I can’t speak for everyone but isn’t New Years just the best?
I’ve spent the last few with friends and always had a great time but when you’re the only single member of the group, instinct washes over and I spend the entire night wandering off in search of random people. Not so much to find one person to kiss or anything as trite as that but out of pure boredom. I don’t begrudge them for being in couples and nor do I long for what they have. It’s not a feeling of loneliness nor the on-setting pangs of depression brought about by feeling something is missing that drives me to not enjoy my friends company at the stroke of midnight, it’s more the fact that New Years Eve couple’s have the default setting tuned to insular and THEN when you’re the only single person do I get bored.
So this New Year, I wanted something a little different, a new destination. I wouldn’t spend this one within the old oak walls of the local pub where I grew up surrounded by the same people with the same stories. Where’s the drugs and crazy bastards? London it was then.
Photographer was waking up one morning last week, we’d shared a bed after I’d been present the night before when she had a massive argument with a boyfriend who is not quite happy with the open status of their relationship. Photographer is the sort of person who likes company but not commitment. She’d likely try to tell you this is because she finds everything around her fascinating through her artistic eye and can’t confine herself to staying with one thing but instead explore it all. I on the other hand would tell you it’s because she’s always horny and likes sex without limiting herself to one person. Either way is acceptable but my version isn’t bullshit. This morning however, the morning after the boyfriend stormed in and asked me to step outside (he’s lucky I didn’t) so she could pick the ‘winner’ in some modern day archaic display of neanderthal rights, I’d woken up next to naked photographer with a hangover. She wanted sex but of course through her semi conscious haze, she forgot who she was next to as she was trying to bite the corner of a condom off to slap on me, so instead we did some of the stuff I do when I can’t have sex.
She finished, threw on my shirt and went to make coffee and find a cigarette. “What do you make of Keir?” Keir was a male dancer I’d met the night before.
“He seemed fun.” I shouted back trying to shock my jaw into functioning enough to form words.
“Do you want to fuck him?” She playfully threw at me.
“No. I don’t…I’m not…I don’t like guys.” I’d just gone down on her and she was asking if I was gay. Ego wasn’t too pleased about this.
“I knew you weren’t. He said for sure you were bi but I told him “he eats cunt better than most girls I know.” (ego 1…) Just thought I’d ask. What about Lauren? Would you fuck her?”
Normally an admission of interest in the friend of a girl you’ve kind of started seeing is completely off limits. This however was as open and honest an arrangement as could be and not even the fact that Lauren was photographer’s ex girlfriend was an egg shell on this occasion. “Lauren? Why?”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” She poked her head in the room, it tilted forward and she fixed on me as a filthy grin filled her face.
“Yes she’s pretty, but I have a thing for dancers.” Lauren is a dancer.
“Do you want to spend New Years with her? She’s got a party and I really want to go so I can fuck her friend Danielle. I think Lauren fancied you…”
“Of course she fancied me” I interrupted as I lay in bed looking smug as is right when you’re being offered around as a viable option for pleasure to a group of hot dancers.
“Well? Do you want to go?” She looked at me and I kid you not, it was how a father must feel when I child is asking if they can have a pet dog. Lauren’s dancer friend was like a play thing to photographer and she wanted it so badly.
“So you’re pimping me out to your ex girlfriends now?” I figure seeing as I have a little bit of power at this moment then why not have some fun with it.
“Oh right because you’d have a problem with that.” I forgot, photographer gets bored quickly and if I want to go to a party filled with drunk dancers…and I really really do have a thing for them especially if they’re as crazy as most of photographers friends are when drinking and taking drugs…I fold easily.
“I’ll come with you but if this Danielle girl is cute I want a crack at her as well.”
“So sure of your abilities aren’t you?” She pretends to sound unimpressed.
“Yep, and if you aren’t careful I’ll take them both off you.” I do my best to hide my excitement. This New years won’t be spent in a village pub avoiding the partners of people I slept with when I was 13 no. This year will be at a party with drugs, fun strangers and dancers everywhere. EVERYWHERE!
Keir was the person who greeted us as we got there. I didn’t imagine it was his place, a large house in Angel Islington seemed a bit of a stretch for anyone as young as he was. He kissed photographer in as camp a manner as possible. You know how I enjoy gay people? They’re just as lovely as the rest of us? I still can’t work out half the time how much of the camp mannerisms are inherent in them and how much is pure affectation but I usually assume it’s the latter, especially when it’sthisover the top. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and said something along the lines of “So you’re not gay? Gutted.” at least I think that’s what he said, I was already gone. In just the entrance of this house were a couple of women, early to mid 20’s in incredible shape and all standing with impossibly straight spines even though this was slouched for them. To the left was a guy I recognised from TV, I didn’t know his name nor what he was on but he was an actor of some sort I was sure of it and had this confirmed later by his co star, a pretty blonde I swapped numbers with some time before 11 and have messaged several times since. Options. Behind them was a room with a DJ in and a few people already drunk including someone else I recognised as a model but as her head was clearly too big for her neck and shoulders I knew there and then that I wouldn’t be among the gaggle of men flocking around her. Poor girl couldn’t even afford a meal for fucks sake. Then I saw one of the dancers sniff. Not the sniff of a cold sufferer but the unmistakable one of a person chatting 100 mph and wide eyed after the cardboard taste of coke. Photographer was already ahead of me and was on her way over. “Where’s the drugs ladies?”
When we got to the room there was a mirror, already laced with cut lines and someone’s discarded £5 note strewn in among a smorgasbord of other drugs. From the next room was the unmistakable smell of sticky weed and the sound of people talking shit. I looked through them and saw something wrapped in a cigarette paper…could it be? I picked it open very slowly making sure not to spill the contents and inside, sure enough, some delicious MDMA. I almost screamed with excitement. The task of talking a person who already fancies you into bed is simple enough but if you’ve both had MDMA then not only is it less of a let down for them to discover your dick doesn’t work but you may also be able to get other people involved. I neatly folded it back up and replaced it before doing a fat line of coke, which normally would make an erection impossible for me but that’s obviously not an issue these days. I handed my money to photographer as Keir leaned in “Help yourselves to MDMA guys. Actually, take some with you, it’ll all be gone once people realise it’s here. He was of course right. I reached in my pocket and found a card someone had bought me for Christmas, opened the envelope and put 3 bombs inside it then had a twinge of guilt and replaced one before finally thinking “fuck it” and picking up 4 more. 6 bombs of MDMA, another line of coke and I hadn’t even discovered the free drinks yet.
When Lauren arrived with Danielle in tow I quickly discovered they were seeing each other. Quite possibly the hottest lesbian (bisexual) couple known to man, the sort that most teenage boys fantasise about until they discover what the majority of lesbian couples actually look like. Both dancers, one blonde one brunette. I looked at photographer already making a beeline for them, the girl has eyes like a hawk and I decided on a more measured approach. I turned around and had my back to them chatting to Keir and the older business man who I assumed owned the house we were all methodically trashing. I decided I’d talk to them, maybe chat to blonde actress I was yet to swap phone numbers with and then make my way to the room every one was smoking in and join them for one. I was mapping it out when a cute voice bellowed out my name “*******! I was just asking where you were. Merry Christmas and all that.” It was Lauren, who was clearly more aware of the reason I was here than I had originally thought. Her and Danielle were either about to go on a break or, and I’ve come to expect this of people who are friends with photographer, were open about who they’d fuck. Meandering wasn’t needed.
“Right you filthy lesbian. Come with me.” I grabbed her hand and took her into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of whatever had been poured and led her to the balcony just off the room every one was smoking in. Lit us both a fag and made a comment on the amazing dress she was wearing. “You look like shit in that dress. It really does nothing for your bottom does it?” It did.
