The question feared by all lesbians...
Of course, the question feared by singletons everywhere and indeed Bridget Jones herself (an ingenius woman I adore) is ... "So, hows the love life?". Authenticity is added here with either/or; a drunken drawl or pissed old man you understand. Nevertheless, it is a feared question is it not? In a few short words the singleton in question has only a few moments to consider why in fact they are single, what is wrong with them (if anything), what inadequacies they possess, why are they unlucky in love and also if they are happy being single or not. All of this will be considered by the poor singleton but the dear old soul must also leave time to formulate an adequate reply which provokes no further questions. Sigh.
Anyhow, lesbians also possess a similar dilema. Being the rare breed that we are, one would assume that no such pickle exists but I can assure you it does. So let me enlighten you. The god given question feared by all lesbians is thus; "How exactly do lesbians have sex?". It's at this point I always release a somewhat melodramatic sigh followed by my own standard response to all such questions, which is as follows - did God not give you all imaginations?
-The Dame-
PS Just in case you were wondering, and for those of you who have seen the film, my place at the 'smug married couples dinner' has been well and truly booked...
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The Celebrations
Thursday 24th May 2007
Happy Birthday Miss Unravel.
Went out for a spot of cocktail drinking and Japanese food eating for Miss Unravel's birthday party. As always, it was fun. I still haven't come to terms with the reason behind my inability to drink any more than three cocktails without feeling all funny inside. The mere knowledge that, given half a chance, the world and his wife could drink you under the table, is very unsettling to a budding sexpert/socialite. How exactly am I supposed to climb the rungs of success, have delicious sex and maintain my intelligence without the ability to drink as much and for as long as I'd like.
Having said this, I still haven't been drunk (the way most of the people mentioned on this blog will have been). And for this I am thankful. Drink and be merry I believe the saying goes. Nothing about drinking and having hallucinations and vomit induced fits.
Back to the party, the people present were Mr Tech, Mr ProPlus, Lady Capulet, Miss Unravel, Moi and Miss Unravel's friend and boyfriend (i refer, of course, to two separate people). Since when were lovers friends in the purest sense? Er...never.
Thirst bar (as usual). Satsuma (as usual). Delicious (as usual).
And, let's not forget, I now find (very unflattering bordering on ghastly) photos of myself all over facebook. I thought my pledge to save myself from the virus would have afforded protection enough. Clearly not. Clearly, words need to be had.
Friday 25th May 2007
Happy Birthday Adriana.
The venue was Navaro Joes in Covent Garden (an interesting blend of American style food presented well and tasting, for the most part (and strictly avoiding the sugar ridden peach sorbet) and interesting although expensive cocktails). Had never been there before, so that's always a plus. And yes, I would go back.
One of Adriana's friends who was present, is 'best mates' with Michelle Bass from Big Brother (you know,Michelle and Stu Michelle?) Michelle is currently engaged to her psycho-therapist. I love that, the breaking of the Hippocratic oath that quite clearly stipulates, 'Thou Shalt Not Fuck the Patient and then marry her'. The wedding is planned for next summer and Ophelia tried her very best to nab an invite. Dare I say, knowing Ophelia, she'll be attending. If I manage to go myself, expect to see me on the cover of Heat Magazine the following week won't you.
The dinner took so long that we had no time for post dinner drinks. That said, it was a delicious meal and I'd happily return. It was also lovely seeing Adriana after a long time. Unfortunately, her Boyf was in Spain and unable to attend. We kept an empty seat, just in case.
Happy Birthday Miss Unravel.
Went out for a spot of cocktail drinking and Japanese food eating for Miss Unravel's birthday party. As always, it was fun. I still haven't come to terms with the reason behind my inability to drink any more than three cocktails without feeling all funny inside. The mere knowledge that, given half a chance, the world and his wife could drink you under the table, is very unsettling to a budding sexpert/socialite. How exactly am I supposed to climb the rungs of success, have delicious sex and maintain my intelligence without the ability to drink as much and for as long as I'd like.
Having said this, I still haven't been drunk (the way most of the people mentioned on this blog will have been). And for this I am thankful. Drink and be merry I believe the saying goes. Nothing about drinking and having hallucinations and vomit induced fits.
Back to the party, the people present were Mr Tech, Mr ProPlus, Lady Capulet, Miss Unravel, Moi and Miss Unravel's friend and boyfriend (i refer, of course, to two separate people). Since when were lovers friends in the purest sense? Er...never.
Thirst bar (as usual). Satsuma (as usual). Delicious (as usual).
And, let's not forget, I now find (very unflattering bordering on ghastly) photos of myself all over facebook. I thought my pledge to save myself from the virus would have afforded protection enough. Clearly not. Clearly, words need to be had.
Friday 25th May 2007
Happy Birthday Adriana.
The venue was Navaro Joes in Covent Garden (an interesting blend of American style food presented well and tasting, for the most part (and strictly avoiding the sugar ridden peach sorbet) and interesting although expensive cocktails). Had never been there before, so that's always a plus. And yes, I would go back.
One of Adriana's friends who was present, is 'best mates' with Michelle Bass from Big Brother (you know,Michelle and Stu Michelle?) Michelle is currently engaged to her psycho-therapist. I love that, the breaking of the Hippocratic oath that quite clearly stipulates, 'Thou Shalt Not Fuck the Patient and then marry her'. The wedding is planned for next summer and Ophelia tried her very best to nab an invite. Dare I say, knowing Ophelia, she'll be attending. If I manage to go myself, expect to see me on the cover of Heat Magazine the following week won't you.
The dinner took so long that we had no time for post dinner drinks. That said, it was a delicious meal and I'd happily return. It was also lovely seeing Adriana after a long time. Unfortunately, her Boyf was in Spain and unable to attend. We kept an empty seat, just in case.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Christianity - The end
My flirtation with Christianity has come to and end. It's a shame really. I met some incredibly friendly and interesting people, learnt so much more about a faith so different to the one I was raised in, and the supper got better and better as the weeks progressed. Sigh.
If our subject wasn't religion, I think I'd feel more tempted to stay on. Am I a Christian? I doubt it. I am left unable to completely believe that much of what The Bible teaches is anything more than an interpretation that has gained weight over time. Further, accepting the Christian faith would mean that I would have to accept that things were, at the moment, dire. Believing in the power of death rather than life itself is something I would struggle to do.
Having said this, there are a number of things the Christian faith has taught me, about responsibility, faith, loyalty and forgiveness.
I think I'd quite like to learn about Buddhism now. Onwards and upwards I guess.
If our subject wasn't religion, I think I'd feel more tempted to stay on. Am I a Christian? I doubt it. I am left unable to completely believe that much of what The Bible teaches is anything more than an interpretation that has gained weight over time. Further, accepting the Christian faith would mean that I would have to accept that things were, at the moment, dire. Believing in the power of death rather than life itself is something I would struggle to do.
Having said this, there are a number of things the Christian faith has taught me, about responsibility, faith, loyalty and forgiveness.
I think I'd quite like to learn about Buddhism now. Onwards and upwards I guess.
The Tale 2
Certain 'comments' on the blog deserve a full blown entry on the main page. The Dame has, in response to the opening of the tale I posted on here, sent her take on the story so far.
Enjoy...
It was her beauty you see. I do not recall seeing beauty like it to this day. Four years on as I sit here behind my laptop in this cramped coffee shop I can still see her face behind the counter, I can still feel her next to me. Four years on and I am here to tell a story, so that is what I will do.
How do you define beauty though? She wasn't your average beauty you must understand, she wouldn't grace the catwalks of Milan or the stages of Broadway. I remember the day clearly. 14th October 1989. I remember the way the wind carried the leaves down the street, grazing cobbles and landing in the frozen gutters. The condensation from the mouths of people rushing to and fro made the street look almost poetic in its innocence. I even remember the newspaper seller barking that papers were available and throwing small change into his tin, the money coming in to land with a high pitched clang. There was a distinct sense that the world was revolving and life was real. Amazing how we remember these intricacies which to others are seemingly insignificant, and which in the grand scheme of things are almost unimportant. But. I could recount the details of that day over and over, because it was the day I discovered her.
I had rushed into the coffee shop on my way to work to collect my morning paper and a few minutes to myself when I saw her. Serving behind the counter she resembled a woman you might find in a Jack Kerouac novel. She wore scruffy brown leather boots, faded denims and a t-shirt with a motif on front shouting 'save the cows, fry the hunters'. Her hair as I remember was long, brown, tied back with a few strands escaping the prison of her hair tie and hung down her face. Her face was complimented by a pair of black glasses which hung off the end of her nose and her generally scruffy attire was completed with an apron that hung untidily from her waist. She even had a few pens clipped to the outer edge of it.
Beauty. Not to everyone else, just to me. Do you know what really caught my eye though? Her hair, her feet, her arse, her eyes - no, her ears. When I saw her from my position in the doorway I wanted her. Upon my approach to the counter I wanted her. At the counter I wanted her, and her ears. I could imagine lying next to her breathing into her ear, I wanted to run my tongue around the outer edge of her ear before kissing her. I wanted to hear her call my name
'Can I help you sir?'. I shivered at the cool breeze floating through the door. An invisible conveyer belt had carried me to the counter and I noticed she had long slender fingers and eyes of such a deep blue I thought I might be drowning at sea. 'Sir? Yes, um coffee'.
She smiled that smile, oh, that smile. And that, for me, was the moment. I wanted her. I consciously turned my wedding ring around the finger it belonged to. But that's another story.
Enjoy...
It was her beauty you see. I do not recall seeing beauty like it to this day. Four years on as I sit here behind my laptop in this cramped coffee shop I can still see her face behind the counter, I can still feel her next to me. Four years on and I am here to tell a story, so that is what I will do.
How do you define beauty though? She wasn't your average beauty you must understand, she wouldn't grace the catwalks of Milan or the stages of Broadway. I remember the day clearly. 14th October 1989. I remember the way the wind carried the leaves down the street, grazing cobbles and landing in the frozen gutters. The condensation from the mouths of people rushing to and fro made the street look almost poetic in its innocence. I even remember the newspaper seller barking that papers were available and throwing small change into his tin, the money coming in to land with a high pitched clang. There was a distinct sense that the world was revolving and life was real. Amazing how we remember these intricacies which to others are seemingly insignificant, and which in the grand scheme of things are almost unimportant. But. I could recount the details of that day over and over, because it was the day I discovered her.
I had rushed into the coffee shop on my way to work to collect my morning paper and a few minutes to myself when I saw her. Serving behind the counter she resembled a woman you might find in a Jack Kerouac novel. She wore scruffy brown leather boots, faded denims and a t-shirt with a motif on front shouting 'save the cows, fry the hunters'. Her hair as I remember was long, brown, tied back with a few strands escaping the prison of her hair tie and hung down her face. Her face was complimented by a pair of black glasses which hung off the end of her nose and her generally scruffy attire was completed with an apron that hung untidily from her waist. She even had a few pens clipped to the outer edge of it.
Beauty. Not to everyone else, just to me. Do you know what really caught my eye though? Her hair, her feet, her arse, her eyes - no, her ears. When I saw her from my position in the doorway I wanted her. Upon my approach to the counter I wanted her. At the counter I wanted her, and her ears. I could imagine lying next to her breathing into her ear, I wanted to run my tongue around the outer edge of her ear before kissing her. I wanted to hear her call my name
'Can I help you sir?'. I shivered at the cool breeze floating through the door. An invisible conveyer belt had carried me to the counter and I noticed she had long slender fingers and eyes of such a deep blue I thought I might be drowning at sea. 'Sir? Yes, um coffee'.
She smiled that smile, oh, that smile. And that, for me, was the moment. I wanted her. I consciously turned my wedding ring around the finger it belonged to. But that's another story.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Documentary
Documentary on tonight on Channel 4 at 11.05pm. The name: 'Desperate Virgins'.
'' Following the pressures and expectations placed upon adult virgins Catherine, 43, Mike, 29, and Alan 49, as they undertake an emotional journey that sees them getting closer to having intercourse for the first time.''
For those of you who recall docu-lady and her persistence in trying to make me feature in a documentary which chronicled my virginal exploits, this is the one folks.
I came across it whilst reading the metro this morning.
At this point, I'm particularly pleased at my decision not to participate. I may have been a number of things in my life, but desperate was never one of those. I think docu-lady failed to see the point. A shame that.
'' Following the pressures and expectations placed upon adult virgins Catherine, 43, Mike, 29, and Alan 49, as they undertake an emotional journey that sees them getting closer to having intercourse for the first time.''
For those of you who recall docu-lady and her persistence in trying to make me feature in a documentary which chronicled my virginal exploits, this is the one folks.
I came across it whilst reading the metro this morning.
At this point, I'm particularly pleased at my decision not to participate. I may have been a number of things in my life, but desperate was never one of those. I think docu-lady failed to see the point. A shame that.
