Rory Carrick thought he’d come up trumps on Plenty of Fish when he met a hot doctor with an instant bedside manner, but Dr Yes turned out to be a bit of Dr No.

My third date on Plenty of Fish (POF) led me into the arms of Dr. Yes (he has Dr. in his title and he said ‘yes’, so it fits him nicely). It didn’t take much for him to show me his bedside manner either. We got chatting on a Saturday afternoon and within the hour had swapped numbers. There were plenty of PG15 texts exchanged and we realised we actually both worked in the same place.

Monday morning rolled round and he invited me to call by his office to say ‘hi’. Not wanting to appear too eager, I waited a good 45 seconds before grabbing my coat and legging it to his building. We made small talk while eyeing each other up. There was chemistry. Fast forward five minutes and we were chewing the faces off each other in his office.

That was about 10.30 in the morning and alas we both had to get back to work. At lunchtime we were having coffee, trading compliments and lingering looks. At 5pm we were back in his office. At 5.02pm we were rolling around on his floor. By 5.09pm, let’s just say we were both smiling and buckling our belts.

‘I’d still like to go on a proper date,’ he said while buttoning his shirt. ‘I’d love to’ I replied pulling my jumper back on.

Our date was set for Friday after work. It turned out Dr. Yes wasn’t great in general at responding to text messages, which was quite the change from his libido-led textathon around our first encounter. Friday arrived and we met for a few pints and clicked quite well. He was engaging and interesting, smart and handsome and a pocket gay, which made me look tall (which I’m never adverse to). Many pints and a burrito later, led to a taxi back to his place.

We woke up together, nursing matching hangovers. I’ve a vague recollection of throwing up in his bathroom at some point. We spent Saturday together. Took a walk, visited a museum, had lunch, browsed an antique store, watched some movies, ordered take out and went to bed again. It was bit like one of those montages in a nineties rom-com.

A follow-up date ensued, at an outdoor movie. I popped over to his place after work with a bag of wine, cheese and pasta bowls, which were quickly demolished sitting on the balcony. We had a really nice evening lying under the stars, watching an old eighties flick. When it got a little cooler we snuggled into each other on our blanket and shared plenty of smooches. I stayed over that night again. In the morning he made me a healthy breakfast of porridge with blueberries and we headed off to get the bus to work together.

My stomach rumbled. I felt a fullness. I was at the bus stop with my new love interest and I was having a God-awful cramp in my stomach. The bus was due in five minutes. There was no other choice so I quickly explained my predicament to him, asked for his apartment keys, alarm code and took off like Roadrunner. To say I made it just in time was an understatement. Finishing my business and resetting the alarm code I made my way back to the empty bus stop.

Let me tell you, I was fifty shades of embarrassed meeting him later at work, to return his keys.

Despite the trauma, we arranged another date. There was a bit of a gap between the dates as he was on holiday. As usual he was quiet as a mouse with little or no messages, which made it hard to keep a spark alive.

We eventually met for dinner after work. I was a bit nervous. I liked him but there was a bit of a void between us, which was playing on my mind. We ended up back at his place again, but something wasn’t quite clicking. To make matters worse when we did get to bed my usually fearless friend didn’t seem to want to rear his head, despite being wide awake five minutes previously. So the nervousness I felt before was now a massive (or not so massive) white elephant in the room.

Dr. Yes actually remarked that maybe I didn’t find him hot anymore, which only served to make me feel worse. It was a little awkward when I woke up beside him the morning after. Little did I it would be the last time.

I did suggest another date, but as usual his lack of messages made it difficult. I got one or two vague responses back from my texts. I don’t mind taking a leap and putting myself out there and admitting if I like someone and want to see them again. It saves all that really unnecessary ‘where do I stand?’ business. Dr. Yes eventually moved to complete silence, at which point I gave it one last stab and asked him out straight if we were going to see each other again. His pretty lazy response was: “I thought things fizzled out on both sides”. Not exactly true from where I was standing. They obviously fizzled out for him and he didn’t bother to tell me until I asked. Either that or maybe he was really offended by floppygate, which, let’s be honest, was cringier for me than it was for him. I’m still mortified!

Given that we work in the same place I did think the gentlemanly, or even decent thing for him to do would be to be man enough to tell me face-to-face. Alas the digital age has well and truly substituted manners for the convenience of a generic text. So much for bedside manner, it seems my Dr. Yes turned out to be a Dr. No in disguise, and a pretty rude one at that.

I guess I shall continue my search. I might need to amend my profile to include ‘throws up’, ‘gets cramps’ and ‘can’t get it up’ under the About Me section. Surely there is a market for that somewhere?