Omphaloskepsis

Also known as navel-gazing.

It looks like I need to do some. Things are all in a jumble. I seem to be fucking the wrong men, in the wrong order, for the wrong reasons.

Right now I am too tired for the above reasons, but I will return to expand upon these issues:

  • Date Boy – just after having his ego stroked, enjoying being chased more than the spoils?
  • Iain – a kiss, a cuddle and a great fuck. Just what my own flailing ego needs.
  • Bunny – the kinky fuckbuddy, a rehash of emotions old and older.
  • My last love – am I not as over him as I thought?

for now though, I’m going to numb my brain a little on the sofa.

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It’s like living in a soap opera sometimes… with more sex.

Oooh I can get so angry sometimes. This can be really frustrating on the occasions when I know I shouldn’t be angry, yet still am. I experienced this recently, after a second meeting with the aforementioned Date Boy.

There has been a reasonable amount of contact since our indiscretion a week earlier and recently he invited himself round for stand-up comedy and takeaway pizza. I was a bit concerned that we’d gone into quite a cosy zone awfully quick but I guess some people are just like that and as I enjoy both stand-up and pizza it seemed like a perfectly pleasant prelude to round 2 of our bedroom gymnastics.

Turns out I was wrong. We watched the DVD, ate some pizza, and when the credits rolled… he asked me to call him a cab home. I was a little perplexed, I’ll tell you that for nothing and had to really struggle to make it clear that he was welcome to stay the night without sounding too  much like a slut!

His response: “I don’t want you to think that I’m only interested in you for sex.”

Me: “But what if that’s all I want?” (Don’t think he heard me say that properly through his bluster)

Him: “I think we’d make better friends than a potential bootie call.”

Me: “Oh. Your cab’s here.”

Well what could I say?! That I thought he was wrong, that I thought we were incredibly well suited in the bedroom and I would regret not being able to ride his cock blisswards again? Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate. And then the anger. A lot of it. The next morning I awoke so consumed by it that I had to contact a close friend to help me rationalise. After all, if the shoe had been on the other foot and I’d not wanted to get jiggy with him I’d have wanted that to be accepted with no ill feeling wouldn’t I? So what was my problem?

We went through a few possibilities. Was I actually just very angry with myself as I’d failed to live up to my nosexonafirstdate challenge with this man who was subsequently giving me the brush off? Had he changed his mind about my attractiveness since that night? Being found unattractive by someone who’s already tasted the goods made me angry… It boiled down to rejection, my frend pointed out, and that’s what was fuelling my rage. I had to calm down, chalk it up as another bad ‘un (my chalk is wearing down) and get past it. She was right.

After calming my anger with some handicrafts and general chilling out with some lovely people I went to meet a friend I hadn’t seen in a while for pre-arranged drinks. I was a lot calmer by this point so I think only a little of the bile spilled out and most of the afternoon was spent drinking and chatting and generally having a good time. Having drunk beer with this friend for about 5 hours solid we said our goodbye and I hopped on the bus home. Wasted but very happy.

The bus dropped me off a good 5-10 min walk from home and beer being beer I realised this journey would have to have a comfort break built in, so logically, I stopped at the pub. When I came back down the stairs I bumped into a couple of friends including my ex-from-a-while-back’s close mate, Iain. He and I have known each other aslong as I’ve known my ex, whom I met about 4 years ago and lived with for nearly 2. The break up was hard on him and I’ve only recently really started to build the friendship back up. Which is why the next bit of the story is so fucking stupid!

Iain is also very drunk and immediately buys me a drink. Then another. Then we’re in another bar and he’s buying more drinks. At this point we’re both incredibly drunk and flirting. That’s not too crazy though, we’re both chronic flirts and certainly good enough friends to be drinking buddies. A girl has been flitting around him all evening though it’s a little sad as he’s very clearly not interested. As she leans in to his ear before sauntering off to powder her nose he watches her go. As soon as the door closes behind her he says “Grab you coat, leave your drink we’re going.”

“Whu, what?” says I, “Why?” I’m all drunk and confused.

“Come on,” he says standing up “quickly!”.

