A few weeks ago I was walking through WH Smith and perusing the titles when I came across Girl With a One Track Mind: EXPOSED. Intrigued, I picked it up and began reading the back cover. Long story short it’s about a woman who wrote a sex blog, published a book, and was outed by the Sunday Times. I was less interested in the sex and more interested in the aftermath, so I decided to buy the book. There was a ‘buy one, get one half off’ offer on, so I picked up Eat, Pray, Love as well and made my way to the till.
About a year ago I began reading The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl, and as I read this one track mind business I realised that to refer to me as a ‘sex-blogger’ is a vast overstatement in comparison to other, more well-known, sex blogs. I am the Justin Bieber to their Robbie Williams when it comes to blogging. I feel like a teen-bop version of sex blogs. And I am okay with that. I don’t particularly like reading about the gory details of sex to be completely honest, and some blogs are downright pornographic. Which is fine - sometimes I am in the mood to read that, get some ideas, learn something new. But more often than not, it just isn’t my thing. Anyone who reads this blog consistently knows that it isn’t explicitly about sex, and sometimes my posts don’t have any sex in them. Spoiler alert: this is one of them. Well, there’s attempted sex, but that’s the extent of it.
‘What are you reading this for? Tips?’ Mutt asked, holding up my purchase from WH Smith. I had been reading it on the train during my most recent trip to London and Mutt had searched through my handbag out of boredom whilst I was in the loo.
‘Pretty much.’ I said, grabbing the book. He had lined up the contents of my bag on the table and I started putting them back one by one.
‘I took a picture of my penis with that.’ He said as I grabbed my camera.
I checked out the picture. ‘That’s one for the wallet!’
‘Well there weren’t any naked pictures in it so I thought I’d get you started.’
‘Cheers.’ I said, taking a sip of the pint he bought me. ‘I don’t like this beer, can I have yours?’
‘Sure,’ he said, swapping glasses.
I sipped his beer. ‘Much better.’
As I finished shoving things back into my bag Mutt asked, ‘So what are you going to do with your life once you’re done with school?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stay in school. Get a couple more degrees. Why go to work in this economy? I think I might just wait it out.’
He laughed, ‘Yeah I bet a lot of people wish they could “wait it out” but that isn’t the real world, kid.’
‘And what is the “real world” exactly?’
‘One where you work.’
‘I work.’
‘Full-time.’
‘I study full-time, does that make my world the “fake world”?’
‘No, but eventually you’ll have to get a job.’
‘I’m not disputing that fact, but why do I have to get one right now? If you could have stayed in school would you have?’
‘Of course, but-’
‘No buts, you just agreed with me, I win.’
‘Whatever.’ I stuck my tongue out. ‘But really, what do you want to do?’
‘I want to be a rock star.’
‘You can’t sing.’
‘Neither can three-fifths of One Direction, but they’re making it work.’
‘They’re hardly rock stars.’
‘True. And they can sing, but they were the first ones to come to mind. You don’t have to sing to be a rockstar. I want to play the drums.’
‘You have no sense of rhythm.’
‘I have a phenomenal sense of rhythm, you’ve seen me dance!’
‘Yes I have. Which only substantiates my claim.’
‘You’re just jealous.’
‘A little bit.’
‘I want to do a lot of things, I suppose it’s just going to come down to choosing something. Or maybe I’ll just try everything. Starting with becoming a tv personality.’
He laughed, ‘I would not be surprised. We could have a show together.’
‘Ehhhh … I think you have more of a face for radio.’ He punched me in the arm. ‘Ow!’ I said, laughing and rubbing my arm.
‘Brat.’
‘It’s not my fault people don’t trust gingers. I just think they would be more comfortable if they didn’t have to look at you.’
‘I find that most girls feel that way actually.’
‘I certainly did. Lights OFF.’
We laughed and finished our drinks. ‘Want to get some food?’ Mutt asked.
‘Sure, where?’
‘There’s a French place down the street that’s pretty good.’
‘How dare you. You know I hate everything French.’
