Diary of a Reluctant Virgin: Week 5

After weeks of fruitless searching for the Romeo to my Juliet, the Posh to my Becks, the Wills to my Kate, something rather remarkable happened this week.

I actually found the Perfect Man.

We met in the queue for Cindies. I quickly learnt that he played chess, had debated at the union, and was ridiculously clever, witty, kind and thoughtful. I dragged him onto the floor and tried my best grinding moves. Next thing I knew we were pulling. He wasn’t a bad kisser either.

Eventually we decided that the time had come to part ways, and I searched for my friends. It was then that I realised that everyone I knew had gone. So now I was on my own with a man I had only just met, in the early hours of the morning.

This was a tricky situation that I was way too drunk to be dealing with. I ended up going back to his. I was hoping that he wouldn’t make a move; I felt uncomfortable doing anything when I had little choice but to stay in his room all night. Thankfully he was the perfect gentleman, and I cheerfully slept on the floor.

Back-aching bliss.

The next morning walk through town was horrific. This was clearly a walk of shame; my dress was crumpled, my make-up was smeared over my face, my hair looked like a dry, prickly bush. Although I held my head high and brazenly looked everyone in the eye, I felt completely ashamed. I felt like shouting ‘I haven’t done anything! I’m as pure as the virgin Mary!’ Even if I had stayed with someone overnight, did that warrant the dirty looks I was getting? The best bit was walking right past my supervisor, who managed to say hello in the most disapprovingly disappointed way I have ever witnessed.

But despite the disastrous state of the rest of my life, my relationship with the Perfect Man was going… well, perfectly. We texted, we met up several more times, nothing I did or said seemed to deter him. Upon receiving a drunken text from me that read ‘i a confuse aou our relatioshoip it realy confuse1s me peopel ask me and iam likde ‘idonr k ow’ an you plrease caliry’ he was still keen to maybe move into something more serious.

Then disaster struck. In the form of my mother.

‘So, do you really like him? Would you marry him and have his children? You need to decide now, otherwise before you know it you’re middle-aged, fat, living in a house in the suburbs, cleaning after his kids all day, and your idea of a social life is inviting the postman in for tea.’

Highlight of the day.

I spiralled into complete and total panic. Was this it? Was he the One? I definitely liked him. But would I ever feel the love for him that Jane did for Mr Rochester, or Rose did for Jack?

I knew what I had to do. I had to break things off.

But how did I tactfully reject someone? This was what other people did to me, not the other way round.

That night I was at a house party. I was lying on the floor, drunk, contemplating my sins, when a man came over to me and asked me to watch his friend who had passed out on the bed. I asked what his friend’s name was, and he just looked at me and said, ‘All you need to know is that he is the cleverest man in India.’ Then he walked away.

I spent a few minutes digesting this, before approaching the man lying on the bed. I leaned down and whispered, ‘Are you the cleverest man in India?’ Without opening his eyes, he replied, ‘Yes. What is your predicament?’ I explained, and he took my phone and said that he would handle this. I needed the loo so I left him and wandered off. It was over an hour later that I remembered I’d left my phone with him.

Probably more important to me than most of my non-vital organs.

When I found him again, he was still texting. I looked through the conversation. It was the most painful thing I have ever seen. The Perfect Man remained lovely until the end, even saying, ‘If you change your mind, let me know.’ I immediately wanted to be nice and say I would think about it, but the cleverest man in India stopped me, ‘You must cut all ties in order to enable him to move on.’ He truly was the wisest man I have ever met.

My friends were exasperated at my torment over the situation, ‘How did you manage to cock things up so badly… you knew him less than two weeks!’ But although my method leaves something to be desired, I don’t regret breaking things off. Much as I want to lose my virginity, I want to do it with someone that I love, and who loves me back, and I’m not willing to settle for anything less.

The quest goes on.