Haha… [laughing]
Her: What? Why are you laughing?
Me: That’s not a name. That’s the noise dogs make. Afafafafaf
Later when telling her friends they love it and make dog jokes when she tells them of dates. I keep a general “woof woof” theme of callback humour going throughout the dating. So I take the number and get her out a week later. I thoroughly stumped as to how to proceed. She’s a proper five-prayers-a-day Muslim virgin of Somali background but grew up in Saudi Arabia. Culturally we are from different planets. I’m in my head about it.
Day 2 is a walk around a small park near Russell Square, sitting on a bench and later a coffee in Costa. I’m too freaked out to escalate, the headscarf and virginity giving me a mental block. We finish in a pub but she doesn’t drink alcohol and I overtly tell her I have no idea how to proceed. She’s nice about it but I’m expecting to LJBF myself through incompetence. I’m puzzled why I don’t feel the usual drive to just run the escalation model and push towards sex.
Day 3 is a nearby cinema to watch Judge Dredd. I hold her hand like a nervous teenager and then as we leave the darkened screen I kiss close her. Great, she takes it. She leans up against me in the bus stop and I send her home. From now on things are more like a normal girl but she’s got this massive virginity block.
We go to parks, eat in restaurants, have coffee. She comes round my house several times to watch movies and sit in my bedroom. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to regular dating all year. I even take her to a friend’s birthday party in Notting Hill. I’ve got a girlfriend. I like this. Autumn has come and I really don’t feel like generating new leads through the street grind. I want to hibernate and just close off my remaining leads which at this point are:
One of the Russians drift away after a solid Day 3 kiss close while both Croats fall off the radar. It’s a shame because all are solid 8s but what can you do? I’m just happy to knock over four of seven. Autumn passes into winter and I’ve now been dating my Saudi once a week for about two months.
Every escalation is painfully slow. First time I kiss her it’s soft. Second time there’s tongues and a bit of groping. First time I get her home she cuddles up to me on the sofa but won’t come to my bedroom. First time in the bedroom I get her tits out but no touching up downstairs. Later I finger her to orgasm through her jeans. Later again she wanks me off. Later again I get her face exploring around my dick but she won’t put it in her mouth.
Weirdly, I’m not too upset about the slothlike pace of escalation. I like her company. She tells me I’m the first man to ever take her beyond kissing. Yes, at age 26 she has never had a man mash her tits, touch her pussy or wrap her long fingers around his cock. I feel like Captain Kirk exploring a new planet. It doesn’t feel like failure. It’s nice having her adore me.
Then things go suddenly wrong. I’m at the next push for escalation in my bedroom unbuttoning her jeans. She’s so hot and horny I very nearly get her jeans off. She’s on the edge of the cliff, one tiny step from going all the way over the edge into full sex. We both sense it. She shuts down. I have to back off. At the bus stop I give her a nice kiss before she waves goodbye and I shrug my shoulders – only a matter of time now.
She doesn’t reply to any more texts. Complete radio silence. Unadds me from skype. She’s gone without explanation or goodbye. A year later I’m out with Jabba in Selfridges cafe when she walks past with a friend. I see her, she sees me, she knows I know she knows I’m there. She completely blanks me.
I’ve since experienced similar behaviour from other chaste Africans. Their body pushes them to hot horny sex but their mind resists. Eventually they reach a moment where they know one more step will put them over the edge. They cool off back home and realise “if I see him again I’ll end up fucking him”. So they cut contact. They can’t trust themselves not to get roped back in and deflowered. It sucks for me. If I’d figured out the solution to this puzzle I’d have had virgin flags fro Saudi Arabia, Ghana and Equitorial Guinea. Harumph!