The Virgin…

…And the countless cocktails…

Hello dear readers! Sweet baby Jesus I’m early this week! Don’t get used to this my lovelies, it’s because I’ve been stricken with disease. My holiday got off to a bad start when mid-week my tonsils turned into mini Brutuses (sorry grammar) and prison shanked my health. After three days of spite smoking to teach them a lesson I had to admit defeat and go to a doctor, some body battles can’t be won with cigarettes (funny that). Not content with creating a miasma that repelled men, tonsillitis murdered my diet too. A fun side-effect of being unable to swallow adult food is you’re reduced to eating ice-cream and milkshakes. Six-year-old Sam was thrilled, adult Sam can’t help but worry that swimsuit season might turn into Burkini season…

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Nigella Lawson, you’re my guiding light… 

 

Okay, enough complaints about being ill. Like pictures of other people’s kids, Susan in the nursing home and climate change, no one really cares. As I mentioned last week, I went on a second date for the first time in a while. The lucky man in question was Brad who you might remember from The Cannibal Straight out the Closet. It wasn’t exactly a gleaming review but I still have a crush on Anthony Hopkins and Mads Mikkelsen, you’re just underestimating what I’ll put up with.

Top Tip #157: You won’t be single if you settle for pathological behaviour, Sally.

The last time we discussed Brad I had so much vodka in my system that you could have put a spile in my wrist, piled up paper glasses nearby and held a kegger for all the alcoholic vampires in Transylvania. My memories of the evening were hazy which is a nice way of saying I don’t have any (some people lose weight, I lose emotional weight). Well you’re in luck mes amis because I actually remember what he looks like! We’ve already covered that he has an emo fringe which is fine, everyone likes to reminisce after they hit their mid-twenties. Usually gothic hairstyles would turn people off for their immaturity, I’m not everybody and enjoy a fringe which suggests I can make a guy cry (someone call me a therapist). Everything else about Brad hints that he’s not ready to stop listening MCR and playing video games, a lovely lifestyle but not a man to raise a pig with. His clothing is exclusively in shades of black or forest green and I’ve never seen him in shoes other than converse, the Aril Lavigne of gay men. I may sound critical but all these aspects are what actually attract me to him. The whole point of beginning this blog was to branch out and date new types of men. Repetition leads to stagnation, it’s the only reason they still allow Madonna to make music.

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Like body glitter or Herpes, death is the only cure…

 

Now my ideal date would be the unexpected which sounds amazingly cliché. I suppose I’m just attracted to the idea of being surprised and my standards for shocks aren’t that high right now, trust me. A man could take me to a meth lab with a picnic so long as he had a romantic reason behind it…

“Just like this premium crystal, you electrify my brain. Now how good are you at swallowing balloons Mon Amour?”

Brad opted to meet at a pub instead, not exactly romantic but no lube for errant drug smuggling required (disclaimer: I have never smuggled drugs, please don’t assume this is normal dating behaviour outside of a Mexican cartel). I arrived late but not as a dickish dating tactic, my time keeping is comparable to North Korea’s peacekeeping, imposed and self-sabotaged. As Brad is newly homosexual (that sounds horribly scientific) I’m doing my best not to ruin dating for him, consciously at least. When I arrived we were seated at an actual barrel and began the awkward small talk. It turned out that Brad is quite nerdy which was no big surprise to me. I’d already assumed this about him, in preparation for our date I sat in a pentagram of Cheetos summoning fifthteen-year-old Sam. He wore a head brace and played far too much World of WarCraft for one’s self-esteem, I’m the ugly duckling of dating *wink*.

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Yet another unrealistic beauty standard for women, who the hell can afford tigers in this economy?

 

Despite assuming that childish delights lead to childish men, we actually had a really fun date. Brad was kind enough to accompany me when I decided it was time to kill off more my lungs, being a non-smoker I considered this gentlemanly. He also educated me on just how geeky he was, it was a conversational pass the “where’s your limit” parcel. He started with Civilisation which I love anyway, I’ll play any game where the object is to make other players marvel at your magnificence (again, someone please recommend me a therapist). Then he moved onto Warhammer which I personally wouldn’t play but I won’t kick a guy out of bed for painting figurines. Finally he started talking about EVE and this is where I drew my line. At twenty-five, I’m not in a position to be learning about online games, especially when I may have to compete with them for a man’s attention (a sentence which probably killed about five years worth of feminism).

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“Don’t forget I’m your socio-economic equal!”

 

We moved onto a bar which smelt of aggressive deodorant and broken musical careers, I’d fully jumped ship and entered a straight metal bar. Before we went inside he grabbed my chin and quietly said:

“I’ve been waiting to do this all night…”

Brad slowly pecked me on the lips, it was gentle and surprising. I’m rarely disarmed by a man so I let him wrap his arm around my waist and escort me inside, I’m a classy floozie after all. Rather than dissect the intricacies of micro-payments in online apps, we played a game much more my speed… Who can create the most original cocktail? After a good hour of trying to recombine vanilla vodka, diet coke and schnapps into something drinkable, it was time to leave. Brad an I walked towards the taxi rank when he asked (once again) what my plans were. At two in the morning my plans involved my mattress but since I was five drinks in and feeling frivolous, I didn’t see why they had to exclude him too…

When we got to my room Brad jumped onto my duvet, he may be gay but he got straight to the point (sorry). As we found out recently, I prefer to saunter into bed with the intended grace of Jessica Rabbit. I removed everything except my delicates, lit a cig and started smoking out the window. I seem to have the weird urge to display my body like an Arabian street merchant, I’m hoping it comes across as sexy otherwise I just seem pathologically conceited. After trying to replicate everything film noir had taught me was desirable, I threw away my cigarette and straddled my hardened sleuth (No glock puns I promise). He glock hard (SORRY) and we delved into the cotton framed pool of desire.

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This was the aim but my hands are shakier than Michael J. Fox…

 

Okay, it’s time for the obligatory penis talk. It was perfect! Literally no complaints which is something I haven’t said in a long time (pun fully intended). Unlike San Francisco, there were zero faults. No curves which would make Kim K green with envy, just an average yet well-formed penis (for my American readers, being British it was obviously uncut you Mengele monsters). After a polite amount of foreplay we were still making out, I wasn’t disappointed just confused, what was causing this delay to my usual rail service?

Top Tip #120: Compare yourself to the British rail system (the ultimate tease), you’ll never know if you’ll be allowed to get off in time…

I turned to Brad in the throes of passion and said:

“Are you going to fuck me?” (I’m blunter than a Neolithic dildo).

He raised himself above me and quietly replied:

“I’ve never had sex with a guy, you’ll have to teach me.”

I was stunned. My body isn’t Sam’s Finishing School For Girls so I laid across his chest and suggested we wait till we weren’t full of cheap alcohol. I’ve never slept with a virgin but I have been a virgin, there’s baggage to be checked in when you board a plane for the first time. He twirled my hair and we quietly chatted till sleep wrapped around us, it was the best outcome to an unorthodox evening.

 

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Sometimes, this is sexier…

 

I awoke naked and late for work, unlike a playboy bunny this didn’t play into my hands. Brad was sprawled next to me, I kissed him on the cheek and got ready for the day. After watching me get dressed to Earth Wind and Fire like a motown pimp, we both braved the light of day. He walked me to work, kissed me on the cheek and said:

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

I felt the same way.

 

 

 

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