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Our intrepid Girl Abt Town blogs about her adventures with the opposite sex...

Fat Girls Have the Best Vaginas

Sex has become the bane of my life. I’m serious. It’s because of the damn thing I can’t seem to get into a LTR (that’s long term relationship for anyone who is relatively normal and doesn’t know what rofl, pmsl and lmao means).

I don’t think of myself as some kind of massive sex symbol but apparently that’s what I am. On the last couple of dates I’ve had, the guys have attempted to bed me on the first date and the last guy....well you’ll read about that one.

The first guy I met at a bar. He was cute, bit of a wideboy, an estate agent with spiky blond hair and blue eyes. We made small talk. I asked him what he thought the meaning of life was (I was a bit depressed at the time) and he goes “Spurs....yeah!” and did a little fist pump so I knew we were not really going to have a meeting of minds. But I don’t have a rule my boyfriend has to have the intellect of Hawking so I didn’t mind.

On the date he took me to Nandos. I’ll be honest with you, I did have something a little more upmarket in mind, somewhere where we didn’t have to get up to get our own unlimited drink refills. The conversation was shit. There is nothing more I can say about that. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t his usual type either so we sat there and I let him talk about Spurs just so the conversation flowed.

By the end of the night I fully expected to part ways never to meet again. What I didn’t expect was the following;

Wideboy Estate Agent: So where you staying tonight?

Me (bit puzzled): Home.

Wideboy Estate Agent (grinning): Thought you could stay at mine.

Me (bit insulted): Uh, I’m not that kind of girl.

Wideboy Estate Agent (also somewhat insulted): But I bought you dinner.

Me (properly insulted): It was a ten quid piece of chicken and some sweet potato mash!

That was the end of that.

The next guy I met over the internet. I’ve never been a fan of online dating but because I need material for this blog I gave it a go. I was pleasantly surprised to see some very cute boys on there. I got talking to this Australian who worked for some wine company. We messaged back and forth and he seemed a whole heap of fun.

He took me dancing which is very unusual. Dates are normally drinks, coffee or a movie unless you’re in a film where it’s dinner in Paris or something dumb like that (as if the actress has her passport to hand).

Anyway the Australian and I had a ball. We were very Strictly Come Dancing and he picked me up and swung me around like I was a little doll, I felt very dainty.

At the end of the night I felt I’d found the One. I imagined the wedding. We’d have to plan it well in advance because his parents would have to fly over from Australia.

He took me home and I gave him a good night kiss. Normally I’ve very stingy with first date kisses, it’s a clinical I’m-just-being-polite affair but I was on a bit of a high so I allowed a bit of tongue.

Next thing I know he’s pushed open my door and invited himself in, getting all hot and heavy.

Me: Whoa, stop. This is just a bit too fast.

Australian: Oh, come on, don’t be a prude.

I wondered at him, did he think that line was going to convince me. Boys can be so strange.

Me: No really. I had a good time, but I like to take things slow.

Australian (face falling, he was clearly very disappointed): How about a blow job then?

I wondered at him some more. Is that what he thought slow meant?

I didn’t fall to my knees and his parents saved their airfare.

My third and final date was set up by a friend of mine. Now this guy was far more my usual type. I’m very much into my nerdy guys who know stuff about books and films. His name was Mike and we met up for a drink.

It was really nice and the conversation flowed. I told him about my two atrocious dates and we giggled and he promised that he wasn’t going to pull any of that business.

Drinks turned into dinner as we were both having such a good time. We found a little Italian dive.

I’ve been trying to lose weight lately but I really fancied a lasagne.

Me: I’ve been trying to lose weight lately but I really fancy the lasagne.

Mike: Go on, get the lasagne if you want.

Me (pouting in what I firmly believed to be quite an adorable manner): But I don’t want to get fat!

Mike (smiling): Don’t worry. Fat girl’s have the best vaginas.

I faint.

Well metaphorically.

Mike (carrying on regardless): No seriously, they are the best!

Mike then went on to launch into a detailed description into why he thinks larger girls have the best vaginas and in the process he managed to put me off, my food, him and potentially men all over the world.

Contributor Blurb: We get asked who writes this specific section a number of times, it is in fact written by two regular contributors who alternate every week. They are friends, both single, straight, attractive and relatively normal.

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