Part 54: ‘The moustache was a great indication of what I had to expect for the night.’

As I’m working in Finance, where numbers rule, I made some calculations regarding my sex life and romantic adventures. The conclusion is that I have made big steps on the activity ladder in the past two years, this compared to the first twelve years after becoming sexually active. Yet, it’s easily defensible. I’m thirty, thirsty and I hate men. Most men that is. And so the rare occasions I meet a guy I don’t hate, if the opportunity to have physical pleasure presents itself, I take it.

The latest adventure was with ‘Porn Mouch’. A Tinder match. He looked Ozzy.

I was convinced he was. So convinced I didn’t even bother to ask during our brief Tinder chat. Something which made him extra attractive was the fact that he could actually write well, using punctuation marks, correct spelling, full words. It was contradicting my assumption he was Australian, but I figured this one might just be educated. I could use some fun after the previous one (Dutch, living close enough to be considered a neighbor) had been a sexual disappointment.

Mouch and I met at the beach for drinks. When he introduced himself, the accent came as a surprise. Not Australian at all. We ordered wine and chatted away. Half Irish, half Italian. Sounds like a very dangerous mobster, but he simply is the kindest (Irish) wine expert (Italian). Athletic body, well traveled, funny, the brightest blue eyes, smile dimples in his cheeks, good company, it all made up for the horrible moustache, a 80’s German porn style Gunther moustache. I took him home for more drinks. The moustache was a great indication of what I had to expect for the night. Porn. He left the next morning, off to another country for work and our paths separated. We exchanged numbers and he might be back in town again later this summer, as he comes here regularly for work.

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