So we make an incredibly sharp exit from the bar and we seem to be walking towards his place at speed. (Just goes to prove that a commanding tone of voice can make me do anythinig at a certain level of inebriation!) When I asked him why we were leaving in such a hurry, what had the girl said, the answer was that she had asked him to ditch me so she and he could get it on. Evidently this wasn’t a solution he favoured ha!

I don’t exactly recall how the kissing started, but I remember how it progressed. Energetically! We tore his flat apart, knocked over the enormous flatscreen TV, smashed an ashtray, scattered clothes and soft furnishings everywhere! It was all so much fun! He is obviously one of those men that enjoys giving head and I wouldn’t have been surprised if his tongue was nearly as sore as his head the next day. I enjoyed it a lot, but felt very guilty afterwards (through the haze of a death-like hangover) about my ex. We had split up because I din’t find him sexually exciting and sleeping with one of his closest friends seemed like quite the insult.

I left sheepishly the next morning, knowing full well that I didn’t have Iain’s number, nor did I want it. We saw each other again at a mutual friend’s funeral about a week later (one of those good ones where everyone’s celebrating a life well lived) and he cornered me outside for a cig and some meaningful eye contact. We conpared injuries still visible from that night with schoolkid-like smirks. Later on when a bit more tipsy he took my number, only to text later that evening, asking to come over for fun times. I politley turned him down, but I know it was more because I was exhausted than anything else.

Now I know how much fun can be had, I can see my will power being stretched again in the future, and as we all know, it’s about as resistant as over-worn elastic.

I’ll tell you what happened with DateBoy another time…

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My, how the lay of the land has changed.

The sexually confident vixen within has been buried a little too well in the face of my last relationship. 7 weeks on from the end of a long-term relationship and she doesn’t exactly leap straight to the surface when beckoned…

I’m  working on it: after some strange little dance I no longer recognise a friend/on-off fuckbuddy has volunteered his services in overcoming my post-relationship sex-related nervousness. There’s a lot to be said for someone you know and implicitly trust bringing you to massive and messy repeated orgasms. He withheld sex interestingly enough, probably (I think) due to a combination of wanting to tease a little for next time and a desire to not give himself away too easily.

The latter is a feature I congratulate him on and desperately hope to emulate some day. My will power needs a lot more work on that front though, as my most recent date proves. Having been amused by someone’s OKCupid profile I instigated contact and flirty emails then texts were sent followed by a ‘date’. Well, a meeting in a pub which turned into a bit of a bar crawl. I had spoken to friends about my absolute desire not to sleep with this man on the first meeting as I so dearly wanted to be chased, persued and generally made to feel desirable without having given up the goodies in my pants.

I completely failed. We went back to my place and had fantastic sex. Plenty of energy, variety, hair pulling and biting (also the phrase “Good girls bend at the knees, bad girls bend at the waist” as he bent me over the table was quite delish) all finished with a face covered in cum. Nice.

Problem now is, I appear to give a toss if he replies to my texts or not. I don’t want this to be the case. I want to absolutely not care but somewhere a rebounding bunch of emotions have got in the way. I am assured this emo-state will pass, which I look forward to as it’s currently very annoying. For a while I was very upset with myself for not withholding but I have come to the conclusion that I do not need to leave any part of my body as a mystery, it is for enjoying. My mind’s unknown terrain is much more interesting to explore.

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It’s not three little words, it’s one huge one.

Love.

Such a wonderful feeling, so enjoyable to roll around in, to wrap around yourself, to wallow in. But often given and not returned, and whether you choose to ignore a lack of reciprocation or you stare it in the face, it will hurt like buggery eventually.

I am in love. Lovely isn’t it? But I will not pretend that I haven’t been in love before, that I haven’t fallen in love with many different people over the years with varying degrees of success. That’s not to say that this love is meaningless either, it means a great deal to me and I’m enjoying it immensely.

He said it first, in a casual throw-away comment, and interestingly enough later said that he didn’t want to say ‘a certain word for all the pain and complication it can often generate.’ Fair enough. Perhaps the earlier statement had been subconsciously thrown in, perhaps he regretted it and was covering himself, whatever the reason, I’m not a tit for tat girl so didn’t feel the need to hold back my declaration.

I’m fairly confident of his love in return, though I don’t take it for granted by any stretch. Yet. I do have a tendency to do that so eyes peeled for warning signs! He says it rarely, but when he does it makes me feel incredible, like when he wrapped my shivering body in a towel on a beach in Wales as the sun began to set and whispered “I love you” in my ear – how could a girl not melt on the spot?

There’s no escaping that the first flushes of love are warm and silky, and can easily cool with time, we’ll just have to see how that evolves and enjoy the feeling of right now like warm mud between your toes.

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Retracting the Fuck from Fuckbuddy.

Kristos has a girlfriend! I’m much more pleased for him than I thought I’d be, which is a nice surprise. Kristos and I had not been exploring each other’s pants for a while now, and I think our friendship is more to blame than anything else. How possible is it to maintain a good friendship and sex without it becoming a relationship? Surely that’s what a boy/girlfriend is? On reflection, fuckbuddies should be kept at arms length socially speaking, thus making space for the ‘bootie-call’ and the slightly illicit thrill of a quick hook-up. After all, isn’t the fuckbuddy concept designed to avoid the need for the string of one-night stands that was once all that was available to those wanting regular sex with no commitment? The option that meant you didn’t have to learn a different set of likes/dislikes each time you needed to get your rocks off? The sort of consistency we come to expect from our hands or vibrators but with the added bonus of a cuddle afterwards is what makes a fuckbuddy so appealing. However, sleeping with your best friend is much more relationshipsville, no matter what either of you intend.

So the post of my fuckbuddy is available to the ideal candidate again, unless Mr Right stumbles across my path. That could happen, right?

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Retracting the Fuck from Fuckbuddy.

Kristos has a girlfriend! I’m much more pleased for him than I thought I’d be, which is a nice surprise. Kristos and I had not been exploring each other’s pants for a while now, and I think our friendship is more to blame than anything else. How possible is it to maintain a good friendship and sex without it becoming a relationship? Surely that’s what a boy/girlfriend is? On reflection, fuckbuddies should be kept at arms length socially speaking, thus making space for the ‘bootie-call’ and the slightly illicit thrill of a quick hook-up. After all, isn’t the fuckbuddy concept designed to avoid the need for the string of one-night stands that was once all that was available to those wanting regular sex with no commitment? The option that meant you didn’t have to learn a different set of likes/dislikes each time you needed to get your rocks off? The sort of consistency we come to expect from our hands or vibrators but with the added bonus of a cuddle afterwards is what makes a fuckbuddy so appealing. However, sleeping with your best friend is much more relationshipsville, no matter what either of you intend.

So the post of my fuckbuddy is available to the ideal candidate again, unless Mr Right stumbles across my path. That could happen, right?

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I do love a nice picnic.

A while ago when the sunshine was blazing I organised an al fresco soiree in a secluded park for my friends and I. It was a splendid affair, with an awful lot of pate and Pimms, topped with good company. We were joined by our newest mutual friend, a rather striking chap called Nick with whom I had been doing some mild flirting on a couple of previous occasions. Tall, dark and broad with a rather inviting smile and a sarcastically scathing wit, I felt rather drawn to him. He said he could only join us for an hour or so but his company was most welcome.

Out of the blue a couple of hours later I received a call from Mike asking what I was doing with my evening. Being aware that his past record of social interaction had not exactly been wonderful, I was cautious but couldn’t in good conscience not invite him to join in with our festivities. He arrived not long after but the Pimms had been surpassed by the rose at this point, and my behaviour was not exactly restrained – I was celebrating summer truly! Mike was quite quiet, but as mentioned that is not exactly unusual and easily covered by everyone else’s friendly banter.

Unfortunately, Nick felt moved to steal my chair from me after a brief absence, which after some well-felt arguing resulted in me wrestling him to the ground. At Mike’s feet. Whoops. That was possibly a little full-on, even if Mike will refuse to acknowledge even a trace of romantic involvement with me in public. I did win my chair back though, and that’s the main thing, right?

Thing is, I’m an incredibly tactile girl when I’m flirting, and if there’s a boy who shuns me in that way I’m almost certainly going to try and get that gratification elsewhere…

When it became too dark to see any more a large section of our happy band decided to continue the evening at my house. Upon arrival it became apparent that there were not enough chairs for everyone, and so I took Nick’s knee. I forget who’s idea that was. So Much for him only coming out for an hour!

