TOXIC BACHELOR

WANT TO KNOW WHAT MEN REALLY THINK ABOUT LOVE, DATING AND SEX? STEP FORWARD STUART HOOD...

Oh God. She can't have, can she? Not again. Judging from the mood music, guest china and whiff of scented candles, she can and she has. Despite what she said, my friend Caroline and her boyfriend aren't having a few mates round.

They're having two: the girl desperately trying to find a hole in the floor to crawl into, and myself.

"Stuart, this is the fantastic Hilary; Hilary, this is the lovely Stuart," grins Caroline, before adding with sledgehammer subtlety: "Relax and get to know each other."

She's stopped short of making us wear 'single' T-shirts and highlighting the condom drawer 'in case of emergencies' – but then again she doesn't have to. We get the point. Everything about the evening stinks of a set-up. Which means, of course, that relaxation is impossible. Hence the night lurches from awkward silence to awkward silence.

"I can't believe you two didn't click," sighs Cilla – sorry, Caroline – later. "This time, I thought she was perfect."

Yes, "this time" does mean there's been a precedent. Two, in fact – the seemingly mute Jo, and the 6ft-plus Lizzie. A less than dynamic duo now made into a terrifying trio with the addition of Hilary – a lady who, while perfectly pleasant, would be unstoppable if she ran at you from five yards. Varied? Certainly. Perfect? I'll crack the jokes.

"Do you have any idea of my type?" I ask Caroline morosely. "Clearly not. I like dark, petite girls. You select Jo, Lizzie and Hilary. Stop meddling. Stop meddling now."

I know Caroline and all you coupled-up Cupids mean well. I know you only want what's best for your friends. So all I and my single brethren ask is that you ask. Ask us what sort of man/woman we like. Ask us – via an email, with photos – if said friend fits the bill. Then ask what situation we'd be comfortable meeting in.

And that's it. Three simple questions. Three simple questions that will solve a hell of a lot of problems. Three simple questions that will save Caroline a hell of a lot of scented candles.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

My boyfriend turns his phone off when he's on a night out, which means I can't get hold of him. Sometimes he stays out all night. Should I worry?

Err, yes! The phone thing isn't a big deal. Even my flatmate (a real rabbit-roaster) prefers radio silence over her bloke and 15 lads crooning Sweet Caroline down the blower at 2.30am. But not coming home? That's bad.

One non-appearance is trivial, two is excusable, three requires discussion, more is a major worry. He's making a fool of you. Confront him now.

TOXIC BACHELOR

WANT TO KNOW WHAT MEN REALLY THINK ABOUT LOVE, DATING AND SEX? STEP FORWARD STUART HOOD...

How can we be lovers if we can't be friends? queried ponytailed crooner Michael Bolton. And while I've no doubt his middle-of-the-road music made him millions, I take issue with this particular line of argument.

I think the question should actually be: how can we be lovers if we're already friends? And the answer is: we can't.

Don't get me wrong – I've done it. I've dug in for the long-term, seen the bigger picture, shared Frappuccinos. I have and, because I'm a British man who never learns, I still do.

In fact, at present I'm working the friendship angle (and hopelessly banging my head against a brick wall) with three ladies I believe could be Mrs Hood.

Sweet? Well, not really. More like stupid. Because with each shoulder I offer for them to cry on, friend I set them up with, or b*****d ex I shield them from, I get further away from my ultimate goal, until I reach the point where I may as well lop off my testicles and use them as conkers. Why? Because I've secured the role of friend. Totally. Utterly. Sexless. Friend. How do I know? Because it works both ways.

"Have a word with Sam," advised my friend Fraser. "She still thinks she's got a chance with you." Boy, did I not need this. Boy, did I not want to deal with it. But we are friends, so I had to inform her it wasn't going to happen.

"But… but we get on so well and you tell me everything," she pined. I do, but because Sam is someone I can turn to for the spin-free female perspective. Someone I do love. But not someone I'm ever going to go there with. Not now. Not ever. Because she's a friend. Always has been. Always will be.

I'm sure more than a few of you will know people who were friends for 25 years, got married to different people, moved to opposite Poles, and then found each other in a drive-through near Dover.

But please accept you're the exception. In the real world, unlike the chicken and egg, there is no debate. Lovers come first. Friends later.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

My boyfriend is dieting obsessively and has just gone clothes shopping on his own, which he's never done before. I reckon he might be having an affair – what do you think?

Man finds new girl then suddenly starts eating well and dressing better – all sounds a bit clichéd to me. If your bloke is up to something, he isn't covering his tracks very well, so he's clearly stupid or wants to get caught.