The Beginning
''Of all the people she could have invited , it struck me as odd that she chose me. The 'other' woman was never first on the guest list, after all. I guess I should have seen that there would be more to it than the asparagus soup and fig tart.
If I'd have known, I would have torn the invitation in two as soon as I received it. That's the thing about the past. There's very little we can do to change it. Let me correct myself, there's bugger all we can do to change it...''
That's the beginning of a story and I'd like people who are reading this blog, to think of a suitable plot. I'm in need of promising ideas. What do people think went on at the party?
If I'd have known, I would have torn the invitation in two as soon as I received it. That's the thing about the past. There's very little we can do to change it. Let me correct myself, there's bugger all we can do to change it...''
That's the beginning of a story and I'd like people who are reading this blog, to think of a suitable plot. I'm in need of promising ideas. What do people think went on at the party?
Sunday, May 20, 2007
From the Ghetto to Heaven
Yes, in clubbing terms that'll mean a great deal to many gay men out there.
I used to hate clubbing. Considered it pointless and considered myself far better than those who actually went out and danced the night away.
This morning I got home at 4.38am. And it was one of those nights that are incredibly fun when you could, and do, dance the night away.
Was supposed to meet J at 8.15pm. He turned up at 9.00pm. Thankfully the weather was beautiful outside and Leicester Square is always alive and kicking. The time did pass. Needless to say, it won’t happen again. I’ll guarantee my lateness from now on. None of this waiting around like a whore.
So, after he turned up we went to the Friendly Society. Now, I have mentioned this place on previous occasions and I do like it, although, it is a little stuffy. The Barbie dolls (of every colour and creed) hanging off the ceiling more than made up for this. When I say hanging, they were firmly attached.
The difference between J and I is that whereas he is exceedingly confident within himself and his sexuality, I am not. I mean, it’s all one big experiment for me, though this is less the case now. The thing is, I admire that quality. That complete ease with oneself. It comes across in the way J is, and the way his friends behave around him. I, on the other hand, feel as though I’m inside a fish bowl, looking at the world outside.
Time should do it. Although, as it always the case, as the night progressed I felt more and more comfortable and when it came to the end, I almost didn’t want to go home.
It’s difficult to describe that feeling when you’re dancing and can almost feel the world fall away.
For once, I didn’t think it necessary to attempt to pull a handsome stranger, instead, being content with our little threesome (J, myself and The Vet – who was also incredibly attractive).
We went to Ghetto, and despite the name, it wasn’t full of Beyonces. In fact, there was quite a mixed crowd. Alcopop after alcopop, nice, though very bad for you.
And then we left and ended up, via use of a rickshaw, at Heaven. Now, I’ve always loved it there. It’s the music. Where you could almost lose yourself in a matter of seconds.
And let’s not forget the show. Drag queen supported by two body beautiful men. Good for the eye, although I did tire of the loin cloth.
I want to do it again. Soon. Although, with exams looming, will need to consult the diary more than usual this time around.
Upon returning home this morning, I wondered whether I could have had a threesome with The Vet and J. Is the morning after muddle of feelings worth a few orgasms the night before? That millionaire dollar question.
I used to hate clubbing. Considered it pointless and considered myself far better than those who actually went out and danced the night away.
This morning I got home at 4.38am. And it was one of those nights that are incredibly fun when you could, and do, dance the night away.
Was supposed to meet J at 8.15pm. He turned up at 9.00pm. Thankfully the weather was beautiful outside and Leicester Square is always alive and kicking. The time did pass. Needless to say, it won’t happen again. I’ll guarantee my lateness from now on. None of this waiting around like a whore.
So, after he turned up we went to the Friendly Society. Now, I have mentioned this place on previous occasions and I do like it, although, it is a little stuffy. The Barbie dolls (of every colour and creed) hanging off the ceiling more than made up for this. When I say hanging, they were firmly attached.
The difference between J and I is that whereas he is exceedingly confident within himself and his sexuality, I am not. I mean, it’s all one big experiment for me, though this is less the case now. The thing is, I admire that quality. That complete ease with oneself. It comes across in the way J is, and the way his friends behave around him. I, on the other hand, feel as though I’m inside a fish bowl, looking at the world outside.
Time should do it. Although, as it always the case, as the night progressed I felt more and more comfortable and when it came to the end, I almost didn’t want to go home.
It’s difficult to describe that feeling when you’re dancing and can almost feel the world fall away.
For once, I didn’t think it necessary to attempt to pull a handsome stranger, instead, being content with our little threesome (J, myself and The Vet – who was also incredibly attractive).
We went to Ghetto, and despite the name, it wasn’t full of Beyonces. In fact, there was quite a mixed crowd. Alcopop after alcopop, nice, though very bad for you.
And then we left and ended up, via use of a rickshaw, at Heaven. Now, I’ve always loved it there. It’s the music. Where you could almost lose yourself in a matter of seconds.
And let’s not forget the show. Drag queen supported by two body beautiful men. Good for the eye, although I did tire of the loin cloth.
I want to do it again. Soon. Although, with exams looming, will need to consult the diary more than usual this time around.
Upon returning home this morning, I wondered whether I could have had a threesome with The Vet and J. Is the morning after muddle of feelings worth a few orgasms the night before? That millionaire dollar question.
Eurovision
It would seem SO inappropriate to mention the waste-of-space Eurovision song contest on such a highbrow blog, although, it was SO bad, it’s definitely worth a slate.
Why on earth were we being represented as a nation by a bunch of sexual deviants dressed in air steward outfits? What the point of this humiliation was I shall never know.
J watched it, unashamedly, the entire programme. I only watched about half an hour.
My personal favourite was Ukraine. A man dressed like a woman who, strangely, coated herself in tin foil and had a cone on her head. I was never sure what I was watching, but the song was absolutely rollicking. The thrusting dance moves that went alongside the tune were, to put it mildly, diabolical.
That said, they came second, beaten by Serbia. And we nearly almost ended with nil point.
Let’s start a campaign to rid our lives of this meaningless and somewhat shameful atrocity.
Bring back the days of ‘Ooh Aah, just a little bit, Ooh Aah, a little bit more’ and the Goddess of thoughtful melody, Gina G.
Why on earth were we being represented as a nation by a bunch of sexual deviants dressed in air steward outfits? What the point of this humiliation was I shall never know.
J watched it, unashamedly, the entire programme. I only watched about half an hour.
