Sexy Scooter Man… but will he call?

This Sunday I went on a date with S- the sexy scooter man.

Saturday afternoon had been spent at The Essex’s and was a boozy affair. I hadn’t seen them since I’d left in September so it was a good catch up. The Lovebirds came and the babies all got to meet which was adorable but then the wine drinking started in earnest. I, as usual, was pissed after the first glass and can remember drinking some hideous Campari based cocktail whilst scoffing pizza before beingbundles into a cab home around midnight.

So of course I was utterly hung over and sweating during this date. Not my best look.

SSM is 38, of Polish heritage and a lawyer. He also had a scooter which I would have ripped the piss out of had this been England but it’s actually a very good choice for NY. It was pretty powerful and it didn’t escape my notice that I was getting onto a scooter wearing a badly-fitting helmet with a complete stranger.

But after weeks of walking around it was cool fun, and it was a beautiful sunny day so we headed over to Red Hook, where you can look out across the water and see The Statue of Liberty. 

The only good thing about my hung over state was that I was concentrating more on trying not to fall asleep or be sick that I didn’t really have time to be nervous. I actually think he was a little bit nervous. I had some tea and then had caffeine induced verbal diarrhea where I went off on a rant about my Dad leaving my Mum etc. He was cool though, none of my waffling seemed to faze him at all.

We talked abut all sorts of things, I felt like I was keeping the conversation going more than him but he was apparently having trouble staying awake too as he’d had a big one on Friday and then had played basketball that morning.

Actually he told me a really funny story about getting stoned (something he does very rarely, so he says) before a concert and then pretty much blacking out the rest of the evening. Through friends and texts he found on his phone the next day he worked out that his ex-girlfriend of 6 months had arrived and he’d been so out of it he’d introduced himself to her and asked what her name was. I felt his pain.

He was very intelligent and funny but also quite quiet. Not that he didn’t talk lots but that he had a very laid back way of conversing. I can get very excitable and animated but he just seemed totally chilled out all the time. Something I think I like- or it could become a little annoying?

Our date lasted for seven and a half hours. We had lunch, walked around Red Hook, drove back to Cobble Hill, went to have a hot chocolate, went to the cinema and watched Hunger Games (I loved it, he wasn’t as impressed), got asked to leave the cinema as we were just discussing having a nap and whether they’d find us and then went for a drink. It was a very good day. I felt quite comfortable with him, we sort of linked arms during the film in a gay couple way, and I definitely found him attractive. He is tall (over 6ft) with a very athletic body. Far more football than rugby but I like that. He has a very manly look to him from being part Polish I think, light-haired and fair skinned but not pale. His features are big,particularly his nose and eyes, and I really liked his hands too.

He told me a couple of embarrassing stories about getting crabs from a hostel in Prague and being really drunk and sleeping in a doorway. He said that he had this thing of always blurting out really embarrassing stories about himself- which, as some of you will know, is soooo me. Like the time I crapped myself, felt utterly mortified but then told an entire table of strangers a few hours later…. I told him that story too. Oops.

It didn’t feel like seven hours, it just felt like a nice Sunday hang out.

In fact as he dropped me off at home he said ‘thanks for hanging out today’ which now I think about it is a little weird. We both said we’d had a lovely day and he lent forward to kiss me. Ok, here comes the only bad part. He kissed me with lips closed. Not a problem you’d think, for a first date at least, except it went on for ages and I sort of tried to change it into a more open mouthed kiss but it didn’t work and then I felt odd. So I went from Fernando, with his tongue right down my throat eating my face off to SSM giving me a  1950s movie kiss, but with less passion.

I mean is it possible that he spent all day with me but just didn’t fancy me enough to want to kiss me? Maybe he was worried about his breath? Maybe he doesn’t do kissing on first dates?

I’m going slightly crazy here chaps, and could do with your words of wisdom because I haven’t yet heard from him.

Ok, so it’s only Tuesday but that was a extraordinary first date. Surely he should have texted or something by now. He did seem really into it (me) and he didn’t seem like the kind of man to play games. SO WHERE THE EFF IS MY PHONE CALL?!

I’ve arranged some other dates so I don’t collapse and start crying if I don’t hear from him at all but please tell me he will call right???



Fernando loves a text message.

So after the 7 hr long date culminating in the hallway fornication the saga with the be-tattooed, be-muscled Brazilian continues….

So I awoke the next morning, hung-over, slightly sore but with a smile on my face. It had been a very successful date, out of the blue and I sort of expected to wake up to a text from Fernando. In fact I half-heartedly watched my phone all day whilst out with friends but he finally got in touch saying that his phone had run out of battery and he’d been out all day. Well that was said over three messages and the fourth said ‘Last night was so amazing! Can’t wait to see you again! What are you doing tonight?’

