One night, not that long ago, I had the pleasure of receiving a message from a man. Quite a cute man. One that I’d never considered as a potential person-of-interest before, but let’s just say that the message wasn’t entirely unwanted. We chit-chatted for a while, about silly things, serious things, and things of no importance whatsoever – and before either of us realised it was coming up to five AM.
So, we said our goodbyes and went to bed.
It took me a while to fall asleep. I blame the excitement. I mean, the chat had been amazing. Deep. Interesting. Fun, even when we were on different sides of the debate. We discussed things like the meaning of emotional maturity and intelligence, and what it might mean for each of us in a relationship. He drank a little bit. I smoked a little bit. We laughed and mocked and even made half-jokey comments about how long it would take for one of us to reach the other.
As I laid in bed and pondered the night and early hours, it struck me: I liked him.
I don’t have conversations like that with many people. I can count on one hand the number of conversations lately that have held my interest for longer than a few minutes. This one? It was different. We had chemistry.
Or… so I thought.
Two PM
It must’ve gone six-thirty AM by the time my eyes finally fell closed for the final time. I woke late, obviously. Two PM, or something like that. He immediately popped into my head. Him and that amazing, seven-hour (ish) long conversation. I reached for my phone and tapped to wake up the screen. There were a fair few notifications, but I scrolled through, ignoring all of them, scanning for his name…
It wasn’t there.
Hmmm.
I didn’t think much of it, but I was disappointed. Even the very worst of men have managed to send me a “good morning” message, so we were either completely incompatible (I demand morning messages,) or… I had seriously overestimated his interest in me.
I really hoped it wasn’t the latter because damn, did we have some textual chemistry.
I thought about sending him a good morning message, but when I took a sneaky little peek at what he was doing, I saw a little flirty flirt with someone else.
Right. Okay. He’s not interested in me.
I didn’t send the message, bitched about him to my friends, then got on with my life. What a waste of good chat.
Eight AM
A few weeks later, there he was, back in my messages, playing it cool. He made the mistake of messaging me in the morning this time around, though. I fucking hate mornings. I’m a massive cunt if we all have the misfortune of me waking up in the morning.
In short: I was a bit of a cunt to him. Like, half a cunt. A teeny-tiny cunt.
“You hurt my feelings when you flirted with me all night, then didn’t speak to me again,” I told him, part-proud, part-pissed off that I even bothered to respond.
“Sorry if this sounds blunt but it was just flirting,” he said, before apologising again.
Oh, you bastard. (Him.)
Ohhh, you dumb bitch. (Me.)
Was I meant to just… what? Know that? I don’t have crystal tits, so how on this lush, green Earth was I meant to guess that one night of really good chat, full of flirting, was just a boredom-busting exercise for him?
Do I understand that correctly?
I need the confirmation because I’m not flirting with my friends until five o’clock in the morning for no reason. And yes, Mr. Five AM and I were definitely flirting. I checked. Twice. I’m fairly certain that I got two confirmations, too. Who knows, though? You know how much men love to answer a question without actually answering it at all.
I don’t want to chat all night, for one night only. I don’t consent to that, and I wouldn’t have chatted at all if I’d known. And I wasted really good chat! I wasted a whole night on someone who thinks, flirting is a hobby.
Did I just get played by a fuckboi? If so, that was the second damn time in 2025. My fuckboi senses are not at their best, my friends; so, from now on, I’m going to need to run everything past you first when it comes to my dating life. I clearly cannot be trusted, nor can my intuition. (Not that I’d listen.)
Mr. Five AM
As for Mr. Five AM… well, he ended the conversation with a quick, “We good?”
Yeah, we good, but only because I have no intention of entertaining your fuckboi chat again, fella.
I might be a[n ex-]slut, but I’m not a robot. You people know that I have real feelings, right?
Just checking because YOU SURE DON’T ACT LIKE IT.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
