This weekend was another busy one for me – but then these days they always are! On Saturday I saw International for lunch and we ended up in a ruined church/rose garden near St Paul’s Cathedral for a steamy smooching session. Only three days till we’re off to sunny Spain… I’m so excited!
On Saturday evening I had my exception that proves the rule date, even though I said I was going to take a month off – we’re barely half way through in fact: but as this guy was the only real prospect on the horizon I’m going to add it to the dissonance pile and carry on regardless (I know some of you think I’ve had quite enough ‘regardless’ to be going on with, but here we are).
Actually he and I got on really well. I know first dates only usually go on for a couple of hours but we met at 5 and didn’t part company till the early hours.
Being a small world I know this guy indirectly in three ways. Firstly, he’s the ex of a neighbour of mine. Secondly, he and International know each other vaguely. And finally his work brings him into contact with the former partner of my friend and former boss. Keeping up?
Anyway, at the end of the night we did kiss a bit, but Rule 1 won out in the end - it was a photo finish, though. Oh my, yes ;-)
Yes, it was a really good first date. We were so similar in our tastes and sense of humour we joked we may as well head to City Hall and get hitched right then! Well, all encouraging signs I think. Let us hope that there will be a date two. I’ve already asked him and he said yes, but then it’s gone a bit quiet… perhaps he’s changed his mind. Though I must say if that kind of first date doesn’t merit a second outing then I’m at a loss.
Academic stayed the night on Sunday but, on the down side, we ended things this morning. Mutually and with no hard feelings – we both agreed things had run their course; we really had very little in common and I suspect he found me a bit distant, which his only natural with International on the scene. I feel sad about it, but not distressed. It was the right time to call it a day.
International himself is delighted by this turn of events as he would like to have me all to himself. Somewhat selfish if you consider he already has a long term partner! Well, I still have Nick to console me – despite his annoying tendency to make a booty call in the early hours which plays hob with my sleep patterns.
Also, you may remember that my old lover new-V took me to a very special party in Brixton a while ago? Well, out of the blue I’ve been invited by the organisers to attend another one on Tuesday. But I’m not going to go. I didn’t enjoy the last one so much – an experience for reminiscence not replication. After all, maybe I am having enough regardless to be going on with.
[Nah.]
Monday, 29 September 2008
Friday, 26 September 2008
Fairyland
Hello there, gentle reader! How goes it? The sun is shining in Fairyland today, and everything’s just as wonderful as could be. It’s been one of those days today; gorgeous weather, actually getting somewhere at work, strangers smiling back at me, catching up with friends. I’m so lucky, I really am.
I got my first pay from my new job today so I went out and bought myself a very cute alarm clock – a retro one with the two bells on the top. Expensive and gorgeous; much like yourself.
As for the rest, I do have some work to do this weekend but apart from that it’s all fun, maybe a bit of retail therapy tomorrow before I meet International. Then of course is my date. Academic on Sunday, Nick on Tuesday and jetting off into the sunset on Thursday.
I was talking with a friend – the one who was moving to Brighton but now has decided to join the Army… - about what kind of guy he was looking for and I realised I don’t really have a type per se. I tend to default to someone like me; and as I put it to my friend I’m desperate, not blind!
The age range I started with on various profiles was 28 to 32 (as I was 30 that seemed OK). Happy experience made me move to 25 to 40. Reality has seen 20 to 54.
A method suggested to me on OUT was half my age plus eight as a base (24) and then my upper limit would be someone else’s lower limit at 31 – someone aged up to *gasp* 46. That system works well it would seem – if you’re 18 (lucky b*tch), the range is 17 to 20. If you’re 50 it goes 33 to 84.
Anyway, I suppose it’s good to be open minded – I’m still finding out what I like really, though, rather than being open to anyone. I feel bad sometimes when someone expresses an interest but they’re not my type (see, I can do it gentle reader) and I feel terribly shallow for not liking, for example, overweight men. And I avoid ones with no ‘face-pic’. Bad, I know. But then I don’t like the pretty boys, overly camp gayers or bitchy queens. So, then someone like me. Perhaps my Mr Right is a man made of mirrors?
Let us then examine my lovers (oh what a thrill to write in such terms). All are white. Early to mid 30s. Medium build. My height or taller, but not much. Different hair colour, eye colour, etc. All are educated professionals. Personalities differ markedly; as do ‘styles. They range from the endlessly romantic to the entirely selfish. But they all have aspects that I like [well, d’uh] so here we are. My book is yet unwritten but still a spanking good read. I hope.
