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?
Photographer introduced me to her ex, a blonde female dancer a week ago and today she asked…
Photographer: Do you think she’s pretty?
Me: Yes, but then I have a thing for dancers.
P: Oh good. You want to spend new years eve with her?
M: Explain yourself.
P: She has invited me to a party, I want to go so I can get off with her friend (another dancer) and I think she fancied you the other week.
M: Of course she fancied me.
M: So you’re pimping me out to your ex’s already?
P: Oh right and you have a problem with that.
M: I’ll do it but if the friend is cute I want a crack at her as well.
P: So sure of yourself aren’t you?
M: Keep that attitude up and I’ll take them both.
So that’s my new years eve sorted, whored out to dancers. Cute, blonde dancers with amazing dancers physiques in cocktail dresses and too much champagne…and someone invited me? Foolish, foolish people. I feel sorry for the other men and bisexual photographers already.
pillow talk part ??, i don’t know, 100+ or something
Little Blonde Peep and I in bed sometime early morning after we’ve been there a considerable time. Long enough for my jaw to hurt and my hand to sting a little.
Little Blonde Peep: Fuck! Fuck. So I’ve not been spanked like that in years.
LBP: Nuh uuh.
LBP: My ex wasn’t really into it.
Me: How long were you with him?
LBP: 3 years. He isn’t that strong. You have nice arms though.
I was tensing, men tense.
Me: I know.
LBP: You’re modest aren’t you?
Me: That is modesty. I just agreed with you that’s all.
LBP: Oh, ok then.
Me: Also ‘nice; isn’t that conceited. “I have nice arms” is a pretty modest statement. It’s not like you said I have unbelievable arms. That I wouldn’t agree with, be far too cocky. Go on say I have unbelievable arms.
LBP: You have unbelievable arms.
Me: I know.
LBP: You’re funny. Want me to try sucking your dick again? You can’t still be that drunk.
I die a little inside.
Me: Go on then. If you must.
It doesn’t work, I end up going down on her again.She orgasms.
…and if you feel bad for me, don’t. I had a great night.
southbound at 4 am
Apparently in morning rush hour and a pure homage of London’s reliance on public transport, there’s an average of 2 millionaires per carriage on the underground but the same can not be said for the buses. No, there is a special caliber of person who takes the bus around London. I’ve seen violence, racism, sex, non social drug use, poor parenting and even on one occasion severely graphic self mutilation. Sometimes a gang will jump on to set you on edge but there’s this magical thing that everyone on London transport does in this and almost every other situation they find uncomfortable, they tune out. Headphones in, noses in newspapers or books or if they’re lucky they have a friend to chat to. Not me. I’m not saying I don’t have friends but I refuse to distract myself from all the other things going on because London is brilliantly bat shit crazy. Why would you choose to ignore it?
Our story begins waiting for a bus, We’ll call it the number 7777 from Phalantone Station towards Bang Grove. A made up number from an invented station to a leafy suburb I’ve just imagined to save any one knowing where I was the other weekend. It’s 2 in the morning, I’m waiting for a night bus going back to a friends flat. By this time, the underground is shut and so folks who don’t normally take the bus are forced to, they mix drunkenly with all the weirdness. I’m at Bang Station with a crowd of people all in fancy dress for Halloween but I was out with friends so there’s me in a blazer, burgundy sweater, pale blue shirt, boot cut jeans, dark brown brogues and a scarf but I’m fucking freezing. Time drags by monotonously but then I realise I’ve been there almost 2 hours. Yes it’s pushing 4 in the morning and the bus that is supposed to come every 5 minutes has now been absent for 2 fucking hours just long enough for her to arrive.
She wears a green beret just hiding bobbed blonde hair, light brown jacket, matching striped multi-pastel coloured scarf and gloves with what appears to be a Halloween outfit underneath. Possibly little Bo Peep or as I don’t see a cane to go with the ensemble some sort of maid outfit. I want her straight away. She stands at the stop looking up for bus times and see’s me wasting no time at all before starting with anything she can find to open a conversation.
Her: Are you getting the 7777?
My luck is in…
Me:Yes I am, to Bang Grove, you?
Her: Tinge Meadow. Only a stop or two before you.
Me: Look at you. You must be freezing.
Her: It’s a little cold yes.
Me: Right then, come here…
I open up my blazer and order her to hug me under my jacket as I wrap it around her, rubbing her through the jacket to keep her warm. See that? In less than a minute I’ve gone from her sheepishly chatting to me to now physically touching.
Her: You smell nice.
Me: I know.
Her: Oh you know do you?
Me: Hey, you think it too.
She giggles and I think turns a little red but it’s hard to tell in 4 am light. As we wait for the bus to come we discuss where we’ve been, where we’re going now. She’s heading home and I’m heading to a friends but the party will have died down there by this time so I’m thinking of getting a drink somewhere.
Her: I’ve got some rum at mine.
She blurts it out before she can stop herself. Too late. I know you want me. Yet she still tries to cover it up.
Her:…so yes. I’ll be fine for alcohol when I get in.
The bus arrives and we jump on scanning Oyster cards, find a seat next to each other and I very forwardly start “So are there any shops open by you? Only If we’re drinking rum straight I don’t want you falling asleep on me.”
Her: And what makes you think you’ll be having any of my rum? You’re going to your friends.
I mirror her smile and then lock eyes with her, leaning in with my lips dangerously close to her neck and I whisper in her ear, “Only once we go back to yours and I make you cum”
NOWIt goes without saying that this wouldn’t be the correct course to take with many people, it would indeed prove far too vulgar and direct but you always have to go with what feels right and go with your gut instinct. Normally this works for me…It always works for me.
The journey takes 20 minutes or so and we spend it throwing banter back and forth, the two of us decidedly less drunk than anyone else on the bus. We get off head to hers and I tell her I’m going to sit in the living room and wait for my rum.
Her: I don’t actually have any rum.
Me: Fine. Where’s your bedroom then?
We crash through the door making out as we slam into her wardrobe. She pulls at my scarf as I undo the buttons on her jacket to expose a blue checkered dress with a white frill, white knee length socks “Bo Peep” she says between breaths noticing my gaze at her costume. “It’s mine.” “Was it cheap? because it’s going to get ripped.”
I won’t go into full details of what happened, I don’t do that but I of course did my customary brewers droop routine to excuse my non erection before we indulged in a lot of foreplay, toys and a large amount of heavy spanking. She also had a tattoo of a flying delorean on her making her the hottest blonde 24 year old Bo Peep I’ve ever come across.
I spent the night. In the morning I woke her up with a cup of tea and I went down on her. She’d kept the white socks on. She told me that she’d only finished with her boyfriend in the week and wasn’t after anything but would love to meet up sometime again. I agreed. As I’m leaving she smiled at me and said “Mad, I never get the bus and if I do I usually just throw my iPod on.” We kissed, I left.
Stay observant people. You’ll never know who you’ll meet.
Today I suffer.
I have been awake since 5:00 after falling asleep around 2 though how I managed to fall asleep that early is beyond me. Mid afternoon yesterday the relentless thump of bass from shit music bounced around the house. It was coming from one of the houses behind mine and by 8 o’clock it was joined with high pitch cackles from young women with the odd low pitch grumble of young men. I guessed around 17?
Today is my cousins wedding & as is Irish tradition I intend to get spectacularly fucked. It shall be a long day as I drive folk around for a bit before removing the tie/jacket and getting some drinking and dancing done before then removing some knickers from some lucky lady or two. Needless to say I was looking forward to an early night. I had a few drinks with a friend and was a little tipsy but nothing I couldn’t handle and then put my head down. When 11 rolled around and they were getting louder, I found myself walking all the way around to their street, about a 7 minute walk and doing something I hated.
A boy answered the door with his girlfriend. He wore a denim shirt, skinny black jeans, a shocking black trucker hat and was paler than yesterdays sun allowed for. His girlfriend only appeared as a floating head over his shoulder, a mess of short brown hair, too much make up hiding a pretty face and what looked like a black top. I reassessed their ages, they were 19.
Me: Hi there mate.
(he is immediately shitting himself)
Me: Couldn’t do me a favour could you? I’ve got my nephew in my house, he’s only four months old and he isn’t sleeping. (this was actually true though my brother was also there and I knew he’d be going soon) Could you turn it down just a little? Or just take the bass down?
Boy: Yeah yeah OK yeah no problemo! (he really did say this)
Me: Don’t want to kill it all for you mate, any other time and I’d gatecrash (his girlfriends eye’s lit up at that) and I’m not saying “stop” just a little quieter.
Boy: OK yeah mate yeah.
Girlfriend: Come over if you want to?
Me: I’d love to, maybe next time.
Boy: Yeah OK mate OK. (I begun to worry for his education vernacular)
I walked off, a strong wind disguised the level of the music and I couldn’t tell if my old man/complaining neighbour routine had worked. It did, for half an hour. Thud thud thud it came. I don’t want you thinking I’m out of it, I like music, I have the most eclectic taste’s in the world but this was just shit. It was as if one of them had been given an old fashioned dial up and mixed it with bass, bad jazz and songs from Adele. I definitely heard Adele in there at one or two points. Midnight came but silence or just a little quiet at least didn’t. I walked out into the back garden jumped up on the fence, climbed on top of their shed and peered down on them.
“Hey guys” I said, I was about to lambast them with a torrent of filth and curse words too severe for delicate ears. Then at some point mid balance I had a thought. I couldn’t do it, not twice. I hated the first guy that rang their door bell, the man who had crushed the very nature of hedonism and asked people not to enjoy their Friday night, a warm Friday night at that. A very different man suddenly stood in my place, gingerly balancing the poorly structured roof of the garden shed. Cheekyguy suddenly turned up and he relished this. “Put something else on, this is shit. Anymore beer?”
I leaped down from the roof and into a flower bed. A girl, blonde, tanned wearing a white T-shirt with Muhammad Ali on the front and the sleeves rolled up walked up to me. “What do you mean it’s shit?” She was pretty, think Sienna Miller but with boobs and bluer eyes. I wished my dick worked. Her breath smelled of sticky weed and cheap beer.
“I mean it’s shit. It’s bad sound quality, poorly mixed and has no hook to it. I’d rather listen to 8-bit OK Computer or Skrillex.”
“How do you know Skrillex? What are you like 50?” Some boy in a hoody piped in from the corner of the garden.
“No he’s only a little older than us, 24?” The blonde exclaimed, serving to defend me, ask me and flatter me all at once.
“Why? How old are you?” I said turning all my attention replete with smile and eye contact on her.
“I don’t believe you.”
In a fit of bizarre yet delightful knee-jerk reaction, probably a result of many doormen questioning her she ran quickly to the patio furniture grabbing her bag and thrusting her driving license into my face, her thumb covering the picture. I pulled it away from her, not surprised she’d chosen to hide her visage, it was terrible. Her name was…we’ll call her Laura.
“Is this your house?”
“Yes. Well, it’s my dad’s house. Me and my brother are having a party.”
(I fight the urge to correct her poor grammar)
“So is that your weed I can smell? Anymore?”
“You want to buy some?” She hasn’t taken her eyes off me once yet, I’d ruin her.
“No, roll a joint and get me a beer.”
“OK, what do you want?”
I look over her shoulder into the house, the kitchen light is on. I grab her hand and lead her towards the kitchen.
“Show me what you have.”
In we walk, she opens the fridge. Fuck it, it’s not as if I’m going to sleep anyway, I don’t need to be awake until 9.
“I’ve seen you in your garden before.” She says very matter of factly. “You want to roll one?” She asks turning to smile at me and hand me a beer, I take it off her, picking up a lighter from the table and using the bottom to ping the cap off.
“No you can do it, but we’re the only ones smoking it.”
“Umm, I’ll have to get some from out there. It’s my ex.” She’s referring to the guy who questioned my age and music knowledge.
“Go on then.” I take a swig of beer, it’s cheap and French. “Where are we going to smoke it?”
“My room.” She doesn’t twitch, she wants me badly. Neither of us are drunk but we’ve both had some already, we’re about to smoke weed in her room, she’s blonde and stunning even away from the forgiving dim light of the garden and in the harshness of the bright white light in the kitchen, I have a beer in my hand. Its a certainty now. Excellent.
Somewhere between the joint and her second orgasm we kiss, this gets her even more excited, she fumbles for a while to get at my lifeless penis, I remove her clothes, we get under the covers, I pin her arms to the mattress, she informs me she has no toys (boring), I still haven’t told her my name but tell her I’m 28 when she asks, she keeps eye contact as she comes heavily, I eat her cunt and she digs her nails into my head and sunburnt shoulders. We were there roughly 10 minutes before we’d started to kiss and a further 30 was all it took to get her on her way to a third orgasm.
“You’re amazing.” She said as my head was between her legs.
The door opened and in walked her ex.
“What the fuck?” (although given his age and look this probably should have been “WTF?”)
“Fuck off.” She shouted at him a look of pure disgust on her face. He stood for a second or two, I readied myself on the chance he may fight and even naked with my arms caught under the thighs of his ex I knew I could take him if this happened. It wouldn’t, I’d be hugging him and stopping him from crying before I was burying a fist in his face. I tried not to laugh at the situation. It was giggly weed.
“Get out.” She shouted again.
“Why should I?”
There are countless reasons why he should leave, chief among them was that I wanted to carry on.
“What you want to watch us or something?”
I pondered this. Given the enjoyment she was getting he could probably learn a thing or two if he did observe.
“You know she’s only using you mate, she’s a bitch.” He said to me.
“Thanks for the warning.” I reach my hand under the cover without him seeing and proceed to insert one finger inside her and my thumb finds her clit. She looks at me then him and laughs, closing her eyes a little as she enjoys herself.
He left the room in a hurry and it sounded like the house. we laughed for a second or two, she apologized. We carried on for a while longer, quite a while. I was happy to carry on and she showed no sign of wanting to stop. I don’t remember how many times she came but when I looked at the Alarm clock it was 1:30 and the music had finished.
“I have to go I think.” I said to her.
“Oh fuck, I’m sorry. You want me to suck your dick or something? I just get a bit horny when I smoke.”
I left. Leaving out the part where I explain my lack of erection but I now know I have another sure fire option when everything works again.
Now for an Irish wedding and the chance to find another viable lady to debauch. I need a sleep at some point or I wont make it through this weekend.
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!
by the way…
I just took a picture of a womans bottom on the way home. It was so incredible I wanted to post a picture but that felt horrible to do. So instead I got her number. Can’t wait to eat her out!
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.
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.
I’m not struggling. My arms raised above my head, stretched backwards as the two apes grip each wrist and drag me across plush dark red carpets towards the back of the building. Whatever thoughts I had about this ending to my advantage were dwindling fast. How had everything changed so much in the last few hours?
That night six years ago had all started innocently enough. I was with a friend and meeting her new boyfriend…Ashby! Ashby was a name I’d never heard and was the sort I imagined belonged to a person of money. My friend was certainly the sort, flat on Kings Road she wasn’t renting, no obvious source of income, no professional outlook on anything from her wardrobe to her hairstyle to her lack of responsibility. She shopped, she drank a lot, she smoked weed and had a very large habit when it came to snorting MDMA…what a waste. Delicious madam, abused with rolled up 20’s and brief snorts, mixing with the blood and snotand blonde bangs beating her watery eyes. What a mess. Thank fuck I only slept with her the once.
In walked Ashby and their compliments were peaked. He was short, in shape and shone healthy in a way only offered to the student who just came back from Courchevel and needn’t worry about a weekly rent which dwarfed mine considerably. His clothes fit and are new only messed out of sarcasm for the rest of us. I envied them both, their money and with it their lack of understanding of the security it offered them. They lived these macabre lives away from the scandal of drugs because they were used to them and hadn’t had to worry about everyone finding out. Indeed if it were to happen, if someone were to out them for the lifestyles they lead their fall from grace would be public and difficult. Here I was among them, working class boy, punching above his weight and with pure bitterness I was determined to show them how grim this world really was. They did coke in restaurants, smoked weed in dorms of private schools, I did coke in pub’s with a fiver, weed was in the back of a Corsa parked on an industrial estate. Our lives were clashing and I was going to show them that they wouldn’t put me down.
Ashby walked over in fitted sweater and shook my hand. We wrestle for a moment with grip strength his built from rowing, mine from summers on a building site for £2.15 an hour. Our hands drop as my friend walks over and pulls Ashby towards her, spilling ash from her cigarette over us. He’s starting a tab we’re informed and as my bottle cost £5 I was glad of it. Shots, shorts, bottles, pint’s, cocktails all of them gone, they won’t have seen a drinker like me. I light a cigarette and smile. The drunken mist has fallen and I’m pulling Ashby in headlock towards me as he suggests ditching the friend and meeting some real women. Too drunk to answer quickly I turn to see her spilling ash, sniffing heavily and letting her bangs flow out over some man in the corner of the room as his hand find their way up her skirt and rip her tights. They cling like animals to each other and Ashby couldn’t give a fuck by the sight of his new beau in these throws with another man. We were leaving for another bar and new women.
