Soundtrack: Time is Running Out by Muse.
The Lapdog was younger than me by a little over one year. He was also a pizza delivery boy. Those two things shouldn’t have been all that important… but for some reason, to me, they were. That wasn’t all, either; there were so many things about The Lapdog that made me feel a little weird, and mostly because I was worried about what other people would think.
Stupid, right?
In my meagre defence, I was super young, super dumb, and didn’t have a single clue who I was, what I wanted, or who I was looking for. I think we’re all like that at that age, though.
Pizza Delivery Boy
Being just a pizza delivery boy meant that The Lapdog didn’t have a lot of money. As a part-time barmaid, I wasn’t exactly raking in the cash; but I was a small, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, big-titted barmaid, so I made excellent tips. Tips for tits. People could afford to splash the cash back then because pints cost lest than £2 and double shorts with mixers cost not much more.
Lapdog didn’t want me to pay for the things that we did, but he couldn’t afford to pay for them, either. As a result, we did very little in the way of actual dating. Most of our time was spent making out in either his Vauxhall Nova or bedroom, or hanging around at the local skate park. He always bought me a Ninety-Nine ice cream with a Flake, though. I loved that.
“What do you want to do for a job?” I asked him one day.
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “You?”
“A journalist,” I replied, with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. It’s all I ever wanted to be – a war journalist.
He shrugged again.
Lapdog had no get up and go, no drive, no passion to better his life. I had my own flat, but he still lived with his parents and had no intention of moving out. I suppose, to me, we felt mismatched. I was up; he was down. I was the extrovert; he was the introvert. I wanted more; he… didn’t.
If I’m being completely honest about things, I looked down on Lapdog a little – and I really, really, really wish that I hadn’t done that. He was a really good guy. One of the best, actually. He would have done absolutely everything I asked, no matter how unreasonable, and he often did. No complaints. No questions. Just lots of yes, yes, yes.
He was, in every sense of the word, a lapdog.
Can you guess what happened next?
That’s right: I very, very quickly got bored.
I wanted some no, no, no. And fireworks. And passion. The Lapdog had the latter for me in droves. He couldn’t get enough of me. He’d have gotten down on his knees and eaten me out for hours if I’d let him… and occasionally, I did. But that’s where the passion stopped. He was a strong, masculine, dominant character in sex; but in life, he was a bit of a wet drip. Boring. Bland. Unseasoned boiled chicken.
It wasn’t enough for me, but I didn’t know how to communicate with him that I wasn’t happy. I chose the avoid-it approach, which backfired spectacularly. Lapdog become clingy and whiny, which made me pull back. He was too much, and I wasn’t enough. Within a few short dates, the only time we got along was when we were intimate. I knew we weren’t right for each other, not at that time anyway, but I didn’t want to let him go. We had fun sex, and he had the kind of perfect dick that made (and still makes) me fucking stupid. I have been and always will be a sucker for fun, passionate, no-holds-barred sex – and that’s exactly what he gave me. But he also made me feel trapped. Suffocated. Tense, almost.
If things weren’t bad enough already, just wait until you find out that this is when the infamous My Mr. Grey walked into my life for the first time.
Poor pizza delivery boy. He never really stood a chance after that.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 16: My Mr. Grey.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about The Lapdog’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also 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:
