Friday night antics

Had a rather strange night last night.

It all started with some bubbly after work - it was a coworker's hen do. We then went on a booze cruise on the thames - got wasted and danced to crap music surrounded exclusively by straight women. After I escaped the hen night madness, I went to my local intending to meet a friend.

I sat by myself, occasionally bumming a light from a neighbouring chap. Some sketchy french guy insisted on sitting next to me and talking to me. Then got a call from above mentioned friend asking me to meet him at my flat, so I left - beer glass in hand to walk home. On the walk home I was fiddling with my ipod when a man ran up behind me, grabbed it out of my hand and ran off. I shouted at him something along the line of - you fucking twat, what are you doing?!

I called the police and continued walking home. The police called back to say they were on the way and then the doorbell rang. There were four lads in their twenties or thirties on my doorstep. One asked if they could come and and I said no, so they showed me their badges and my mobile number that I had given to the police on the phone. Fair enough - I let them in, gave them the details, declined their offer for a drive around to try to spot the guy as I wouldn't recognise him, and the thought of driving around with the cops made me uncomfortable.

Friend then arrived and we went back down to the pub. Closing time came quick and when I tried to walk out with my beer, the bouncer confiscated it. I saw the guy who I had bummed lights off and began chatting with him and his cousin. When we were chucked out of the pub, I invited them back to my flat, stopped at the shop to get some beer, then the four of us - me, friend, lighter guy, and his cousin, went back to the flat.

After a bit cousin left, friend went to bed, leaving me and lighter guy to have a snog. I honestly didn't have anything to talk to the guy about and was rather shocked to find out that he was 40. He must have said about a dozen times - I like you, can I call you tomorrow? Yea, yea, whatever. He then went home, leaving me to sleep off the booze.

I had made drunken plans by text to go to Brighton with Pirate Boy today, but on waking with a splitting headache, I texted to say I was too hungover.

Down one ipod, up one business card of a 40 year old bachelor. Not a fair trade.

Monday Blues

Monday evening and feeling cranky from lack of sleep last night and that drop in seratonin levels lingering from a weekend of excess. Still feeling stupid for my drunken Saturday night gaffe of asking a married woman whether she would sleep with me. Not only that, but I am neither attracted to her nor even like her as a person. Not only that, but she responded with an emphatic no. Am I getting desperate?

In my morning low I thought - I want to meet someone. I want romance and love letters and mix tapes. I want someone who likes me best. Is that unrealistic? I slumped into the gym at lunch time and got some relief, to only run smack into my soon-to-be-ex-husband. I keep putting something off - making the first steps to get divorced.

After the initial chit chat, I sputtered "So, I was thinking...we should get together sometime to talk about...you know...er...."

"Divorce?" he said.

"Um, yea. I got the papers from the family court."

"What do we have to do? Does one of us have to serve the papers on the other?"

"Um, yes. We need to put specific reasons on paper. And it costs 300 quid."

"Shit."

"Yea, well, maybe we should at least start talking about it."

We tentatively booked Wednesday. Leaving me to return to work late, still hungry, and feeling no less of the Monday mean reds.

The bus stop barrister

Back in September for my coworker's birthday, we went on Friday night. Four of us single women - me the youngest by almost two decades. First we hit a local wine bar near our office and plowed our way through an unknown quantity of French white. We were chucked out at 11 and somehow along the way we picked up a barrister, another coworker and his girlfriend as we tromped up the road to somewhere still serving.

It didn't take long before there were three of us dancing on the bar - I was actually glad when the music stopped because in that state of of drunkenness, I was surprised to have not fallen off the bar. My coworkers dropped me at a bus stop to get home. No buses were forthcoming and in my double vision drunk state, I tried to hail a taxi, only to end up flailing my arms at cars that weren't actually taxis.

