A tale of mid-date shenanigans from the archive while I attempt to pen the arse-clenching calamity that was my most recent venture onto the dating scene... Reader, if you think this one is awkward, JUST. YOU. WAIT.

"Were you optimistic enough about this evening to have deployed a tactical wank before coming out?"

It's not, I'd wager, the opening line a guy expects to hear when he sits across a table from you to endure the five minutes of mandatory small talk during the arse-clenchingly awkward living hell that it is Speed Dating, but it rarely fails to provoke an entertaining reaction.

But, in my defence, I was bored.

If you've been lucky enough to avoid it, let me explain that Speed Dating is agonisingly awful. It somehow enhances all the of the dreary small talk and casual disappointment of regular dating, whilst simultaneously stripping anything even remotely enjoyable from the experience. I can only imagine it was created purely as a means to prove that, when it comes down to it, perhaps there are some circumstances in which being single and lonely is preferable to the hateful alternative.

It's essentially a meat-market, wherein you're first forced to engage in idle chit-chat with the tender-loin you intend to consume. And, just like at a meat-market, in most cases the potential meals would simply rather not be eaten at all.

In hindsight I feel that analogy may have confused things.

In case you're unaware; A Speed Dating evening consists of women sitting at numbered tables around a venue, while guys move round and spend a five minutes at a time in each of their companies. This is timed by the host - usually a slightly post middle-aged woman who believes herself to be a Machiavellian romanticist, but who in fact thinks Machiavelli is a type of exotic Italian pasta - who either blows a whistle or rings a bell when time has elapsed, signalling it's time to move on. At the end of the evening everyone secretly lists which numbers they'd consider meeting again and the lists are compared in private for potential matchups.

It's an in person Tinder. Except rather than having the luxury of being able to immediately swipe left on the non-preferred, you're instead required to spend five minutes attempting pleasantries.

I've been Speed Dating twice in my life. The first time was as a student wherein it was presented more as an excuse to meet fellow first years. Coming as it did though only a week after Freshers, it was rendered somewhat inconsequential, the vast majority of those willing to sign up for such an even having already become intimately acquainted the week prior.

Or perhaps that was just me.

The second time came due to a friend being inexplicably eager to 'give it a go', but being entirely unwilling to try it out alone. I was volunteered to be her accompaniment, despite my best protestations at the time. A great many favours were owed to me as a result of that night.

The venue was a somewhat grim and grotty bar. All of the tables had A4 sized numbers in creased laminated pouches stuck to them, giving more the atmosphere of a police line up than one of burgeoning romance. I ended up being seated on the other side of the room to my friend, rendering my supportive presence entirely irrelevant, but Wendy - the mid-fifties trying her best to pull off late thirties but missing by twenty years - insisted these things work best when friends aren't near each other. "Each of the men is deserving of your full attention," I was told in no uncertain terms.

I wasn't much a fan of Wendy.

We took our seats and the guys were unleashed from their holding pen in the next room. I, having potentially been eyed as a troublemaker, had been seated at the far end of the bar, so only got an initial look at those who were taking their seats in my immediate vicinity.

I don't want to sound cruel or callous but, from my initial assessment based on the five or so I could see, they all seemed to share one characteristic in common;

The unmistakable whiff of desperation.

Now. Don't get me wrong. We've all been there. But, personally, Speed Dating doesn't strike me as an ideal solution for the need to quench those particular urges.

In short, these men seemed to be participating because a guaranteed five minutes in a woman's company would actually be in excess of what they usually achieve.

I'll not single anyone out in particular, but broadly speaking the men could be categorised into two groups: Those entirely devoid of Charisma, or those who were simply trying far too hard.

Never in my life have been forced to endure such a barrage of inane wittering, questioning and droning. God help me I tried to be civil, polite and encouraging, but I only have so much patience and I can only die a little inside so many times.

Which was why I started asking my winning opening question:

"Were you optimistic enough about this evening to have deployed a tactical wank before coming out?"

Responses tended to group into three categories:

The Offended - "Excuse me?!" "That's incredibly inappropriate..." etc.

The Embarrassed - These tended to include few words but a great deal of going red, turning bashful and, in several cases, being entirely unable to look me in the eye for the next five minutes.

