It had been two weeks since I'd last seen him and a week since his last, extremely non-committal text. It had always been a fuck thing with us, I knew this. The whole 'never going out only staying in together' theme of our 'dates' was a dead giveaway. We were great at filling the gaps between sessions with light chit chat and giggling and the sex was unbelieveable but I knew it was never more than that. We were far too different to ever have a relationship.
So when C, the guy I met in KOKO before Christmas, rang me one night this week after a two week silence I was surprised. I had assumed he was letting things fizzle and although I was a bit disappointed at the thought of no more sessions with him, I had started to accept whatever it had been was over. His phone call perked me up no end and I went from a pyjama-clad slob watching Masterchef and eating pasta and pesto with a spoon, to a hair-flicking, throaty-laughing party girl. Well, vocally at least. For fifteen minutes we caught up, laughed and chatted and just as I thought he was going to suggest another meeting, he says the immortal words: 'Actually, there is a reason I'm calling...'
He didn't have to use the word 'special' now, did he? "I've met someone special and we're seeing each other.' Of course I heard 'You're not special enough' which really annoyed me because I absolutely didn't want to be special enough for him, I never actually wanted him as my boyfriend but suddenly I found myself experiencing intense feelings of rejection. I guess this says more about my fragile ego and the fact that sex is still, no matter how emotionally healthy I try to be about it, a form of validation for me than the fact that I liked him. I was pretty pleased with my response although I did call him 'mate' about four times towards the end of the call, probably to emphasise the distance I was already putting between us. I hope I got away with it. Anyway, I have deleted him from MSN/Facebook/mobile and have already moved on but I'm still annoyed with myself for caring at all.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The girl can't help it
I wrap my arms around my body and hug myself, using the internationally recognised 'I'm cold' noise...'ooohhhoooohhooh'. It's no wonder I'm cold. The time is 5.25am and I've just spent 7 hours in the club Turnmills, sweating my booty off. As I stand in the queue outside the after party, the increasing daylight and chilly winds are seriously threatening my buzz. I glance to my left and notice him. Firstly, due to the fact that he is wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt and jeans with a pair of tan loafters. This is incongruous attire to say the least, being as he is surrounded by clubbers decked out in their finest regalia. The second reason I notice him is because he is very tall and ridiculously handsome. He catches my eye and we grin at each other, inhibitions shattered by hours of substance abuse. We chat for a few minutes, in which time I discover he is a stockbroker (big shock) and clearly extraordinarily arrogant and self-assured. This, of course, ensures I am completely enamoured within a matter of minutes. After a while our conversation includes a gay guy who has decided I look warm and is huddling against me, shivering. The gay guy and I, being on the guestlist are ushered in ahead of stockbroker, a great relief given that I was close to freezing at this point.
Once inside my group find each other, drinks are bought and the dancefloor hit. Around an hour later I spot stockbroker and the gay guy chatting at the bar. Stockbroker catches my eye and flashes the knee-wobbling grin at me. I leant into R who is dancing beside me and tell her that suddenly, I have an overwhelming compulsion to go down on him. This is, apparently, the best idea I've had all night and she urges me to go for it. Bolstered by her encouragement and my inner euphoria I approach and beckon him away from the gay guy.
"This is going to sound weird," I begin, standing on tip toe to speak into his ear. "But I'd really like to go down on you. Now." His grin fades and he looks incredulous. "If you're interested, we'll find somewhere. Just let me know."
I leave him and rejoin my friends on the dancefloor. I see him lean into the gay guy and start whispering furiously. I see lots of nodding and smiling from the gay guy, and the stockbroker rubs his face vigorously. He beckons me back.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course. Look, I know it's weird but I don't want anything in return, I just really want to suck your cock. That's basically it. Are you up for it?"
He gives me a sideways look and snorts. "Of course I bloody am."
"I'm SO coming." Stockbroker and I turn and look at the gay guy.
"No you're not!" Exclaims Stockbroker.
"Listen, if this is happening there's no way I'm missing it. I'm coming."
Stockbroker and I gaze helplessly at each other. Frankly if I didn't think I'd get arrested I'd drop to my knees on the dancefloor so having a random watching really doesn't bother me. The stockbroker weighs up his options which are: experience a mildly homoerotic moment and get a blow job or succumb to stereotypes and outmoded fears and miss getting no strings attached head. His libido wins.
The female loos are pretty empty, so gay guy pays the toilet attendant £10 to turn a blind eye and the three of us pile into a cubicle. Gay guy leans against the door, sipping his gin and tonic through a straw. I drop to my knees and get down to it. As I suspected he's in possesion of an amazing cock and as I stroke him to erection and see his look of disbelief I feel an unexpected sense of power wash over me and wonder, briefly, if that's why I wanted to do this. Maybe this is my way of cutting an arrogant man down to size. After all, I have him by the balls.
