every-now-and-then-i-get-a-little-bit-lonely-and…
i was on the verge of staying in last night, just me, some wine, a nice meal and the 7 BBCs when the phone calls started coming in. i’m glad my mom paid all my friends for the month so that i’d have people to play with! thanks, mom!
i was feeling very dark, a bit gothic almost, so i decided to wear my black-on-black depeche mode tee that i had never really worn out before. okay, that sounded really lame. what i mean to say is, rather than my usual punky/funky/skater/preppy clubwear, i dressed a bit darker than usual.
scooped up .gregiño from work, and headed into soho. it was obvious to all parties involved that there was no way eric could possibly stay in on a friday night. cousin michael didn’t show up [which is, of course, no surprise, but worth noting for the record] but instead we had the lovely atif with his beau from last week, straight john.
i really fancy straight john. he knows it, atif knows it, greg knows it. it’s dreadful. i can’t be stopped nor helped. he’s cute, he’s friendly, and he’s really truly innocent! like, a month ago he was living a happy straight life in wales or isle of white or wherever the hell he was, and now he’s freshly transplanted to london. it’s like sitting in a sushi restaurant at the start of the conveyor belt so you get first dibs on the spicy negihama maki rolls. atif knows me entirely too well, and did his best to keep my slimy claws off of john for the evening. i mean, they were on a date for chrissake! i really should be neutered.
so, yeah, we kept plying each other with cocktails and such at escape and then friendly society, which lubricated :shock: the situation nicely. greg had managed to convince us all to join him for the cock at the ghetto [not to be confused with ghetto cock] but we quickly defaulted to .popstarz after weighing massive queues at .ghetto versus guestlist at .popstarz.
at sahara nights i met up with darian, where we chatted about kevin and his disasterous photo shoot, boyfriends and birthdays. when i first met darian, i [jokingly] referred to him as my internet stalker, and was mildly freaked by his sexual prowess — whereas now i thoroughly enjoy flirting with him, knowing that he’s married or whatever.
none of my usual stalkers or stalkees were at .popstarz, which was a refreshing change, and allowed me to enjoy myself by dancing rather than chatting — i swear, if there’s one thing i learned from my 6-night affair with justin timberlake, it’s that sometimes a boy’s gotta just work it on the dancefloor. well, i learned that and also how to pick handcuff locks when someone accidentally loses the key by leaving at at their ex-girlfriend house.
the two brothers of ben from last saturday were there, and, for some reason thought they could make out with me just by buying me drinks and playing with my necklace. hrmph! after 20 minutes of that i had to make it clear that that sort of behavior is just not allowed! i slipped my card into each of their back pockets, so maybe they’ll pass it along to ben like good boys.
so, in addition to snogging my good mate’s date, i also snogged tim, greg’s #1 object of affection. do i have no morals? do i not appreciate my friends? cuz i certainly know that if i were in either of their shoes i would be fuming mad. dunno what to say, except to reiterate that, yes, i should be neutered.
over the summer, i spent a great deal of energy trying to seduce blythe… he’s so incredibly english. i may play down my love for fish and chips, avoid letting people know that i drink tea, and that, yes, i do get a bit of a thrill when boarding a red double-decker bus… but i have no shame admitting that i am a sucker for an over-the-top english accent. blythe has the best — and he loves discussing overtly english topics such as cricket and tory politics and raising horses. if you search [at right] for his name in my blog, you’ll find that i gave up my seduction when he acquired a stable boyfriend some 6 months ago.
well, last night they broke up. being a friend, i consoled him for at least 3 minutes before putting the moves on him. i mean, really, i do have some morals! :mrgreen: after doing our thang in the beat bar, we went downstairs to dance, where, within minutes he’s locking lips with the cutest twink on the dancefloor. bastardo!
i dried my tears on a short lesbian dancing next to me, and danced all by my lonesome for, say, oh, 2 songs when i noticed that blythe was gone, and the boy he was with was now innocently dancing next to me.
i smiled, he smiled.
i nodded, he nodded.
and that pretty much sealed the deal. no idea what his name is, and he thinks that mine is aaron. he’s 17, a stunning kisser, and, well, i think i want me another slice of that cake.