We drank we flirted we went from bar to bar collecting numbers and adding to our stupor stopping only to urinate down alleys, buy more Marlboro Lights and for him to order drugs. The upper class monopoly on drug culture personified, he pulls out his phone, calls a number only for a Lexus to pull up within 20 minutes replete with powders and pills, a far cry from the dodgy flat’s I had to walk an hour to meet malnourished men with few teeth and job seekers allowances. Our class struggles pushed on as he wanted to arm wrestle and play rugby with a random woman’shandbag. Testosterone ensues and as he spends his time in a bar slamming an open hand down on a table and doing press up’s I must out-Alpha him. I climb 15 feet up a staff only staircase and proceed to climb over the banister, hovering over the couch below threatening to jump among the competitive looks from Ashby and the throng of women egging me on to do it. I tease a leg out in front of me while the bar staff look on in horror. I pull my leg back in and pretend I’m not going through with it before pinching my nose, making an exaggerated display of inhaling and leaping landing perfectly on the couch feet in front of me as I try to land sitting.
Other than the obligatory bounce and pain in my lower back I do it. To applause and cheers. Even Ashby loves it, he growls in manly roars as the crowd is parted and I’m asked to leave. I knew it was coming and I’m already vertical, a little winded and moving towards the door, Ashby is squaring up to the doorman. With his anger I should have known where this was heading. If the two of us weren’t standing with bruised fists on Old Street that night it would be a miracle. Out from the bar and onto the street with a thud.
“Come *******.” He said with a smile. “We are going to the casino.”
I can’t go home not now. I’ve plunged from a staircase, I’m full of angry coke and drink and I still have a full pack of cigarettes. The casino it is. I haven’t spent a penny since my first beer and this seems like as good a place as any to lose £60 of a student loan.
In we walk and Ashby spots some guys he knows, he immediately turns. This fun man has gone from drinker, smoker, fellow reveller and turned into the quintessential snob. His back is turned and I am shunned as the person to stand on his shoulder. I don’t hover for people, instead I move to turn money to chips and walk to the cards. I’m soon followed by Ashby accompanied by greasy friend. They sit either side and start betting before the toad like creature leaves and it’s just Ashby and I. In an hour, he’s up several grand! It appears begrudgingly that money breeds money as I spent my £60 and a further £200. I’m moody and hate the fact I’m still sat at this table.
“What’s wrong *******? Maybe I can give you a loan.”
Ashby says throwing chips at me as if they were nothing to him…they are nothing to him. He slings more…
“Look, look. I could buy you!”
His laugh is full and sarcastic. I won’t take his money, this was a mistake.
“I’m done playing.” I say.
He tips the croupier £50 and tells me to pick up his chips. I don’t. I’m nobody’s slave and it’s time this spoiled upstart knew it.
“Am I your butler? Am I a cunt? Get them yourself.”
He smiles and clumsily slams a paw down on the table lifting several off and slipping them in my pocket.
“There you go. Now you’re an employee. Get my fucking chips you cunt.”
I shouldn’t have come here, I can’t come back here. I start to walk away.
”*******! *******! Come back and have a drink.”
My legs are heavy, I’ve been here too long and I need to get home. I don’t belong with this person and if I stay longer I don’t know how my dislike will surface. A hand clamps down on my shoulder. His.
“Go on then, fuck off home. You’re boring me now anyway. Little gay boy.”
It wasn’t because I didn’t like being called gay, nor was I offended that he thought the term should offend. It was the combination of everything, including the inferior style problem I had with his ilk…that’s what made me punch him. The first hit caught him on the jaw. Not a big punch but enough to knock him back and stun him.
“Yes. Yes. Finally.”
His elbow catches me on the sternum and I fold sharply. The order of the punches doesn’t come back to me now but they came from both of us. The one thing I always remembered, never stop, go down swinging. I connect with his jaw, his temples and nose several times…I’m winning, until a bouncer grabs me, and in a sharp swift movement I’m floored. A shower of heavy boots fall on my ribs and among them are the wooden sole’s of Ashby’s brogues.
“Get him out.” Thunders a cashier and they start to pull me out by my wrists…This is where we started.
I’m on the street bloody and cold. They didn’t get my pretty face, but my torso is fucked. I walk the 2 hours across London to my flat and slink into the shower prodding gingerly at the tender bruises on my ribs and legs before slinking into bed.
That was the last time I went out on Valentine’s day.
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.