Flashback Friday – The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else

Following the second, what proved to be permanent, break-up with The Slov which was on a Friday,  I had a couple of days of moping, not doing much and eating plenty of soy ice-cream. Then the Monday rolled around, I snapped out of it and decided to act like a decent human being once again; and by the time Wednesday came (we all know what Wednesday is, don’t we? Good) I’d decided that there were, after all, plenty more rats in the sewer and the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So Mehhay, our friend and I went out to one of the other clubs which used to be popular back then but isn’t so much any more. I was on the pull with a vengeance, and actually I think it was also the first time I’d ever set out deliberately to have a one night stand. Wasn’t the last. Don’t know if you’ve noticed I’m a bit of a slut.

Anyway. I have no idea how long we were in the club before a boy with – guess which colour? – brown eyes caught my eye on the dance floor. I went to the bar, giving him a look on the way, and he followed, came up beside me putting his hand on the bottom of my back (which I’ve since realised I hate, by the way, at least from strangers, no matter how sexy they are) and asked if he could buy me a drink and I agreed. I was drinking vodka lemon and lime at that stage for some reason, I must have had a really sweet tooth. As the drinks came and he paid I made a very direct push and asked, “So, would I sound like a slut if I said I wanted to go home with you?” He looked playfully like he was considering it for a second before shaking his head and we went to get our jackets. I know, it seems like every blog post about sex involves me going to get my jacket at some point. I live in a cold country!

I think my friends were kind of taken aback by my audacity and straightforwardness with this guy; I’d never just met someone in a club and gone home with them before, and I had nowhere near the reputation I do now. I also had nowhere near the self-confidence I do now, which as I’m sure I’ve said before is quite a recent thing. Anyway, I did text them both the next day to let them know I was alive.

Whoever this guy was (I know full well who he was, I remember his full name and even what he studied and where, but I can’t be bothered making up a pseudonym for him) and I went back to his inconveniently located flat annoyingly far from the city centre and not really near any bus, train or underground stops. That wasn’t an issue that night but it was the next day! We had a bit of a tumble around in the dim lighting of his room, I don’t even remember if either of us came, which makes me think we didn’t. I do remember that he’d never been rimmed before though. And that his drunk flatmates, returning from their own night out, walked in on us, looked a bit shocked and then one of them shook my hand as if it were a completely normal thing.

I ran into him again not so long ago, outside another club when I was going home with a different boy, but I’ll probably write more about that in his blog post, whenever that’s due…

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