Tag Archives: Arab men

Tongue


Call my name, here I come

Your last ditch lay, will I never learn?

Caramel turn on a dusty apology

It crawls all over me, you turn all over

It pains me, please just leave it

For four months I never once saw the Arab despite the fact that we work at the same company. This was fine by me, as I had decided he was a cheap sleazebag. Then I accidentally saw him while out running one day, and I was reminded of just how attractive he is, and I plunged into romantic and sexual obsession.

And, then, all of a sudden, he was everywhere. I saw him at work on Monday and I also ran into him in the supermarket on Wednesday! I was sick, and running a fever, and was standing in the wine section, trying to decide whether it was a stupid idea to buy a Malbec given that I couldn’t smell or taste anything. And then, all of a sudden, the only thing in front of me was a sea of red. My reactions were kinda delayed since I was sick, so it took me a few seconds to figure out that somebody had shoved their red shopping basket in my line of vision.

Yeah, it was the Arab, and he was on his cell phone, and before he turned the corner into the next aisle, he kinda slightly stuck his tongue out at me in an “aren’t-i-a-cheeky-chappy” kinda way. I have no idea if you can even visualize what I mean by that, but it was fucking annoying. Because, uh, no, you’re not a “cheeky chappy”, Mr. Arab. You’re an absolute wank. We were supposed to be going out on a date this week, and yet you didn’t get in touch to finalize anything, which is actually fine, since it’s pretty clear that we don’t have similar values. But, c’mon, when you blow a lady off, you sure as hell do not come up to her in the supermarket and stick your shopping basket in her face!!

Ugh, sleaze bag Mr. Arab: keep your tongue firmly in your mouth where it belongs, and just be glad I don’t have a gun like Thelma and Louise here:

But, you know, let me not waste another second writing about this guy. He’s not worth it. The obsession is over.

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Blind


A few days ago Recovering Love Addict 24 wrote the following:

Something happened yesterday evening which really frustrated me. My bottom lines include not being able to flirt with girls, not asking girls for their numbers etc. But yesterday the first day of my bottom lines and my first day of sobriety I was waiting for a tube to last night’s meeting and a girl approached me on the platform. She was absolutely stunning; tall, slim, dark hair, totally my type. You couldn’t write this as never in my whole time in London has such an attractive girl approached me. She asked if she could stand with me and she tried to make conversation however I remained true to the promises I had made and I told her I was unavailable. Immediately after and for quite a while I was so angry with myself for turning down such an opportunity. A week before I would have jumped on it and totally flirted with her, got her number and pursued her until we had sex. But yesterday I stopped myself. I found myself clouded. First with resentment for god, I was screaming out in my head, “Why are you doing this to me.” Second I was resentful towards myself for not acting out and flirting etc. telling myself I had missed such an amazing opportunity. But then I realised I did the right thing for me. I am not ready for girls. I am not ready for a relationship. I have so much work to do on myself first and I need to concentrate on that.

The interesting thing is that Recovering Love Addict 24’s encounter with this girl might not be as random as you might think. According to the Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous “big book”, there is a “diabolic accuracy” to such “coincidental” meetings which “tended to occur when we were most vulnerable to them” (p110). The book urges SLAA members to accept “the possibility that psychic occurrences can happen, in order to make sense of some of these situations which seemed so uncanny”. (ibid.). On p111, we are told that “perhaps the most important principal here was not to deny to ourselves that we were, indeed, being severely tested”.

I would agree with all of the above based on a random encounter I had on Monday at work with the Arab. You might be thinking “C’mon, girl! You work with the guy. You were bound to bump into him at some point!” Well, this is true, but my company is huge, and we work in entirely separate buildings and, in four months of chatting with him online, I’ve never once seen him – until last week when I was out running, and then this week. Last week’s encounter triggered a new obsession about him, and this week’s sorely tested the resolve I had found over the weekend to ignore him.

I was walking into the main building to grab some lunch in the café when he came out, looking, I might add, every inch my ideal man – tall, dark, handsome and athletic.  This was the first time I’d ever seen him up close, and he really is just so incredibly handsome. I can count on one hand the number of men I’ve found that attractive over all my thirty-odd years on this planet. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak, too, and his voice was everything I thought it would be – deep, raspy and sexy. He wasn’t exactly in a rush to stop and talk, and I haven’t heard from him at all this week. I haven’t contacted him because, well, princesses don’t beg, goddammit! (although they are apparently allowed to obsess non-stop about douchebags).

It’s for the best he hasn’t been in touch, as every fibre of my being tells me that he’s trouble. I can’t begin to fathom why a man would chase and chase and chase me, and then – poof! – blow me off when I finally agree to go out with him. And despite knowing that I shouldn’t get involved with him, it hurts like hell to feel rejected. Logically, I know the issue is that he’s weird, but I still find myself thinking “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he want me? Why hasn’t he contacted me?”

