Roadman Recovery



I feel like I need some help. I think I have a problem. So I am writing this blog in order to work through my issues, I think that if I see it in writing I will slap myself and remember who I am, because right now I’m a little confused. So you all know that I have been doing really well at this accidental celibacy thing, I say accidental because I never intended for it to happen. A man drought was inflicted upon me and after a while I realised that it was doing me a lot of good. I felt so much better, and I wanted to make sure it continued, so I made a vow to not have sex with, or waste anytime on, men who I don’t take seriously, and of course, men who don’t take me seriously.

It’s been going great, I’m having a lovely time, and I also have that insane vibrator that I spoke about in the last blog (if you’re going to buy it use my link please!). I have had the occasional lonely blip, but generally I have been cool. Anyway, my problems started on Saturday, my son was at his Dad’s and I was having a lazy afternoon at home, I had intended to go to the gym so I was wearing gym clothes, but I ended up binging on Black Mirror instead. A friend of mine took one of my phone chargers from my house accidentally AGES ago and I have been hassling him for it ever since. I called him on Saturday and his mate Jay was at his house and was travelling back past mine and so he arranged for him to drop it on his way home.

I had heard a lot about Jay from my friend but I had never met him. Jay is a certified road man (if you want more details on what makes a road man then read the roadman section in The Definitive Guide To Fuckboys) but basically, they are men who make money from the streets. They come in levels, there are the little scummy Stone Island jacket wearing, moped riding, fake gucci man bag, selling weed on estates types, the fraudulent credit card (deets), cocaine slinging, rented Penthouses, and rented range rover types, and then there are the gangland boss types, the higher level road men. There are some levels in between but they are the basics. They are all scumbags, and they are men to be avoided, I should know, I have had an unhealthy attraction to them since I was about 15 (read about the first one Anthony Fox in Houdini settings (ghosting) and the second one, Ashley in My First Love – PART 1.) But I put a stop to it many years ago because they are just not worth the risk. They come with major issues.

Long jail sentences, crazy enemies, ridiculously unsocial ‘work schedules’, an attitude that money is more important than love; and they bring risk to your door, risk of raids or robberies, everything they have is unstable, their money, their lives, and that sense of constant uncertainty and paranoia on a daily basis means that their heads are usually totally fucked up, a lot of them have depression and they don’t even know it. They are often violent, aggressive or controlling, they are embroiled in a nasty underworld and their behaviours reflect that. There are just so many reasons why we should only date men with real jobs, I really don’t need to over explain it. Anyway, I don’t exactly know what Jay does, or how he does it, but I know that he is somewhat of a mid-range roadman.

Jay rang on my buzzer and I opened my door in my gym clothes with no make-up on and I nearly had a femileptic fit. It was like Jeremy Meeks had been delivered to my door on some kind of community service programme. Neck tattoos and all. He wasn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit, but unfortunately for me it was far worse, Jay was wearing a Grey Nike tracksuit. I have an unbridled desire for men in grey tracksuit bottoms.  He tilted his head and smiled at me as he handed me my charger and I blurted out ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ and he obliged. I was nervous as fuck but we chatted easily. We sat on my sofa and we talked at length about anything and everything. I was actually really taken aback by how smart he was. We spoke about Politics, feminism, social media, good films we’d watched, festivals we’d been to. He articulated himself in a road manner, but his content was good so I overlooked a few ‘man like Trump’s here and there.

My sofa is massive and you basically have to lie down on it and I was really self conscious of my belly pouch as I tried to lay there looking sexy in lycra. I was lying on my side and I was conscious that my stomach had taken a hit from gravity and flopped down to my left and so I spent a lot of time not actually listening to him because I was mastering elbow and arm positions that would help me to cover up my gut. In the end I grabbed a pillow, and then went through about 5 minutes of stress in my head thinking that a pillow makes me look self conscious. Apart from that I felt comfortable in his company. We spoke about relationships and he told me he was single, his last relationship ended 6 months ago because she got too needy, she stopped going out and wanted to be with him all the time, she kicked off every time he tried to go out with the boys, and she was too keen to have children after only a few months. He didn’t speak badly of her, he just felt that he couldn’t handle the intensity.

