Guess what? I’ve gone and done something completely ridiculous.
If you read this blog with any regularity (I don’t write with regularity, but maybe you like to remind yourselves about my sporadic sex life) you will no doubt remember Luke. In case you don’t remember Luke, we went on a few dates back at the end of last year and then he told me he didn’t fancy me. Fine. Fine.
Since I last wrote, the unbelievable has happened – Luke and I have become friends. And not just fair-weather facebook friends; I’m talking Sunday-lunch-and-Scrabble-in-the-pub friends. That mutual local which looked like it was going to be so uncomfortable? Yeah! We hang out there all the time.
So now to the ridiculousness.
I’ve started having sex with Luke’s housemate. ThereI’vesaidit. Life is NEVER boring. “What’s that? You don’t fancy me? Oh, well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just fuck your best friend who you live with. Loudly.” Except, obviously it’s not like that…
It actually all began on New Year’s Eve when he (the housemate), Luke and I ended up at a bar, post-midnight and very pissed. Luke eventually got too tired and grumpy to deal with the crowds of wasted Hoxtonistas, and left me and James (that’s him) together. One bit of outrageous flirting led to another and we ended up back at mine. For the record we didn’t sleep together… Not that it makes a huge difference; I’ve already given the game away about how this tale ends.
In the couple of weeks immediately after NYE, I think I did go a little bit mad. I decided to give up drinking as my resolution for 2011. That lasted all of 6 days – I always ignore myself anyway, I have noresolvewhatsoever. But it seems that, encouraged only partly by James himself, I decided that the way to combat alcohol-free boredom was to bombard the boy with texts. He seemed to enjoy it, but it did prompt a slight morality meltdown over Luke, who he seemed to think would be bothered by his housemate shagging a girl that he didn’t fancy. Sounds sort of ideal if you ask me. I mean - this was hardly some kind of sordid affair. So whilst James was torn between enjoying it and being wracked with guilt, I was torn between the attention and the drama; I just don’t know which bit I loved more.
After a while, and several failed attempts on my behalf to persuade James to come and have sex with me, I reached a fork in the metaphorical road of my behaviour. Should I give up the chase for lack of any actual resulting thrill? Or should I up the ante?
Here’s what I did: I sent him a series of pictures of myself in my underwear.
So… Not giving up the chase then. That’s OK, right? That’s… Normal? There’s NO WAY that would make him view me as some kind of mentally-unhinged-morally-reprehensible-slut-who-fires-off-semi-naked-photos-without-so-much-as-a-thought-for-the-consequences, right? *Phew* That’s a relief.
All the while this was going on, Luke, James and I were still hanging out together, like the fucking Three Musketeers. In fact, since James was in my bed on New Years Eve, I’d not actually seen him on his own. So one minute I’m texting grainy pictures of myself taken on my shitty mobile, the next I’m popping round to their flat for dinner à trois and trying to maintain a veneer of normality whilst we sit around the Scrabble board. I’m thinking: “Can I get away with putting down the word ‘throb’ without blushing?” I warned you that this tale was ridiculous.
[By the way, to make things TOTALLY ridiculous - It might be worth mentioning that both Luke and James know about the blog. In the spirit of being friendly and clearing the air with Luke, I confided that I’d written a blog about him and he pestered me to read it. So. Um… Hey guys. Awkward.]
Anyway. Fast-forward through a bit more of this bizarre courtship, and the inevitable happened. The famous BeDJ charm-by-bombardment technique worked its magic and James and I FINALLY had sex. Good job too, because I was just plain tired of playing hard to get. *AHEM*
The first night we slept together, James had been at the football all day and drinking Guinness since about 9am, as far as I could work out. He drank about another 5 pints after he met me at 9pm, and by the time the evening was drawing to a close, he was well and truly shit-faced. I started to walk him home. The only trouble was that my house was virtually en route… It would have taken a stronger woman than me to resist a soberer man than James, and he ended up back in my bed. Although not in quite the triumphant circumstances I’d hoped for. I was thinking: “Does Guinness count as a date rape drug?” I hope not. Just to be on the safe side, I let him go to sleep. *yawn*. I know that’s the safer route in terms of possibly perpetrating sexual assault, but I mean seriously. I was pretty frustrated.
But fear not! Next the bit you’ve all been waiting for (I know I had): The next morning James and I woke up early and spent the whole day having quite a lot of excellent sex. At bloody last! I knew the sexting had been a good idea. The grainy picture of my tits in a corset had done its job - who needs 5 megapixels?
So that was nearly 2 months ago now (yikes) and I’m pleased to say the sex has continued. And after deliberating about it for the entirety of those two months, I’ve finally plucked up the courage to write something that – for the first time ever – is definitely going to be read by the person it’s about. Is there any actual way that can not backfire massively?
James, if you’re reading this… More sex, please. And you know all that stuff we discussed…? Yeah, I’m totally up for it. I’ll keep you posted.