Well, I’m in too good a mood to derive any powerful insights today so I leave you with not one, but two [count ‘em] vids. Share and Enjoy.
I got my first pay from my new job today so I went out and bought myself a very cute alarm clock – a retro one with the two bells on the top. Expensive and gorgeous; much like yourself.
As for the rest, I do have some work to do this weekend but apart from that it’s all fun, maybe a bit of retail therapy tomorrow before I meet International. Then of course is my date. Academic on Sunday, Nick on Tuesday and jetting off into the sunset on Thursday.
I was talking with a friend – the one who was moving to Brighton but now has decided to join the Army… - about what kind of guy he was looking for and I realised I don’t really have a type per se. I tend to default to someone like me; and as I put it to my friend I’m desperate, not blind!
The age range I started with on various profiles was 28 to 32 (as I was 30 that seemed OK). Happy experience made me move to 25 to 40. Reality has seen 20 to 54.
A method suggested to me on OUT was half my age plus eight as a base (24) and then my upper limit would be someone else’s lower limit at 31 – someone aged up to *gasp* 46. That system works well it would seem – if you’re 18 (lucky b*tch), the range is 17 to 20. If you’re 50 it goes 33 to 84.
Anyway, I suppose it’s good to be open minded – I’m still finding out what I like really, though, rather than being open to anyone. I feel bad sometimes when someone expresses an interest but they’re not my type (see, I can do it gentle reader) and I feel terribly shallow for not liking, for example, overweight men. And I avoid ones with no ‘face-pic’. Bad, I know. But then I don’t like the pretty boys, overly camp gayers or bitchy queens. So, then someone like me. Perhaps my Mr Right is a man made of mirrors?
Let us then examine my lovers (oh what a thrill to write in such terms). All are white. Early to mid 30s. Medium build. My height or taller, but not much. Different hair colour, eye colour, etc. All are educated professionals. Personalities differ markedly; as do ‘styles. They range from the endlessly romantic to the entirely selfish. But they all have aspects that I like [well, d’uh] so here we are. My book is yet unwritten but still a spanking good read. I hope.
Well, I’m in too good a mood to derive any powerful insights today so I leave you with not one, but two [count ‘em] vids. Share and Enjoy.
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Kramer Vs Dissonance
I booked my flight to sunny Spain today; fortunately I was able to get a flight that arrives roughly the same time as International’s. I did toy with the idea of being double plus romantic and trying to get on the same flight, but that would have stretched the credulity of my bank manager to breaking point. Ho hum.
International himself skated on some very thin ice today when he demurred about my done-to-death sexual health check up. Not because there was anything dodgy about the results: far from it. But because he suddenly got an attack of cold feet when, as we talked, he (to paraphrase him) realised I was quite promiscuous and he only very occasionally strayed from the True Path. Why yes, gentle reader, it should come as no surprise that I sow my wild oats. I do resent, however, being made to feel bad when I take every reasonable step to guarantee a crop failure and double check just to make sure.
Fortunately he managed to stave off disaster by explaining how he felt nervous and somewhat overwhelmed; he rarely has affairs (for want of a better term). And I’ve quite swept him off his feet.
I called International’s boyfriend Ouch not out of disrespect but to emphasise the potential for some serious-bad fallout. Even through the jolly pink fug of my dissonance I dimly perceive I’m pushing the art of the possible when it comes to my protestations of honesty, and no wish to hurt anyone. My justification? International will never be my man, I’m not going to break them up. This won’t last forever. Yes, I may well be doing wrong. But I just want it.
And if you knew International you’d want it too.
We’re going to meet on Saturday afternoon for a coffee and to talk (not Talk, note: we’re OK). And then, next week, viva Espanya! Of course I still have my date on Saturday evening – and on Sunday Academic is in London, with me, so I can make up for being Mr Moody Pants last time. Actually he’s down here all weekend but is spending Saturday night with friends so that works out just peachy.
I was told recently that my life is over-complicated; and I’m sure it must seem this way. But the truth is I’m quite happy the way things are right now. It occurred to me that my sex-life has changed from a series of assignations, with the occasional bijou-boyfriendette thrown in, to a series of regular lovers of greater or lesser intensity. Is that progress? I haven’t missed the search for a boyfriend though I am, perhaps contrarily, all the keener to resume the search for Mr Right given my recent break…. Oh yes gentle reader; dissonance spanks it hard!
