I am a dangerous man, women have told me over the last few months, now I don’t know about you, but my idea of a dangerous man is a suave, good looking charmer, the Milk Tray Man, that was the kind of dangerous I wanted to be, unfortunately it’s not the dangerous people have in mind but it’s nice to dream………………………….
For my friends from overseas I’ve attached a link to YouTube with an ad from British TV back in the day, the Milk Tray Man was dashing, heroic, and always delivering chocolates through shark infested waters and dangerous situations to a mystery lady. Another dangerous man from the same era was Leonard Rossiter in the Cinzano adverts, dangerous, but just for the havoc he created everywhere he ventured. What sort of dangerous am I?
Recent events make me think I may lean towards Cinzano Man, in one short week with just one person I have managed to throw red wine, spill coffee and smash a prized possession of theirs into a thousand pieces, this with someone I like very much, what damage could I do with someone I don’t like? It’s started me asking myself if I am just an accident prone klutz, I’ve been racking my brains for memories of the mishaps I have had over time, thankfully they are relatively rare, the really terrible cringe worthy ones, though like the proverbial bus they come two or three at a time.
One particular episode comes to mind from a few years ago and as is often the case with me – sex, well reproduction to be exact was the root, my partner and I were looking at having another baby, things were not moving as nature intended and so we both had to get our internal workings checked out, I was dispatched first to St. Marys Hospital, where at the sexual health clinic I was given my ticket and sat in a very busy waiting room, packed with all sorts of people, one side of me sat a lady in big Sunglasses, hiding behind a copy of the Daily Telegraph, she was well dressed and well heeled, she said nothing during the age we waited and did not venture from behind her paper, on my other a chap who was the exact opposite, constantly chattering and from the other end of the social scale to Ms.Telegraph. He engaged me in conversation and sounded quite proud of the fact that he was suffering with Hepatitis, and not just one strain but all three, A,B & C at the same time He had a copy of the Sun and pointed to the headline, it was about Charles and Diana and their marriage break up, Mr Hepatitis said he thought Charles was “A Prize Twat what on Earth does he see in that Camilla Bird she’s a Moose – that Diana – lovely!”
As I finally entered the Doctors waiting room a young Female Doctor, white coated and stethoscoped was sitting at her desk. She asked me to drop my trousers and underpants, without even having eye contact, this did take me back a little, I wasn’t expecting romance but it all did feel rather cold and automated, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves which she put on, I started to feel nervous, “now, she said, I am going to have to take a scrape from the inside of your penis, we need to take a sample for testing, it may give you a little discomfort, but it will only take a moment, my anxiety levels began to rise………. Next she pressed a buzzer on her desk and in came a male nurse, built like a brick shit-house, held in his massive hairy left hand was what appeared to be a small metallic umbrella, I can only describe the instrument of torture as a similar shape and size to those little umbrellas you sometimes get in cocktails as decorations, unfortunately this one wasn’t in my drink, it was going up my willy, well I can tell you it did give me more than a little discomfort and the fact that it was inserted by Cro-Magnon man with his big hairy hands made it no more pleasant, anyway, the deed was done, I was thoroughly and meticulously scraped. At the end of the examination the Doctor said that I would get the results in due course, and that I should exit through a second door in her office, which she explained led to a bathroom where I could wash my hands. In the adjoining room I found a loo, a sink and the largest liquid soap dispenser I have ever seen. It had a pump button on it and as I pressed down a little too hard a jet of liquid soap shot out at high speed and cascaded down my groin and trouser leg. I tried to clean off all the excess soap, but the more I rubbed the more it foamed. I looked as though I had not just wet myself but exploded with bodily fluids of a creamy nature, I left the bathroom and found on the other side the waiting room, full of patients, I am sure that as I left every pair of eyes was on me and my creamy wet trousers and imagining that I must be suffering some terrible new STD.
The next part of my fertility check up was to provide a semen sample, this I was told could either be decanted in the comfort of my own home or at the clinic with the aid of “reading material” presumably with accompanying pictures, I plumbed for the former home-working method as the most conducive.
On the appointed morning I waited until everyone had left the house, then went up to my bedroom and made myself comfortable, a little later when I was still as what one might call the heavy petting/ evolved foreplay stage of self-love I heard the front door open, someone walking up the stairs, I froze, the footsteps came nearer, the bedroom door opened, in walked the Au-Pair “Oh I didn’t realise you were in “ she said, my cheeks were already red but being found in bed at 9.30am on a weekday morning with a porno mag and rosy red cheeks is I can tell you embarrassing. Nothing else was said I really could not begin to explain what was going on without making the situation worse, she quickly exited. Eventually I managed to complete my task.
The next problem was time, the sample had to be at the hospital within 30 mins, otherwise it was no use, I had no car that day, so tucked the test tube in my breast pocket to keep it safe and at body temperature, jumped on my bike and cycled like the clappers to the hospital. On the way my erratic cycling and panic meant I was nearly knocked off the bike, I then had a vision in my head, I saw the local paper headline “Local man in bizarre bike accident found covered in Semen at site of crash” I imagined the papers, my family, the embarrasment ………………………..However vision aside I made it to the hospital in good time, the test results were all fine and I was pleased to hear that I was not firing blanks. One of perhaps quite a few embarrassing stories I could recount, but the point remains that in my heart I am milk tray man.
I want to be a hero, I want to be suave, sexy and devilishly good looking, but like Leonard Rossiter, I am afraid that every once and a while I am Cinzano.As for Dangerous, well the reason why I am dangerous is that I am a man on the re-bound, I’m dangerous for a woman to get close to because it is early days for me. Though I didn’t believe it, it has been so true, I started looking for a replacement woman, I met lots of really pleasant, attractive and friendly women that liked me, but there was something missing, the missing factor was my heart, I thought that things might develop, would develop, but it wasn’t real.
I have learnt and I’ve let go, I have cancelled dates, I have stopped reading emails from the dating website. I need no replacement and I don’t want a replacement, what I had before was not right for me, it’s about change and new direction. I am listening to my heart, maybe for the first time in my life, I am not hunting for a woman, I don’t need to seek love, because love is coming to find me. I just hop e Milk Tray Man wins out……………………………………