Posts Tagged poetic justice

Flashback Friday: Sociopathic Wednesday

This is probably one of my favourite stories, and it’s been known amongst my friends as Sociopathic Wednesday for quite some time. About this time last year, the LGBT society of the uni I was at held a cheese and wine night/social event for everyone to mingle and get to know each other. This is where I met Pan, who if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time you’ll know I had quite the crush on for most of last winter. That night he went out but I didn’t, which I think might have been the only time I didn’t go out on a Wednesday night during my last year at uni.

The next week at another event, another friend and I were arranging to go out afterwards and convinced Pan to come with us. “I don’t have any money though” – “It’s fine, it’s free to get in, you can walk home, I’ll buy you a drink…” so he came.

In the club, halfway through the pint I’d fucking paid for, he casually drops into conversation that “this guy I went home with last week is here, I’m really excited to see him again” or words to that effect and off he fucks to go find him. Not twenty minutes later he’s back beside us on the dancefloor, having been flatly turned down by said mystery man. Pan is rejected, Dexxx is rejected, everyone’s a loser. Brilliant night out.

Fast forward a fortnight and the LGBT society – in retrospect this thing was really my downfall last year, but I loved it all the same – had a speed dating night. Pan wasn’t there but halfway through the night I found myself talking to the guy he had had the hots for. (I assume I’d done some fair amount of Facebook stalking in the meantime to be able to work this out). I thought to myself, would it not be poetic justice if I could have sex with him?
This is the point in the story when Hitraya invariably interjects with “I don’t think you know what poetic justice means, Dexxx. It doesn’t just mean being a bitch”.

There was a noticeboard for us to leave anonymous messages to that night, so I left a note for mysterious Irish man: “Number 21: your accent alone could make me cum”. He worked out that it was from me (probably because I signed it) and said to me that he’s see me in the club later. Shit, I thought, I’m meeting Pan in the club… only one thing for it…

“Yeah, or we could just cut out the middle man and go straight back to yours now”
“… I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not”
And Rosaceae, bless her, turns around and says “Trust me, he is”. So we went. I wrote a message to Pan telling him I’d pulled so I would be late, and we went back to Irish Man’s place via the pub for a cheeky pint. The sex was quite rough, he was every inch a top, and with his window being open (ground floor flat too), people going by must have heard more than they ever wanted to. He came first, but kept fucking me until I came too, and then we both got dressed and he went to meet his friends and I jumped in a taxi and met Pan in the club.

“Nice hickeys,” he said when he saw me. “Who was the guy?”
“Oh, some postgrad from Ireland, studies Law…”
“Not R?!”
“Yeah, that was his name!”
“That’s the guy I was seeing!!”
“Really? Wow, I had no idea. Small world.”

That weekend I found myself at a party having a conversation with the two of them at once, and the only way to deal with that situation was to down a bottle of wine quite quickly and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but apparently they went home together that night too.

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