A man at the bus stop chatted me up and after a bit invited me to go with him to find somewhere else that still serving. This was probably a bad idea bearing in mind my current state, but I agreed. He was a barrister and had a cute Northern Irish accent. We found somewhere still open and upon receiving my gin and tonic I promptly dropped it on the floor and smashed the glass.

St closing time he invited me back to his place, which seemed like a good idea at the time. We caught a cab and went to Stoke Newington, stopped at a shop and picked up a bottle of wine and a pack of fags. He had a beautiful two bedroom flat in a converted warehouse near Clissold Park. Wood floors and high ceilings. He had recently bought it (for 350K) and even more recently moved in. Everything was in boxes.

I don't know how long we stayed up talking before we ended up in bed. I remember thinking that I had a renewed confidence in the ability of men to give good oral sex. I did, however, put this down to his age - 37.

I woke up with a killer hangover, but put on the Velvet Underground, though a bit too loud for his taste. We went to breakfast and then a wander around Clissold Park. I was slightly uncomfortable with him trying to get a bit romantic with me while we looked at the deer and rabbits and skirted away. It is one thing to have sex with a strange, but quite another to hold hands and kiss in public - this is a sign of intimacy that I am only comfortable with after a certain amount of time and commitment. He asked if he could see me again and I gave him my number, but with the warning that I had lost my phone (I was a bit disappointed with myself that I had gone drunkenly home with a man when I did not even have a mobile) and that it would be a few days for I got a new one.

He did of course text after I got a new phone and wanted to set up a date for the weekend before he was about to jet off to Riga to give a lecture. I hummed and hawed about whether to see him again as I was not sure whether I actually fancied him and felt that 37 was a wee bit old for me. A 37 year old commercial barrister earning 200K a year that was still living the bachelor lifestyle, having not even been married and divorced, was a bit strange to me.

At friends urging, I did agree to meet him once sober before making up my mind.

On the day of our date, a Saturday, I had a wicked hangover and had taken a friend/shag buddy home with me the night before. A and I dragged ourselves out of bed at around 3pm, got some lunch and then off I went to get ready. Slightly odd way to start.

We met in Chinatown at around 6, then went for a wander towards some pubs that he knew, or purported to know, as we got lost on the way. We stopped at a cash point because we both needed some funds. There I was thinking, even if I don't want to see him again, at least he said that he would take me out and, well, I've never had a guy offer to take me out on a proper date and pay for everything. Luck be it, the cash machine ate his card and he didn't have any other cards. So ultimately, I paid for it all. We went to a pub, had a few drinks, though not many because I wasn't fully recovered from the night before.

We then went on to chinatown for a meal and at about 11 I managed to bid him farewell. He did ask whether I wanted to go back to his place - cheeky bugger. To which I said I didn't feel well and had to go home.

Incidentally, I did not go home, but went and met KT and some other friends at our local and gave her the lowdown.

Oh well, an unsuccessful date. To his credit, he did get in touch to try to convince me to go out with him again and he would take me out to make up for the lost card. Honestly though, it would have been more effort than what it was worth. I decided I really didn't fancy the guy and he being 37 going on 27 didn't sit well with me.

I do still wonder whether I will run into him again - his chambers is a stone's throw from my office and I am just waiting for the day when I run smack into him on the pavement at lunch time.

A first

The first time I had sex with a woman was in 2001. It was also incidentally the last, though not by choice. Since then, I have not gotten much further than snogging friends and/or drunk straight girls trying to impress their boyfriends.

Her name was Jess and I still remember it as the cutest way that anyone came on to me. It was also the worst I have ever treated someone.

I worked in a slightly upscale pizza restaurant and had just finished waiting tables in the lunch shift and was sitting at the bar with a pint preparing my cash out. I was wearing a denim skirt and a red t-shirt that I had bought at a thrift shop and cut the sleeves off. There was a big white number nine on the back, like a sports shirt. A friend a coworker came over to me and said, “Don’t look now, but the girl in the blue shirt at table 13 wanted me to give this to you, but I promised her I wouldn’t tell her who you are.”

She handed me a folded note, which I opened and it read:

“Hey number nine, I think you are cute but I am too shy to dare to talk to you. From, girl with the blue shirt.”

Wow. Not only had no one ever hit on me while I was at work, but it was a cute girl who had written me a note! So as to not embarrass her or get my friend in trouble for having pointed her out, I scribbled a return note that said “You should come in and say hi sometime, I will be at work tomorrow night. Tereza” and gave it to my friend to hand back to her. I finished my beer and went home.

The next night she came into the restaurant and asked for me. I went to the entrance and we introduced ourselves , exchanged numbers, and made plans to meet up on Saturday night at a local pub for a drink with friends. I was gitty with excitement and went to tell my friend Bob, who insisted on coming with me (which no doubt had to do with his own fantasy).

Some background: At this time I was dating a guy who I also lived with. We had lived together as flat mates and then hooked up and became a couple a few months earlier. He was going away for the weekend for a visit back home. Respecting the fact that we were a couple and not wanting to be deceptive, I told him what had happened. I asked if he minded that I would be going out with this girl on Saturday. He said he didn’t mind. I asked him whether he realized that it would be like a date. He replied “As long as I get mine, I don’t mind.” Charming guy, I know. So, permission was granted.

On Saturday we met at a local pub for a few pints/pitchers. It was me, Jess, my friend Bob, and two of her friends. We had the usual get-to-know-you chats. She was a few years older than me (I was 20 at the time, she was maybe 25) and she worked in production for a local television station.

Somewhere in the course of the evening Bob and her two friends disappeared and I invited her back to my flat for another drink. We sat in the living room with the flat to ourselves (in addition to the boyfriend, I lived with my brother, who was also away).

So as to not lead her on, I explained that I had a boyfriend and that I also live with him. She said that she has not interest in men and also no interest in sharing someone. I thought that made us slightly incompatible in the circumstances, but nonetheless, one thing led to another and Jess and I started kissing and then ended up (surprise, surprise) naked in bed.

The sex was fun, but I was not exactly relaxed in the circumstances. As we lay in bed afterwards, I got a bit quiet and she asked whether she should go. I said that would probably be best. She left and I was slightly uncomfortable because I did not know what she wanted from me. I was living with a boyfriend and she was looking for an exclusive girlfriend. I was not prepared to break up with him and move out. I felt very guilty, so when she telephoned about an hour later (she had left without us really talking about these issues), I didn’t answer the phone. She left a message on the machine and I didn’t return her call.

I completed blew her off without ever discussing the predicament with her. When I didn’t respond to her telephone messages, she wrote me a letter and posted to me at work saying that she did not do one-night stands. For some reason, I felt paralyzed and unable to speak to her, so I didn’t.

I ran into her a few years later at a club in Boston when I went to see a band called Le Tigre. We had a few awkward words but then went our separate ways. I still feel guilty about the way I treated her - the old fuck and run.

Since then, I moved to the UK and intended to explore the side of me that is attracted to women. When I arrived at University here I went to a few GLBT meetings, but they were not really for me. I went to a club night in the hopes of meeting a woman, and instead met, at that time, my husband to be, who was there trying to meet a man.

Now I am back at square one and single.

My dear readers,

I would not want you to think I am a sexaholic. Quite the contrary, I tend to go long periods of time without either having sex or indeed even thinking about sex. When my soon-to-be-ex-husband and I split up, we were having 10 days intervals between having sex.

After we separated, I did not have (or indeed want to have) sex for ten months. I wondered whether there was something wrong with me. Would I enjoy sex ever again? Our boring, routinistic and unsatisfying sex life was symptomatic of many other problems in our relationship. It became the elephant in the room. We did not talk about it, let alone try to fix it. I simply did not enjoy having sex with him anymore, but became very self-conscious about it because I thought that I was the problem. I wondered whether I was a lesbian and even went so far as to tell him this during the course of our protracted break-up. That didn't go down well.

The problem was this: I could not orgasm during sex without the use of my vibrating friend. Even oral sex did not get me off. The concept of the g-spot vaginal orgasm was as foreign to me as Cantonese. This bred serious feelings of sexual inadequacy in me. The result was that after P and I split, I had no interest in sex, and honestly wondered whether I could shake the negative feelings. Months passed, and I began to start to feel better about myself. I started thinking about sex again when I realised that it was soon approaching one year since I last had sex.

In August I went on a beach holiday to Turkey by myself. I discovered Turkish men to be completely shameless in their attempts to hit on women. I had been in the country for about twelve hours before a man in a shop called me over and started telling me how beautiful I wad and was unlike other girls. Um, ok.

He asked whether he could show me around Fethiye, which I accepted because its always nice to be shown around by a local. It was nice, but I started to feel like I wanted to be alone. We walked back to his shop (he owned a slightly tacky shop of imitation designer clothes) and he tried to kiss me, but I managed to dodge it. I insisted that I needed to go back to my hotel to meet my (imaginary) friends. He was rather persistent but I did manage to get away and start walking back to the buss stop, only to find that he had followed me on his motor bike and tried to offer me a ride. After a firm no, I managed to carry on alone.

That night I went to a party on the beach and one of the holiday reps invited me out for a drink after the party. He seemed nice enough, so why not. He picked me up later on his motorbike and we went to a place that was charmingly called Club Grand Boozy. He got a bit frisky with me, but I didn't mind because I found that I was actually enjoying it. We went back to his place, which he interestingly shared with the girl who was the holiday rep for my hotel - he was slightly paranoid because if she came home and found him with me, he may get sacked. We did have a fun time and I was thrilled to find that I actually could enjoy sex again. With my confidence up again and the realisation that I was not necessarily doomed to an unenjoyable sex life for the rest of my life, I went on to have two more one night stands with some local men (one of which was pretty crap, but I felt good in thinking that it was not my fault).

The holiday was fantastic and I returned with a renewed confidence in myself in that I can be an attractive and sexual person. The orgasm thing is still a bit of a bother, but I have learned that this is not the be all and end all of enjoying sex.

My sex life is still a work in progress.

Friday done and dusted

We had a wee party last night, to which i invited Pirate Boy.

On my lunch break I bought a new outfit - a brightly coloured long shirt or very short dress that I had my eye on all week. I of course decided to wear it as a very short dress over leggings. I must admit, it looked pretty hot.

I didn't actually talk to Pirate Boy much, but that was fine with me. At one point he followed me into the kitchen where I went to refill my vodka and tonic, then grabbed me for a sexy kiss. He said something along the lines of "Sex in the kitchen seems like a good idea" and lifted me up so I was sitting on the kitchen counter. We carried on kissing for a bit and then decided against sex in the kitchen and rejoined the party. KT was talking to her boyfriend, who was a virtual guest at the party with the use of webcams. I went over to say hello to him and she said "What were YOU getting up to?"

Several vodka and tonics and a tequila shot later, Pirate Boy and I were naked in bed in my bedroom having a quick shag before rejoining the party with slightly disheveled hair and that post-coital glow, receiving winks from my mates.

Party continued with dancing to Michael Jackson in the living room until our doorbell rang and it was our downstairs neighbour asking us to quiet down because he had to work in the morning. At about 1am I made the executive decision to end the party and send people home, because by that time I was seeing double. Pirate Boy and went off and had another shag before falling asleep.

I woke up at 8am with a splitting hangover headache. Pirate Boy also woke up and began giving me the sort of back rub that leads to sex. It got pretty hot so I opened a condom and took it out of the packet when the doorbell rang. What timing. Our telephone line wasn't working and I had booked the engineer to come between 8 and 12. I put my robe on and went to get the door, which KT had beat me to. She wanted to go back to bed, so I stayed with the phone man. He left after about twenty minutes and I went back to my room to resume where we had left off. I threw caution to the wind in and decided to introduce my vibrator into our sex. I imagine that some men would find using a vibrator while having sex weird or uncomfortable so I had no idea what to expect from Pirate Boy. I thought, fuck it, now is as good a time as any and if we are going to continue as shag buddies, he might as well get used to it early on. Thankfully, he didn't miss a beat and was nonplussed by it.

