Suzanne Portnoy

I’ll be reading smutty excerpts from my two books tomorrow in honour of the day of lurve. I hear it’s being plugged in Metro and Time Out and a few other places, so get down to Waterstones Notting Hill early to get a seat. The show starts at 7pm.

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I’ve been a fan of Mimi over at Sexagenarian and the City since she started blogging. It’s a wonderful read, not least of which because she’s so damn good at conveying the emotional rollercoaster that is dating. Recently she has met a man who sounds like he could be a keeper. Although quite a few of them start that way in Mimi’s world, her approach to this one is more considered, a little more cautious, more grown up. Which just goes to prove that even at sixty we all still have a lot to learn. That’s what makes a good blog - actually being able to see a person go from somewhat naive to wiser and more confident.

Whereas anyone who reads this blog knows that I’ve been a wise, old, fairly cynical bitch for some time now. And that I take with a cup of salt all the stuff men tell me. It’s not that I don’t trust guys but I know that most of them have a challenging relationship with honesty. Similarly I know that being a smart, sexy, fit and funny woman that I’m ticking lots of boxes. Add to that a big house, a good job, grown up kids, great blowjobs and I’m close to the perfect package. The fact I don’t do monogamy is actually seen by many as an extra bonus. It has taken me 40-something years to work this out, a lot of lunges and a whole heap of compliments.

Less than ten years ago, I wasn’t so confident. As anyone who read my first book will know, I fell in love with a guy over email. I’m a sucker for a good email. Anyone who can spell, put the words in the right order and actually get them to mean something, is halfway to getting my knickers off. This particularly guy loved poetry and so his emails were sparse but beautifully written. At least that’s what I thought at the time, although it could have been that he was in a complete rush to get rid of me and didn’t have the time to jot down more than a few lines. Eventually the emails led to phone calls and the phone calls led to meetings and the rest, as the cliche goes, is the subject of two books.

Now, like Mimi, I’ve grown up… a little. Ping ponging emails back and forth, each one becoming more intense and interesting, is like being able to eat only canapes. You convince yourself you can live off pigs-in-a-blanket forever but eventually you realise you want a main course. Now, if a few emails don’t lead to a phone call or a suggestion to get together, especially when the guy in question is living in London and on my side of the River, I wonder what it’s all about. OK, I know he’s busy but how hard is it to pick up the phone? Call me greedy but after a few emails back and forth, I want face-to-face contact. I want to feel his skin touching mine. Last night I even fantasised about phone sex with the guy, something I haven’t been inclined to do since I ended a relationship years ago with a news cameraman who was always on assignment and liked to run up the bill on the station’s sat phone talking to me.

But it’s easy for the words alone to hook me. It’s easy to feel myself sliding into that comfortable place where I’m looking forward to the next mail even though I know it’s just a bunch of letters on a page.

That’s the drag. Because although I think I’m all grown up now, I’m still a sucker for a guy who gives good email.