I have a sore bum, I fell on it last night after somehow overestimating the length of the bench I was sitting on. It was a full backwords fall, legs splayed in the air like a forgotten Barbie… probably highly embarassing but I was having a good time and laughed it off. Some Spanish dudes seemed to be talking about my fall in Spanish and I thought of interrupting them with AHA I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT ME but a mysterious inner reserve of dignity pushed me back in to the dance floor with my friends where I (felt like I) danced the shame away. Thank fuck, that was not the sort of place to be confrontational…
Oh Jagerbombs… you silly foolish girl. Had most of a bottle of whiskey before leaving the house so I was already pretty fucking destroyed as we walked there… Long walk but not long enough to sober me up, oh no. We hit some grimy club, as we entered the bouncers were pouring bottled water on some guy’s head who had just been “glassed” which apparently is London terminology for what we Irish call “getting bottled”. Music was slow and drawn out… dubstep I was told. I am so ignorant of music, there’s not a lot I really don’t like. We danced, later my friend reported us having “danced ironically.” I didn’t know we were doing that, I thought we were just having a good old dance but I said “oh yeah, that was my ironic dancing”. I brought out my classic moves like the Matrix style bullet dodge, and the slow motion robot with one arm obscured by my bulky coat.
A guy with a big proper camera came up to me and took photos at one point. Probably because I looked fucking awesome or maybe just really, really pissed. As always with a camera in my face, I fucked it up by being overcome with flusterment and awkwardness.
At the bar some dude with an eery big grin, asked me if my friend and I were sisters. I said no. He said, “because you both have the same mascara and same lipstick and same foundation” which I thought was a weird observation but I said “yeah well we put our makeup on together…” He leered at me and asked if we did each others makeup. No. No we didn’t. What? What a strange thing to say. I mean we have the same foundation because we are both a similar shade of pale. It’s not like we could wear different coloured foundations to each other. The red lipstick was maybe a bit in your face but then fuck that I saw Holly Willoughby and Ferne Cotton wearing red lipstick with their blonde hair and practically the same black dress on tv together the other day.
I moved along the bar. The barman charged me less and gave me more alcohol in my jagerbombs. The bartender woman charged me more and didn’t even fill the shot of jagermeister. I argued with her about the price. She told me that is the price. OH I said, I guess I was getting a discount earlier. She gave me the patronising smile of the sober to the drunk. Yeah. Oh well.
I danced in front of the dj for a while, totally convinced I was impressing everyone with my killer and sexy moves.
It was pretty fun.
We left and walked back to the main street. The menfolk wanted McDonalds. I kind of wanted McDonalds too but took a stand against its shitty food on principle. So I hit a newsagents instead and bought cheesy crisps and chocolate. In the shop I swayed and held up the queue and peered at my various denominations of coinage. One… wait no that’s a euro.
The Indian guy serving me grinned and told me “you are a little bit drunk, yes?”
I roared back “NO I AM NOT IT IS YOUR CRAZY MONEY COINS. What funny shapes… sorry here, here.. oh not that. Yeah there that’s it. Also, yes, yes I am drunk.”
I munched on crisps outside McDonalds with my friend. We smoked. Two guys were walking past… I don’t know exactly how it happened but maybe one of them said something about going home for a wank in a loud voice, and I interrupted with a “charming” or something and then backtracked with “actually I think wanking is awesome”.
Something like that.
They stopped, anyway, engaged us in shitty conversation. I shared my crisps. We lost a lot of crisps on the ground.
One of the guys told me I had a sexy accent… I had seriously, honestly no intention of hooking up with anyone. Really. I just wanted to go out and have a good time with my friends but I was so drunk at this point… he looked very English, he said I had a sexy accent… he told me mine was softer than my friend’s. I beamed but of course argued with him that my accent is not sexy and how do English people still like our accents when there are so many Irish women in London?
He told me, when I spoke to my friend, I talked a mile a minute and dropped into a much more Oirish accent. I began explaining some seat-of-my-pants theory on this possible fact, like how from being multilingual I am used to adjusting my accent to other people all the time… or something along those lines.