Now if I’d had a wax, wasn’t feeling so hung over and didn’t have such massive under-eye bags I would have jumped at the chance to meet up again and carry on where we’d left off but I felt and looked rough and was dying to get back to bed. There followed a barrage of texts about how good the night had been and how he would give me the best massage of my life (oh boys, if only I hadn’t heard it so many times…) and how he just wanted to chill out and wanted to do it with me. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t flattered….

The next day was similar- Easter Sunday and I went to a lovely Lovebird family celebration full of delicious food- Fernando sent me texts calling me gorgeous and asking how my day was going, saying he missed me etc. Not that I have a problem with all this attention but to be honest I’m far too impatient to just text back and forth all day. I asked if he was busy on Wednesday, saying I would finish work about 6pm and how about a sober second date?

He replied that ‘Hahahaha no, hanging out drunk worked perfect for us! I can’t forget our date on Friday!’ I was just thinking ‘oh I see…. you made all this stuff up about wanting me to be your girlfriend etc, now I see what you really meant’ when he texted again to say “Just the second part of the last message was serious, I keep thinking constantly about our date’.

‘But maybe we could do something sober.’

‘Or not.’

At this point I just left it for him to think about. I like it when men take the lead at least in some small way. A second date, I feel, is pretty crucial and it always bodes well if the man decides on somewhere to go or at least comes up with a suggestion or two. Except if you’re my ex boyfriend Ryan, otherwise known as The Disappointment, who used to promise all sorts and then we’d end up at his with a chinese takeaway on a Sunday night. Oh but once he took me to a really nice spa where you could go nude. He refused to go nude or try the sensory deprivation tank (probably worried the emptiness in his head would be deafening) and then told me to ‘hurry up (enjoying myself)’ as he had to do some invoices that afternoon. What a fucking treat that was…

Anyhoo- I digress. We finally arranged to meet on the Wednesday eve. I came up with a plan of meeting at an arty farty cinema with cafe attached for some food first and then a film. Not much enthusiasm but some more texts about how he really wanted to see me. I reasoned that he was really busy working on this Brazilian TV show him and his brother produce. Along came Weds, I was feeling pretty tired and my face was still a mess from his beard attack on Friday so I wasn’t totally gutted when it became clear he wasn’t going to be finished in time.

I say ‘became clear’ as he didn’t exactly say ‘Hi there, I’m really sorry, work has over-run and I can’t possibly get away in time to meet you. Can we postpone? Again I’m sorry for messing you around’ or at least something along those lines.

What he in fact did really showed his 30 years. He sort of hinted on the day that he might not be finished in time for dinner. Then about the time I would have been getting ready to leave the house to meet him (if I hadn’t learnt to read the signals after many years of crap blokes) he started some joke about my babysitting rates (I’m a nanny) and whether I charged more for overnight…

As I said I wasn’t too bothered because I wasn’t feeling my best anyway and we arranged to meet on Saturday. He asked if I’d prefer daytime or evening and I said daytime- reasoning that if we had some sober time together we could then go out in the evening if we both wanted to.

Basically I wasn’t going to meet up, drink a bottle of wine and jump into bed with him. I really have got the stage where sober(ish) sex is far more enjoyable for me. We had such a strong physical attraction that we both knew sex was on the cards, I had not had any for a while and I wanted it to be good- ie not in the filthy hallway again.

I didn’t hear from Fernando on the Friday but wasn’t bothered. I went to have a Brazilian (ha ha) wax in preparation- done by a Russian lady called Esther. The first time I went it was amazing, quick, bloody painful but very thorough. This time was not so good… Esther appeared to be having a fight with the other lady who worked at the salon, as they kept shouting at each other through the door in what I presumed was Russian. This meant that Esther wasn’t really paying much attention to my lady garden. No I’ve never actually called it that before….

The result of this lack of attention was one foot covered in wax and a very, very sore arse. So sore in fact that I had to use some of the baby’s Butt Paste to be able to sleep, walking was very difficult for a couple of days and I paid $40 for the privilege.

LSS- Fernando didn’t turn up until 8.30pm. After arranging to spend the day together. I was just walking out of the cafe I’d waited in for an hour after he texted numerous times throughout the day extending the meeting time until it actually fitted what he wanted. Which was to meet up, have some food, get drunk together and have sex. Anywhere as far as he was concerned. The problem was that I’d gone off the whole idea by this point. HIs messing me around on Wednesday night and then  again on Saturday had had the same effect as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on Fernando as he was just getting the old Brazilian cock out in the hallway.

We had a nice enough dinner after he had pretty much begged me not to go home. He gave a big old long excuse about how he’d been catching up on sleep after a heavy work week. TRUTH- he gone out and got drunk the night before. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Nope. Never said that before but I felt it fitted here. I spent most of my twenties coming up with complete bullshit excuses to cover for my almost permanent hangovers.

Fernando spent most of the meal trying to get me to join in his sexual conversations… I felt the urge to talk about the drainage system of New York more. He kept trying to put his hand up my skirt, he also grabbed me every time I got up to use the bog and pulled me down so he could stick his tongue right down my throat. It’s funny how these things had seemed great a week previously after an entire bottle of wine. Now I was pretty sober and pissed off.

