Sex and the Art of Conversation

Another Wednesday, another night out. I’d been in a horrendous mood since Sunday – and those of you who know me know that I don’t do bad moods, so it must have been really bad – and was right in the mood for dancing, so Sonic’s flatmate and I went to the same place we go every Wednesday (“…try to take over the world!”) for a while. For a Wednesday night it was surprisingly quiet. Irish Slag and I had been in town earlier that day and I’d treated myself to some new clothes so was feeling overly-confident, for the first time in a while, and it went quite well.

Relatively early in the night a boy caught my eye on the dance floor, and his friend/wing(wo)man caught me looking and pointed me out. Then she went to the bar leaving him alone (pretty shit wingman) so I went to say “hi” (In the process also abandoning Sonic’s flatmate, which in retrospect was actually really stupid because she’d lost her phone.) and a song and a half later, we left to go back to mine.

For once – and certainly the first time since I’ve started this blog – I actually managed to land someone who was pretty much my type. Bisexual (another one!), big brown eyes, eyelashes like you wouldn’t believe, hair that’s naturally black, tall, thin, a bit twink-like, cheeky but endearing smile… anyway, we got back to mine and went to “bed” for some fun. My neck’s now in a state that it’s not been left in in a really long time but the hickeys themselves are really small, there are just lots of them, and he gave really good head. (I’ve realised I write this quite a lot. Maybe I’m just not fussy? Maybe I just really like getting head.)

But the striking thing was that between and after sessions (yep, I’m gloating now), we actually talked. Like, a lot. This coming from me, the overt cynic (but secret absolute hopeless romantic) who doesn’t even do cuddles and gets up and goes straight after. We were awake until half past nine this morning, having arrived at mine before two, and for most of the time just cuddling and talking. About everything, in that candid way that you can sometimes only be with a stranger. He probably knows more about me now after that one night than a lot of people who I’ve “known” for years. It was really refreshing and lovely to do that, if somewhat unexpected and very out of character.

We actually got on really well, have a similar sense of humour, I found him hilarious, he was at least polite enough to laugh at my jokes. At one point around six this morning (the time flew) I cringed at some pun he’d made – I can’t remember which, there were so many – and he quipped; “Yeah, whatever – it was you that brought me home so deal with it”. Fair point, well made. As he was leaving to head back to his I gave him my phone number, and I’m finding myself jumping every time I get a text (and admitting to it on the internet. Wow) but so far, nothing. And since one of the things that he told me about himself proved to be untrue, I doubt whether I’ll ever hear from him, but I’m still hopeful. Still, the whole thing has done wonders to lift my mood from the depths it had been since Sunday. I’ll keep you updated.

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  1. sexwithdexxx
  2. Why I shouldn’t be allowed out. « sexwithdexxx

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