Diamonds in the Rough.. Or just Rough?

When I decided to escape the grey, monotonous vibes of pandemic-era Britain for the golden coasts of South Africa, I had one promise to myself: Don’t lose the dating momentum. That Tinder-Hinge-Bumble shuffle was still in full swing and I wasn’t about to let a little global crisis and a cross-continental flight put a dent in my game.

Now let me tell you something about dating in South Africa—it’s a step up. The men? A cut above. Tall, tan, and often as rugged as a biltong-scented safari. It's not uncommon to find the odd diamond in the rough, emphasis on diamond, less so on rough. And I matched with one that looked like he'd stepped out of a surfer’s Instagram feed. Cute as a button, blonde (a personal weakness), and on the shorter side—but it suited him in that adorably compact way.

It was peak Covid, remember. Restaurants? Closed. Bars? Forget about it. So we went for the classic lockdown date: a beach walk. Romantic in theory, but somehow… it all fell a bit flat. He spoke with the energy of a British man who's just found out the train’s been delayed and his oat milk flat white wasn’t made with oat milk. No flirting, no spark, no cheeky banter. Had I somehow imported a repressed Brit into South Africa?

But then. The twist. Alcohol had been banned in South Africa at the time (honestly, the true horror of the pandemic), and our conversation veered into the forbidden. Turns out, my beach date had a secret stash of wine and—wait for it—a pool. Suddenly, we had a second date on the cards.

Now here’s where things get delightfully cringe. My dad had to drive me to the date. Because responsible choices, okay? Also because I planned to have a glass (or three) and wasn’t about to drink-drive through the Cape. Problem was, I chose a dress that could only be described as a whisper of fabric. And it was windy. Gale force windy. My dad dropping me off at a random guy’s house, while I attempted to keep my dignity and dress from flying off entirely, was the kind of mortifying I’ll remember forever.

I ring the bell. He answers. Just stands there. Not a word. Not a “Hi, you look great.” Nothing. I’m stood there, wind-swept and half-naked like a discount Marilyn Monroe and he’s just blinking at me. Eventually I have to say, “So… can I come in?”

Inside, it was all the same. Standing. More awkward silence. So I say the only thing that makes sense at this point: “Where’s this wine then?” He pours us some, and we relocate to the couch. But conversation is still as dry as the Pinotage. So I do what any woman does when faced with awkward energy and a swimming pool—suggest a swim.

The pool was the highlight. Splashy. Flirty-ish. Slightly less awkward, but still no real fire. After a while I suggest we head back inside, thinking maybe we’d actually hit some rhythm. Back on the couch, chatting, and then—BOOM. He’s suddenly kissing me. No warning. Just full dive. Like, where did that come from?

Before I knew it, we’re in the bedroom. And friends… it was five minutes of truly tragic sex. No foreplay. No finesse. Just a sudden start and an even quicker finish. I lay there thinking, “Is this it? Is this my reward for weathering beach awkwardness and gale-force dress reveals?”

But wait—it gets worse. After this Olympic sprint of disappointing intimacy, he looks at me and says, “Can I get a blowjob?” Sir. SIR. You’ve just served me the Tesco Value of bedroom experiences and now you want dessert? Absolutely not. I told him I was calling my dad to pick me up.

Cue the most excruciating 30 minutes of post-shag silence known to woman. I sat there, clutching my dignity like it was a Louis Vuitton clutch. When my dad finally arrived, I practically leapt into the car and didn’t look back. Left my bikini behind too, and trust me, that thing’s never getting rescued.

Needless to say, neither of us ever reached out again.

Moral of the story? Sometimes the diamonds in the rough are just... rough. And if a man talks more about contraband wine than making you laugh, run.

Until next time—may your dresses stay down and your dates know what foreplay is.