“Do I?” She smirked. “Well you look pretty shit in that jacket you have on.” A little attempt to return the compliment but I wasn’t having it.
“Please. We both know I look outstanding in this jacket. Don’t start deflecting from the fact you’re only wearing that dress because it didn’t match with the one your girlfriend wanted to wear. Her’s looks like she chose it whereas you just look you’ve settled on that.” I said through my smirk.
“Cheeky cunt!” She snorted as she mocked hitting me on the arm and refused to look away. “So you know what my “girlfriend” (she did that inverted commas signal with her hands) and my ex are doing now?”
“No, but I know what they’re intending to do and I know that you probably want me.” Don’t be backwards about being forward.
“I do, do I?” She tries to pull off a hard to get look as she cocks her head to the side and holds her glass in front of her face and balance her cigarette between her fingers.
“You want to kiss me?” Someone once told me there are only three answers to this, YES, NO, or MAYBE. If she says YES, kiss her. If she says MAYBE, then say “Well lets find out” and kiss her. If she says NO, say “I wasn’t offering you just look like you wanted to.” Apparently these are the stock answers.
I grin, lean in and kiss her. Consciously avoiding her dress with the butt of my cigarette, I trace my hand down her back and rest it on her bottom. Fuck waiting till midnight, I’m in my element and I want all the dancers. We stop kissing. Her cigarette is almost burnt to the filter. “Wow. That was a bit unexpected.”
“You’re a really bad kisser did you know that?” I feel like playful insults shall be the form for the night.
“You’re terrible yourself.” She smiles with excitement. I want to go back inside, not to press my luck but wait till later. That actress is still down stairs and I want her number.
“I know, I’m a shit kisser, too much tongue. I’ll get better by midnight I promise. Come on, lets go back to them.” I gently direct her to go back in. One or two of the smokers have seen us kiss, they’re clearly impressed by the speed it took me to accomplish all that.
“Where are you going?” She looks at me throwing her fag away.
“I’m coming with you.”
“You want to watch me piss.”
We’re still outside and she’s looking at me now with a look of utter seriousness. “*******. I know about your medical issues. Sorry to be blunt about it but I do. However that doesn’t mean I don’t want you any less and I’ve been told you’re still great at other things so take me to the bathroom and fuck me however you can and then you can go around being the social magnet you seem hell bent on being.”
I wasn’t expecting such a well structured thought process from the girl I’d met only a week ago in pink lycra and a sweaty black top with the word ‘pineapple’ emblazoned on it. We went to a bathroom, shut the door and I slammed her up against it making the mirror shake as I proceeded to kiss her neck and slip my hand up her dress and inside her underwear. It didn’t take me long. We decided to repeat this again later, she pulled herself together and we returned downstairs to see photographer and Danielle in the same spot they were when we left for a smoke and an orgasm.
“Ah there they are.” Said Danielle watching us come down the stairs, her girlfriend giggling and smelling of tobacco. “Have you been smoking?”
”******* gave me a fag.”
“Can I have one, is that being awful of me?” said Danielle
“I guess so but you’ll have to sneak to the bathroom with me afterwards so I can get in your knickers. Deal?” Laurens eyes widened, photographer twigged something was up and her jaw dropped, her face was a mixture of jealous and impressed at how I’d managed to do something naughty with her ex while she was still trying to get Danielle to have a drink with her. Danielle seemed either oblivious or she knew and didn’t care. Either way she laughed.
“You’ll have to get me a few drinks before I go near a cock. Sorry honey.”
“Ah. I tried. Oh well, here you go. I’ll try again later.” I gave her a cigarette and then looked off into the room behind them, blonde actress looked bored and needed rescuing. “Right, see you guys in a minute, I’m going to talk to that blonde in there.” I stole the glass off Lauren, took a sip of her drink to taste it, then necked the whole thing in one before handing the empty glass back to her and heading off in the direction of the actress.
I went back and for between people, talked bollocks and kissed one or two other people including Danielle later on but some time o’clock early new years day Lauren had fallen asleep in bed after we’d been there for some time. Photographer and Danielle did eventually were next to her in the same bed and I crashed in the armchair in the corner of the room casually watching them, drinking whiskey and smoking a Marlborough light as the 6 bombs of MDMA sat neatly in my pocket untouched and unneeded. As I sat there close to falling asleep I heard photographer and Danielle chat and giggle and I’m almost certain some of my moves were replicated once or twice, I laughed quietly and blew a ring or two as my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was actress, “Had a mad night, was fun meeting you. Catch you soon?”
Where did it all go wrong hey?
Amy and I are meeting for dinner and drinks in a fortnight when I’m back in London. I flirted outrageously over texts. She reciprocated.
It’s not that I’ve never wanted to fuck her, of course I have, it’s just that she was off limits. Normally this is an added lure for me. She has a boyfriend, want her more. She’s married, want her more. These are attracting to me as they’re social naughties I should stay away from not personal ones. What are my personal limits? Family, anyone of my friends ex girlfriends, anyone my friends are interested in, and of course anyone too young or anyone old in age but low in maturity. For example a 30 year old who posts her entire life, trouble by trouble in poorly articulated status updates intentionally vague of detail but clearly meant for someone to see before then responding to peoples concern with a comment that reads “Can’t say on here darling. It’s a bit too public. Will inbox you now.” are clearly not old enough to deal with a relationship let alone a one night stand.
Amy was always the girl my friend liked, then the girlfriend and then my friends ex. She was also my friend throughout but I’ve slept with friends before. It’s great fun and never been awkward. I refuse to let a friendship die just because you gave in to your long standing desire to do me! Back to the issue. She was tied to Pat but as he’s no longer a friend but a complete prick, she’s no longer off limits. Even if she has a new man in her life.
It wont be complete revenge, I’ve thought about it before and once or twice I was annoyed Pat and I were friends because it put her out of the equation. It’s wouldn’t just be revenge. She’s also still incredibly hot, like to flirt and I have a feeling she’d be utter filth in bed. All I really need is my dick to work and I’d fuck her now. Today. This second.
I have thinking to do. I don’t want to ruin a friendship with her and I don’t want to get into bed just because I think it’ll piss him off. So there’s a decision to make. Continue on and go for Amy or pay his sister Holly a visit…maybe his other sister Katie who’s 19 and in Uni. Maybe I’ll visit both of them, I’ve stayed at their family home and they’ve both seemed interested. Indulge in some utter filth with them and text him afterwards? He doesn’t see them much nor contact them but I know he’d burn from it.
rehash and repeat
By now you know me. You can spot a poorly written article a mile off and see past that to see me for the dirty enthusiastic story teller that I am. It’s what I do. I enjoy telling a story and relish little things like details. Now although this makes for long winded accounts (I’ve read the criticisms) it’s just how I am. A 1 minute story takes 5 as my anecdotes have anecdotes. So why would this ever change? When people don’t fucking listen.
I have friends and acquaintances and maybe it’s just me but when I hear something, I remember it more so than reading something. This is due to an illiterate childhood where I did the bulk of my learning by remembering things I’d heard so now I can hear a line off TV or from a song lyric and it’ll stick…there’s probably a name for that. Audiographic? Sonographic? Someone find out for me. I don’t think it’s a requirement though for the issue I find myself faced with when bumping into old friends.
“Hey I lost my testicle, can’t get it up.”
You won’t be shocked to learn that’s not how I broke the news to most folks, it was a self indulgent yarn replete with swearing, first hand detail of the situation and whimsical elements (like asking the GP for a dinosaur shaped prosthetic). I have mastered the story over the 2 years since it happened and there is none better than myself to tell it.
So last week I bumped into an old friend. We had worked together for a small amount of time about a year ago and I let her in on the issue. She replied with the usual though still sincere expressions of sympathy and curiosity. I answered her when she asked what the doctors had said and we hugged it out. That was a year ago, you can imagine my annoyance when Saturday she seemed utterly fucking clueless about the whole episode. She told me, “No, I’ve not been having loads of sex at all, I’ve been with one guy in the last 7 months (incredible as this girl once went through a dozen guys in two weeks) I bet you’ve been with more than I have.” I made a joke of it saying I hadn’t been with any guys at all so she was beating me but I could tell from her facial expression that she hadn’t remembered. All the effort gone into cultivating this grandiose tale of a rather traumatic time in my life that I seem quite comfortable sharing with all of you as I have no face on here but still can’t tell my own family in the real world. In fact only a small amount of people are remotely aware and these are people I trust. So should I expect them to remember?
I didn’t correct her as there were others around and although I knew them from the same environment as her, it didn’t feel right to tell them a year ago and nothing had changed Saturday. Sometimes I do remind them and their expression shifts with horror as they immediately regret not remembering. It happens. Sometimes I give them a small chance to remember and they still look at me perplexed. Is losing the ability to get it up so common that my version can be discarded with ease? It is far simpler for my closer friends to remember as they spend more time taking the piss out of it. Last Thursday I was in a bar with a friend when we both spotted this cute brunette so I told him I was going over to get her number to which he replied “Why bother? What if I wanted her? I mean it’s not like you can do anything with her or is this another girl you’re going to take home and get her to beat your flaccid cock while you sit crying at the foot of her bed?” This is the humor I like. I got her number anyway, went back to hers and ate her out because I don’t like being told what I can’t do.
There it is though. The newest update on my physical disability. I spend the odd moments reacquainting myself with old haunts and faces only to repeat myself over and over. When my NHS appointed shrink forgets about it, then I’ll know I’m in trouble.
what does it cost?
London, all weekend. Work is finished quickly and then friends and drugs are everywhere. I find myself Monday morning, the morning I’m to get a train, meandering the streets of the North West of the postcode around 4 in the morning as I aim roughly towards the hotel and away from the Australian mans house I’ve just left after doing MDMA and kissing his sister. London wakes slowly, rising to birds (the noisy cunts) and the first of many buses. All for now is peaceful. No trains or people spare the odd body, too far away to connect with. Had they approached they’d have met a well dressed man with nothing but lovely things in his head, still tickled that he’d accidentally stumbled upon Abbey Road without looking for it and had toyed with the idea of walking to the correct Zebra crossing. Instead he looked at the one he was faced with and felt a tinge of sadness for it. I understood that the Beatles crossed the one near the studio but there was nothing wrong with this one was there? Why should he feel left out? I gave him respect and held my own miniature reconstruction crossing him four times, taking my shoes off for the Lennon run and filming the entire process. It was at this point I laughed, lit a cigarette and felt all warm and happy knowing that it was the effects of the drug.
The journey was otherwise uneventful. I arrived at the hotel, stayed awake for breakfast, prepared some ‘treats’ with the remaining MDMA and rizla’s I had on me for the train, showered again and left. Safe in the knowledge I am returning to London again, incredibly shortly. To work and then, once that job is done, to stay.
I am one of those that likes the place. Not everyone does, this is a given and unless you’ve been there for a period you may not see the issue with the City, just the romanticism. The reason people grow tired of the place will differ vastly depending on who you ask but I’ve heard the common complaint. “London is very cold. Not the temperature, the people.” The common complaint, has a strong point.
I’m sat at the station, I haven’t slept. I’m admiring a fine blonde girls even finer bottom. She is young and staring up at the boards for her train. She looks like the sort of person who does drugs. I’m on them. Getting her number is rather a formality. To my joy (hidden, never appear too eager) she’s getting a train where I am, unfortunately it’s an earlier departure. I shall be enjoying a night with her either Wednesday or Thursday depending on the outcome of ongoing plans with another girl. We laugh, we flirt, she’s looking forward to seeing me, she leaves. I’ve found a seat and this is where the cold sets in. The argument I have with the critics is I believe the syndrome to be universal and not confined to London. I say this because in a sea of people, from all over the UK, from several countries, not one of them stood to give an old lady a seat…apart from me.
I don’t claim this because I want your respect nor do I offer it as knowledge because I believe it to have been a big sacrifice on my behalf. You may think it was simply amphetamine but I would always offer my seat. The drug wasn’t stopping me harbouring real disgust for the folks who didn’t stand so reasonably it could be wearing off. Must bomb one when the train arrives. The old lady had walked up to three men, asking them if they knew where she had to go. They all ignored her or brushed her off with haste, I know they weren’t staff but a question jarred in my mind. Would it really cost them to be nice? She looked tired, a clear testament to the multi-leveled nature of the underground, she caught my eye just as I was standing to call her over. A man, around 20, tried instantly to snatch my seat I told him “no” in a firm voice and then gave it to her. She asked if I knew where her train was, I told her to stay where she was, look after my bag and I went off to find out for her. When I returned many had dashed off to get there train and so I sat with her.
She was 85, a widow for less than a year and had never travelled alone before. Her husband and her had married during the war, he flew planes. They had four children all boys, two now live in Germany, one near her and one in Turkey. They have children, she has seven grandchildren, boys again, the youngest is 25, or there abouts, the eldest is 42. She has great grand children, she didn’t want to think or at least confess to how many and the eldest is 15 weeks pregnant with twins. She’s about to have two great great grand children. All of them boys. All sharing her husband’s surname. “Guppy”. A large family of little guppies…you couldn’t make it up. She was going to see friends for a week. There was no point in moping around she said. She was worried that she’d stay in her house and do nothing, her husband used to organise the travel arrangements. So she’s doing it, getting out there and seeing everyone. What a lovely person. I gave her the biggest hug. I felt a morsel of sadness for her living with what I feared was very little independence from her husband and immediately thought of my mother. she got a phone call from me shortly after.
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just fascinated by people and want to know all about you. Maybe I’m just filling time between my train, texting the blonde girl, awaiting my come-down and finally sleeping. Maybe I have this horrid urge to be overtly lovely and help people. I don’t know but whatever it is I don’t get why taking a moment to inconvenience yourself by helping someone else, a stranger no less should cost you so much. Was ignoring her going to help those other people get home any quicker? Or make them miss their train? She was this lovely old lady, asking for a little help in her first splurge of independence, would you deny a child that help? Or if it were a fully grown adult, it takes a fucking second.
The old ladies train comes over the tannoy, I grab my bags and walk her to her platform as far as I can and she thanks me. I go back to my chair, it’s long been claimed and I confine myself to a spot standing there looking up. I get a tap on the shoulder. She’s brunette, stunning brown eyes, olive skinned and breath-takingly beautiful.
“That was really lovely of you” she says smiling at me, showing off some quite perfect dimples.
“Was it? I guess so.” I say, not with a hint of agenda just feeling fuzzy from the drugs.
“Would you…would you like to have dinner some time?” She’s forward, she’s already got her card out. “It’s crazy I know, I never do this but you seem…nice”
What does it cost? A bit of your time? It got me a woman’s number.
here, there and everywhere
Gym Haircut Food
Wake up early
Wake up early
Sneak blonde/brunette/both out of hotel after indulging in my version of sex
Meet friends at midday
Get shamelessly drunk
Flirt with bar staff
Will see you all Monday. Have a good weekend you saucy fuckers!
do you take this man?
This is a story about sex. Please don’t start reading this and think “There goes Cheeky, having a go at religion again. So boring.” as this post isn’t about that. You do need the context though.
I grew up Roman Catholic as you may already know. Even after I stopped believing I still went to church every week as to say or try anything else would surely upset my folks. You cannot understand the mother issues involved in a Catholic boys head. Not because of any Oedipal complex but because of the church’s fixation with Mary. Therefore, you have to love your mother. Not that my mother isn’t great anyway but there is the added pressure.
Growing up in an Irish family meant I was not only required to attend mass but also a pupil of a Roman Catholic school and this meant one thing. Almost all my friends for the first 18 years of my life were of the faith. At my school the stereotype was true, Catholic girls were naughty…well maybe not at my school but certainly for me. I got a lot.
It was around the age of 20 that I had a phone call.
“Hey *******!” came the male voice, I knew it well even though it had been 2 years since I’d seen any of the people I shared a classroom with. It was John (redacted) and hearing him was actually rather comforting. I’d just split with my girlfriend and so needed distraction and a little safety so it was good to hear him.
“So yeh. I know your birthday is in July but I was wondering if you’ll be in the country only…I’m getting married and I really want to get everyone there. Be better than the last time we were all together. (the last time had been a funeral for a girl in our year) So I just need an address to send your invite and the menu.”
John’s dad was a clever man, an intelligence that had found it’s way into business rather fluidly and probably woke every morning to discover another zero at the end of his bank account. It was genetic as John was the same, after a little start-up cash from his father he’d started a real estate business on the side when he was 17 and by the age of 20 he’d paid his father back and had 3 million in the bank after taxes. The wedding reflected this affluence as did the bride to be. John’s bride was incredibly blonde, tanned and 18. I’d never met her before but instantly wanted her. I have no doubt about her love for him but the rare cynic in me did question how much she’d love him were he not a man of wealth.
Now I was a single man. Good looking with a serious need to fuck someone. I’d realised in advance I’d need some serious charm as I can admit feeling a tad threatened by the abundance of money that would be floating around. Yet I knew that getting laid would be a foregone conclusion. This was after all Catholic wedding.
I went out and bought a blue suit…similar in colour and cut to this in fact now I’ve seen this one I’m considering buying it. I picked it for it’s colour as I knew I’d stand out and this could only work in my favour. I was outside when John grabbed me, practically yanking my arm off and dragging me around the corner.
“Tell me you’ve brought some weed!”
He was nervous. I was his only hope amidst this sea of gorgeous young faces. There I stood, rolling a joint to be smoked by John, myself and John’s future wife’s cousin. Charlotte.
Charlotte was 19, wore a light purple blazer with matching dress that was delightfully short and showed off a fair amount of her thighs. Great legs, fantastic hips and this beautiful face framed with brunette hair tied up at the back. I was going to fuck her first chance I got. John had to run off leaving us, I saw the uncertainty in him as he did so. He was clearly worried about leaving me alone with a girl who was soon to be family but knew me well enough to know that telling me she was off limits would only serve to make it worse. He smiled at me saying “nothing changes.” and he was off, I was alone around the side of this small church sharing a joint with a beautiful girl that I was about to fuck.
We flirted, we laughed, took the piss out of each other and got very close very quickly. We didn’t kiss however. That would spoil my fun. As a cousin and not one of the bride’s 8, yes that’s correct, 8, sisters (fucking Catholics) she was given free reign of where she was to sit as the fear was that the bride’s section may prove overpopulated.
“Well then, you’r sitting by me” I said magnanimously and we entered the church together. It was hot in there and the pew’s were awash with jacket-less gents which gave me an idea. We found a seat on the left hand side of the church, genuflect, she walked in first and sat next to the wall I followed and removed my jacket. The service started and everyone stood singing the first hymn and somewhere between the verses I leant down and whispered in Charlotte’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you.” She gasped a little and looked up at me, her eyes wide as a smile creased the corner of her mouth and a small giggle came out.
“Good” she said turning her head back to face the hymn book. Everyone sat as the priest began ranting on and I took this opportunity to place a hand on her leg. She didn’t move it away and as I inched finger by finger towards the inside of her thigh she looked down the pew, across the church and parted her legs. I placed my jacket over her lap, crossed my right leg over my left to mask my hand and proceeded to slide my hand under her skirt. She let out a sharp breath as I moved her underwear to one side, found her clit and began to rub it. It was over very quickly as she came rather violently over my hand, her dress and more importantly my jacket. My lovely new jacket was a mess. With my other hand I tapped the woman crying in front of us on the shoulder and through crocodile tears I asked if she had a spare tissue. Charlotte covered her mouth and slapped my arm playfully as if to say she couldn’t believe what I’d done. We cleaned ourselves up.
“Sorry” she said “weed gets me horny.”
After the service I offered to drive her to the reception. I made sure we smoked on the way, we fucked in the car and then turned up and arranged to meet later on. About the time the bride and groom were dancing I was again taking Charlotte from behind in the ladies room and she was ont another heavy orgasm before experiencing her first double orgasm.
Catholics, weddings, weed and sharp blue suits. A dangerously potent combination.
burning the candle…
My day started with violent regularity. Up early, porridge oats, coffee, brush my teeth and take a multi vitamin and cod liver oil capsule (started taking these when I was a poor student and spent money on weed and beer) before jumping in the shower and going to this friends house to do his usual medical demands for diabetes.
So I’m on my way when my phone is vibrating and I look down to see blonde’s name light up the screen. It was early, too early for her so I was surprised to say the least that she was getting in touch. We chatted, we arranged to meet up later on but in the mean time I was to continue on as planned before going to meet brunette who had text me asking to grab a coffee. As she lived close to my friend it was the simplest order and I was glad to spare my petrol money.
When I walked into the cafe brunette was already there, playing on her phone and hadn’t noticed me come in. After one hour of listening to a man talk about the royal family and then with spectacular dedication to the art of bi-polar behaviour another two hours with subtle talk of suicide I was now desperate for the strongest brew I could get. She spotted me and immediately looked serious. I could see I’d have to wait for my coffee.
I walked over to her and she stood to hug me. It was at this point I knew what was about to follow. I’d been here before, this cafe, this table, this hug and I knew what happened on the previous occasions so I sat down and let it happen. But I was prepared.
“I don’t know how to say this…I’ve met someone.”
I’d already planned the response during the hug…
“Wow! Oh you lovely creature you. Congratulations. Right, tell me everything about him. Or is it a girl? I never know with you.”
Her shoulders dropped and her face relaxed as my over the top happiness found it’s target and she didn’t feel bad believing I was a happy chappy for her. And I am. She’s a lovely person and deserves to be with a guy she likes and if she suddenly wants a relationship with this guy I’d rather we have this conversation as opposed to the one where I say I don’t want to become exclusive. We stayed for an hour or two and she told me about him after I made her. She did suggest that if she’s single again in the future and my penis sparks back to life she wants me to come fuck her brains out…I will she’s absolutely gorgeous and I’d spend a week in a locked room with her and gallons of water gladly.
We hugged again, I dropped her at her flat and we arranged to meet up again…we won’t clearly but that’s what happens. Off to meet blonde for some foreplay carried out by me…so you can imagine my surprise when I get to her flat and meet her fiance along with her bags. He doesn’t remember me from the chance encounter I had with his lady while he popped to the toilet back in January…I’m just some guy she works with to him. She outlines all this as I’m parking the car near the train station and she is looking for a cash machine to give me petrol money and pay for my parking.
They’d finally seen the errors of their relationship and argued constantly until he admitted to his affairs and she gleefully confessed to knowing and reacting with exact measure. She then phoned me to pick her up (though I didn’t know this was the arrangement) packed her bags and booked a train to take her to her parents house in Scotland.
“Fancy a quickie in a hotel? I’m paying.”
Well how could I resist? We grabbed a room, laughed at the receptionist as he asked useless questions about breakfast and options of view from the window, got in there shut the door and spent a while with me going down on her and using the only toy we could find from her luggage rammed into the boot of the car.
She came, she left and then I drove home.
…and then there were none.
bring your own stud
Brunette gives me a text.
Hey, what you upto Friday? A few of us are going for dinner if you fancy it? x
Prior to this, brunette and I had been indulging in our (my) current version of sex and that was it. I’d met her outside of her flat but since then we’d spent a great deal of time in it, we once walked to her local shop to buy beer and food but that was it really. Her flatmate had seen the two of us together…but then I used to sleep with her flatmate when all my things worked. It was all fine and as brunette was one of the ladies I knew wasn’t seeking anything from me I knew this was all good. She’s not going to have an issue with my history because there’s nothing exclusive or unanswered about where we’re at. So while dinner with her friends was not usual for us, I wasn’t under any illusion this was all just dinner.
As I turned up at her place I was greeted at the door. It wasn’t her, nor her flatmate but a friend of theirs.
”*******!” she shrieked as she saw me there. Yes I’d slept with her as well. This could be interesting.
It all went unspoken, she looked over now and then at me as she sat on her boyfriends lap in the sitting room. Not a very imposing guy, slight and rather short but terribly good looking with a hint of cool. We waited in there with the flatmate’s fella for taxi’s to come and take us into town to go eat. Brunette pulled me aside and told me, “My flatmate has her boyfriend, then there’s the other girl, Lizzy (made up name) and her guy. When we get there we’re meeting another couple I just didn’t want to be a spare cog. Is that ok?”
I told her it was fine and then proceeded to inform her I’d fucked Lizzy previously. Brunette laughed and rolled her eyes.
We got to the restaurant and as soon as the name was mentioned in the cab I started to think of the place. I hadn’t been there for a long time, the name had changed. I used to go here with an ex girlfriend, a real relationship with talks and commitments but after we’d finished I hadn’t been back. Not for any particular reason or bad memories, we got on ok after it all ended I just hadn’t bothered. It was her favourite place and as lovely as the food was I just wasn’t fussed…you can guess who the fourth couple was.
I’m sat with brunette, her flatmate plus one, Lizzy plus one and my ex girlfriend plus one. How did these lot know each other and arrange this situation without me having any idea? Ex and I came face to face and I laughed, the awkwardness was apparent so I did my usual trick of bulldozing through it and giving her a big hug. She took the piss out of me, I appreciated it, then she explained to her boyfriend and those around us how we knew each other.
Mid way through the starter brunette had gone very quiet and was looking around the table at the women present. She then looked at me and let out a rather loud laugh. I moved in to ask her what was so funny and she said “I just realised that you’ve slept with every girl around this table - and so have I!” There I was thinking I was the only stud here, having a history with all these fine looking women and yet she was on a Parr.
“When that thing works, you let me know ok? I don’t like being the only one here who hasn’t been on that thing.”
Ah dating is fun.
business as usual
Well hello you gorgeous folks.
Kind regards for all the lovely messages over the last few days, you little bastards are all eligible to be in my bed regardless of gender. Just to put minds at ease I spent the night having a quick drink and watching television with a smoke or two. Yesterday I saw some family had another smoke, read a little, did some work and wished I was friends with Dan Dare for complex reasons. I digress. The point is I’m absolutely fine and you’re not to be concerned.
I spent the afternoon at blonde girls place. To let you know I’ve cut down to blonde with fiance and brunette on a rebound. Four people was stretching myself a little thin as I am working on getting away from where I currently live and heading back to London. Less women is the way to go. As one of them shall be off limits shortly and the other will grow tired of our arrangement and fall for someone else these were the better options for everyone involved. I finished with waitress and red head on the same evening I’d made my choice. Last week on the 13th…the day before Valentine’s day! What a cunt!
Waitress was first as I knew red head was in work and I wasn’t going to do that to her there. Waitress had become everything I first assumed she would be, moody, erratic and unjustly demanding. She’d asked me to take her away somewhere for a weekend, as in another country to take her shopping and demanded I pay for the whole trip. I told her…
“No, I won’t be spending that money on you and even if I wanted to, I don’t have a free weekend.”
Her Pavlovian response was to go into a huff over what I said, telling me that any man would feel happy to pay to spend time with her, clearly unaware of any self imposed connotations such a statement made. Unmoved by thinly veiled threats I didn’t back down so she threatened to stop having sex with me and then immediately retreated as she remembered that she was the only one receiving orgasms from our liaisons. After this she got mean in her texts and she was always curt…not a difficult choice to end things.
I got to her house and knocked on the door. She greeted me there with a scowl and walked away, leaving the door open. I walked in behind her as she turned into autopilot and headed to the bedroom removing clothes as she made her way to the bed. I told her not to bother and said things weren’t working out for us and so I was ending things. Then something odd happened, she cried! I wasn’t expecting emotion out of her. I had decided that she was a cunt based on her cuntish behaviour and lack of reason. Now I was overcome by guilt at being so direct and callous with her, I should have been gentle and not gone for the jugular. I went to comfort her only to be met with a well deserved slap across my left cheek. I’ve been hit harder but not much. With very little to say for myself and a sore back after she threw a 5lb dumbbell at me from across the room as I went to leave, I decided that this break up was pretty conclusive.
After being pushed out the front door and hearing it slam behind me I was tempted to go home, leave red head alone for tonight as I wasn’t sure I could take more inanimate object being hurled at me and the hand print on my face was decidedly raw in the cold wind. I had however made up my mind and felt I owed it to her.
Unlike Waitress red head wasn’t demanding just boring, in and out of the bedroom. Her boyfriend was travelling across country to see her the next day for Valentine’s but she was still trying to fit me in…along with her roommate, a guy she worked withand two lads from the university football team…soccer to you heathens out there. This wasn’t the reason for finishing withher, I didn’t have a problem with it, I just didn’t think she’d miss one guy from her personal harem. I’d make my way over to the bar she was on and give her a lift home after work. Unfortunately I’d missed a text from her while waitress was flinging the contents of her room at my head. She’s asked me if I wanted to something when she finished work and me turning up there was taken as a sign of approval.
She was a little pissed at me as we sat outside her flat and thankfully less upset than I thought she would be. The idea of making two women cry in one evening is not an event I openly seek so I was grateful she didn’t. I did position myself at an angle so that if the mood struck so would the other cheek. Nothing though, not a slap or a tear, see?…Boring! I tease of course. I had to bite my tongue when she told me to enjoy the other girls and called me a slut for seeing them both. Irony is lost on most hypocrites.
The whole process was done within an hour and a half including travel time. You may find this a surprise but I’m not that good at break ups as I haven’t had that much experience with them. I have been in relationships but seldom the executioner as relationships have either gone on and met a natural demise or I’ve been dumped spectacularly. When I have had to finish one it’s been laden with guilt and trepidationso I tackle them the way I meet most challenges, with out and out attack. Survival mode. Rip off the bandage and get out of there as there’s always oom to dwell on it later.
I arrived home to find no whiskey and was very annoyed at myself for this oversight. I popped out and bought a bottle of wine…swapping numbers with the Indian woman I met also shopping with striking features and a gorgeous smile. I’m seeing her later.
I fear I may never learn.
where do I fit?
If there’s one thing I am it’s open. Gloss over the fact that you are reading that sentence on an anonymous blog and let me speak.