We invited them home with us. The other guy was interested in my friend but she has a boyfriend and anyway I presume he was ugly because I don’t remember his face. He was still keen to come back until he spotted her boyfriend emerge all big and laden with drunken McDonalds meals. The friend disappeared into a taxi. I was bringing my guy back with us. He kept trying to kiss me. I said no, I don’t like kissing in public.
We walked back to my friends house. Along the way I had pointless conversation with this guy who kept trying to lunge for a kiss. I was determined NO KISSING until we get to the house. I felt that was very important.
Somehow had the feeling that we were going back to a party, but of course when we arrived everyone was just going to bed and I was left alone with my English guy and a friend.
Soo… The kissing. Still no kissing?
I told him, have you ever seen people kissing in front of you and not found it gross?
I expand on my little thought and claim “the only good kissing is the kissing you are doing right then and there.”
It felt like a very profound kind of aphorism.
My friend politely engaged him in conversation while I made some drinks…. he launched into a massive, complete history of his employment and his current job as some kind of manager and how amazing he is and how good a manager and all about the company.
It began to dawn on me as I sipped my whiskey and coke and he grimaced and rejected his….. this guy… is a fucking knob.
Most of my outside McDonalds end of the night attraction had drained away…
The original cocky cockney had morphed into the far less appealing boastful Brit. I was just sitting there with some guy who I basically had to sleep with. There was no real alternative, certainly nothing that could occur to my drunken self. I had ordered the sex, I couldn’t bail on it now. A lot of the bad sex I have could easily be avoided by heeding my own warning bells and coming up with an exit strategy. I once actually did back out of sex- once. I was seeing this guy as a kind of drinking buddy come comedy watching partner… and we would kiss and wind up in his bed and I would remember urgh I don’t like this guy he’s too short for me. Although pretty hot otherwise. And one time I was in his bed and we hadn’t ever had actual sex but I stopped him kissing me and said “I have to tell you… I have AIDS.” Let me tell you, he freaked the fuck out. WHAT? I imediately told him no, it was just some weird joke… sorry. I don’t have aids. But the mood was ruined. I left with my vagina undisturbed, and was fined for not having a ticket on the bus home. Should have stayed the night really. That’s what happens when you pretend to have AIDS, even if it’s only for like a minute. Don’t do it guys, there really probably are better ways of backing out of sex. I have never thought of another one though.
Don’t say “hey man I just don’t want to do this any more”. That’s impossible, far too confrontational and impolite.
I knew I was going along with it… but I saw the encounter in a different light. It started to seem seedier that I had picked him up outside McDonalds. I could see now, our exchange of boozy opinions had been less of a good laugh and more of me just ranting about hating Italy and him telling me all about some time in France he “prevented a bunch of girls from being raped.” I had already begun rebelling against his personality on the walk home when he came out with that story. Something about his friends and him standing up to some French dudes… and mysteriously adding the flourish about them being about to rape all the girls if it hadn’t been for his heroism. Urgh. I started picking holes in the story but he became defensive and I let it go because I was too drunk to carry an argument forward…
My friend gave me a sympathetic look and went to bed.
We were alone, me and this guy.
We began kissing. It was ok… He felt under my dress, searching for a way under my belt to get to my bra.
I told him I had a room… the spare room is mine while I’m here. The floor is just a tangled mess of my open suitcases and all my clothes. He went to the bathroom and I put my huge variety of condoms from the std screening clinic on the bedside table. I got tested for Chlamydia and ghonnorhea, I have to wait for the results now. But they gave me a shitload of free condoms. I got in to bed and took off the belt and thought, hey it’s not so bad, at least I’ll get some sex and I do like to sleep next to someone. I was still flattered that he liked my accent.
We got naked, fumbled with each other… my boobs looked shit. I remembered that although I got a pretty fantastic wax job before I left Italy, my armpits were damned hairy. I tried to keep my boobs covered by my hair (on my head) while keeping my arms clamped to my sides at the shoulder to hide the armpit hair. It was probably surprising, smooth legs and a little landing strip but hairy pits.