I also feel that I have made myself incredibly vulnerable to this man. I opened up too quickly, and told him far too much personal information – most of it unsolicited (I still haven’t worked out what boundaries are!), but on one memorable occasion he asked me whether I had ever cheated on MM when I knew the marriage was on the rocks. Since the dude barely asked me any questions at all, it was very strange that he asked this one. I was kinda put on the spot, and my idiotic brain actually thought: “Oh my God, the poor dear! He’s probably been cheated on before, and wants to know that I wouldn’t do that! Oh, how he must have suffered!”. My response was half-truth/half-lie, as I mentioned my dalliance with Rebound Guy which began one week before MM and I broke up. I, of course, did not tell him the full extent of what happened. I said it was just “kissing”.

I went round to a colleague’s after work, who happens to be gay, and you can always trust a gay man’s opinion about your love life. When I told him about the Arab’s weird question, he said: “Girl, he just wanted to find out if you were easy. If you’d fucked somebody while married, chances are you’d fuck him even more quickly given that you’re now single”. It depressed the hell out of me to think that all I am to this dude (and all I’ve ever been to a lot of men) is a piece of ass. And the two beers I had drunk at my friend’s house certainly didn’t help my mood. I was incredibly sad by the time I finally left. And, oh, did I mention that I’ve also gone cold-turkey on Zoloft?

I went to the ATM afterwards to pay in some of my ill-gotten gains where, out of the corner of my eye, I could see this skinny, icky, middle-aged white dude. I barely looked at him, but I knew (just knew!) that he was this awful guy I had once fucked when I was still an escort. He is for sure on the list of “Shameful, painful sexual experiences I will never talk about to anybody”. He was putting an envelope into the night deposit, and then he walked to his car, and was about to leave when I pointed at him, and yelled “Hey, you! I know you. Your name’s John!”. I knew I should have let him leave, but the alcohol took away all common sense.

The stupid idiot got out of his car, looking all sheepish and pleased, and came back to the ATM to talk to me. “Yes, that is my name! You look familiar. Do I know you?”. I smiled seductively, and cooed “Yes, you do. Now give me your glasses”. I don’t know what the hell he thought I was doing, but he did actually let me take the glasses, and I walked with them into the parking lot, with him feebly protesting that he was blind without them. I set the timer on my iPhone, and said “You have 60 seconds to remember my name or I’ll smash your glasses”.

He failed the test.

I stomped on his glasses.

And, if this was Hollywood, they would have broken into pieces, and I would have driven off into the sunset to start a new life, and find true love.

But it’s not Hollywood, and they didn’t fucking break. I think I only succeeded in bending them badly.

For someone whose glasses had just been nearly demolished by a deranged, drunk woman in a parking lot, I must say that his reaction was somewhat muted. He said words to the effect of “Well, that wasn’t very nice!”.

“It wasn’t very nice what you did to me either!”, I screamed back, and got into my car and drove off.

I’m sober now, and I actually think this story is kinda humorous, but at the time I felt so depressed, angry and out-of-control. Two guys in one day for whom I’m just a piece of ass. Some forgettable vagina.

I came home, and I just wanted somebody to hug me. But there was nobody. All I got were some text messages from MM, which said that I’m “a demon”, “a fucking monster”, “barely human”.

Some people drink to forget, but when I drink I seem to remember all the bad, nasty, abusive stuff that has happened to me, and I feel like a little girl again – so vulnerable, so in pain. Before meeting the guy at the ATM, I was driving home on the highway and the urge for self-destruction was pretty acute. I was doing 80, and I thought momentarily about just crashing the car on purpose.

Where does all that pain go when I’m not drunk? I feel fine now. I’m sad and lonely but I don’t want to harm myself or other people. Is the pain not real, then? Does the alcohol just create something that’s not really there?

When The Spell Is Broken


Caveat: I’m tired, suffering from terrible allergies, have swallowed a couple of antihistamines, and am also a wee bit tipsy. In other words, this might not be the world’s greatest blog post.

So, a wee update on the situation with the Arab. Yesterday I spent the whole day at work chatting with him. I had told myself when I arrived at work at 8:00 a.m. that I would not contact him until 4:00 p.m. because I knew I’d get no work done if I contacted him before that. I lasted until 9:30 a.m., and then I just couldn’t stop myself from responding to the chats he’d sent me while I was gone from work for a couple of days. I can’t believe that there are some psychiatrists out there who argue that Sex and Love Addiction is not a real addiction. Sometimes nothing -absolutely nothing – can stop me from getting my next “love hit”.