International himself skated on some very thin ice today when he demurred about my done-to-death sexual health check up. Not because there was anything dodgy about the results: far from it. But because he suddenly got an attack of cold feet when, as we talked, he (to paraphrase him) realised I was quite promiscuous and he only very occasionally strayed from the True Path. Why yes, gentle reader, it should come as no surprise that I sow my wild oats. I do resent, however, being made to feel bad when I take every reasonable step to guarantee a crop failure and double check just to make sure.
Fortunately he managed to stave off disaster by explaining how he felt nervous and somewhat overwhelmed; he rarely has affairs (for want of a better term). And I’ve quite swept him off his feet.
I called International’s boyfriend Ouch not out of disrespect but to emphasise the potential for some serious-bad fallout. Even through the jolly pink fug of my dissonance I dimly perceive I’m pushing the art of the possible when it comes to my protestations of honesty, and no wish to hurt anyone. My justification? International will never be my man, I’m not going to break them up. This won’t last forever. Yes, I may well be doing wrong. But I just want it.
And if you knew International you’d want it too.
We’re going to meet on Saturday afternoon for a coffee and to talk (not Talk, note: we’re OK). And then, next week, viva Espanya! Of course I still have my date on Saturday evening – and on Sunday Academic is in London, with me, so I can make up for being Mr Moody Pants last time. Actually he’s down here all weekend but is spending Saturday night with friends so that works out just peachy.
I was told recently that my life is over-complicated; and I’m sure it must seem this way. But the truth is I’m quite happy the way things are right now. It occurred to me that my sex-life has changed from a series of assignations, with the occasional bijou-boyfriendette thrown in, to a series of regular lovers of greater or lesser intensity. Is that progress? I haven’t missed the search for a boyfriend though I am, perhaps contrarily, all the keener to resume the search for Mr Right given my recent break…. Oh yes gentle reader; dissonance spanks it hard!
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Judge Dread
Tuesday was a stressful day, mainly due to the visit to the clinic at the local hospital. Sitting there that morning two things struck me.
The first was how many gay couples came in today which was something I found oddly endearing; I imagine them using test results to help build trust and a relationship and… happily ever after. Secondly, however, was the feeling I should have done this a long time ago – not because it was fun, but because I felt very old to be doing this for the first time. Well, it had to be done but I wonder how many people of my age (not that I’m old) would willingly put themselves in the same position after all these years.
So what happened? Well, despite arriving at 8:30 I was ninth in the queue so it took an age to be seen (the TV in the waiting room went from GMTV to This Morning via the odious Jeremy Kyle show). The doctor saw me and examined areas no woman has been near for quite some time. Then, after discussing my convoluted recent history - where I was mildly amused by her insistence on Not Judging Me - I was whisked straight into counselling where a counsellor and I discussed (a) my naughtiness and (b) what happens should my naughtiness have consequences.
Then after being turned into a human pin cushion, and having swabs, samples and very uncomfortable scrapings taken, I was given as much of an all clear that I could be there and then and sent on my way.
Overall it took three hours and God knows it convinced me of the need to take double-plus care when on a diet of man-flesh.
One thing I didn’t take up was the offer of a hepatitis vaccination, which I regretted. Plus they couldn’t give me the HIV results that day. So I dropped in to a drop-in centre in Greenwich on the way home on Wednesday to get both (again negative, hurrah). The other drop in centre – Pitstop – was so much better (in fairness the NHS clinics are so stretched it’s difficult to imagine how they manage): better surroundings, more relaxed atmosphere. But rather less of the No Judging thing!
As a consequence I’m now being immunised every which way and I’ve been asked to sign up for a nine-step counselling programme to explore, essentially, why I’m such a slut. Well, not just that; relationship advice, why I found it so difficult to come out for so long etc etc – it might be very useful.
I’ve also been laden with enough leaflets to keep me going for a while. Did you know you can get hepatitis B from kissing? That 40% of gay men use poppers? That 15% of gay men in London are HIV positive? I was shocked by that - it means statistically several of my partners have been infected at some point. Sobering.
Your homework for the next blog post, gentle reader, is to read up on Cowper’s gland.
The first was how many gay couples came in today which was something I found oddly endearing; I imagine them using test results to help build trust and a relationship and… happily ever after. Secondly, however, was the feeling I should have done this a long time ago – not because it was fun, but because I felt very old to be doing this for the first time. Well, it had to be done but I wonder how many people of my age (not that I’m old) would willingly put themselves in the same position after all these years.
So what happened? Well, despite arriving at 8:30 I was ninth in the queue so it took an age to be seen (the TV in the waiting room went from GMTV to This Morning via the odious Jeremy Kyle show). The doctor saw me and examined areas no woman has been near for quite some time. Then, after discussing my convoluted recent history - where I was mildly amused by her insistence on Not Judging Me - I was whisked straight into counselling where a counsellor and I discussed (a) my naughtiness and (b) what happens should my naughtiness have consequences.
Then after being turned into a human pin cushion, and having swabs, samples and very uncomfortable scrapings taken, I was given as much of an all clear that I could be there and then and sent on my way.
Overall it took three hours and God knows it convinced me of the need to take double-plus care when on a diet of man-flesh.
One thing I didn’t take up was the offer of a hepatitis vaccination, which I regretted. Plus they couldn’t give me the HIV results that day. So I dropped in to a drop-in centre in Greenwich on the way home on Wednesday to get both (again negative, hurrah). The other drop in centre – Pitstop – was so much better (in fairness the NHS clinics are so stretched it’s difficult to imagine how they manage): better surroundings, more relaxed atmosphere. But rather less of the No Judging thing!
As a consequence I’m now being immunised every which way and I’ve been asked to sign up for a nine-step counselling programme to explore, essentially, why I’m such a slut. Well, not just that; relationship advice, why I found it so difficult to come out for so long etc etc – it might be very useful.
I’ve also been laden with enough leaflets to keep me going for a while. Did you know you can get hepatitis B from kissing? That 40% of gay men use poppers? That 15% of gay men in London are HIV positive? I was shocked by that - it means statistically several of my partners have been infected at some point. Sobering.
Your homework for the next blog post, gentle reader, is to read up on Cowper’s gland.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Heading South
I’m so busy at the moment it seems I rarely have time to stop. Tomorrow I have my clinic appointment for a long overdue sexual health check-up. It’s a free same day service at the local hospital, which is handy. I know I keep going on about it, but I’m really quite scared – though I know there’s a 97% plus chance that everything is fine if it isn’t my whole world is going to come to a juddering halt right there.
In the meantime, while my world still turns, International has invited me to join him in Spain the weekend after next for a naughty few days away. Impulsively, I’ve decided to go; blowing £ hundreds I don’t have on a last minute flight to the Iberian Peninsula. Oh my. How… well, romantic. I must admit the shine was somewhat taken off by International insisting I have to leave before his mum arrives (!) – something I haven’t heard the like of for about 15 years. But still, a long weekend on the south coast of Spain intertwined with my favourite lover. Don’t expect too many posts during those few days ;-p
As for the detox… well, I’ve sort-of fallen off the wagon gentle reader. I have a date on Saturday with someone who contacted me through OUT. My first date for a couple of weeks. Who knows what might happen? We’re meeting at 5 because I know either International or Nick will be making a call on my time over the weekend – possibly both – and I don’t want to end up rushing hither and thither across London at all hours juggling men and trying to keep up with my work (yet more clients today hurrah). Saturday’s date seems nice – well, he would, or I shouldn’t date him! But it was nice the way he broke his rule to contact me; so why not bend mine to meet him? To quote him “I'm quite good looking, but I am also relatively brainy and not without charm or humour”. Well, there we are then.
Perhaps it is time to meet more people. One of my many assignations, you see, has over time become a friend of mine - which is nice. However, I found out today that he is moving from quite near to me to live and work in Brighton. That made me feel a bit sad. Naturally our friendship won't end because of it. But we continue to flirt and reminisce and again I hope that won't end because he’s moved to the south coast of England; I shall certainly visit him and in the meantime I have suggested a suitable going away present *ahem*.
In the meantime, while my world still turns, International has invited me to join him in Spain the weekend after next for a naughty few days away. Impulsively, I’ve decided to go; blowing £ hundreds I don’t have on a last minute flight to the Iberian Peninsula. Oh my. How… well, romantic. I must admit the shine was somewhat taken off by International insisting I have to leave before his mum arrives (!) – something I haven’t heard the like of for about 15 years. But still, a long weekend on the south coast of Spain intertwined with my favourite lover. Don’t expect too many posts during those few days ;-p
As for the detox… well, I’ve sort-of fallen off the wagon gentle reader. I have a date on Saturday with someone who contacted me through OUT. My first date for a couple of weeks. Who knows what might happen? We’re meeting at 5 because I know either International or Nick will be making a call on my time over the weekend – possibly both – and I don’t want to end up rushing hither and thither across London at all hours juggling men and trying to keep up with my work (yet more clients today hurrah). Saturday’s date seems nice – well, he would, or I shouldn’t date him! But it was nice the way he broke his rule to contact me; so why not bend mine to meet him? To quote him “I'm quite good looking, but I am also relatively brainy and not without charm or humour”. Well, there we are then.
Perhaps it is time to meet more people. One of my many assignations, you see, has over time become a friend of mine - which is nice. However, I found out today that he is moving from quite near to me to live and work in Brighton. That made me feel a bit sad. Naturally our friendship won't end because of it. But we continue to flirt and reminisce and again I hope that won't end because he’s moved to the south coast of England; I shall certainly visit him and in the meantime I have suggested a suitable going away present *ahem*.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Promiscuity and desire
As expected I spent much of this weekend in Banbury with Academic. I must confess I was not good company due to the journey being horrendous and my bank deciding to mess around with clearing my clients’ cheques.
Fortunately Academic was wise enough to give me some space over the weekend which was very sweet of him. I hope I made it up to him sufficiently; but if not I intend to treat – perhaps let him have that threesome he’s been pushing for. Well, he’s been such a good distraction he deserves a little extra ;-) However, I’m not sure when I can go there next as London demands most of my attention for the time being.
Regular readers might recall my weekend fling, at about the time I started seeing Gareth, with my near neighbour Nick. That fling fizzled out for various reasons but on Thursday Nick got in touch and asked to see me. He works in finance and has been having a tough time of if lately so I think he wanted a night of distraction – and that’s certainly what he got. This meant I had only two hours’ sleep between Thursday and Friday but it was worth it! I imagine Nick and I will be catching up again soon enough; possibly this weekend coming. Possibly before.
And then of course there’s International. It seems every thought of him keeps my red flag flying here. On Friday he and I met again in Soho, and things hotted up very nicely culminating in a tryst in the early hours just off Piccadilly Circus along a street that was not quite as deserted as I had originally hoped; al fresco once again. Hmm. Well, I get too excited to care and I suspect International is too excited by the possibility of getting caught. He’s back from New York on Wednesday and I’m on tenterhooks…
I revel in my three lovers and no boyfriends. This detox business has most assuredly put a spring in my step. International did confide in me his anxiety over my (in his view) greater experience; I think we can all agree, gentle reader, there is no basis for concern. I mean, the above notwithstanding, you don’t think I’m a slut do you gentle reader? Do you? I do know International would prefer to have me all to himself – as he is well aware that he does not. Much as I am consumed with passion for him and dream of us together in the night, something that burns twice as brightly burns twice as fast. And any night, be it never so full of desire fulfilled, must surely be followed by the next day.
In the meantime I have booked myself onto the Arse Class. Oh, yes gentle reader, on 18 October I shall be attending a workshop designed to teach us gayers about better/safer sex… I look forward to putting theory into practice; because practice makes perfect.
Fortunately Academic was wise enough to give me some space over the weekend which was very sweet of him. I hope I made it up to him sufficiently; but if not I intend to treat – perhaps let him have that threesome he’s been pushing for. Well, he’s been such a good distraction he deserves a little extra ;-) However, I’m not sure when I can go there next as London demands most of my attention for the time being.
Regular readers might recall my weekend fling, at about the time I started seeing Gareth, with my near neighbour Nick. That fling fizzled out for various reasons but on Thursday Nick got in touch and asked to see me. He works in finance and has been having a tough time of if lately so I think he wanted a night of distraction – and that’s certainly what he got. This meant I had only two hours’ sleep between Thursday and Friday but it was worth it! I imagine Nick and I will be catching up again soon enough; possibly this weekend coming. Possibly before.
And then of course there’s International. It seems every thought of him keeps my red flag flying here. On Friday he and I met again in Soho, and things hotted up very nicely culminating in a tryst in the early hours just off Piccadilly Circus along a street that was not quite as deserted as I had originally hoped; al fresco once again. Hmm. Well, I get too excited to care and I suspect International is too excited by the possibility of getting caught. He’s back from New York on Wednesday and I’m on tenterhooks…
I revel in my three lovers and no boyfriends. This detox business has most assuredly put a spring in my step. International did confide in me his anxiety over my (in his view) greater experience; I think we can all agree, gentle reader, there is no basis for concern. I mean, the above notwithstanding, you don’t think I’m a slut do you gentle reader? Do you? I do know International would prefer to have me all to himself – as he is well aware that he does not. Much as I am consumed with passion for him and dream of us together in the night, something that burns twice as brightly burns twice as fast. And any night, be it never so full of desire fulfilled, must surely be followed by the next day.
In the meantime I have booked myself onto the Arse Class. Oh, yes gentle reader, on 18 October I shall be attending a workshop designed to teach us gayers about better/safer sex… I look forward to putting theory into practice; because practice makes perfect.
Thursday, 18 September 2008
More about Ouch!
Yesterday saw a return visit to Das Boot with my former colleagues which was fun – though I didn’t really have a restful night’s sleep last night, and that will never do; I’m out again tomorrow with the guy I met on Tuesday. He wanted to see me tonight but no – I had not taken the extensive steps I require to make myself double plus pretty for a… well, not date – however much a rose by any other name might still smell the same.
I originally had plans tonight for a second date with one of the two who unwittingly were part in the Great Experiment; well, he cancelled – officially just postponed. Perhaps another time then, as we insincerely promised each other… and if that time is the second half of October then so much the better.
I confessed on Wednesday to my former colleagues that I had on a very small number of occasions had an assignation at work (though not with acutal colleagues). I didn’t dare reveal this or blog about it before lest I was sacked on the spot. The trysting place was an unused floor of the building and there truly was something very exciting it. Frankly, I missed the option today because I could have used the relief. The messages between this Tuesday guy and I have me getting very hot under the collar, gentle reader.
Tuesday’s guy: let us christen him International (as in Man of Mystery). He claims a need for discretion because he’s a public figure – and in fact next week he’s at the UN; thus explaining his need for urgency. He strongly suggested taking me to New York on Monday but I think I spy a little fib to help crowbar my pants off.
Well, we’re meeting on Friday in Soho. I know* we’re never going to be boyfriends, as ‘Ouch’ is still around. And I’m not infatuated – but he really makes me horny. Sorry, gentle reader, but the physical side, and in truth the promise of the physical side, is incredibly intense.
I sort of understand where this is coming from. International and Ouch have an age difference of 15 years or so and International – the younger party – feels the romance is gone from their relationship. Hence his intense physical side with me [pop psychology, anyone?]. He’s going to stay with Ouch but enjoy the thrill (if I’m not flattering myself) of being with yours truly.
Well, that’s what I think – and I’m fine with that. Considering the ongoing detox it’s nice timing really!
In other news I have finally booked a sexual health check up at my local GP surgery, though I must admit the receptionist at the surgery seed to have a little trouble grasping exactly what I needed, so I remain not 100% convinced of what’s going to happen next Tuesday – you’ll read it here first though!
I originally had plans tonight for a second date with one of the two who unwittingly were part in the Great Experiment; well, he cancelled – officially just postponed. Perhaps another time then, as we insincerely promised each other… and if that time is the second half of October then so much the better.
I confessed on Wednesday to my former colleagues that I had on a very small number of occasions had an assignation at work (though not with acutal colleagues). I didn’t dare reveal this or blog about it before lest I was sacked on the spot. The trysting place was an unused floor of the building and there truly was something very exciting it. Frankly, I missed the option today because I could have used the relief. The messages between this Tuesday guy and I have me getting very hot under the collar, gentle reader.
Tuesday’s guy: let us christen him International (as in Man of Mystery). He claims a need for discretion because he’s a public figure – and in fact next week he’s at the UN; thus explaining his need for urgency. He strongly suggested taking me to New York on Monday but I think I spy a little fib to help crowbar my pants off.
Well, we’re meeting on Friday in Soho. I know* we’re never going to be boyfriends, as ‘Ouch’ is still around. And I’m not infatuated – but he really makes me horny. Sorry, gentle reader, but the physical side, and in truth the promise of the physical side, is incredibly intense.
I sort of understand where this is coming from. International and Ouch have an age difference of 15 years or so and International – the younger party – feels the romance is gone from their relationship. Hence his intense physical side with me [pop psychology, anyone?]. He’s going to stay with Ouch but enjoy the thrill (if I’m not flattering myself) of being with yours truly.
Well, that’s what I think – and I’m fine with that. Considering the ongoing detox it’s nice timing really!
In other news I have finally booked a sexual health check up at my local GP surgery, though I must admit the receptionist at the surgery seed to have a little trouble grasping exactly what I needed, so I remain not 100% convinced of what’s going to happen next Tuesday – you’ll read it here first though!
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