My personal favourite was Ukraine. A man dressed like a woman who, strangely, coated herself in tin foil and had a cone on her head. I was never sure what I was watching, but the song was absolutely rollicking. The thrusting dance moves that went alongside the tune were, to put it mildly, diabolical.
That said, they came second, beaten by Serbia. And we nearly almost ended with nil point.
Let’s start a campaign to rid our lives of this meaningless and somewhat shameful atrocity.
Bring back the days of ‘Ooh Aah, just a little bit, Ooh Aah, a little bit more’ and the Goddess of thoughtful melody, Gina G.
The Last Supper
Now, as you know, my friend Mr Tech went to a posh university. Further, he joined a posh rifling club. For this reason he has somehow become a member of the Oxford and Cambridge Members club.
I love food, and I love posh things. As a result I was more than happy to go along to a meal Mr Tech had arranged for people who study at the same place that I do. 27 all in all and it was all very posh.
The Menu:
To Start - Roasted Salmon with a tomato and basil sauce.
Mains – Stuffed quail (though not entirely sure with what), new potatoes, broccoli (done to perfection I should add), and a tarragon infused gravy.
To finish – Profiteroles with chocolate sauce.
Two glasses of wine and one glass of champagne each, and then there was coffee.
All this for £35 was a reasonable, filing and delicious meal.
Of course, it seems only normal to see some of that oxford attitude (not that that’s a bad thing) shine through as the evening progressed. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes those people different to us. But they are different. It’s something about their confidence, and there’s the feeling that something within them is still quite sheltered.
Once I start my own course at one of those posh universities, I wonder if it’ll change me. Perhaps I’m old enough to know better. Perhaps once you’re in the cycle, it’s difficult to get out.
One of things I most enjoyed was watching oxford students dance around drunk, and my friend, Lady Capulet flirting outrageously with them without the intention of furthering anything. There was a balcony. There were drunkards roaming around aimlessly on it. There were pint glasses in danger of hurting onto the ground beneath and there was a pole, the end of which held a flag. The drunkards managed to get his leg over the pole and insisted on bringing it down. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Thankfully, they saw sense and came down immediately.
Yes, I have all this to look forward to.
I love food, and I love posh things. As a result I was more than happy to go along to a meal Mr Tech had arranged for people who study at the same place that I do. 27 all in all and it was all very posh.
The Menu:
To Start - Roasted Salmon with a tomato and basil sauce.
Mains – Stuffed quail (though not entirely sure with what), new potatoes, broccoli (done to perfection I should add), and a tarragon infused gravy.
To finish – Profiteroles with chocolate sauce.
Two glasses of wine and one glass of champagne each, and then there was coffee.
All this for £35 was a reasonable, filing and delicious meal.
Of course, it seems only normal to see some of that oxford attitude (not that that’s a bad thing) shine through as the evening progressed. I’m not quite sure what it is that makes those people different to us. But they are different. It’s something about their confidence, and there’s the feeling that something within them is still quite sheltered.
Once I start my own course at one of those posh universities, I wonder if it’ll change me. Perhaps I’m old enough to know better. Perhaps once you’re in the cycle, it’s difficult to get out.
One of things I most enjoyed was watching oxford students dance around drunk, and my friend, Lady Capulet flirting outrageously with them without the intention of furthering anything. There was a balcony. There were drunkards roaming around aimlessly on it. There were pint glasses in danger of hurting onto the ground beneath and there was a pole, the end of which held a flag. The drunkards managed to get his leg over the pole and insisted on bringing it down. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Thankfully, they saw sense and came down immediately.
Yes, I have all this to look forward to.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
3 times
I remember Arthur telling me about his '3-times rule' a few months ago. I now adopt a similar strategy.
1 - You want to contact somebody (the reason you want to call them has no bounds).
2- You call/text/email them once (although I am inclined to use FaceBook as a separate mode of communication as this seems to be the preference of many -bar myself- these days.
3- You call/text/email/facebook them twice.
4- You call/text/email/faceboo them thrice.
5- You leave them alone, consider them not worth the effort and move on swiftly with your life.
This is precisely what happened with that good looking one I quasi 'pulled'. Nevermind eh. Plenty more trout in the sea. And a few salmon.
1 - You want to contact somebody (the reason you want to call them has no bounds).
2- You call/text/email them once (although I am inclined to use FaceBook as a separate mode of communication as this seems to be the preference of many -bar myself- these days.
3- You call/text/email/facebook them twice.
4- You call/text/email/faceboo them thrice.
5- You leave them alone, consider them not worth the effort and move on swiftly with your life.
This is precisely what happened with that good looking one I quasi 'pulled'. Nevermind eh. Plenty more trout in the sea. And a few salmon.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The Dame
The Dame is miffed that she hasn’t featured on the blog in a few weeks. Nothing self obsessed or weird about that, is there?
She seems to be better than on previous occasions. I mean, it has taken a great deal out of her, all this emotional upheaval. But she seems to be on a positive track. Also, I believe there is now a firm closure to her relationship with The Doctor.
In a conversation last week between us, I tried to make The Dame understand that things were probably difficult for The Doctor also.
If we imagine what it must feel like to be in a relationship with somebody who genuinely likes us and is faultless in their affection, and to then come across an overbearing fearing of love for somebody else which is somewhere inexplicable.
It takes a strong person to be able to end a relationship on these grounds and do it face to face. There is courage to be admired here, surely?
Sometimes, life throws things at us for which we are totally unprepared. At this moment in our lives, the choices we make are often the most crucial.
If we chose security over passion are we cowards?
If we chose instinctual passion over companionship are we selfish?
The Dame has been on a blind date recently which is most certainly a step in the right direction. I just hope her experiences haven’t frightened her and have instead formed an extra layer of protection to comfort her.
She seems to be better than on previous occasions. I mean, it has taken a great deal out of her, all this emotional upheaval. But she seems to be on a positive track. Also, I believe there is now a firm closure to her relationship with The Doctor.
In a conversation last week between us, I tried to make The Dame understand that things were probably difficult for The Doctor also.
If we imagine what it must feel like to be in a relationship with somebody who genuinely likes us and is faultless in their affection, and to then come across an overbearing fearing of love for somebody else which is somewhere inexplicable.
It takes a strong person to be able to end a relationship on these grounds and do it face to face. There is courage to be admired here, surely?
Sometimes, life throws things at us for which we are totally unprepared. At this moment in our lives, the choices we make are often the most crucial.
If we chose security over passion are we cowards?