I am currently ‘involved’ shall I say with several women. I met blonde in a bar in front of her fiance and proceeded to meet up with her knowing that there would be limited expectation when it came to commitment. Brunette is single but not looking and red head has a boyfriend far away and doesn’t want to leave him. Then I met a waitress and she also has the very straightforward albeit demanding attitude to our arrangement, I go around there and give at least 4 orgasms and I’m not to sleep over unless I bring wine…it’s a fair compromise in my mind but I pass on sleeping over if she starts talking about personal wealth or her conservative outlook and she does this a lot. I have told them all I’m not exclusive and not looking for a relationship right now. As lovely as they are to me, it’s just not what I want. They are all fine with it.
You may be surprised to know, I also have a job! A very time consuming job that means I am tied to this machine often for long periods of time at terribly odd hours or I’m out meeting folks and turning on the charm offensive. I also write, badly in my opinion but I decided to do it more as it has garnered offers of financial gain recently. This doesn’t mean I’d give up my job to be a writer for 3 reasons…I’m really only half decent at best, I doubt the money would be ‘that’ great and most importantly, I have that rare pleasure where I really love my job.
I have friends. Some I see with great regularity and others I see as often as possible. I love my friends and want to see them more often but I have a job and many women to please. I train. I workout and I’m not an athlete so I wouldn’t profess to having an actual need to do this it does have aspects that I enjoy. It’s a part of my life that saved me. As melodramatic as that sounds it’s the truth.
All this means that I have odd sleeping patterns and very little time to do other things like read or enjoy myself…but I still do.
If I were to give up all the girls and find a relationship it would alter my schedule dramatically. I just don’t want to. If I met a girl I wanted to be exclusive with…I’d do that, I just haven’t met her and I guess I picked the ones who were unavailable on purpose. So when I met another girl who wants me, I’d demand the same openness I give. Right?
I spent the other night with a fifth girl. We’ll call her Mel.
Mel I have flirted with several times in the past and thought I’d ask for her number. So we went out with a group of friends and kissed over the course of the evening. Later that night she said…
“I fucking hate this music. Never take me anywhere like this OK?”
…she laughed and said it jokingly so I played along.
Later she said…
“Look at her heels! I hate wearing heels - but you’ll find that out about me.”
…here’s where I should have stopped. Whatever else came out of Mel’s mouth the rest of the night I should have disregarded but I thought I’d set records straight from the top. I said…
“Listen. It’s not right unless I tell you this. I’m seeing other girls. Nothing serious at all. I don’t want to get into anything serious right now. I don’t want a girlfriend. I’m just having fun.”
…to me this was as honest as I could be. I am seeing girls, none of these arrangements are serious, I don’t want them to be, I don’t want a girlfriend. This is all true but I should have known better than to go against my concerns. She replied…
“That’s fine (smile) I don’t want anything serious either. Just having fun sounds good.”
…we went straight to a hotel. A mistake in many ways but partly because she wasn’t much fun in bed, a fact made incredibly obvious even though all she had to do was enjoy getting head. She was still and didn’t seem to enjoy it at all, it was all chillingly uncomfortable. The next morning with me still paranoid about the encounter we went our separate ways and I was happy with that.
Here’s the truth, I hadn’t given up on seeing her again. You may call me single-minded and accuse me of thinking with my dick but lets be realistic…I’m not the one getting sexual pleasure from these encounters am I? The truth is, I’d made plans to see friends, meet the other girls and do work.
Mel text me the next day, in response to a message I sent her, I shan’t bore you with my message as it was largely an in joke during the night that won’t make sense to you.
Mel: ha ha fucking loved that. what was the cocktail i had? the yellow one?x
Me: Haven’t the foggiest sorry. What did it taste like?x
Mel: Banana. Was lovely…fancy another one tonight?x
Me: Can’t tonight…I’m seeing *********, the blonde I told you about…well this is awkward!x
(six hours later)
Mel: Well. I’m busy till Thursday. We can meet then?x
Me: Definitely can’t do Thursday sorry. I have a busy weekend too (didn’t mention other girls as the last time caused a six hour silence) but I’m around on Wednesday the week after.x
Mel: Uhh. I thought I already said I’m not free until Thursday’s. You avoiding me?
Me: Not at all. I said Wednesday. Week after next I’m away Friday but how about the Saturday?x
Mel: Look if you don’t want to meet me then fine but I thought you were into me.
Me: Sorry if I sound like a bastard. I did say when I’m free. Let me know if you want to do something or if I find myself able I’ll let you know. OK?x
Mel: Busy with these other girls? Where do I fit in? I thought we’d be good together?
At this point I called her, I wasn’t happy about texting back and for about something quite so sensitive. This is a human being I was talking with and I was worried that even if honest I’d cause some hurt. The exact words elude me but the conversation went along the lines of me asking what she was after exactly. She told me she thought we’d be good together that’s why she kissed me. I reminded her I said I didn’t want a relationship and I was only after fun and told her that because I wanted her to be fully aware before anything happened. She said “I know you said that but you didn’t actually mean it did you? I know what you really meant, that’s why I can’t believe you’re being such a wanker now. I can’t believe you’re just like all the others.”
All of this…is my fault. I knew something was wrong and even though I was honest about it all I should have realised she wasn’t. I am the type of person in this situation who clearly leads others on. I told her it is what I wanted and I didn’t think it was a good idea that it ever happened, I then apologised and was rewarded with a 5 minute tirade of expletives and the promise that every girl would know what a cunt I am.
I stand by the idea. It was my fault but was it all me? Surely being honest about sex shouldn’t be this complicated should it? I just wanted fun and at no time did I pretend differently. I feel bad as I saw the signs early on.
People reading this, sometimes honesty will do you no good. Just to warn you, you’ll still feel like a shit.
Blonde and I are still texting, her pictures are getting more courageous and delicious with each ring tone. Seeing her has been sparse as…well…the whole fiance issue.
Brunette is lovely. I was over hers earlier tonight giving her head and she looked on disappointedly at my flaccid member. I see her sporadically and she’s been fine when I mentioned blonde and…
18 year old! This was a red head I bumped into just over a week ago at the bar she was working on. She served me and I flirted. She said she’d give me her number for tips or if I bought her a drink and I called her “a common whore” for making such a request. This lead to her getting offended just enough to want to kiss me and for me to take her back to her student home after her shift and do drugs till she had to sleep through her lecture and I went out and enjoyed my pre-planned morning off work. Have seen her properly since then and we had what I now realise is my current form of sex. We’ll meet again soon.
Today I flirted with a waitress, got a number and intend to text her in the afternoon. She’s another brunette with these outstanding green eyes and lovely body even if her horrid uniform did it’s damnedest to disguise it. I’d say she’s around her 20’s. Her accent sounds incredibly cultured so I’m assuming her job is by no means an accurate indicator of her station in life…my guess is rich father and the attitude to delay making any real decisions about anything but merely ending up here, in this cafe for now until daddy can get her a job making real money. Out of all of them I expect her to be the most demanding in the bedroom due to the undeserved sense of entitlement I saw in girls of her ilk back in higher education. They were always filthy in bed and wanted me to work harder. With that in mind I’m also guessing she wont be pleased by my lack of erection.
Blonde has a fiance, she doesn’t want a relationship. Brunette just came out of a relationship and doesn’t want a new one, just fun. 18 year old has a boyfriend back home and is merely enjoying herself while she’s away. Waitress is yet to divulge any information but I’m assuming she doesn’t want anything serious. If I’m right about her background, I’m certainly not a person she’d want to take home for din-dins as I could easily knock up the interior of a lounge for less than 15 grand and I doubt that lack of interest in money is what she looks for in a man. I say this because a very similar girl I saw in uni told me she “couldn’t understand how anyone could buy a fireplace for less than 5 grand” and that was without the trimmings, this sentiment didn’t bode well for my longevity.
