The night escalates and we get more and more carried away with the wine as our civilised date has somehow turned into a full blown pub crawl along the South Bank. As the night rolls on we try and get into a club but to no avail as we are clearly battered, so we go back to his. Now this guy is well turned out so I'm expecting his house will be lovely. We get there and it is, it's huge and he shows me his garden where he grows his own vegetables and salad and I'm impressed. Off to the bedroom and I'm anticipating a sexy display of gentry, but what I'm faced with is a cruel reality of dating a guy my own age. The walls are plastered with Arsenal Posters and there's pants and dirty t-shirts all over the floor. Oh well we're drunk and we get on with it and it's good.
As the morning breaks, he's sat bolt up right on his laptop looking at footbally things, and the phone starts ringing and he's banging on about getting tickets for a specific match. Now I don't know about most guys but when they've got a beautiful naked girl in their bed you'd think they might want to pay her attention, but sadly all this boy had on his brain was balls.
We have ceased dating, but remain civil friends.
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