I begin and for a few moments, stockbroker has trouble relaxing, constantly shooting glances toward the gay guy. After a while stockbroker pulls his blazer round to hide what's happening but it's largely ineffectual. It doesn't take long before there's a stifled moan, a shudder and I'm reaching for the tissues. I had put my all into it and it definitely paid off, for myself as well as stockbroker because I realise at this point I'm wet. We all smile at each other and adjust dress where necessary, then leave the cubicle much to the astonishment of the girls primping in the mirrors.
Once we're back upstairs stockbroker catches my arm and says 'thank you' into my ear. I turn back, flash him a smile and push through the crowds to the dancefloor to find R and tell her everything. I never found out his surname, I never asked where he worked or where he lived. I wanted more than anything to suck him off and I did.
We stick around at Jaded until about 10am and the daylight pouring through the skylights is beginning to ensure we all start to feel pretty grimy. As we are leaving I spot the stockbroker across the bar with a blonde girl perched on his lap. I feel nothing.
Once inside my group find each other, drinks are bought and the dancefloor hit. Around an hour later I spot stockbroker and the gay guy chatting at the bar. Stockbroker catches my eye and flashes the knee-wobbling grin at me. I leant into R who is dancing beside me and tell her that suddenly, I have an overwhelming compulsion to go down on him. This is, apparently, the best idea I've had all night and she urges me to go for it. Bolstered by her encouragement and my inner euphoria I approach and beckon him away from the gay guy.
"This is going to sound weird," I begin, standing on tip toe to speak into his ear. "But I'd really like to go down on you. Now." His grin fades and he looks incredulous. "If you're interested, we'll find somewhere. Just let me know."
I leave him and rejoin my friends on the dancefloor. I see him lean into the gay guy and start whispering furiously. I see lots of nodding and smiling from the gay guy, and the stockbroker rubs his face vigorously. He beckons me back.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course. Look, I know it's weird but I don't want anything in return, I just really want to suck your cock. That's basically it. Are you up for it?"
He gives me a sideways look and snorts. "Of course I bloody am."
"I'm SO coming." Stockbroker and I turn and look at the gay guy.
"No you're not!" Exclaims Stockbroker.
"Listen, if this is happening there's no way I'm missing it. I'm coming."
Stockbroker and I gaze helplessly at each other. Frankly if I didn't think I'd get arrested I'd drop to my knees on the dancefloor so having a random watching really doesn't bother me. The stockbroker weighs up his options which are: experience a mildly homoerotic moment and get a blow job or succumb to stereotypes and outmoded fears and miss getting no strings attached head. His libido wins.
The female loos are pretty empty, so gay guy pays the toilet attendant £10 to turn a blind eye and the three of us pile into a cubicle. Gay guy leans against the door, sipping his gin and tonic through a straw. I drop to my knees and get down to it. As I suspected he's in possesion of an amazing cock and as I stroke him to erection and see his look of disbelief I feel an unexpected sense of power wash over me and wonder, briefly, if that's why I wanted to do this. Maybe this is my way of cutting an arrogant man down to size. After all, I have him by the balls.
I begin and for a few moments, stockbroker has trouble relaxing, constantly shooting glances toward the gay guy. After a while stockbroker pulls his blazer round to hide what's happening but it's largely ineffectual. It doesn't take long before there's a stifled moan, a shudder and I'm reaching for the tissues. I had put my all into it and it definitely paid off, for myself as well as stockbroker because I realise at this point I'm wet. We all smile at each other and adjust dress where necessary, then leave the cubicle much to the astonishment of the girls primping in the mirrors.
Once we're back upstairs stockbroker catches my arm and says 'thank you' into my ear. I turn back, flash him a smile and push through the crowds to the dancefloor to find R and tell her everything. I never found out his surname, I never asked where he worked or where he lived. I wanted more than anything to suck him off and I did.
We stick around at Jaded until about 10am and the daylight pouring through the skylights is beginning to ensure we all start to feel pretty grimy. As we are leaving I spot the stockbroker across the bar with a blonde girl perched on his lap. I feel nothing.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
New year, old story
New Year's Eve was beyond messy. R, A and I went to a club in Brixton to save on taxis and I invited S - a local guy I've been chatting with on Myspace and Facebook for over a year now. It was only ever a mate thing, or so I thought until he stuck to me for the entire evening and tried it on more than once. Fortunately he is pretty cute, if not a total geezer (south London born and bred) so once the love was in full force I was happy to be as tactile as he liked. The four of us arrived back at my flat at around 6.30am and by 11am, were all in my bed moaning and trying to sip water. It was, apparently, torture for S who unexpectedly found himself in bed with three girls in their pyjamas that were preventing him from touching them in anything other than a friendly way (although he did spend a large amount of time stroking my arse under the covers).