‘You don’t hate champagne.’
‘Good point. And I suppose I don’t hate everything French. I just hated that holiday in Paris.’
‘You really need to get over that.’
‘Well it’s not going to start with this restaurant. I’m not in the mood for snails.’
‘You’re such an arse.’
‘You’ve known this for awhile now. Where else can we go?’
‘Greek?’
‘Sure.’
A bottle of wine and a meal later we were drunk, but at least we weren’t hungry anymore.
‘Sambuca shots.’ Mutt said, not as a question, but as a demand.
‘Oh, please don’t.’
‘I already ordered them on my way back from the toilet.’
‘You dickhead.’
‘It’s why you love me,’ he slurred. He is an absolute lightweight and I often drink him under the table.
‘Your girlfriend isn’t going to let us hang out if I keep sending you home drunk off your face.’
‘Nahhhhhhhh, she loves you!’
‘I’m sure,’ I said under my breath. No one’s girlfriend “loves” me. Some of them don’t even pretend to like me once they’ve started dating my friends. Often girls are nice to me prior to making a move on one of my friends, they’ll want to gossip with me about whichever friend of mine they fancy and I’ll play wingman and tell the girls that my friend is “the sweetest guy, he’s great” when I know full well that he’s not sweet and that he probably just wants to sleep with her, but who am I to stand in the way? Once these girls become girlfriends they usually monopolise their boyfriend’s free time and I am thus left with one less boy friend. To be fair though, Mutt’s girlfriend is amazing and I think she may genuinely like me. I mean, what’s not to like?
Two shots later and it was time for Mutt to go home. ‘Well what am I suppose to do?!’ I asked, pretending to be belligerently angry.
‘Call AB!’
‘Not a bad shout actually, I may do just that.’
‘Alright kiddo, you do that. You go and shag that Australian bastard.’
‘He is a bit of a douchebag, isn’t he?’
‘Just don’t marry the guy.’
I laughed, ‘Yeah right. Marry the guy? I don’t even really like the guy.’
‘Sure,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at me.
‘Don’t give me that look. I don’t!’
‘That man is going to try to put a ring on it.’ Mutt slurred.
‘Whatever, Beyonce. I think it’s time for you to go home.’
‘If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it,’ he sang/yelled while shaking his stuff down the street.
‘You are a mentalist.’
He stopped and looked me straight in the face with a serious scowl going on before yelling in my face, ‘If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it!’
‘I’m going to put a gag in it if you don’t stop yelling in my face.’
We sang and danced our way to the nearest tube station. As we were saying our farewells, Mutt put his hands on both my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. ‘Whatever you do, please don’t let him put a ring on it.’
‘Goodbye Bootylicious. Don’t pass out on the train.’
‘Come here,’ he said, pulling me in for a hug.
Once I was sure he had made it to the barriers without falling down a flight of stairs I pulled out my phone. Did I really want to call AB? What the hell, I thought as I dialled.
No answer.
I could either sprint my way across London to catch the last train home, or I could call other mates. I started with Barking.
‘Hey babe, I’m having dinner with the family, but I’ll be out in about two hours. I’ll text you where we’re headed.’
Great, so what was I going to do for two hours? I called a girlfriend who was part of this particular circle of friends and she was headed to Fulham near where I had met AB a couple nights before. I hopped in a cab to get to where she was.
‘Hey!’ she said, with a bit too much enthusiasm.
‘Hi!’ I said, and we got a table together and ordered drinks. She bought the first round and I bought the second. It was the first time I had paid for drinks since leaving uni a few weeks earlier.
We were about to finish our second round when AB walked through the door, walked straight to the bar and sat down. He wasn’t ignoring us, he simply had no other motive when entering that bar other than to make it to the bar and hadn't noticed any of his surroundings.
‘Alright alcoholic?’ I asked.
He turned around and started to laugh. Our friend ran over to him and gave him a big hug and AB and my eyes met as she squeezed his shoulders. He walked over with our friend to the table where we had been sitting. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’
‘Hi there. Way to ignore our calls.’
‘Yeah, well I was on a date. She told me she wasn’t going to put out so I put her in a cab and headed home. Thought I’d stop here first though, and I’m glad I did.’
‘So she blatantly told you she had no intention of sleeping with you?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Harsh.’
‘I thought so … want a drink?’
‘Sure.’
He went to the bar and ordered two of what he was having and brought them back to my table. I took a sip of the glass he placed in front of me. ‘That okay?’ he asked.
‘It’s fine.’
‘Do you want something else?’
‘No, it’s fine. Really.’ My eyes shifted towards the door where a group of rowdy men were walking in. I had texted Barking when I arrived at the bar and he had promised to meet me there. Keeping his word, he walked towards me. I smiled and abandoned AB and his drinks to greet Barking. ‘Hey you!’
‘Hey beautiful girl!’
‘What are we doing tonight?’
‘Whatever you want to do.’
‘Let’s start by getting the hell out of this bar. I’m bored with it.’
‘Your wish is my command.’
I left with Barking, but not before telling AB our plans.
‘I think I’m going to stay here for a bit,’ AB said.
‘Okay, well call me when you leave.’
‘Will do,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek.
And he did. He was heading to a bar that was nowhere near where I was with Barking and Co. I promised I would keep in touch with him over the course of the evening though. I ignored the fact that he had gone to a bar to drink alone, and was more focused on my time with Barking. In hindsight, I should have seen his alcoholic tendencies as a sign that something was a bit off.
Last call came and went where I was with Barking and he decided to head off instead of coming to find AB with me. I called AB.
‘Are you still out?’
‘Just headed home now with some people now, come over.’
‘Okay.’
He sounded drunk. He rarely sounded drunk. Something about his Australian constitution made him a bit impervious to copious amounts of alcohol. Not tonight apparently.
I google mapped his house. Too far from where I was, so I stepped towards the curb to find a cab. As I did, a pair of boys were flagging down a cab.
I groaned, as it was the only cab I had seen since standing on that street, talking on the phone.
‘Where are you headed?’ One of them yelled.
I told them.
‘Want to share a cab?’
Sometimes to a fault, I am an extremely trusting person. ‘Sure!’ I ran and hopped into the cab. As it turns out one of them goes to IC and the other one was visiting London from up North. They were extremely nice blokes, and as we pulled up to AB’s building they refused to take my share of the cab fare. My trust instincts weren’t off this time.
‘Thank you! Nice to meet you.’
‘And you … are you on Facebook?’
I laughed. ‘Yes, I am.’ I told them my name and bid them adieu.
I called AB. ‘Hey, I’m outside.’
‘We’re in a cab now, see you in a second.’ His cab pulled up a couple moments later and he jumped out with a mate.
‘So, when you said that you and “some people” were coming over, you meant you and this guy?’ I asked.
‘Yeah everyone else bailed,’ he slurred. He put his arm around me. ‘Let’s go upstairs and drrr-ink.’
‘Sounds like that’s exactly what you need,’ I said, but he didn’t detect the sarcasm.
As we walked through the front door, AB walked across the flat, kicking over a box in the process and spilling its contents across the floor.
‘What’s that?’
‘The rest of my stuff from that crazy bitch’s place. She dropped it off today.’
So he wasn’t immune to feelings after all. Huh.
He walked towards his mini bar and poured himself and healthy shot of vodka and necked it.
‘Whoaa there, tiger.’
‘Want one?’
‘No.’ I was pretty smashed as it was, and wasn’t particularly in the mood to spend my evening on the floor of his bathroom. AB seemed headed that way though, as he poured himself another shot.
‘You have to take a shot.’ I turned around to see AB’s friend holding a shot glass towards me.
‘Or else?’
‘Or else …’ he paused, ‘or else you’re really not fun.’
‘And you are?’
‘Leaving,’ AB chimed in. ‘Time to go, buddy. I’m knackered.’
‘Okay,’ he slurred and made his way out of the flat.