We then went back to sleep and woke up at about noon. He said he needed to go but first we should go out for breakfast. I asked whether he had work to do today and he said no, he had to go somewhere. I asked where, and he said to do role-playing. I burst out laughing and said "Are you kidding?" No, he was not. He was going to play Dungeons and Dragons of all things.

KT joined us for breakfast and then as we were leaving a bus was arriving, so he jetted off without so much as a kiss goodbye. I didn't mind because I was slightly glad to see him go because he talks a lot and I wanted to continue tending to my hangover in peace and quiet.

Overall, the sex is pretty good, but I'm not sure I can spend a significant amount of time with him at one time.

Until next time...

Captain Barbossa

My inspiration to start this record came from last weekend.

Background:
My flatmate convinced me to sign up for a free online dating site. This is how she met her current boyfriend, who she is devastatingly in love with (despite the Atlantic Ocean separating them at present). "Go ahead" she said "It is a good way to meet new friends." So I joined. I uploaded some photos and prepared my profile, which included the statement, "I drink coffee in the shower and wine in the bath." I received the following message through the site:

"I can picture myself having a coffee in the tube (in a proper espresso china should be understood), riding a bike (hands off the handles), in the rain (à la Gene Kelly), in the middle of a riot, during an emergency evacuation, skydiving, in the hospital in coma (this will of mine shall be known of my friends) even in the peak of WWI inside the trenches under german artillery fire, but....

...in the shower??

Am impressed."

I was of course impressed. I checked out his profile and I actually thought he was cute. There was a photo of him dressed as a pirate with a stuffed rabbit on his shoulder. This made me laugh incessantly. We sent back and forth a few messages, then started regularly chatting online - for between 1-3 hours at a time - about books, music, our shared lack of understanding of "the game" as played by the english...

After a few weeks of this, we met this past Saturday. We decided to see a Saturday matinee of The Last King of Scotland (which was fantastic). We drank coffee, chatted, were late to the movie, went to a cafe, carried on talking. He was the sort of person that I thought I wanted to sleep with within about five minutes of meeting him. After a lovely afternoon, all of the sudden, he realised he was late for a work dinner so he had to jet off, with the parting note that we should meet again.

At about 10 that evening (we had parted at about 6:30) I received the following text:
"Help! Everybody in the dinner speaking bloody german. So bored! About to insult everybody and say have to go home cos i forgot my pills for the tourette syndrome!"

SO, me being me, and bearing in mind that I had been incredibly attracted to the guy, invited him to come for a drink with me and my flatmate.

(Story detour: Because I was so charmed by his sexy pirate photo, and later found out that his surname was the same name as a certain character from the Pirates of the Carribean, my flatmate dubbed him Pirate Boy.)

He agreed to come for a drink, but on the proviso that he could only stay for a half hour, because he needed to catch his train back home. Well, half hour came and went and it was decided that he would crash at ours. Whilst at the pub, my flatmate thought she saw someone we had met once before. I went on a round to see if I recognised him. When I returned, my flatmate (KT) was telling Pirate Boy about how I had shagged the above mentioned guy's friend, R (more on that later). Slightly awkward. Moment passed and we carried on drinking, did a bit of dancing (he dances like a bloody scarecrow!) and then went home about 1:30am. More drinking ensued and there was even a tequila shot thrown in.

Me, KT, and Pirate Boy sat in our lounge, talking about sex of course. Somehow KT managed to bring up another guy I had shagged - a mutual friend A. She proceeded to explain how A was a fan of my sexual style. Again, slightly awkward conversation to be having with a guy that I fancied, but so it goes.