He started whining about condoms.
“I fucking hate condoms”
“They are so shit. Fuck condoms.”
“Yeah you’re not the only one.”
“No, I REALLY hate them.”
“YES. I KNOW. WE ALL HATE CONDOMS.”
Fucks sake man, like you invented not liking condoms. I had a sneaking suspicion he was sort of bragging about having had condom-free sex. It began to occur to me, as it always does TOO LATE TO BACK OUT, that I was dealing with someone less experienced or just generally less awesome than me. When I’m drunk I forget all about being superior to the vast majority of people and how rare it is to find someone great in bed or just interesting or funny, and drunken me just presumes everyone I meet is bound to be fantastic company and interested in the same things and as experienced as I am.
I am invariably disappointed.
“Ugh I hate condoms.”
SHUT UP DUDE.
“They are so shit.”
“Seriously man, everyone fucking hates condoms. They are shit but they are better than the alternative.”
“No, I mean…not having sex at all. Those are your choices.”
“Well like, are you not on the pill?”
“What? No. And anyway I’m not having unprotected sex, that’s just retarded.”
“Well I got tested recently and I’m clean.”
“Yeah, me too and so am I* but that’s precisely why I’m not having unprotected sex”
*LIES, I’m waiting for the results
“Yeah but I don’t have anything”
“Yeah but how do I know that? Who the fuck are you? I met you outside mcdonalds, how do you even know I’m clean? I’d say anything to get laid*”
*As I just did, lying about having been tested for stds.
He grumpily admits I’m right and then pretends he was never going to have unprotected sex anyway he was just SAYING he didn’t like condoms. I roll away from him, grab a condom and tell him “Look, do you want to or what?”
He says yeah of course. But why so many condos? What were you just out hunting for guys? Were you planning on dragging some guy back here? Oh fuck off I just have loads of condoms ok. Safe sex, that’s how I roll. Ugh. I’m not telling him I got them in the STD clinic he probably won’t like that. Anyway he just waits for me to put it on. I never put condoms on, I always just wait while the man does it.
So this is probably one of the first times I’ve had to do it. I told him I always let the man do it. He says he never does it either.
I BET this guy is shagging girls with no condoms, the scumbag.
He has a nice thick dick. It’s not very big but it’s pretty thick and that’s what counts in my book.
We have sex… I think he didn’t come and we just fell asleep because there was no spunk in the condom in the morning. I woke up and regretted everything but still when he woke up too and began whining about having to get up and go to play golf or something, we got back to kissing and had some more sex. He was pretty good with his hands, but I was terrible… I never know what to do with a penis in my hands really. I think I’m pretty good at giving head but I am not doing that with some random dude (not any more if I can help it anyway) but I have a lot of confusion about how to handle the equipment with my hands. Am I too rough? Am I too gentle? Am I just crap? Probably. So I abandoned that attempt pretty quickly and took another condom. He wanted a blow job but I said no, again, I don’t know you… etc.
What? He didn’t seem to understand. You can’t even get anything from giving head. I told him he was a moron and yes you can, you can get stds and shit… he said no of course you can’t. Whatever, but I know I’m right.
I put this condom on him too, really resenting having to roll it down with absolutely no input from him…
It was pretty bad. I don’t think he was necessarily shit in bed, but we were hung over and I wasn’t hugely turned on. It was awkward, I was no good at all… I was very disappointed in myself. He came before it dragged on too long though so that was ok. He just handed me the condom, without even tying it up or anything. I thought fondly of Fabio and his paranoid stowing away of the used condoms to dispose of on his way home despite my insisting there was no problem putting it in the bin and I live alone. Maybe Fabio was afraid I would get the turkey baster and try make some little purple jumper babies from his man juices. I’d prefer he left the condom than put it in a tissue in his pocket, but to just hand me the condom… bit rude I think. Lately I am really scraping the barrel with these guys I’m hooking up with. Fabio is a total gent really.