If we chose instinctual passion over companionship are we selfish?
The Dame has been on a blind date recently which is most certainly a step in the right direction. I just hope her experiences haven’t frightened her and have instead formed an extra layer of protection to comfort her.
Friday Night
Friday night was a good night because:
a) I managed to go with the Chinese guy aforementioned. Despite the discoloured teeth he really is quite a nice charming guy. The sort of man who’d treat you well. This is precisely why it’s a shame that the ‘Bolt of Lust’ (also aforementioned in this blog) wasn’t present between us. At least, not from my side.
b) I met many of his friends. 1 Chinese man soon become 17. Our venues ranged from KU Bar (lacking in talent of any sort) and GAY Late (full of talent and actually quite a find. Most certainly a better option than GAY Bar and GAY Club. I can safely say I’ve found the best of the brand here.
c) Met a Restaurant Manager who is, in my humble opinion, attractiveness personified. Dark hair, a slight rough overtone of facial hair, well dressed and a fit body. Not that I’m shallow or anything. Needless to say, confidence in full force I asked if he was Italian (because he thought he might be and yes, I now realise what a shoddy chat up line that might have appeared to be). A conversation later we exchanged numbers. Hopefully, a date will ensue this Monday. Let’s hope this one if free of ex/stupid wanker problems. A simple relationship is much desired.
d) In the Chinese Harem I was able to meet some genuinely nice and interesting guys. Was also invited to a ‘Eurovision’ evening with them the following night. That’s precisely where I drew the line. Ooh Ahh Just a little bit, Ohh Ahh a little bit more.
Friday night was ruined a little because:
a) It was raining like never before and I was without umbrella.
b) The Chinese guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his at the end if the night and I refused. Consequently, I hope we are able to remain friends and this is definitely a friendship to maintain Methinks.
c) I still don’t quite know how to ‘grind’. For me, at the onset of a man’s leg between my own on the dance floor, I can only giggle. It’s really quite embarrassing. With the Chinese guy it was a case of two steps in (him) and two steps out(me).
The positives do outweigh the negatives however.
And J’s comment about all Chinese men having small penises didn’t particularly help. Would I ever dump somebody on those grounds and be honest about it? I doubt it. I guess I’m just too nice. I suppose it’s better not to get yourself into the situation where you’d have to manhandle (or try to) a small princess. Those things are best left alone.
a) I managed to go with the Chinese guy aforementioned. Despite the discoloured teeth he really is quite a nice charming guy. The sort of man who’d treat you well. This is precisely why it’s a shame that the ‘Bolt of Lust’ (also aforementioned in this blog) wasn’t present between us. At least, not from my side.
b) I met many of his friends. 1 Chinese man soon become 17. Our venues ranged from KU Bar (lacking in talent of any sort) and GAY Late (full of talent and actually quite a find. Most certainly a better option than GAY Bar and GAY Club. I can safely say I’ve found the best of the brand here.
c) Met a Restaurant Manager who is, in my humble opinion, attractiveness personified. Dark hair, a slight rough overtone of facial hair, well dressed and a fit body. Not that I’m shallow or anything. Needless to say, confidence in full force I asked if he was Italian (because he thought he might be and yes, I now realise what a shoddy chat up line that might have appeared to be). A conversation later we exchanged numbers. Hopefully, a date will ensue this Monday. Let’s hope this one if free of ex/stupid wanker problems. A simple relationship is much desired.
d) In the Chinese Harem I was able to meet some genuinely nice and interesting guys. Was also invited to a ‘Eurovision’ evening with them the following night. That’s precisely where I drew the line. Ooh Ahh Just a little bit, Ohh Ahh a little bit more.
Friday night was ruined a little because:
a) It was raining like never before and I was without umbrella.
b) The Chinese guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his at the end if the night and I refused. Consequently, I hope we are able to remain friends and this is definitely a friendship to maintain Methinks.
c) I still don’t quite know how to ‘grind’. For me, at the onset of a man’s leg between my own on the dance floor, I can only giggle. It’s really quite embarrassing. With the Chinese guy it was a case of two steps in (him) and two steps out(me).
The positives do outweigh the negatives however.
And J’s comment about all Chinese men having small penises didn’t particularly help. Would I ever dump somebody on those grounds and be honest about it? I doubt it. I guess I’m just too nice. I suppose it’s better not to get yourself into the situation where you’d have to manhandle (or try to) a small princess. Those things are best left alone.
Ophelia
Ophelia and I went for dinner after what seemed to be forever. As usual, it was fun.
The Venue – Kaslik Lebanese Restaurant in Soho (Really nice affordable food in a distinct and unique setting).
The Drinks before and after – Guanabara (Brazilian bar/club in Covent Garden renowned for its exotic cocktails – made all the lovelier during the Happy Hour)
And after, drinks at GAY bar in Soho, surprisingly very cheap (£1.60 for a spirit and mixer). So we had two G n T’s as Ophelia boogied to le cheese musique and commented on finding two men kissing ‘sexy’ and ‘cute’. I knew there would be a girl like this somewhere. She also said that she’s quite like to pinch one man’s bottom.
Now, this is where we separate. Bums really do very little for me. Yes, shock horror, for me it’s all about the cock. I have never looked at a bum (male or female) and felt the need to kiss/lick/fuck/feel it. Ever. Does this make me odd? After all, there is most certainly more to gay sex than the bottom I imagine. It’s more about the male spirit. Don’t look at me like that.
As it happens, Ophelia talked with great anticipation about a wedding she is due to attend next weekend. It’s one of those grand affairs, you know, good food and impeccably dressed people.
On the subject of weddings, still have no idea why people insist on doing it. Wedding food is however something I am fully able to appreciate. You can all rest assured that if I ever do decide to do anything like marry, the food’ll be great.
The Venue – Kaslik Lebanese Restaurant in Soho (Really nice affordable food in a distinct and unique setting).
The Drinks before and after – Guanabara (Brazilian bar/club in Covent Garden renowned for its exotic cocktails – made all the lovelier during the Happy Hour)
And after, drinks at GAY bar in Soho, surprisingly very cheap (£1.60 for a spirit and mixer). So we had two G n T’s as Ophelia boogied to le cheese musique and commented on finding two men kissing ‘sexy’ and ‘cute’. I knew there would be a girl like this somewhere. She also said that she’s quite like to pinch one man’s bottom.
Now, this is where we separate. Bums really do very little for me. Yes, shock horror, for me it’s all about the cock. I have never looked at a bum (male or female) and felt the need to kiss/lick/fuck/feel it. Ever. Does this make me odd? After all, there is most certainly more to gay sex than the bottom I imagine. It’s more about the male spirit. Don’t look at me like that.
As it happens, Ophelia talked with great anticipation about a wedding she is due to attend next weekend. It’s one of those grand affairs, you know, good food and impeccably dressed people.
On the subject of weddings, still have no idea why people insist on doing it. Wedding food is however something I am fully able to appreciate. You can all rest assured that if I ever do decide to do anything like marry, the food’ll be great.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Church
At church on Tuesday evening, I couldn’t take the image of cocks and pussies out of my mind. I did try. I really did.
It must be one of those ever-so-frequent can’t-think-of-anything-other-than-sex phases I’ve become so used to.
You know what I’m talking about don’t you? Constantly totting up the fuckability of every person I meet. On the tube, on my way to church, at church, on the way back from church, up the elevator at Westminster tube station. Nope, not a single person managed to avoid my fiddle-fuck-o-meter.
I need a new project. A sexually experienced fuck buddy, ideally. Second choice, a pottery course, perhaps.
Not quite sure how to get myself out of this sexual rut. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to another day at the Sauna.
Two weeks of (formal) bible study to go and I must say, the journey has been rollicking. I have met a lot of nice and interesting people and have learnt a great deal about a faith different to mine. The next step, I think, might just be Buddhism.
Do any of the world religions tolerate hungry, liberated sexual appetites? Is it ever holy to fuck?
I was always ambitious, though setting up my own church of gratification seems a little extensive at the moment
It must be one of those ever-so-frequent can’t-think-of-anything-other-than-sex phases I’ve become so used to.
You know what I’m talking about don’t you? Constantly totting up the fuckability of every person I meet. On the tube, on my way to church, at church, on the way back from church, up the elevator at Westminster tube station. Nope, not a single person managed to avoid my fiddle-fuck-o-meter.
I need a new project. A sexually experienced fuck buddy, ideally. Second choice, a pottery course, perhaps.
Not quite sure how to get myself out of this sexual rut. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to another day at the Sauna.
Two weeks of (formal) bible study to go and I must say, the journey has been rollicking. I have met a lot of nice and interesting people and have learnt a great deal about a faith different to mine. The next step, I think, might just be Buddhism.
Do any of the world religions tolerate hungry, liberated sexual appetites? Is it ever holy to fuck?
I was always ambitious, though setting up my own church of gratification seems a little extensive at the moment
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Blue Blood
I love attending special screenings of films. It seems only natural that I would. For I want to be famous. Famous in an intellectual sort of way. Pah.
So when a friend of mine invited me to a special screening of the new docu-drama 'Blue Blood' I was only too happy to oblige (and take the ravishing Belle de Bengal) with me.
The film was far more enjoyable than I had first anticipated. Funny and meaningful in equal measures. Although the film is essentially about the pursuit of a group of Oxford students as they prepare for a boxing contest against Cambridge, I came away feeling it was an attempt to dispel the myth of what Oxbridge students are like and what they do. Fair enough, I thought. It was only when the cast members then clarified that many were now working within finance in London after graduating that things hit a new level of predictability.
Never mind eh? The champagne and canopes that followed in the delightful rain forest at the top of the Barbican Centre made the whole predictability worthwhile. Of particular interest was the orange cheesecake topped with a slice of duck. Rather nice.
So when a friend of mine invited me to a special screening of the new docu-drama 'Blue Blood' I was only too happy to oblige (and take the ravishing Belle de Bengal) with me.
The film was far more enjoyable than I had first anticipated. Funny and meaningful in equal measures. Although the film is essentially about the pursuit of a group of Oxford students as they prepare for a boxing contest against Cambridge, I came away feeling it was an attempt to dispel the myth of what Oxbridge students are like and what they do. Fair enough, I thought. It was only when the cast members then clarified that many were now working within finance in London after graduating that things hit a new level of predictability.
Never mind eh? The champagne and canopes that followed in the delightful rain forest at the top of the Barbican Centre made the whole predictability worthwhile. Of particular interest was the orange cheesecake topped with a slice of duck. Rather nice.
The Popcorn Trick
Now here's something interesting/absurd that I haven't yet come across...
Miss '24 and Feisty' and The Philanderer went to the cinema a few weeks ago.
'Have you heard of the Popcorn Trick?' asked The Philanderer.
and this is how he began to describe, in graphic detail, how, some people like to penetrate the bottom of the popcorn box, (whilst at the cinema) with their erect phallus.
Why? So that whenever somebody reaches into the box for the puffs of corn they a) wank him off ever-so-slightly and b) get the food to satisfy their hunger.
Of course, it all seems well and dandy until we consider it more fully...
a) Who can keep it up for the duration of an entire film? All advice gladly welcomed on this matter if you can;
b) Wouldn't it hurt? all that grating of knobbly popcorn against a sensitive skin?
c) Precisely how are we meant to concentrate on two or more acts simultaneously?
so we can all imagine the horror that must have run through Miss '24 and Feisty''s mind when, during the intermission she delved for some popcorn and felt something in amongst the little puffs.
Thankfully, it was only a straw.
Miss '24 and Feisty' and The Philanderer went to the cinema a few weeks ago.
'Have you heard of the Popcorn Trick?' asked The Philanderer.
and this is how he began to describe, in graphic detail, how, some people like to penetrate the bottom of the popcorn box, (whilst at the cinema) with their erect phallus.
Why? So that whenever somebody reaches into the box for the puffs of corn they a) wank him off ever-so-slightly and b) get the food to satisfy their hunger.
Of course, it all seems well and dandy until we consider it more fully...
a) Who can keep it up for the duration of an entire film? All advice gladly welcomed on this matter if you can;
b) Wouldn't it hurt? all that grating of knobbly popcorn against a sensitive skin?
c) Precisely how are we meant to concentrate on two or more acts simultaneously?
so we can all imagine the horror that must have run through Miss '24 and Feisty''s mind when, during the intermission she delved for some popcorn and felt something in amongst the little puffs.
Thankfully, it was only a straw.
Last week
Okay, it's disgusting. I'm not normally so slack. The truth is that I have been a little demotivated these past few weeks. But I feel back on form now. Ready and willing to explode, if you will...
What have I been doing in the past week?
I should mention now that I have been offered a place on a Creative Writing Masters Programme at a posh university. This has made me very happy. The steps up the social ladder are now clearly visible.
There are times when you are able to do things which you really and truly enjoy. This is one such thing. And I've quickly come to realise that opportunities don't come around very often, so when they do, we should grab them by the horns. Too often I see people who replace ambition with security. Isn't this the saddest thing? I think perhaps it might be.
Went out last week with, it would be fair to say, a random group of people. J, Lady Montague and Lady Capulet, Mr Tech, and a New Birdie. Drinks at Thirst (of course) followed by food at Satsuma.
I've said it long ago; three cocktails are the most I can stomach without Leicester Square looking fuzzy.
The thing about drunkards is that their whisper is more often than not a tannoy announcement.
'I have never snorted coke of a cock (rather a mouthful this one)' said New Birdie. We were playing that drinking game, you know, where we drink if we have done a certain thing and don't if we haven't. It's more a secret eliciting device. And people, it would appear, are all too happy to let their secrets come spilling out with little or no coaxing.
These days I feel as though my sexual revolution is in full swing. At least, outside of bed, it is. I'm able to talk as openly as I'd like about sex and feel a sense of peace at being able to do so. And, well, despite the number of people who'll turn their heads at the first sight of sexual discussion, it's proving easier and easier to bring out the whore within.
And then, said the Lord, let their be brothel.
At first
The first thing some people look at are the shoes. A friend of mine does this. For good shoes are clearly an early indication of a successful relationship. Personally, it’s those bit fat white trainer/smart shoes with weird designs emblazoned on the front that illicit a no-no.
Some people, in comparison, look at the finer details; teeth, toe nails (though this is rather tricky), and finger nails. Whereas bad teeth doesn’t necessarily indicate a foul kissing experience, or indeed a lack in kissing ability, brown stripes on white teeth don’t exactly…er…make one eager.
Others look at the crotch area. A sizeable bulge and they’re all yours. Some men prefer looking at panties (when they shouldn’t be) as opposed to the fully fledged fanny, as a means towards sexual gratification.
Some look at none of the above and focus on the ‘personality’. These people have the best intentions and, despite this, are left without orgasm. Mind fucking is desirable, of course it is. But occasionally, the orifices also need seeing to.
I… well I look at the neck. I also look for confidence. And then the teeth and shoes. The neck is the most attractive part of any human being Methinks. Long and sensuous. Intelligence is also key. I have always held, and continue to hold that people with intellect and wit can afford to lose so much in the looks department before there is a cry for an emergency.
Oh, and let’s not forget those who look to see whether the boy is ‘Chivalrous’ (whatever wanky bollocks that is) and pays for absolutely everything. Often, the depth of the pocket is no indication of the length of his jim-bom, let this be known.
I guess another thing I look for is equality.
Some people, in comparison, look at the finer details; teeth, toe nails (though this is rather tricky), and finger nails. Whereas bad teeth doesn’t necessarily indicate a foul kissing experience, or indeed a lack in kissing ability, brown stripes on white teeth don’t exactly…er…make one eager.
Others look at the crotch area. A sizeable bulge and they’re all yours. Some men prefer looking at panties (when they shouldn’t be) as opposed to the fully fledged fanny, as a means towards sexual gratification.
Some look at none of the above and focus on the ‘personality’. These people have the best intentions and, despite this, are left without orgasm. Mind fucking is desirable, of course it is. But occasionally, the orifices also need seeing to.
I… well I look at the neck. I also look for confidence. And then the teeth and shoes. The neck is the most attractive part of any human being Methinks. Long and sensuous. Intelligence is also key. I have always held, and continue to hold that people with intellect and wit can afford to lose so much in the looks department before there is a cry for an emergency.
Oh, and let’s not forget those who look to see whether the boy is ‘Chivalrous’ (whatever wanky bollocks that is) and pays for absolutely everything. Often, the depth of the pocket is no indication of the length of his jim-bom, let this be known.
I guess another thing I look for is equality.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
The Power of Goodbye
There are things we need to end. For in each ending there lays the promise of a new beginning. Each eye is closed to sleep and awake to dream, the day that follows, a promise of something new, something unchartered. And for this reason we love and we lose.
Some words dedicated to those of you who have and need the courage to say good bye...
The Power of Goodbye - Madonna
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something's wrong
I pray to God that it won't be long
Do ya wanna go higher?
There's nothing left to try
There's no place left to hide
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress
There's nothing left to lose
There's no more heart to bruise
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye
Some words dedicated to those of you who have and need the courage to say good bye...
The Power of Goodbye - Madonna
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something's wrong
I pray to God that it won't be long
Do ya wanna go higher?
There's nothing left to try
There's no place left to hide
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress
There's nothing left to lose
There's no more heart to bruise
There's no greater power
Than the power of good-bye
Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye
News
So, she’s done it. Kate Moss has revealed her collection for TopShop. The rumours that she didn’t herself design those clothes are a load of twiddlefanny, she told me so herself.
People queued for hours to get their hands on items which they then sold on eBay. Now, that’s not what fashion is about, is it?
Needless to say, Kate looked and continues to look hot. I don’t quite know whether it’s her attitude or her stunning looks that work their way up my alley towards the front gate.
The Dame was also there to grace the occasion.
Oops, sorry, slipped into dream mode there for a brief while…
Other news to catch my eye in recent press…
Shilpa Shetty: that stupid peck on the cheek! And now we all want the pair dead. Death be on Shilpa Shetty! is the chant, apparently. For frigs sake. And poor Richard. What a beastly welcome. Occasionally I look at my brown skin and yawn, I really do.
Zizzi’s, a restaurant infamous as celebrity spotting, The Dame and Tainted Visionary being two of the most frequent visitors saw a sight it thought it never would.
A man dining in the restaurant ran into the kitchen, pulled out a knife, started wielding it around before he proceeded to cut off his winkle.
Yep, apparently, it really was that simple.
They were able to sew it back on to the ungrateful bastard.
Perhaps pepperoni pizza will be off the menu for quite some time.
The things I come across in London town….shocking!
P.S Michelle Macmanus featured, as she does on an annual basis, on the cover of ‘Heat’. Not a promise to lose he entire body weight in three weeks this time. More of a declaration that she’s put on numerous pounds. How that beast makes money from her obesity is shocking. Don’t any of you buy it! Let’s not encourage her.
People queued for hours to get their hands on items which they then sold on eBay. Now, that’s not what fashion is about, is it?
Needless to say, Kate looked and continues to look hot. I don’t quite know whether it’s her attitude or her stunning looks that work their way up my alley towards the front gate.
The Dame was also there to grace the occasion.
Oops, sorry, slipped into dream mode there for a brief while…
Other news to catch my eye in recent press…
Shilpa Shetty: that stupid peck on the cheek! And now we all want the pair dead. Death be on Shilpa Shetty! is the chant, apparently. For frigs sake. And poor Richard. What a beastly welcome. Occasionally I look at my brown skin and yawn, I really do.
Zizzi’s, a restaurant infamous as celebrity spotting, The Dame and Tainted Visionary being two of the most frequent visitors saw a sight it thought it never would.
A man dining in the restaurant ran into the kitchen, pulled out a knife, started wielding it around before he proceeded to cut off his winkle.
Yep, apparently, it really was that simple.
They were able to sew it back on to the ungrateful bastard.
Perhaps pepperoni pizza will be off the menu for quite some time.
The things I come across in London town….shocking!
P.S Michelle Macmanus featured, as she does on an annual basis, on the cover of ‘Heat’. Not a promise to lose he entire body weight in three weeks this time. More of a declaration that she’s put on numerous pounds. How that beast makes money from her obesity is shocking. Don’t any of you buy it! Let’s not encourage her.
On The Game
Have had two dates with a man from China. He could turn out to be a real friend this one, so we should refrain from referring to him as ChinaMan, however endearing the term may be.
Surprisingly, he’s spawn of Gumtree and rather clever. All I can really say on the matter is posh university coupled with numbers and counting.
The only trouble is, well his teeth aren’t the best. Not white enough, not straight enough. And yes, as you all hurtle your dildos at me, can I just stipulate, you’re not the ones who’ll have to run your tongue over those grills, not now, not ever.
After our first date there was an immediate and unexpected text inquiring what I was doing and, despite my better judgement, we agreed to meet for a quick bite to eat and perhaps a drink.
I must be thankful however, for through this guy I have now come to realise that the best place to find young men is Ku Bar in China Town and the place with a certain hidden chic is The Village in Soho.
I do plan on meeting his again, although when this will be is beyond me. Soon, I tell myself. Soon.
Surprisingly, he’s spawn of Gumtree and rather clever. All I can really say on the matter is posh university coupled with numbers and counting.
The only trouble is, well his teeth aren’t the best. Not white enough, not straight enough. And yes, as you all hurtle your dildos at me, can I just stipulate, you’re not the ones who’ll have to run your tongue over those grills, not now, not ever.
After our first date there was an immediate and unexpected text inquiring what I was doing and, despite my better judgement, we agreed to meet for a quick bite to eat and perhaps a drink.
I must be thankful however, for through this guy I have now come to realise that the best place to find young men is Ku Bar in China Town and the place with a certain hidden chic is The Village in Soho.
I do plan on meeting his again, although when this will be is beyond me. Soon, I tell myself. Soon.
ming
Always the minger, never the stud, or so the saying goes...
I refer not to myself as much as the people (at least in terms of their atheistic qualities) that I tend to find myself out with on occasional Saturday nights.
We agreed to meet outside Leicester Square Tube station. At the time it seemed a great idea; central, open, public. The thousand exits seemed to somehow escape my mind. So there we were, opposite each other, at different exists, on the phone, me waving at him and him as perplexed as ever.
That he wore a hoodie, was slim to the point of anorexia and spoke like a thai ladyboy were factors I also overlooked. For that’s just the sort of person I am. Sigh.
No, in fairness, he wasn’t that bad once some time had passed and I’d had a gin n cranberry.
Now, if there’s one thing that gets on my nerves, it’s when, upon asking, ‘what will you have?’, the reply is ‘whatever you’re having’. I’ve always known gin n cranberry is an acquired taste. I suppose I should have known better than to thrust it upon him. It’s a lush drink nevertheless and well, the thought that I was widening his palette crossed my mind more than once.
So, we chatted and he came across a friend of his who was, it has to be said, on the same ugly-o-meter. Quite why or how I end up with these beautifully challenged men I have no idea. I’m not being judgemental. Promise.
So, this new guy (whose name slips my mind) clearly took a fancy to me and told me in precise terms that I was ‘hot’. It’s a sad shame that he was not. My erection had been bugging me for quite a few days and the things I would have done, bar sleeping with an ugly-un, to satisfy my appetite were vast in scope.
Thank the lord for the two edible Israelis who were a turn away from me. The thing is, after a spot of natter they too were off. A threesome would have been…er…perfect.
On our way to the Northern Line the other guy insisted in rubbing his arm over mine and grabbing my arse. It would be accurate to say, we stood apart after that. So apart that when he left at Green Park, neither names or numbers were exchanged. In stead, his face, like that of a mourning puppy bid me farewell.
Ugh.
I refer not to myself as much as the people (at least in terms of their atheistic qualities) that I tend to find myself out with on occasional Saturday nights.
We agreed to meet outside Leicester Square Tube station. At the time it seemed a great idea; central, open, public. The thousand exits seemed to somehow escape my mind. So there we were, opposite each other, at different exists, on the phone, me waving at him and him as perplexed as ever.
That he wore a hoodie, was slim to the point of anorexia and spoke like a thai ladyboy were factors I also overlooked. For that’s just the sort of person I am. Sigh.
No, in fairness, he wasn’t that bad once some time had passed and I’d had a gin n cranberry.
Now, if there’s one thing that gets on my nerves, it’s when, upon asking, ‘what will you have?’, the reply is ‘whatever you’re having’. I’ve always known gin n cranberry is an acquired taste. I suppose I should have known better than to thrust it upon him. It’s a lush drink nevertheless and well, the thought that I was widening his palette crossed my mind more than once.
So, we chatted and he came across a friend of his who was, it has to be said, on the same ugly-o-meter. Quite why or how I end up with these beautifully challenged men I have no idea. I’m not being judgemental. Promise.
So, this new guy (whose name slips my mind) clearly took a fancy to me and told me in precise terms that I was ‘hot’. It’s a sad shame that he was not. My erection had been bugging me for quite a few days and the things I would have done, bar sleeping with an ugly-un, to satisfy my appetite were vast in scope.
Thank the lord for the two edible Israelis who were a turn away from me. The thing is, after a spot of natter they too were off. A threesome would have been…er…perfect.
On our way to the Northern Line the other guy insisted in rubbing his arm over mine and grabbing my arse. It would be accurate to say, we stood apart after that. So apart that when he left at Green Park, neither names or numbers were exchanged. In stead, his face, like that of a mourning puppy bid me farewell.
Ugh.
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