Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Dinner Dates and Bus Stops

All this talk of dating reminded me how hideous and how brilliant it is. Especially for Gentlemen Who Were Picked Last In Games for, you see, we have an extra card to play at the end of the night.

Take this one date I went on. We'd chatted amiably for a few hours, not really going one way or another. He was a dog person, I was more cat. He liked high-brow books and low-brow tv, and me, well I liked low-brow everything. It was over dinner we just decided that yes, we were having a good time but the idea of us growing old together, picking out china, and inseminating a willing lesbot for kids was not going to happen. Which is when it pays to Know Showtunes because we just went "Well, we could just shag then..."

Bonus! No strings. Bit of fun to round it all off. I love being a screaming wendy - it's all so accessible. Everyone should be so blessed - if anything, it would make 'Moonlighting' a heck of a lot shorter. Sure you wouldn't get the playful will-they-won't-they eeked out for years, but at least it would have been off the air before Cybil had seemingly turned into a leather shoe.

Anyway, back to the date. He'd floated the idea of a bit of a fumble, I'd concurred. And then a spanner in the works from my dining companion: "But, you see, I don't think you're really as open to the idea of this no-strings sex as you think. I think you're far too sensitive for that..."

My only thought was 'Oh if my friends could see me now'. A cunning move, sir. I could not dismiss it as I'd look like a tuppenny whore bent on pleasuring herself on anything that came to hand, mouth or area (oddly accurate) and couldn't agree as 'sensitive' and 'gay sex' don't go together unless you're discussing with your life-long partner how gently you're going to take him on the new Egyptian cotton bedsheets while promising to love him forever. Even when he's bald.

A good move indeed. Checkmate, in fact. My king was down and under no circumstances was my queen going to go all the way tonight. And if you really want to labour the metaphor, I'd be going home to porn. Although that only really works if you read this aloud. Perhaps you're from Croydon and move your hand across the screen as you read. Hello there. Yes you. Nice scrunchie.

So what's a boy to do? I was more offended by being told that than being asked for a free-spirited knee-trembler, to be honest. I mean, me! Unable to handle the one-night stand! The very idea. It's like asking Liza Minnelli whether she wants tonic in her vodka.

It's all a matter of perspective. And I seem to recall my perspective was that I wasn't to worry, I'd already organised a date for the following night. Men, you see, are like busses. There'll be another one along in a minute, you always end up drunkenly on a shonky one on a friday night, and there's always a fight to go on top.

6 comments:

Marc Acito said...

Men are like buses is brilliant. How I wish I'd thought of it. (And I'm supposed to be the clever writer. Move over, bitch!)

Just discovered your blog and had great fun with it. Can't wait for the further misadventures.

Mr J said...

So happy you're back on the top deck of the bus dear.
x

Kezza said...

How very terrific! You had me in fits of giggles as I read that - so many a dating experience amongst the 'mo population seems to follow similar lines at least once in a lifetime (or weekend).

Oh and I may as well admit I've been lurking around you blog for quite a while now and I'm always impressed with your posts - you are a blogging genius!

Qenny said...

Fight to get on top? I am surprised, on the basis of some previous tales.

mike said...

Congratulations, you've won Post of the Week! Yes, again!

love and squalor said...

am very glad I dropped in from post of the week!
and the ending reminds me of this