My date isn’t a boobs or bum guy — he has a thing for this random body part instead

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.

This week, we hear from Joelle*, 33, a copywriter based in Liverpool.

Joelle, who is straight, has been single for four years, and is ready for her next relationship. ‘I would love to meet someone special,’ she tells Metro. ‘I feel like I’ve been in the single trenches for a while now, and as cringe as it sounds, I’m ready to find “my person”.’

She describes sex as one of the ‘joys’ of her life. She explains: ‘I’m lucky that I’ve mostly had positive sexual experiences with men.

‘To me, sex should be fun, exciting and preferably with someone you really care about — it’s always better that way.’

After the end of a recent situationship, Joelle is determined to get back out there.

So, without further ado, here’s how she got on this week.

Warning: The following is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.

Monday

I wake up feeling pretty low.

A guy I really like, who I secretly hoped might have been The One, told me last night that he’s not looking for a relationship.

He got divorced about six months ago, and he says he’s not ready for something new — he’s not sure he ever will be.

Honestly, I don’t buy it. I’m a big believer in the idea that true love conquers all. If you find the right person, it doesn’t matter about any baggage.

I wish he’d just tell me the truth, which I’m confident is that he just doesn’t like me enough.

I’m working from home today, which is a relief, as our offices used to be in the same building. Thankfully, he’s since got a new job, but we still know some of the same people. I spend the day having bursts of productivity, in between crying.

In the evening, I watch Bridgerton, and hope I’ll one day find my Benedict.

Tuesday

I wake up today with a pit in my stomach, and realise I need to sort myself out.

I can’t start each day thinking about a man who has explicitly told me he doesn’t want me.

So instead, I redownload the apps. I hate them, but I also know more than a handful of people who’ve met their now wives and husbands on Bumble, Hinge and the like. It’s worth a go.

I am quickly reminded how app dating is a full time job. You need to put in the effort to swipe, and start chats, thinking of something mildly creative so as to stand out from all the other ‘hey, how are you?’s.

The silver lining is that I’m matching with some pretty hot guys, and I need the confidence boost right now.

Wednesday

I know I’m feeling down, because I’m ovulating, and I don’t even feel remotely horny.

It sounds pathetic, but I almost don’t want to orgasm, because I know I’ll think about him, and how great he was in bed. There is nothing better than a man who makes it known that he loves giving head — and he was so, so good at it.

Instead, I focus my attention on the apps, and I get chatting to a guy called Louis*.

At 40, he’s a few years older than me, but he’s tall, French, and pretty hot. I decide not to waste any time, so suggest meeting up tomorrow, and he’s free.

Weirdly, I don’t feel nervous. I used to get crippling anxiety before dates, and feel like I was being auditioned. Am I interesting, pretty or funny enough?

But now, despite not having a queue of men lining up, I’ve done a lot of therapy to realise that I do have something to offer. They need to impress me too.

Thursday

It’s date day and I think I might be… excited?

We meet at a pub in the Albert Docks, and the place is buzzing, with everyone already excited for the weekend.

He arrives after me, and when he sits down, I can immediately tell he’s nervous. He’s not quite looking me in the eye, and when he takes a first sip of his drink, he manages to spill some of it on the table.

However, two glasses of wine later and he’s much more relaxed. He’s an art teacher, funny and creative, and seems to have a solid group of mates, which is a big green flag for me. My ex was practically a recluse, so I want someone sociable.

It’s as we leave the pub that he grabs my hand, and it feels a bit like an electric shock. It’s so nice to feel chemistry with someone, it’s almost addictive.

We walk to my bus stop, and as we wait in the shelter, he’s looking into my eyes and then next think I know, we’re kissing. He might have been a nervous talker, but now he clearly knows what he’s doing. It’s a great snog, and it’s hot.

It’s starting to get heated and I’m vaguely aware of my bus arriving, and leaving, while we’re still going at it. I should probably be embarrassed that there’s lots of people around, but I’m too in the moment and I couldn’t care less.

‘Do you want to come back to mine?’ he asks. I mean, of course I do, but I say no. I made a vow a while back that I wouldn’t sleep with guys on the first date — not because I think it’s unladylike, or any other sexist nonsense — but because it just doesn’t make me feel good.

‘Next time,’ I hear myself saying, as he kisses me some more.

Another bus arrives and I tear myself away, but as I sit down, I’m already looking forward to date two.

Friday

I’m out for dinner tonight with a friend, regaling her about my date last night. She’s excited for me, and encouraging me to let things ‘go all the way’ next time.

She nips off to the loo and I’m suddenly aware of a man at the next table looking in my direction. I make eye contact. Big mistake.

‘I’m entertaining a client,’ he says, nodding towards the empty chair. ‘He’s late.’

I smile non-commitally.

‘He’ll make me 2 million this month,’ he continues. ‘Goes straight into my pocket.’

Immediately, I am baffled by this sad man. Of all the facets of his personality, he thinks its his cash that’s his USP.

I say nothing, and thankfully my friend returns. I manage to communicate with her via side eyes and glances what’s just gone on. We ask for the bill and make our escape.

Saturday

I wake up to a text from Louis, asking for a second date. Buoyed by how great the kissing was the other night, I agree, and he suggests a pub near to his house. Very smart.

The problem is, I am not sex ready.

We all have a pre-sex process. For me, that’s a pedicure, and a Hollywood wax.

Push comes to shove I can paint my own toe nails, but I manically start searching for last minute wax appointments. My usual lady is on holiday, but luckily my friend’s waxer has one final appointment available.

As this woman rips the hairs off of my labia — and yes, my a***hole — I laugh at the thought of a man ever putting this much effort in. We’re lucky if they’ve bothered to change the bedsheets.

Sunday

The date is set for lunchtime, and the sun looks like I might be starting to shine. Perfect.

I meet Louis in a beer garden. He’s lovely to chat to, but it feels a little performative, as we both where this date is going to end. Eventually, he suggests going back to his, and I’m happy to oblige.

Back at his flat, he prepares us both cocktails. I can’t tell if he think he’s impressing me, or he’s nervous and stalling.

Finally, the martinis are ready, and after a few cursory sips I take matters into my own handed, and we start kissing.

The sex is good, but it’s classic first-time sex. Neither of us really knows what the other one likes or wants, but we’re powering on through.

Luckily, I’ve got some moves. I like giving blow jobs, and I know I’m good at it thanks to some rave reviews.

He seems to be enjoying the experience, when suddenly I realise that Louis isn’t grabbing onto my hair, or pushing my head further down onto him, but rather, he seems to be holding onto my ears.

At first I think maybe it’s by accident, but he’s definitely grabbing onto both ears, as if my head were a trophy of some kind. My hair is all over the place, and I’m starting to worry he’s going to pull an earring out.

It’s only when we’re cuddling post-coital, that I broach the subject. ‘So, are you a boobs are bum guy?’ I ask.

‘Oh well, actually,’ he says nervously, ‘I’ve got a real thing for ears.’

Ah, that explains it. Of all the fetishes, it’s pretty tame — it’s not like he wants to pee on me — and I think if things goes any further, I can probably get on board with it.

After a while, I make my excuses and leave, and later that night, I find myself looking on Pinterest at ear piercings. I may as well make them look pretty for him…

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