Anyway, that would make 3, almost 4 women and it’s only February. No commitment in sight and I’ve been honest in my lack of interest in one from the very start.
“I’m enjoying myself, the last thing I want is anything serious right now. Sorry.”
I can’t be clearer yet I can’t stop meeting women who are fine with this. A fine dichotomy to discover yourself in.
…It’s clearly because I am the master of foreplay.
fish or cut bait
For the last hour or so my phone has lit up constantly with messages from blonde and brunette of differing content.
“You look hot in your facebook pic”
“How was training? You in the shower yet? hmmmxx”
“You’re fucking cheeky sir. ;)x”
“I maybe free Thursday. I’ll be a good girl and make myself available. Or maybe I should be bad??? :p xx”
“Here’s a picture of my hand in my knickers and I’m wearing my new stockings. You free this weekend?*x” (* being the redacted initial for her first name)
She sent other pictures, they’ve varied in their graphic falvour and displays of exhibitionism.
One is taken (naughty) and hot the other is single and hotter. They both have great bodies (bottoms) and I’ll find out in the week how dirty brunette is with her wrists pinned above her head.
Long before I’m ripping off any underwear (ripping is almost always based upon my estimation of the cost of the garment) and kissing the base of her neck I’m already there. I’m far too pretty not to end up back at brunettes and she knows it. She knows I’m thinking of that because that’s how I’ve already chatted to her in person and the fact she’s doing nothing to dispell the idea means I’m getting laid, at least my current version of the word, by two girls this week but over several times. It’s still January!
When you’re a forward little puppy like I am you’ll find enough places to bury your bone.
Go out there. Eyes front and open, shoulders back, chest high and stride like you just don’t care.
Tumblr currently hates me. I have sent messages to almost all of you and when I use social networks or other sites I’m informed that my messages are getting lost along and not finding their way to you. I am incredibly sorry about this. If you have sent me a message I swear I’ve replied but tumblr seems to ransom my correspondences.
I have taken to penning messages and making copies in the event that tumblr one day allows me to send them again.
To make amends, I’m about to text a brunete I met last night & arrange when in the week I shall be seeing her again, going to her place and eating her cunt! I’ll let you know everything that happens! That’s a first yes?
If you want to get in touch you can try here but I know people have struggled as I have so maybe try my twitter.
You stay filthy now.
Salutations my lovely followers, all 55 of you. 55! That’s fifty fucking five! Why this many sociopaths would be so idiosyncratic to read through my diatribe is beyond me. You’re clearly all as deranged as I…lovely isn’t it?
So recently I became aware that my posts may be seen as a trifle glum. Many of you have also started following me to read through my stories and sift through my accounts of bravado and the regularity I have at some points in my life found myself in tremendously jammy circumstances with a member of the opposite sex or even more fortunate and wound up with plural members of the opposite sex. For this reason and also, far more importantly, because I truly wish to, I shall now pen an altercation about my first week in University.
One of the guys on my course, we’ll call him Mr B, had a very similar background to me. Similar sporting acumen, a slight affliction with cigarettes and alcohol, a self-assured attitude and a penchant for women. Although we weren’t living together at this point, a great deal of that academic year was spent at each other’s flat. We were to spend most evenings chatting, playing guitar and watching family guy all very much under heavy influence of weed and alcohol…but that came later.
This first week in University, I’d already slept with a few people. One girl, “Blondie” I have mentioned her before, was the first girl who found me irresistible, on the very first day in fact culminating in early morning and very drunken shenanigans in her student digs. She shared with a guy off my course so word spread extremely quickly and when it came back to Mr B he immediately proposed a night out at the end of the week.
It was arranged, this was London it was a Saturday night and two dashing young men were off to tame and conquer the City, chiefly its female contingency. We made our way into the very centre of the West End and very abruptly it dawned on us, although London is an incredible city, where does one go? Neither of us were Londoners and back in our respective homes it was a simple affair, you go into the centre of town and you knew where the clubs were but here, we would need ideas.
We made our way to a hotel bar and proceeded to pay for an overpriced drink whilst we took a seat and formulated a plot. Cue mobile phones, texting every number we had obtained in that first week, even “blondie” who had suggested “ministry of sound” but I was dubious as it was still early in mine and Mr B’s friendship and we hadn’t broached the drug culture at all so I was unsure if suggesting going there and taking pill’s was the right choice. Besides drugs weren’t the goal tonight, we were distinctly looking for girls, this was why he wanted to come out with me in the first place, this was the reason he wanted to join me. I was the master of seduction, the man who had procured not only a goodnight kiss but had the ability to bed this girl without hardship; I appeared to Mr B, this young man as if I were a Venus fly trap and could teach him likewise. I couldn’t let the man down; my considerable ego would never have taken it. Tonight was not about getting drunk or taking more drugs than society allowed, tonight was the night that I Mr ******* ******* showed the world his true worth as a leader of men and seduction artiste.
On paper that reads incredibly well. It would appear that I was the man who would guide the way and take Mr B under my wing teaching him all he needed to know and perform in a way so breathtaking that it would defy people’s belief…but I ended up just getting ridiculously drunk instead.
The names of the clubs we visited that night have long since eluded me now. There was a time I still had the receipt in my wallet from the ostentatious bar bill I paid in one of the clubs printed on it. I would take notice of it from time to time and wince at the total but appreciative of the fact I had stepped up and done something outlandish. This wallet was picked from my pocket a year or two later alleviating me of a condom and travel card along with said receipt, poor unfortunate mugger. Spending all that time practising and honing his deception in the hope of pilfering vast sums of cash only to be rewarded with one durex…not even as if he could have bought the girl a drink first. However, back to the club.
We directed our travels to a club suggested by a friend from university and I immediately wanted to leave. Although there were many young ladies there they all looked as if they were endorsed by every foundation known to man and many that weren’t. The place was all fake tans, hair extensions, counterfeit fingernails and uncomfortable heels, which didn’t seem to bother Mr B who literally stood back and let me lead the way whilst shouting in my ear “WHICH ONE ARE YOU GOING FOR?” I was a leader of men, this man to be precise, I couldn’t back down now, that’s what ethics and moral code would demand and I was far beyond that now. Instead of choosing a girl we went to the bar, “Choose your weapon” I vaguely remember exclaiming because this was the kind of daft declaration I would have found hilarious at this age. We no doubt had beers with sambucca or tequila shots.
There were girls at the bar and between here and the bars we passed through to get here I had drank enough by this point to feel incredibly horny at the sight of all the naked flesh on display. So horny I was willing to let my principles slip and more than likely want to sleep with a young lady wearing an unnecessarily skimpy dress, so I tried my luck with the girl beside me.
Tamara was 19 and a journalism student. She had dark hair, I assumed brunette but it was tricky to tell in the poor light, big dark brown eyes, unmistakable in any luminosity and an exceptionally dirty smile all wrapped nicely in a clinging white dress. I’ve always struggled in the club environment when it comes to talking, it’s impossible over the music and as always is only possible when you’re outside smoking or sat in the corner. With Mr B watching on tenterhooks I had to make enough of an impression to lead her away from her friends and speak to me. I saw her next to me at the bar and just leant in and said
“I like your dress, I saw another girl wearing it earlier in here, it looked better on her but you’re pulling it off.”
She looked at me and said
“You cheeky fucker. I think it looks good on me”
“No I look good, but I also look original. If you have to buy all your clothes at Topshop don’t be surprised when others wear them. You’re pulling it off though.”
So with this quick insult we had started a conversation which meant I would have to somehow shift away from blatant bullying of her to a more inviting subject…but there’s no way I’m giving away all of my secrets to you.
