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.