As he talked I found myself looking at his neck tattoos and how his strong looking neck moved as he spoke, and then I looked at his tattooed hand on his rolexed wrist and I found myself licking my lips at the thought of his hand on my thigh. His phone rang about 25 times every 5 minutes and he appeared to be conducting some kind of business on the phone, I didn’t want to think too much about it. My mind was in some kind of criminal induced nymphomania. I have not met a man who has made me feel like this in a really, really, long time. I snapped myself out of it by offering him some food, I was hungry and I needed a distraction. I made some Japanese Gyoza (as you do) and he was impressed ‘Rah, just whipping up that mad cultural cuisine out here, I love it’ – they are not very complicated, but whipping up anything that a road man can’t spell will impress him.  I was going out for my best friend’s birthday on Saturday night and so by 7pm I had to ask him to leave so that I could get ready. He had stayed for 3 hours.

After he went I got in the shower and I was just like fuck, he’s so hot but I just so CANNOT go there. What in the Mother fucking fuck would my Mum think if I accidentally got pregnant and I had to call my child Kush Money? How would my Dad feel when I introduced him to Suge Knight? He’s a fantasy that must not be made into reality. He’d complimented my food but apart from that he didn’t really give away any signals that he was even interested, apart from staying for three hours of course. So that was it I told myself, he filled a need that I didn’t really know that I had which was for a bit of sexy male company. I had a marvellous afternoon and I shall leave it at that. We didn’t even exchange numbers so it wasn’t relevant anyway. I had to keep reminding myself that despite the fact that Jay has (temporary) money, this man is currently unemployed. And even though he intends to buy his council flat (which he got when he came out of prison) and start a business (all roadmen say this), he is not yet doing in, and actually, at 34 years old that is pretty wastemanish and unattractive.

I met my friends at 10pm and as I got into the venue I received a text from an unsaved number saying ‘Hey, I had a really nice afternoon with you in your lovely flat, I love a good chat’ and then another one from our mutual friend saying ‘Yo, I gave Jay your num’. ArghhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHhhhhhh! My stomach flipped and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face when I was replying. What a fucking dickhead I am. I managed not to drunk text him but our conversation resumed the next day. And it has continued. In fact, I have had ‘Good Morning beautiful’ Whatsapps every morning since I met him and I smile like a deranged mentalist every time I get one. And now he has asked me to go out with him on Saturday. And herein lies my problem. No I do not want to go out with him. I do not wish to look like a probation officer taking my client for dinner, I know that’s not very mice, but it’s true. I would much rather stay in with him. Part of me wants to say fuck it. He is really hot, and I am really sexually attracted to him. It almost feels necessary, like, I haven’t had sex for so long that I might have actually forgotten how to do it. Maybe I need to do this before I completely lose all my skills.

I have been battling with the idea that it’s no biggie to  just have him as a little sexy fuckbuddy, but then I also know what I am like. If I see him more than three times I will be wanting to ask him ‘What are we?’ and it will all end in tears, my tears. I am also trying to remind myself that it’s actually really nice to have complete control of my vagina and to be able to say yes, I am very horny, but no, that is not a good enough reason to sleep with someone completely inappropriate who could end up giving me herpes. I am really enjoying the male attention though, I feel sexy again, and motivated. I have had more energy and am taking better care of myself, I’m eating really well and training harder, because of the prospect that someone might see me naked soon, and it makes me feel so much better mentally. I think I have actually just clocked by writing this down, what his purpose is. I have been asking the universe for a good man but recently I have been really lazy and haven’t been doing a lot of self love and self care. He has made me realise how much happier I am, and better I look, when I am taking good care of me and feeling all buff. He is not a distraction, he is a stepping stone to progression. I’m going to try and stay in this mode until the real one comes along. He is just an ego boost and a reminder not to let myself go just because nobody is seeing me naked. I’m not going to get drawn in just because he looks like he’s got a lovely penis under his tracksuit bottoms and because I can imagine biting his neck tattoos.

Thanks for being my therapy! You should try this too, even if nobody reads it. Writing down your dilemmas can help you to solve them, writing down your story full stop is good, even if it’s not a dilemma. It just gives you clarity. This has really helped.  No roadman dick for me thank you very much.




7 thoughts on “Roadman Recovery

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  1. I’m so glad you’ve talk yourself out of it, I started reading it like nooo. Grey joggers are the devil! I’m glad the universe delivered this man to you, you’ve got to stay on your toes!

  2. You are a genius! Your bloggs are incredible.
    You remind me of a young, female Alain deBotton… you’re a philosopher. You say what we’re all thinking but can’t articulate ourselves. That is a genius! You’re an incredible writer and thinker. I can’t praise you enough. Thank you

  3. Damn, I’m late to the party. Forgive me I thought (and hoped) this blog was gonna lead to an all out filthy session but nope! Im proud of you Layla! Haha say no to devil dick!

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