I got Mr B talking to her friend and told them both “This is Nathaniel he’s a vineyard owner.” Then I turned to Tamara and said “You smoke? Come on then.” I took her hand and led her towards the smoking area. Those were the days, when you could still smoke inside; I didn’t have to shake to death craving a source of outdoor warmth. This is where she pushed on me all the information I told you earlier, name, age, subject studied, that my assumption was correct seeing as she did have brunette hair and the fact that she was incredibly tanned with great legs…I’d already checked the bottom out - fantastic. Not one to dawdle I kissed her before we headed back inside taking my time over it and then suggesting that we go find our friends.
By the time we got back Mr B (Nathanial) had found a table with Tamara’s friend, an incredibly cute blonde girl who made me wonder if I’d made the right decision. Some shots later and the thought of a threesome crosses my mind, how exactly can I palm my friend off and deviate the action back to my flat with these two? Can I do this without upsetting anyone? Am I in any fit state to perform in a manner that could accommodate two ladies right now? This thought was a little too daunting for me but one thing was for sure; I fancied the blonde girl more than Tamara and had to swap, or stop talking to the two of them and cut my losses.
We decided to move to another bar, we had stumbled across another one on our way here, a far better place and seeing as Mr B and I were in suits and these two were in dresses, regardless of their skimpy nature, we all looked eligible to make our presence welcomed in a more refined environment. The place was also dimly lit, the music was still loud but you could hear each other better, which was perfect for us. I motioned towards the general direction of a booth that was empty and this was when my horrendous bar bill receipt came to fruition. I wasn’t too happy to pay it but my friend “Nathanial” the vineyard owner had promised the girls fine wine as befitting his lineage, when he came to me later informing me he had put it on a tab and didn’t have a card nor sufficient legal tender to pay for the bill, your humble narrator was left to bail him out and thus keep the subterfuge alive. This was a lesson in humility, if you’re going to invent a lie about a friend, make sure they can back it up themselves or it’s your own fault, a very expensive fault.
When I got back the girls had gone from the table Mr B told me he didn’t like the blonde one and fancied mine. The best news I could have heard, although he was only a fellow student I was going to know him well over the next handful of years so it’s important to establish a fair balance at the early stages and the very idea of taking the blonde girl away from him would have been completely counterproductive.
The girls had gone to dance so I said lets join them and have a little fun. My secret to dancing is an entirely complex and time tested set of movements nurtured under extensive concentration and a mixture of talent and practise. I go out and enjoy myself! I find it impossibly banal sat at the side of a dance floor sipping a drink looking on and attempting to catch eye contact with someone, just get yourself in the middle and take pleasure in the fact that the more ridiculous you look the more fun it is for you and the other insecure people looking on. This is where I found myself when Tamara and her friend, called Caroline by the way, were gathering around the two of us, this humble vineyard owner and I. This can only work for so long though as you eventually have to conduct some resemblance of a conversation or at least I have to so I made a beeline for Caroline.
She had green eyes, they were spectacular and when she smiled these cute dimples formed, her entire body language was coy and very playful. She was in a royal blue dress, not as skimpy as Tamara’s in fact there was a modicum of taste required in choosing it. Slightly older than her friend but still 19 she was an English student, and they knew each other since comprehensive school. I decided that I’d let her buy me a drink before overbearingly flirting with her and chancing my arm early to take her home, and it worked. As we were heading to the door Mr B asked me where I was off to. “Where do you think?” Came my reply, eager to leave and tuck into my little green eyed treat. I remember him being a little anxious about staying so I leaned over and said to Tamara she should definitely not go back with him because he’d probably use her and regret it deeply in the morning. She liked this idea and we all left at the same time.
Just have to point out there’s a lot to be said for this approach. I was incredibly brash in my methodology and although tongue in cheek as it was, was still pretty daring but I knew it would work. The reason was because we were all there for the same thing. We were all out for some fun and this girl was definitely after the no strings variety, I knew as soon as I met her at the bar in that horrible club and she played along with my first line. I knew when I started talking to her friend that she wanted the same thing and to be fair to all of us, the couples were in the right order now, everyone fancying the corresponding person more than their friend. Sometimes you just know when someone wants to go home with you and fuck each your brains out and it was definite on this occasion, it’s what everyone wanted.
The cab home was of course a humorous fumbling of kissing whilst the car bounced over speed bumps as I tried my best to kiss her neck in as sensual a manner as possible. I had an anxious moment, wondering if my breath was reeking of alcohol and if this would ruin the mood but then as I looked up her eyes were shut with the cutest smile on her face, I believe I was on the right track. The cab pulled up, I threw a note or two and the driver and dragged her out by her hand then spun her around in front of me. The two of us kissing in my doorway as my keys evaded me momentarily then my right hand found them in my inside pocket of my blazer next to my phone as my left hand found her bottom. I unlocked the door and we fell in giggling and horny waking up my flat mate who had been a witness to the sight of me coming home with a random girl on 3 separate occasions during that first week. He rolled his eyes, said goodnight and closed his bedroom door just as we made our way into mine.
The sex itself was pretty hot but I don’t remember every detail. I do remember she had those cute dimples that sometimes form at the base of a girl’s spine just above her bottom, that truly amazing bottom. There was a lot of biting, kissing, sucking and a great deal of sex thanks to my inability to find a condom neither satisfying nor sexy. I even remember when we finished looking at my phone to see Mr B had text me 2 hours earlier after he and Tamara had finished saying simply “Thanks buddy.” I lay down as Caroline put her arm across my torso, wrapped her leg over mine and rested her head on my chest.
In the morning, I awoke as she was sneaking out. My head was a mess of great pain and cloudy vision my throat dry and words fighting to escape.
“Hey you ok? You want a cup of tea before you go or something?”
She gave no response just made her way out the door with her shoes in hand. I pulled my boxer shorts on and chased after her, to be honest, I was after another session in the morning, it was the weekend after all, neither of us had to go and learn anything and I would be even better than last night after a coffee and a shower. I ran down stairs but she was gone, out of sight, without so much as a goodbye let alone a phone number for a rematch at a later date. Mildly depressed and questioning my technique and attractiveness (how would you feel if a one night stand not only tried to leave while you were asleep but didn’t react to you when you woke and caught them?) I made my way back to my room and as I opened the door dumbfounded by what had just happened I discovered the reason. My sheets were completely brown; I’d shat myself during the night.
The poor girl awoke in my faeces and utterly disgusted she left without even showering. I was beginning to imagine her horror of riding on the tube smelling of dung when I realised I couldn’t smell any. I pulled the sheets back and although there was a definite smell it wasn’t that, it was more chemical or lotion based…like a fake tan! Indeed poor Caroline had applied some very cheap fake tan and whilst lying in her post orgasmic bliss it ran all over my sheets and, in a far more comical way over me. There was a direct imprint on one half of my body and of her head on my chest, arm across me and leg across mine, an imprint that showering excessively would not shift and was only conceived by me donning fake tan in the same shade to blend it all together.
You should have seen the staff in the tanning shop when I explained the situation. They had to go for a slightly darker shade as they couldn’t find it exactly, then I made them apply it to me for extra cost much to their great delight and amusement. I left looking like I was made of mahogany and the more knowledgeable of my friends spotted I was wearing fake tan, surprisingly a lot of my male classmates recognised first.
That poor girl though, whenever I recount this to people I feel more and more sorry for her. She’s probably making use of her degree now and teaching or something and if I ever had the chance I’d gladly sleep with her again but I doubt very much she would be as eager to see me. If you ever did spot a blonde girl in London with incredible green eyes in a royal blue dress but only half a face you may just have spotted her. If you know her tell her, Cheeky says hi.