Jayce finally txt me on Friday:
“Hey you. I’m bored out of my mind at my hotel. Just came back from (celeb who I shan’t name’s) party. What are you up too? Why don’t you ever call me? xxx”
I replied:
“I don’t call you because I don’t want to disturb you if you are busy. What sort of party ends at 9.30pm? (I used Google to work out the time difference) No wonder you are bored. X”
With nothing else to do that night, I ended up going to a lesbian bar in Soho with my friend Emma and drinking over priced pink cocktails called CherryBombs.
Worryingly enough, I didn’t get chatted up once. I didn’t even warrant a second glance from anyone! Tried to console myself that it was because they all assumed that Emma and I were a couple, but she dashed my hopes by pointing out that the real reason was most probably because I was so obviously a sexual tourist and not a genuine dyke.
“What makes you say that?” I asked her pouting, “I could be a genuine lesbian!”
“For a start, you’re wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians’. Plus your nails are too long. That’s the lesbian equivalent of fucking a razor blade”.
On Saturday night I went to a family friend’s surprise 18th birthday party. I had only been planning on staying for a couple of drinks to be social but ended up trollied on celebratory champagne, dancing on a table, and snogging a rather sexy 19 year old kickboxer down the end of the garden.
I think younger men are definitely the way forward. They are far easier to impress than older guys. You pretty much just have to tell them your age and they are ejaculating in their pants humming ‘Mrs Robinson’.
But then again, maybe I am letting my standards drop a little. My main reason for getting off with him was because instead of leaning in to kiss me like regular guys (giving me a chance to duck and run), he lifted me up mid-sentence (I was giving him a lecture about the benefits of further education and why to say no to drugs I believe), and pinned me against the fence whilst kissing me.
I was so shocked and impressed that he could actual life my huge bulk, that I was putty in his hands!
From what I could tell from our drunken fumble, he has a body to die for and amazing upper body strength that could lead to some amazing encounters another time.
I would have pretty much given in right then if the birthday girl’s mum hadn’t called us all in to cut the cake. We sidled into out places, as my sister did her best to pull twigs out of my hair.
Felt a bit guilty later on that night when I got home to four missed calls from Jayce and a txt from BT saying he was hoping to see me at (family friends) birthday party but he was too tired after a hard day’s pie making.
“Hey you. I’m bored out of my mind at my hotel. Just came back from (celeb who I shan’t name’s) party. What are you up too? Why don’t you ever call me? xxx”
I replied:
“I don’t call you because I don’t want to disturb you if you are busy. What sort of party ends at 9.30pm? (I used Google to work out the time difference) No wonder you are bored. X”
With nothing else to do that night, I ended up going to a lesbian bar in Soho with my friend Emma and drinking over priced pink cocktails called CherryBombs.
Worryingly enough, I didn’t get chatted up once. I didn’t even warrant a second glance from anyone! Tried to console myself that it was because they all assumed that Emma and I were a couple, but she dashed my hopes by pointing out that the real reason was most probably because I was so obviously a sexual tourist and not a genuine dyke.
“What makes you say that?” I asked her pouting, “I could be a genuine lesbian!”
“For a start, you’re wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians’. Plus your nails are too long. That’s the lesbian equivalent of fucking a razor blade”.
On Saturday night I went to a family friend’s surprise 18th birthday party. I had only been planning on staying for a couple of drinks to be social but ended up trollied on celebratory champagne, dancing on a table, and snogging a rather sexy 19 year old kickboxer down the end of the garden.
I think younger men are definitely the way forward. They are far easier to impress than older guys. You pretty much just have to tell them your age and they are ejaculating in their pants humming ‘Mrs Robinson’.
But then again, maybe I am letting my standards drop a little. My main reason for getting off with him was because instead of leaning in to kiss me like regular guys (giving me a chance to duck and run), he lifted me up mid-sentence (I was giving him a lecture about the benefits of further education and why to say no to drugs I believe), and pinned me against the fence whilst kissing me.
I was so shocked and impressed that he could actual life my huge bulk, that I was putty in his hands!
From what I could tell from our drunken fumble, he has a body to die for and amazing upper body strength that could lead to some amazing encounters another time.
I would have pretty much given in right then if the birthday girl’s mum hadn’t called us all in to cut the cake. We sidled into out places, as my sister did her best to pull twigs out of my hair.
Felt a bit guilty later on that night when I got home to four missed calls from Jayce and a txt from BT saying he was hoping to see me at (family friends) birthday party but he was too tired after a hard day’s pie making.
posted by Jezabel at 3:42 pm
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