Now four shots deep, AB turned to me with a Cheshire cat grin, ‘Hey sweetie.’
‘Are you okay? You seem a bit … upset.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yeah, you do. Is this about your ex?’
He took a big breath and exhaled loudly. ‘I mean,’ he started, swinging his arm in the air, ‘She didn’t even ring the doorbell. Just texted to say the stuff was outside. Shhhheee hates me.’
I tilted my head in feigned sympathy. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Mehhh,’ he said in a high pitched voice. ‘I’m over it. Thanks for being here though,’ he said, as if I had planned this impromptu moral support group.
‘No problem,’ I said, and he staggered towards me, cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. I pulled away, he tasted as if his saliva had a ABV of about 40%. ‘Maybe we should go to bed.’
‘Maybe, but I have to warn you - I’m too drunk to have sex.’
‘I think I’ll live,’ I said, ushering him into the bedroom. He could barely walk, of course I didn’t expect him to have sex.
He took all his clothes off and collapsed into bed. I stripped to my pants and grabbed one of his shirts to wear. I hate sleeping naked. As I slipped into bed he grabbed my waist and slurred, ‘Let me spoon you.’ He ran his hand up my thigh, then noted, ‘You’re wearing pants.’
‘I tend to do that sometimes. Weird, I know.’
He laughed, and moved closer towards me. Feeling mildly claustrophobic as he wrapped himself around me and rested his head against mine, I tried to sleep. But I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t want someone to cuddle with. Was my love life so dire that I had to resort to taking care of a drunk man who had been on a date with another woman earlier in the night? No. This was just pathetic. And I wasn’t even having sex.
As if he could read my mind his hands began to wander and he kissed my neck. There’s no way we’ve been lying here long enough for him to sober up, I thought. We started kissing, and if anything I think he was even more drunk than when we went to bed. True to his word, about two minutes later it became clear that he was indeed too drunk to have sex. ‘Sorry babe,’ he said, and resumed his spooning position.
I still couldn’t sleep, so I just contemplated how long I could wait before making my escape. I watched his alarm clock for an hour before finally dozing off for a couple hours. I woke up again around seven and rolled out of bed to use the toilet. When I came back, I sat on the edge of the bed and then heard a groan next to me. I turned around to see AB, blanket wrapped around his head like a baby, looking rough. He lifted one arm up, beckoning me to come back to bed. I raised my eyebrows and he waved his arm up and down like a petulant child so I rolled my eyes and gave in, getting back into bed.
‘Thanks for taking care of me,’ he said, as he wrapped his arm and the blanket around me. ‘You’re sweet.’
‘I know,’ I said, exhaling deeply. ‘I’ve got to go in a bit.’
He groaned again, squeezing me closer. ‘Okayyy. Stay here for five minutes.’
I stayed for fifteen, then got up and got dressed. Before I put my shoes on I crawled back into bed to kiss AB goodbye. ‘Ahhh, you’re cold!’ he said, as I crept under the covers.
‘Quit whinging.’
‘Thanks again for staying with me, sweet girl.’
‘Any time, love.’ Slash never again.
I won’t lie, I considered going out with AB again, but then I considered the trek out to Fulham and stayed home instead. I don’t think either of us are particularly taken with each other. The sex was fun, but other than that we have absolutely nothing in common and while we’re probably aesthetically pleasing to each other, that’s about the extent of it.
Being felt up by AB was the last bit of action I’ve had, and thus far 2011 has been a sexless year for me. It’s still early days, but I was thinking - do I really like sex so much that I’m willing to sleep with people I don’t even particularly like? The answer a week ago was yes, but out of pure morbid fascination, I wondered if I could make it all of January without sex. Then I took it a step further and thought, what if I stopped drinking for all of January as well? I have a few deadlines coming up, so it couldn’t hurt my school work to focus on something else. I could also finally tell the Mutt story, as all sex stories would have to be retrospective for the next couple of weeks. Twenty-seven days until February, yeah? Doable.
I think.
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