The evening wore into the early hours, and it was a school night, so gradually everyone left, leaving just myself and Mike. Boy, was he unhappy with me! Turns out he had been falling for me, quite apart from any designs by me to engineer it or otherwise. I really do have no capacity to judge these things! How can someone feel so strongly for someone yet have no desire to show it in the slightest? I’m not big on overly strong displays of public affection, but a gesture can mean so much as can it’s absence. Apparently my behaviour had cured him of such feelings for me beyond a handy fuck, which while sad was also a bit of a relief. I wouldn’t have been able to reciprocate those feelings, I enjoyed being his treasured princess while we were alone, but not his nothing when we weren’t.

His anger did come out in quite a forceful bdsm play session,which I think was a good catharsis for both of us. I came out black and blue but days later as I looked at each bruise it didn’t make me think of the punches that had put them there, it made me think of flirting with Nick, and then I’d smile. It had been a lovely picnic.

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I do love a nice picnic.

A while ago when the sunshine was blazing I organised an al fresco soiree in a secluded park for my friends and I. It was a splendid affair, with an awful lot of pate and Pimms, topped with good company. We were joined by our newest mutual friend, a rather striking chap called Nick with whom I had been doing some mild flirting on a couple of previous occasions. Tall, dark and broad with a rather inviting smile and a sarcastically scathing wit, I felt rather drawn to him. He said he could only join us for an hour or so but his company was most welcome.

Out of the blue a couple of hours later I received a call from Mike asking what I was doing with my evening. Being aware that his past record of social interaction had not exactly been wonderful, I was cautious but couldn’t in good conscience not invite him to join in with our festivities. He arrived not long after but the Pimms had been surpassed by the rose at this point, and my behaviour was not exactly restrained – I was celebrating summer truly! Mike was quite quiet, but as mentioned that is not exactly unusual and easily covered by everyone else’s friendly banter.

Unfortunately, Nick felt moved to steal my chair from me after a brief absence, which after some well-felt arguing resulted in me wrestling him to the ground. At Mike’s feet. Whoops. That was possibly a little full-on, even if Mike will refuse to acknowledge even a trace of romantic involvement with me in public. I did win my chair back though, and that’s the main thing, right?

Thing is, I’m an incredibly tactile girl when I’m flirting, and if there’s a boy who shuns me in that way I’m almost certainly going to try and get that gratification elsewhere…

When it became too dark to see any more a large section of our happy band decided to continue the evening at my house. Upon arrival it became apparent that there were not enough chairs for everyone, and so I took Nick’s knee. I forget who’s idea that was. So Much for him only coming out for an hour!

The evening wore into the early hours, and it was a school night, so gradually everyone left, leaving just myself and Mike. Boy, was he unhappy with me! Turns out he had been falling for me, quite apart from any designs by me to engineer it or otherwise. I really do have no capacity to judge these things! How can someone feel so strongly for someone yet have no desire to show it in the slightest? I’m not big on overly strong displays of public affection, but a gesture can mean so much as can it’s absence. Apparently my behaviour had cured him of such feelings for me beyond a handy fuck, which while sad was also a bit of a relief. I wouldn’t have been able to reciprocate those feelings, I enjoyed being his treasured princess while we were alone, but not his nothing when we weren’t.

His anger did come out in quite a forceful bdsm play session,which I think was a good catharsis for both of us. I came out black and blue but days later as I looked at each bruise it didn’t make me think of the punches that had put them there, it made me think of flirting with Nick, and then I’d smile. It had been a lovely picnic.

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Note to self: a good day does not start with a scream.

Why do handymen always knock on the door so early? I awoke with a bit of a yelp and the realisation that clothes are considered customary for answering the door. It took a few moments of fumbling for a slip for me to realise how hungover I was. It was not a good realisation. Hair like Alice Cooper and a ‘tache burnt top lip (but that’s another story for later) I opened the door to a squat, bald, handy looking man. He bustled about my leaky cistern while I realised that nothing could be achieved without a shower first and therefore had to just sit with my head in my hands as the true glory or last night’s drinking revealed itself to me in the form of scattered underwear, mascara down my face, a throbbing head and a thirst for bacon and Lucozade. Fixed in moments, (you feel like such a girl when they do that) he wished me a good day and sauntered off, evidently amused at my predicament but I was too distracted to care.

I had a date to prepare for! Yes, an actual first date. A rare creature for me as I usually meet guys in fairly datey social situations anyway, like bars or parties. The chap in question had come to my place of work -drunk- and asked me out. He wasn’t fall-over drunk, and he was evidently intelligent and interesting. My gut instinct had said no, but then my gut instinct often gets ignored for things that I think might be an unusual or entertaining experience. I am a thrill seeker after all, where would I be if I didn’t do anything that took me out of my comfort zone? Probably quite comfortable I imagine. Hmmm.

Come the allotted time, still fighting off the remnants of my hangover I go to the bar to meet him. It is closed. A big event is happening in the venue across the road apparently so they’ve shut for the evening. Not a great start. I wait for 5 minutes and a friend walks past. When he asks what I’m doing I say I’m worried I might be being stood up (though home to bed is sooo inviting right now!) He asks if I want to get the bus home with him but I feel I should give the date another 5 minutes before giving up. The date turns up shortly after and after some playful admonishment we go to a trendy bar. He buys me a drink without asking what I’d want, which is odd. A vodka and tonic. I can’t stand tonic but I let it slide. We started chatting and he became apparent as somewhat manic. An interest in hypnotism and NLP was mentioned which interested me, but when he lightly touched the top of my arm while asking an innocent question I was immediately on my guard, it didn’t seem natural and I know what he was trying to achieve. If people want to chat me up I want them to do exactly that: chat to me. Employing such cheap tricks makes me untrusting from the off.

We moved on to a much nicer bar shortly after that (DJ’ed, unknown to me, by a friend of mine), found a sofa and talked at length. I’ll admit I didn’t follow everything he said and although there were many light little touches I was getting annoyed with how much he was trying to read my actions so I started to fuck with him. I’d cross my arms while talking, rub my eye, play with my ring-finger. I’m not sure what half of these ticks mean, but he seemed to and it threw him quite a bit. It amused me and I felt he deserved it. My DJ friend came over for his break and sat with us and as he and I hadn’t seen each other for a while we chatted. I’m not used to date etiquette and fail to think things through sometimes, and so I didn’t realise how much it was upsetting my date until he stood up and snapped “I don’t know how you can be so disrespectful! You’re completely out of order!” and stormed off. I was so utterly gob smacked I just sat there with my mouth open feeling mortified in front of my friend, who pieced together that it was a first date and apologised profusely. I explained that he had done nothing wrong, and that on reflection I should have made it clear that I couldn’t speak to him right then. When the date returned the friend bought us both a drink as a (frankly unnecessary in my opinion) apology and disappeared.

The date tried to explain why he had reacted as he did, that he felt I’d been playing him, testing him, making him fight with my friend for my affections. I don’t like it when people misjudge me so wildly, and I certainly don’t like being shouted at in front of my friends. He had lost me with references to Aluminati and Demons minutes before my friend had joined us but now I was just really shaken by the bile he had spat at me. He even mentioned my friend’s skin colour as some sort of element to my supposed ‘shit-test’ which I just can’t fathom. Time to get out of there! He obviously  felt able to share his true feelings with me, so I decided to share mine with him. I told him that I understood why he was upset, but he had shocked and upset me and that I didn’t want to continue my evening with him. Also, getting carried away chatting with friends is what I do, and almost all my friends are male, thus negating my chances of any future with such a strongly possessive and jealous man as he was.

You can’t argue with that, and though I sensed he really wanted to, he held back. He knew he’d fucked it. I got a cab home and found a friend and a hug. Apparently I’d missed a really excellent night at my local  bar where lots of my friends had been with an excellent ska DJ that I haven’t seen in years.

I’d been excited by the prospect of a date, being taken out. The world of Dinner & a Movie. On reflection I think I’d rather have a night out with my mates and buy my own fucking flowers.

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Note to self: a good day does not start with a scream.

Why do handymen always knock on the door so early? I awoke with a bit of a yelp and the realisation that clothes are considered customary for answering the door. It took a few moments of fumbling for a slip for me to realise how hungover I was. It was not a good realisation. Hair like Alice Cooper and a ‘tache burnt top lip (but that’s another story for later) I opened the door to a squat, bald, handy looking man. He bustled about my leaky cistern while I realised that nothing could be achieved without a shower first and therefore had to just sit with my head in my hands as the true glory or last night’s drinking revealed itself to me in the form of scattered underwear, mascara down my face, a throbbing head and a thirst for bacon and Lucozade. Fixed in moments, (you feel like such a girl when they do that) he wished me a good day and sauntered off, evidently amused at my predicament but I was too distracted to care.

I had a date to prepare for! Yes, an actual first date. A rare creature for me as I usually meet guys in fairly datey social situations anyway, like bars or parties. The chap in question had come to my place of work -drunk- and asked me out. He wasn’t fall-over drunk, and he was evidently intelligent and interesting. My gut instinct had said no, but then my gut instinct often gets ignored for things that I think might be an unusual or entertaining experience. I am a thrill seeker after all, where would I be if I didn’t do anything that took me out of my comfort zone? Probably quite comfortable I imagine. Hmmm.

Come the allotted time, still fighting off the remnants of my hangover I go to the bar to meet him. It is closed. A big event is happening in the venue across the road apparently so they’ve shut for the evening. Not a great start. I wait for 5 minutes and a friend walks past. When he asks what I’m doing I say I’m worried I might be being stood up (though home to bed is sooo inviting right now!) He asks if I want to get the bus home with him but I feel I should give the date another 5 minutes before giving up. The date turns up shortly after and after some playful admonishment we go to a trendy bar. He buys me a drink without asking what I’d want, which is odd. A vodka and tonic. I can’t stand tonic but I let it slide. We started chatting and he became apparent as somewhat manic. An interest in hypnotism and NLP was mentioned which interested me, but when he lightly touched the top of my arm while asking an innocent question I was immediately on my guard, it didn’t seem natural and I know what he was trying to achieve. If people want to chat me up I want them to do exactly that: chat to me. Employing such cheap tricks makes me untrusting from the off.

We moved on to a much nicer bar shortly after that (DJ’ed, unknown to me, by a friend of mine), found a sofa and talked at length. I’ll admit I didn’t follow everything he said and although there were many light little touches I was getting annoyed with how much he was trying to read my actions so I started to fuck with him. I’d cross my arms while talking, rub my eye, play with my ring-finger. I’m not sure what half of these ticks mean, but he seemed to and it threw him quite a bit. It amused me and I felt he deserved it. My DJ friend came over for his break and sat with us and as he and I hadn’t seen each other for a while we chatted. I’m not used to date etiquette and fail to think things through sometimes, and so I didn’t realise how much it was upsetting my date until he stood up and snapped “I don’t know how you can be so disrespectful! You’re completely out of order!” and stormed off. I was so utterly gob smacked I just sat there with my mouth open feeling mortified in front of my friend, who pieced together that it was a first date and apologised profusely. I explained that he had done nothing wrong, and that on reflection I should have made it clear that I couldn’t speak to him right then. When the date returned the friend bought us both a drink as a (frankly unnecessary in my opinion) apology and disappeared.

The date tried to explain why he had reacted as he did, that he felt I’d been playing him, testing him, making him fight with my friend for my affections. I don’t like it when people misjudge me so wildly, and I certainly don’t like being shouted at in front of my friends. He had lost me with references to Aluminati and Demons minutes before my friend had joined us but now I was just really shaken by the bile he had spat at me. He even mentioned my friend’s skin colour as some sort of element to my supposed ‘shit-test’ which I just can’t fathom. Time to get out of there! He obviously  felt able to share his true feelings with me, so I decided to share mine with him. I told him that I understood why he was upset, but he had shocked and upset me and that I didn’t want to continue my evening with him. Also, getting carried away chatting with friends is what I do, and almost all my friends are male, thus negating my chances of any future with such a strongly possessive and jealous man as he was.

You can’t argue with that, and though I sensed he really wanted to, he held back. He knew he’d fucked it. I got a cab home and found a friend and a hug. Apparently I’d missed a really excellent night at my local  bar where lots of my friends had been with an excellent ska DJ that I haven’t seen in years.

I’d been excited by the prospect of a date, being taken out. The world of Dinner & a Movie. On reflection I think I’d rather have a night out with my mates and buy my own fucking flowers.

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