KT went to bed. Pirate Boy and I went into my room and lounged around listening to music. I felt determined not to make the first move. And, neither did he make a move. We were up until almost 5am talking, then both crashed in my bed with nothing more than a bit of a cuddle. Until the next morning...

The following morning, I felt that erotic hand-stroking-my-back. I turned my head, and, well one thing led to another until he asked if I had any condoms in the house. KT and I have had the discussion before that we SHOULD have condoms in the house, but never quite got around to buying them. So, I said there were none, but offered to go to the shop. His head between my legs convinces me that I should in fact go to the shop.

I threw on some clothes, left the room and went to get my wallet, only to find I had no cash. Knock knock on KT's door.
Me: "Um, got any cash?"
KT: "I don't think so, why?"
Me: "You don't want to know..."
KT: "Spill it"

So, I explained my 9:30am condom call. She found a few quid and bid me good luck. Off I went into the bright outdoors. What a beautiful day! I almost forgot that I was going to get laid for the first time in 4 months and was ready to just go sit in the park. I passed a church, with everyone entering for mass (It was 9:45 on Sunday morning) and arrived at my local shop. I grabbed a litre of grapefruit juice and went to the counter. "Um. Can I have... the durex extra thins?"

Arrived back home and Pirate Boy ripped my clothes off. When we finished, he fell asleep and I went into the living room and watched two episodes of the L Word with KT. time for breakfast. Woke up Pirate Boy, had another round of sex before we set off to the cafe.

During breakfast, Pirate Boy brought up the concept of the "naff shag". KT and I looked confused and he therefore explained that the naff shag is the person that you would not normally sleep with, but might sleep with under the right circumstances. I must admit, I found this a slightly uncomfortable conversation bearing in mind that we had shagged about two hours previously.

Nonetheless, the conversation continued:
Pirate Boy: "KT, who is your naff shag?"
KT: "I would sleep with anyone under the right circumstances."

We went on to debate the relative merits of the naff shag versus the booty call. By this time I had gone off Pirate Boy. I was ready for this date to be done, but fucking typical - he forgot his watch at my flat. Finally at about 3:30pm ( 25.5 hours after we first met), he went on his way with a peck goodbye.

It makes me wonder why it is that after I sleep with someone, I lose interest. All week I have been avoiding making contact, but awaiting his next move. After a few flippant texts, on thursday we went back to having a long chat online, and what did I do? But invite him over on Friday night because we are having a party. He said he is coming and asked whether he can crash here.

I, of course, said yes.

This is my story

Once upon a time (in 2002) I came England to get a Masters Degree. During the course of the year I fell in love with a Yorkshire man, who was a student of Philosophy. After one year, I had to move back to America as my course had ended and student visa expired. Yorkshire man (hereafter referred to a P) and I decided to stay together, with a view to him eventually moving to America.

Fast forward six months to me in Miami International airport getting ready to fly to London to marry P. I spent six months in south Florida and after failing to get a job offer in New York, a decision was made have have a go at married life in London. The decision went like this: P had been moaning to me that I should return to England. I wanted to move to New York, but also missed being on the same continent as P. I had a job interview in New York lined up, and possibly in attempt to get P to stop whinging and therefore making me feel guilty, I blurted out, "If I get offered the job, I move to New York. If I don't get the job, I'll move to London and we will get married." That set the whole deal in motion. I did not get the job (I was gutted) but kept my promise and the arrangements were made. When I told my mother that I was going to London to get married she burst into tears (and not the happy kind). My brother told me I was crazy. I didn't care. I wanted to make my own mistakes, even if they turned out to be catastrophic.

So off I went. We spent a few weeks in P's student halls until we found a studio flat. A month after I arrived we were married at Camden Town Hall. Two years after we were married, we split up. One year and three months later, here I am: A 25 year old, soon-to-be-divorced, single girl living in London.

This is the story of my past, present and future.