I remained in touch with C over the Christmas period (guy I met at Koko in Camden). We exchanged some filthy text messages on New Year's Eve and hooked up last Friday. He cooked for me at his flat for the second time and we had ridiculously good sex until 5am and then again the next day. Interspersed with this were moments of couple-like tenderness but I'm ignoring them. He has yet to ask me 'out', instead our assignations are conducted at one of our flats. Case in point: I am cooking for him tomorrow night. It's fine in a way because it does help me maintain the perspective I need not to let myself fall for him. I've been through this so much lately; really fancying someone, having amazing sex and really valueing those moments of hand-holding, hair-stroking and spontaneous cuddling when in actual fact those are all things men do consciously or otherwise to ensure women don't feel like lumps of meat and as a result become pissed off and resentful or (heaven forfend) needy. This is particularly relevant if they like the girl enough to fuck her again but don't actually want a relationship with her. It's a complicated smokescreen that is easily misconstrued for genuine affection but the fact is, no matter how much you laugh together, how well you get on together, if he cooks you duck a'la orange (he did) and if he spoons you tenderly after rogering you senseless - if you're just staying in and shagging every time you get together, that's all he wants. You aint meeting the mother any time soon. Or any of his mates come to that.
I've been in touch with yet another online bloke who at first seemed really cool. Very 'manly' in build, looks and manner but has turned out to be a clingy, lonely, desperate fool. I hate to say this because he does mean well but it's gone from us exchanging emails and having the odd phone conversation to him ringing, emailing and MSNing me every day, telling me he 'misses me', talking about how great we're going to be together, how he needs me to 'look after him' and that he was 'sad' that I didn't text him one evening. The vital thing to remember is that this bloke lives in Manchester and we haven't even met yet. In the space of a week he has managed to make me see him as an unshakeable annoyance rather than someone I'd ever consider dating. He wants to come and see me next weekend but he's put me right off so I'll have to try and get out of it.
The thing I'm beginning to realise is that there is no happy medium when it comes to blokes. You either like them or loathe them. They either ignore you entirely or text you 17 times in one evening. The ultimate frustration being that the ones you like rarely like you back but the one-man freak shows would happily garrotte their own mother if it meant you'd date them. Why is this so? It's the most unfair rule Murphy ever came up with.
I remained in touch with C over the Christmas period (guy I met at Koko in Camden). We exchanged some filthy text messages on New Year's Eve and hooked up last Friday. He cooked for me at his flat for the second time and we had ridiculously good sex until 5am and then again the next day. Interspersed with this were moments of couple-like tenderness but I'm ignoring them. He has yet to ask me 'out', instead our assignations are conducted at one of our flats. Case in point: I am cooking for him tomorrow night. It's fine in a way because it does help me maintain the perspective I need not to let myself fall for him. I've been through this so much lately; really fancying someone, having amazing sex and really valueing those moments of hand-holding, hair-stroking and spontaneous cuddling when in actual fact those are all things men do consciously or otherwise to ensure women don't feel like lumps of meat and as a result become pissed off and resentful or (heaven forfend) needy. This is particularly relevant if they like the girl enough to fuck her again but don't actually want a relationship with her. It's a complicated smokescreen that is easily misconstrued for genuine affection but the fact is, no matter how much you laugh together, how well you get on together, if he cooks you duck a'la orange (he did) and if he spoons you tenderly after rogering you senseless - if you're just staying in and shagging every time you get together, that's all he wants. You aint meeting the mother any time soon. Or any of his mates come to that.
I've been in touch with yet another online bloke who at first seemed really cool. Very 'manly' in build, looks and manner but has turned out to be a clingy, lonely, desperate fool. I hate to say this because he does mean well but it's gone from us exchanging emails and having the odd phone conversation to him ringing, emailing and MSNing me every day, telling me he 'misses me', talking about how great we're going to be together, how he needs me to 'look after him' and that he was 'sad' that I didn't text him one evening. The vital thing to remember is that this bloke lives in Manchester and we haven't even met yet. In the space of a week he has managed to make me see him as an unshakeable annoyance rather than someone I'd ever consider dating. He wants to come and see me next weekend but he's put me right off so I'll have to try and get out of it.
The thing I'm beginning to realise is that there is no happy medium when it comes to blokes. You either like them or loathe them. They either ignore you entirely or text you 17 times in one evening. The ultimate frustration being that the ones you like rarely like you back but the one-man freak shows would happily garrotte their own mother if it meant you'd date them. Why is this so? It's the most unfair rule Murphy ever came up with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