I hung on his every word, and could not wait until I received a reply to every chat. I always leave work at 5:00 p.m., and by 4:50 p.m. there was still no mention of the date we were supposed to be having this weekend. I flirtily asked him when we would be getting together (“It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know!”) and he told me that he couldn’t see me this weekend since he was going to a music festival. I was furious because we had – so I thought anyway – agreed to see each other this weekend. It turns out that we’d never actually chosen a specific day/time for the date (I looked back over the chat history to confirm this), so I assume I had just fantasized about him so much that a daydream about a Saturday night date became a reality in my head.

Nonetheless, he had told me that the date would be this week – and yet there was not a peep out of him about when this would be. I was off work on Monday and Tuesday, so he couldn’t contact me to arrange a date on those nights, so he has an excuse. But what about all the other nights this week? Apparently he was already busy.

What kind of guy agrees to go on a date with a woman one week, and then doesn’t mention it at all when that week finally comes around? Now, I know that a lot of people are oh so casual and flakey when it comes to keeping engagements these days. I’m guilty of that myself with casual acquaintances – I’ll say “Oh, yeah, let’s get a drink next Thursday maybe” and then next Thursday comes around and nobody mentions it again. But I have never told somebody that we will go on a date, and then never broached the topic again. That is just plain obnoxious.

I don’t know what this guy’s deal is. I assume he’s a bit of a player; that’s he’s probably dating a couple of women casually already and that I’m maybe just an interesting back-up option. His casual attitude betrays the fact that I mean nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

This is, I hasten to mention, the second time he has blown me off. The first time, a couple of months ago, I told him I wasn’t really ready to date anybody but at some point we decided to grab a drink. This was supposed to be just a “friendly” drink, not a date, but it was pretty obvious that it was more than that, and that we’d be scoping each other out. On this occasion, I actually did suggest a specific night the following week, and he agreed. That Tuesday I asked him “So, are you still up for a drink on Thursday”. He told me “Oh, let me get back to you”. Did he ever get back to me? What do you think?

Right now, the spell has well and truly been broken. I can see clearly that this guy is no good. I deserve to be asked on a date by somebody who is genuinely interested in me – somebody who’s excited about spending time with me, and getting to know me more.

It doesn’t hurt me that the spell has been broken. No major harm has been done. Hell, I haven’t even met the Arab yet. He’s not really a real person – he’s an interesting OKCupid profile with some cute pictures; he’s the guy I iMessage at work; he’s the one I caught a glimpse of when I was out running and said hi to. We never spent hours together in person; we never fucked; he never promised me anything. Sure, I fantasized about him, but over so short a period that there was never a chance for his image to be carved into every one of my thoughts for months on end.

Despite all this, though, I wanted to scream when it became apparent yesterday just how unimportant I am to him.  I can’t begin to describe the feeling of despair and sheer desolation I felt. It’s all a memory now, but it was very real yesterday.  I wasn’t suicidal, but life just felt so fucking empty and pointless.

And that, dear readers, is why I am an addict, and why I need help. A momentary iMessage dalliance with a stupid immature player makes me spiral down into despair and self-loathing.

It’s clear from this little escapade that I still can’t be trusted to stay away from people who are no good for me. So, when I tell you that I won’t be contacting the Arab again, you probably won’t believe me. Send out a little prayer for me, eh? Pray that I’ll finally be able to love myself and only surround myself with people who care for me and want the best for me.

Arabian Nights


In the Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous “big book”, it states that “many of us suspected or realized that we would need an indefinite period alone in which to learn to understand and deal with our disease” (Step 1 – p73). Most of the women who attend the SLAA meeting I go to are doing exactly that or, if they have a bit of recovery behind them, and have started to date again, they’re taking it really, really slowly.

220px-Arabiannights1

My intention for 2013 was/is not to date at all, and I certainly was not attempting to meet men, or to put myself in situations that could lead to that. I was/am fine just being by myself. After the break-up with MM, I did have an OKCupid account briefly, and went on maybe three dates, but I decided I’d rather put my energy and time in more valuable places. I can’t say I even missed men, dating or sex. Cross my heart, and hope to die, I was totally fine with this.

That was until I met the Arab.

The Arab messaged me on OKCupid in early December just as I had realized it was stupid to be on that site. It turns out that we actually work at the same company (it’s a big place – thousands of employees), and that he had seen me in the café (I had never seen him) and recognized me when he saw my OKCupid profile. Despite the fact that he seemed interesting and extremely good-looking in his profile, I just wasn’t into the idea of dating anybody. I decided that I would reply to his message since it would be awkward if we bumped into each other at work, but I went on vacation for my birthday and never got around to it. When I got back, he had deleted his profile.

I should also point out that I had googled his name before going on vacation, and found pictures of him playing in his band in which he was nowhere near as hot as he appeared in his OKCupid Profile. In fact, he looked kinda chubby, and his hair was awful. As much as I would like to pretend that my lack of interest in him was because I’d embarked on a spiritual journey, it was more because I wasn’t sexually attracted to him from those pictures.