The Liars - Some gamely attempted to answer the question with a 'No'. However, almost without fail, those that actually did answer in the negative were clearly lying. In one rather unpleasant instance it was so obvious that I got the impression that was literally what he'd been doing whilst waiting in the holding room. I even cautiously checked his hands for residue.

But one answer stood out from the crowd:

"Hell no. A snake without venom is basically a belt."

I'm reasonably sure he was paraphrasing a Family Guy quote, but he delivered it utterly deadpan and whilst staring me down unflinchingly.

This was a guy worthy of five minutes.

It passed by in the blinking of an eye. Infuriatingly so. Proving beyond doubt how utterly inane the concept of Speed Dating is - You spend great swathes of time with the tedious and, when you finally find someone worth engaging with, the damn whistle blows and they move on.

I suggested he break the rules and just stay at my table regardless. He looked as though I was suggesting we burn the place to the ground. He was eyeing Wendy the whole time and may have been genuinely fearful of her stern gaze.

Coward.

So instead I suggested something else. Partially as a joke, but mostly to once again gauge his response.

"Fine. In two whistles time I'm going to make an excuse and head to the bathroom. If you care to join me we'll see about de-venomizing that snake..."

The whistle blew again, hurrying him along.

I didn't register a single word the following two guys said to me. I was too busy wondering if the snake would take the bait.

After the second whistle, I stood up and began to walk toward the bathroom. I made it all of five steps before I was accosted by Wendy.

"If you would't mind sticking to the planned break times please. It's not fair to leave a gentleman sitting there all on his own now, is it?"

She spoke sweetly but the passive aggressive undertone was barely concealed. I pitched my reply to match it:

"I appreciate that, Wendy. But I'm an adult and don't need to be told when I'm allowed to take a piss, thank you very much."

She rocked back on her heels as though I'd slapped her. It was the second most satisfying thing to happen that night.

The bathrooms were individual stalls rather than gendered, so I loitered outside as he'd otherwise have no idea where I'd gone. Not that I actually expected him to turn up. Even if he'd wanted to, I got the sense he wouldn't have the manhood to stand up to Wendy.

I was wrong.

He approached after around a minute looking almost giddy with delight. I couldn't tell whether this was at the prospect of his snake potentially having earned itself a meal, or simply as a result of having stood up to Wendy.

Regardless, we stepped into the cubicle together and essentially picked up our conversation where we left off.

Except now I was casually wanking him off while we conversed.

If this sounds bizarre then it's likely because, in all honesty, it was. We'd found ourselves in a ludicrous situation wherein what we actually wanted was more conversation, but that in order to validate and allow for it, we had to engage in active fornication.

Bizarre. But no less enjoyable for it.

We chatted about our mutual loathing of Speed Dating, of what had brought us here - it turns out we were both in the company of more enthusiastic friends - and of the worst first impressions we'd achieved so far.

And all the while I was stroking his cock.

It was spectacularly un-sexy, but somehow all the more gratifying as a result.

In spite of my casual pace and the lack of any other stimuli, my solo hand word was apparently getting the job done. He paused mid anecdote and asked as casually as if he'd asked me the time;

"Would you mind if I came?"

I couldn't help but laugh. Laugh, and stroke him with a little more pace until he jizzed against the bathroom door.

As I washed my hands he asked if I'd be interested in him returning the favour. I answered that perhaps that would be best saved for later, as we didn't want to spend too long in here and risk the wrath of Wendy. He reluctantly agreed.

I reentered the Speed Dating room and took my place back at my table where a poor man had been sat solo. He looked more downtrodden than annoyed.

"Sorry about that," I said, brightly. "I was just wanking a former occupant of that chair off in the bathroom. I'd offer the same, but I don't think there's long enough left..."

Come the end of the night (pun intended), everyone had to submit their potential matches. I thought it would be funny if I deliberately didn't match with bathroom guy, figuring I'd see him afterwards anyway.

Wendy accused me of being a disruptive influence who was 'actively intimidating' the "poor gentlemen". Sure enough, my match list was ego-dentingly short.

It turned out my friend had found the experience to be equally loathsome, but had also matched with bathroom guy. I suggested she should make a move.

She got a date, I made a speedy escape.