Hence it's more likely he isn't actually doing anything. I'd bet he's been called tubby at work – we men are extremely sensitive to physical slights – or has had a weight warning from his doctor. Ask him, but be prepared for (manly) tears.

TOXIC BACHELOR

WANT TO KNOW WHAT MEN REALLY THINK ABOUT LOVE, DATING AND SEX? STEP FORWARD STUART HOOD...

For some reason or other I wore my kilt last week. Oh, now I remember – it was because I had a wafer-thin excuse (my friend Nick's birthday), and I wanted to pull. And, of course, it worked.

As my fellow Scotsmen scattered around the globe will concur, it always does.

You ladies are a sucker for a bit of tartan. Although you don't like to admit it, physical appearance is important to you all – a fact I use to my advantage when I want an uncomplicated one-night stand.

After all, tartan skirt or no tartan skirt, it's still me, Stu. The guy who, standing in the same bar the night before, got not one eyelid bat, not one second look. The hunter who, through a simple change of clothes, suddenly became the hunted.

"I'd do you in that," said my mate Jemma, which regular readers may be aware is somewhat faint praise. "It says you're all man. And it gives me something to speak to you about."

Ignoring the indecipherable idea that dressing like a woman somehow says you're all man, she's bang on. The initial reason a kilt or indeed any fancy dress outfit works (I've pulled as a tin of Spam, a pirate, Elvis and, bizarrely, as a woman), is that it's a brilliant conversation opener.

Take last week. "What are you celebrating? Whose stag is it? Are you a true Scotsman?" The questions came thick and fast from Sam, a girl I'm humble enough to admit would normally come nowhere near me. Queries fielded, attention secured, drinks purchased, looks slayed by personality.

I'll explain. Fancy dress was my bait but, in the end, it was my personality that reeled Sam in. It was my personality that made her smile, laugh and, ultimately, come home with me. "You know what? You're really funny," she smiled. I am. So are a lot of other men. It's just a shame we have to rely on cheap sartorial tricks to get your attention.

Clothes maketh the man? Absolute rubbish. But they do maketh the man's job a whole lot easier.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

I went out with my ex for two years and we split up last month. I really fancy one of his mates – would it be wrong to go there?

Yes. Definitely. Absolutely. Unequivocally. Two years together and within a month you're trying to jump in the sack with his friend? Wrong doesn't even begin to cover the catastrophic series of events, fights and broken friendships such a liaison would trigger.

I mean, for Christ's sake, why not seduce his father or cut off his manhood while you're at it?

TOXIC BACHELOR

WANT TO KNOW WHAT MEN REALLY THINK ABOUT LOVE, DATING AND SEX? STEP FORWARD STUART HOOD...

Given that laughter doesn't count and "Is it in yet?" is technically a question, the most harrowing sex-based sentence ever delivered to me was proffered by a drunk woman in a train toilet, when she whispered: "Go, child. Run away. And don't come back until you're a man."

She was 43, in great shape and on a mission. I was 21, in a kilt and on a session. The only problem was, with her confidence, her front, her sexual experience and wandering hands, she scared the hell out of me. I unlocked the door and bolted, sporran between my legs, masculinity in tatters.

Six years on, I'm a man who would do anything to quantum leap my way back to that toilet, that night. Because now I know what I missed – my first shot at a cougar.

Cougars, for the uninitiated, are sexually confident women of a mature disposition. Named after the North American predator, they prowl town-centre bars hunting inexperienced males to take back to their lairs, and tutor them in the laws of the bedroom jungle. Young female rivals call them "old slappers". Naive men under 25 reckon they're "sick". Men their own age despair. Me? I love them.

I love them because they know their minds, bodies, what they want and how to get it. A cougar doesn't "um" and "ah" or text one of the girls. She goes for it. If her target concurs, great. If not, she knows it's his loss.

It really is. The two women with the best bodies I've slept with were over 35, and the best two flings I've had were with mature divorcees. Unlike insecurity-plagued 20-somethings, cougars have been there, done that and bought the silk lingerie (no 'three thongs for £10' here).

Because, unlike hang-up-riddled 20-somethings, they are confident enough to let themselves go. And, unlike big talk, little action 20-somethings, they know if they want men to perform, they must perform too.

Cougars get that sex is a two-way street. Too often, 20-somethings don't.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

I have just met a guy who is two months out of a 10-year relationship and has a child. Is this a recipe for disaster?

It all depends on how he left it with his ex. If she abandoned him for another man, and you've seen a picture of her and realised you look and dress like her, head for the hills. If he cheated on her, things are hostile and he's being denied access to the child, I'd say the same.

If it just petered out amicably, you have a chance. You might have to accept a lot of baggage, and take things slowly, but it's a chance nonetheless.