GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES but LADIES PREFER…
Boys, boys, boys! When are you going to wise up?
This week, amongst an influx of eager new messages, two in particular stood out from the crowd: one lad and one mantoy (yes, there is a difference…)
A ping-pong of chit-chat ensued which was pleasant enough, until whooaahh! first thing on Monday morning, an unsolicited text came through from the lad. It took a while to load, and as I waited, I pondered on how charming it was of him to write me such a lovely, long message – the first one since granting him the privilege of my mobile number.
As the missive appeared on my screen, was it sweet words of fanciful flattery? Was it, buffalo! It was, instead a full-on, full-blown, fully-erect, in yer face, glistening-tipped full-frontal! My immediate reaction was Eeuuwwhh! I found it disrespectful, presumptuous and frankly offensive.
Now I’m no prude – anyone who’s read ‘The Toyboy Diaries’ will know that – but what if I’d opened this message with my 6-year old granddaughter sitting on my knee?
‘Didi? What’s that? It looks like a pink banana?’
‘No, my darling – it’s not a pink banana. It’s a…it’s a…Good God, is that the time?!’
GUYS! No matter how much you think we fancy you, and how many teasing, little innuendoes we slip into our written intercourse, we do NOT, under ANY circumstances, want you to send us pictures of your penises UNLESS WE SPECIFICALLY ASK FOR THEM. It’s just plain rude!
We know that you think about sex every seven seconds (or is it three… or is there simply no interruption at all, like a continuous thought process occasionally interspersed with flashes of beer, sport and, when absolutely necessary, work?) This is the way you’re hard wired – it’s not your fault – but if you want to impress, then please don’t undress… until you are invited to do so.
I mean how would YOU like it if, à propos of nothing, you suddenly received a big fat fanny shot onto your mobile phone? (OK – don’t answer that…you’d probably love it!)
Despite over 20 years’ experience in playing the toyboy game, one never stops learning. There is a huge divide between the 20-25-year olds (practically pubescent) and the 25-30-year olds (getting there, but still a lot to learn). Post 30, on average, there is a marked improvement, but there are exceptions to every rule…
My second interested party was 31, so I assumed him to be a little more grown-up.
It started fairly well with a light, polite interaction much as you would expect from a (more or less) mental equal. We had a fair amount in common and so a date was arranged.
Later that night, I got the usual question: ‘What are you wearing?’ the predictable prelude to a solo session. We all know what you want to hear, but I was tempted to defuse it by answering: ‘A Country Casuals tweed skirt, Marks & Spencer’s cardigan and a pair of carpet slippers with pompoms on the top.’
I can’t blame him for what ensued as I colluded with the ‘red and black lace basque, stockings and suspenders’ scenario – which is the correct answer. (Isn’t text sex wonderful? You get most of the benefits plus the bed all to yourself.)
He then overdosed on stupid pills and instead of turning up for the pre-arranged date, texted me half an hour beforehand with some cock ‘n bull story about how a close friend had just had an accident. Hallo!? I did not just crack my way out of an egg…
The truth was he preferred to go out drinking with his mates and I’d have respected him more if he’d simply said that. As it happened, it was a filthy night and I preferred to stay home with a bottle of champagne, a jar of caviar, a large bar of Green & Black’s chocolate and my two best girlfriends.
Since I’m so often asked to instruct misguided mini-men gagging to learn the finer points of How to Work a Woman, here goes:
Always treat us with respect. Think yummy mummy not slummy mummy.
A few good manners go a long way. Do not send pics of your privates even if you profess to have ten inches (I didn’t believe him for a minute, whatever his name was). And if you start out with charm and solicitude, do try and keep it up. You’ll earn more brownie points that way, some of which can be redeemed later.
Exit with decency. If you’ve enjoyed the wham and the bam, the least you can do is say ‘Thank You Ma’am’. Dating is like dancing: you want to tango with one, jive with another and salsa with someone else. But if you’ve danced us horizontal and enjoyed the pleasure and privilege of a sophisticated, older woman’s home, bed and body, please don’t just dance off never to be heard of again once the music stops.
Simply text: ‘Thank you for a lovely evening’ otherwise we agonize that we snored and farted all night, or looked like Quasimodo in the morning, and this makes us feel horrid and insecure.
This toyboy lark is transient and we know you’re gonna be moving on, but since your parents taught you to mind your Ps and Qs, we’d like to remind you that your p*****s are not the only ones in our queues.
Wendy Salisbury aka Poshbird is the author of ‘The Toyboy Diaries’ available on Amazon and at all good bookshops.