The fact that he’d deleted his profile should have warned me that the Universe did not want me to contact him. But did it? Nope. Still worried that I’d bump into him at work, and that he’d feel I’d snubbed him, I reached out via the office Chat system to say hi. I know you’re probably thinking that l’il addict me was using the fact that we worked together as an excuse to contact him, but I assure you this is not the case. He just seemed like a nice guy, and I didn’t want him to feel rejected.

We chatted back and forth, and I was my typical flirty self. In fact, I am so flirty via Chats that I’ve had to make this one of my bottom lines. I guess I got a little bit addicted to the flirtation, and I had hooked him, too. By this point, I had also googled him a little more and discovered more recent pictures of him where he was every bit as fucking hot in them as he was in his OKCupid Profile. I guess he’s lost weight and got a way better hair cut in recent years.

I was now seriously considering dating him, but I couldn’t help but feel that he was bad news. American chicks in this town go crazy over foreign guys, even if they’re fugly, and here he was – 6’1″ of yummy Algerian goodness. I’m sure he’s used to getting a lot of female attention and being able to pick off the cream of the crop. And, well, Arab men don’t exactly have the best reputation. Yeah, hell, sue me for having racist preconceptions, but, well, from my own personal observations, I would say that most Arab men really like the ladies. I got the vibe he was a player.

He added fuel to the fire when he asked me one time via Chat if I had a porch. “Um, yeah”, I said, wondering where the hell this was going. He then suggested he could come round and drink wine on my porch! Helloooooo?! Keep in mind that I have actually never met this guy. I’m sure as hell not going to be asking a strange man to my house to drink wine on my porch. Even with my incredibly poor boundaries, I could tell he’d overstepped the mark there. Also, “let me come round and drink wine on your porch” seemed like guy speak for “Let me come round and fuck you”. Whatever happened to taking a woman out on a proper date, huh?

I lost interest in him after this, although I was a teeny bit obsessed with him, and looked forward to our flirty chats. I quickly stopped contacting him, however, because one of my goals in SLAA is not to get involved in romantic intrigue. Weeks would go by without him contacting me, but he would pop up from time to time, asking me out most times. I demurred, telling him that I wasn’t ready to date anybody yet. I should have said “I’m not going to date anybody this year at all”, but instead I told him that I wanted to wait until after my divorce was finalized to start dating again. I suppose I didn’t want to burn my bridges with him completely.

I don’t know what happened (was I ovulating?) but when he contacted me again this week, I was ripe for the picking. I couldn’t stop myself from flirting with him via Chat but, even then, I wasn’t planning on taking it any further. But then (horror of horrors!) I actually bumped into him while I was running outside work. I didn’t stop to talk, as I was all sweaty and in a hurry to get back to work, but, oh, I got a good look at him alright – and I liked what I saw! Goddamn the boy is hot. There was no holding me back after that, and I agreed to go out on a date with him next week.

Since then I’ve completely fallen off the SLAA wagon. I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. googling the shit out of him, and trying to find out as much as I can. He has been the centre of all my romantic and sexual fantasies. In them, there’s lot of hot fucking, and we’re already married, and our kids all speak Arabic, French and English fluently. Oh, yeah, did I mention he’s North African and therefore fluent in Arabic and French? Since I speak French, he’ll tell me things like “J’adore tes super grands yeux bleus, ta sourire, tes cheveux courts…(I love your super big blue eyes, your smile, your short hair”; “tu es très attirante” (you are very attractive). Ugh! How to resist sweet-nothings in French?! How?!

Why did this have to happen? I was sooooo not fucking looking to date anybody. I was fine with living a quiet life. But, well, I guess deep-down that I wasn’t because I fell at the very first hurdle. I’m sure that my sponsor and all of you will tell me not to go on that date next week but, oh, I’m going.

And just in case you think it might be alright to date him, let me give you two more reasons why it’s an awful idea.

(1) Bizarrely, in 2006 or 2007, it turns out that I went on a date with his old roommate/friend. He is from the same country, and has the exact same name. It was only one date (he was too young for me, I felt) but we did make out passionately in his car. What guy wants to think that the girl he’s dating has already had a dalliance with a friend of his? Maybe American/European guys would be OK with this, but (again with my preconceived notions of Arab men) I can’t help but feel that this guy might not be cool with it. Maybe he thinks that I’m a complete slut.

(2) He befriended me on Facebook, and when I looked at his pictures, there was one of him standing with a friend of his who, a few years ago, was one of my sensual massage clients. I have no idea how good of a friend this guy is, but how fucking awkward is that? What if I meet this guy and his wife? What if the Arab knows all about my nice little sideline in handjobs and again thinks that I’m just an easy lay.

What the fuck am I doing? Why did this have to happen? Why can’t I just stay away from this guy? What happened to being all spiritual and zen?