I tied the condom up like I’ve seen so many men do before… too many men really. It’s such a male thing, the proprietary gentleness with the used and abused cock. Easing it off… wiping off the head, tying the knot…. holding it up for a second and inspecting the contents.
I fall in love with men a little bit when I see them handle their junk that way. It’s a brief, serious little moment between man and his penis, a bit of the private male world. I don’t know if it is rude to watch but I can’t ever look away.
Doing it myself… not the cleaning up obviously but just handling the condom, I felt a little swelling of rage and hatred for this stranger. I hoped he would leave before the awkwardness of the flatmates getting up and meeting him and before I saw a mirror and realised what I looked like hung over. I didn’t want to spend a second longer in his company. I wondered how to broach the subject or if there was some lie I could tell..
He got dressed quickly though.. Thank fuck.
Pulled on t shirts and talked angrily about his golf game. I have to get a FUCKING TAXI. Ugh this sucks, I have to be there in like an hour, which I don’t know how I’m going to do… I have to drive… It’s dangerous.. What a waste of money last night, a hundred quid on drinks…
I decided I hated him and his stupid ungrateful ranting attitude too much to even bother being polite. I pulled the covers over myself and shut my eyes.
He stomped around looking for his socks. WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?
I saw him picking stuff up off the ground and leapt to my feet.
“DONT GO THROUGH MY STUFF! I’LL FIND YOUR FUCKING SOCKS JUST STOP!”
I found his sock as he lifted a pair of my wooly over the knee socks and asked “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”
I’m like “ITS A FUCKING PAIR OF SOCKS”
and I plonked myself back in bed. Try to sleep now, he can fuck off…
He left the room stomping aggressively and then returned “where are my fags,”
Ugh. He picked up the fags then said “yeah… uhh… you stay there (was that said with a sneer?) I’m leaving thanks… uh nice to meet you Abby. Thanks… Nice to meet you.”
I smiled at him from my cosy hung over bed, gloriously happy to be free of his energy.
“Yeah nice to meet you man, byeeee”
He left. I lay there for a while looking at the various condoms I must have been too drunk to figure out last night… and the one knotted, weighted one with that stranger’s milky gift.
I felt a little bit ugly about the whole thing. Like, as a bit of a bore and rude and unpleasant in manner, he should have been more appreciative of me. Like he should have been bowled over by my condescending to sex him… but then it’s never like that. Sex isn’t better because you do it with someone out of your league, it’s better because you’re both attracted to each other. And we just really didn’t have chemistry, so we were both pretty terrible. Although he was pretty good with his fingers. But he didn’t make me feel sexy or hot or good about myself, so what the fuck was the point? There was no point. I just get horny and drunk and I’m not very good at reminding myself that sex is only good if you like the person at least a bit… I feel kind of ashamed now.
Not that I’m a slut, but like… just ashamed of having let some guy see me naked and feel what it’s like inside me and sleep in my arms. Because he doesn’t deserve any of that, he did absolutely nothing to deserve to know that part of me. Stupid girl, must stop doing this shit that doesn’t make me feel good. But I am really hung over and hey, I was very drunk… it was bound to happen. At least I was very insistent on the safe sex and not giving head, so I can be a tiny bit proud of myself for that. It’s SOMETHING.
My friends have gone out for food now. I am very very hungry but I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving the house today and showing my face to the world. I look pretty nasty right now but also, I smell terrible and I just feel very fragile. I drank a lot last night. Like, almost at proper Irish levels of drinking. That really hurts on exit. Drinking too much is like taking a shit on your health and sanity. The next day you’re dragged back to reality and forced to stick your nose in the nasty mess you made. It hurts, but I’ve had oh so much worse hangovers in this house even…. Uggghhhh I should be glad it’s not worse. I’m just hungry though, hungry and alone in the house. And my head hurts and there’s nothing on tv.
SO FUCKING UNFAIR.
Anyway, that’s where we are right now.
In London, having a goood time but still making stupid drunken decisions and fucking people I shouldn’t be fucking.