HONESTY goes a very long way with me. All the crap about him wanting me to be his girlfriend, how he was missing me during the week (yeah, I know, fingers down the throat) and really all he wanted was me to fit in around the rest of his boy life and have sex with him. Which I would have happily done if he’d explained that. I mean, Fernando is hot, and funny and intelligent but just not emotionally mature enough to stop thinking that women need to be tricked into sex.

He tried so hard to get me to go home with him but in the end I wasn’t just disappointed with him I was properly pissed off. I told him I was going home alone, that I was tired and that I didn’t want to go to his house. I think he thought I was maybe playing some sort of hard to get game as he just kept on manhandling me (as my Mum would say).

We stood on my doorstop and he was just ramming his tongue down my throat and desperately trying to put his hand up my dress. In the end I had to ask him to stand away from the door so I could unlock it without fear of him trying to come in with me. Yes, he got that bad. I asked him when we were going to meet up again? And could he come up with an actual time and stick to it. Then, I said, I would happily come home with him. He didn’t answer the question…….and I’ve not heard from him since.


Shit, fuck, bugger, shit!

Just had a message from Steve a buff, tattooed personal trainer. I was supposed to meet him at 9pm tonight at a bar down the road. Instead I’ve been watching Girls in my pjs, drinking tea and eating cake. BOLLOCKS.

No thanks.

A 30 yr old man/boy from Staten Island, with more than a hint of garden gnome about him, just sent me a message via the dating website.

It read ‘wanna have sex?’.

To which I replied ‘Yes!’ 

Then in my next message ‘oh did you mean with you?’

I. Am. Fucking. Hilarious.



Small head, nice guy.

Just bumped into A on the way home looking lovely in the rain. I spotted her by the “Don’t Look Now” red raincoat. Love that coat! She reminded me to actually update this blog with dates as they happen. So here tis.

I somehow arranged a date on a Sunday lunchtime when, by rights, I should have been curled up under a blanket watching shite TV and drinking tea. To top it all off it’s raining here for the first time in literally years (this is not a fact) and I’ve still got a cold.

I realise, of course, that this is totally ridiculous. I spend all week, whilst my freedom is severely hampered by a small, but perfectly formed, baby, thinking of all the cool, adult, wild things I will do at the weekend. Then when it turns up I get a burning desire to hang around with the baby and not leave home. Also it rains a lot in England. This has never stopped my social life before, unless it was torrential and coincided with Eastenders, so why I use that as an excuse simply because I’m in America and don’t have welly boots, I don’t know.

So yep, dragged myself out into Manhattan after a comedy Skype session with my Dad. He could see and hear us, if he wore headphones, but we couldn’t hear him and he was all blurry. Sort of ideal for us really….

I’d agreed to meet a 41yr old musician called Matt at a coffee shop in the heart of the city (never used that expression before- it’s quite wanky isn’t it?). His profile seemed quite amusing and his photos showed a tall man (yes, I fall for it every time) with nice eyes- although possibly a hint of ‘tucked in t-shirt syndrome’.

It was a nice date, a little stilted until I’d had some caffeine and started chattering away like demented monkey, but not upsetting like Gabriel and his rucksack. For the first 45mins we discussed work and New York drivers, his bike accidents and what being a session musician is like. All interesting enough I suppose. We talked a lot about his separation from his wife (I totally asked all about this- I’m nosy and I’d run out of things to say. Not really) and his two sons. We talked about the effect people have on their children with different styles of parenting etc- most of which of course was bollocks as I don’t have any children but I can bullshit with the best of them. We had delicious hot chocolate, I went for a big poo, which I’d been waiting a while for, and we shared an enormous and delicious muffin.

There is nothing bad to say, except his head was too small. He looked just like he did in his pictures. He was easily 6ft and his body was certainly athletic, he had good skin, all his own teeth and a fine head of hair.


His head was too small.


John Denver, Me and Debbie McGee

The reason I’ve been so slack in keeping you updated on the saucy happenings of the last week or so, is that I’ve had a stinking cold. It’s not man-flu but it’s come pretty close.

If you remember on the Friday of DateFest Week I was supposed to meet with Gabriel after Fernando, but then it all got very filthy and Gabe went out the window so to speak. Let’s be clear here though, I didn’t stand him up. I would never do that, unless the bloke was an arse and really deserved it. Although to be honest I’m so shit-scared of karma I’d probably never do it anyway.

We had made a very loose arrangement, whereby I would message him around 10pm if I was free. He was going to a Passover Seder with friends and tried to tempt me with the fact that he would be ‘all dressed up’. Whoop whoop! Little did he know that I would far prefer him to be dressed as a bin man- in a bit of dirty high-vis….. the old suit stuff really doesn’t do it for me.

So come Monday, once I’d crawled out of my horrible hangover and shame, I emailed to say sorry I didn’t get in touch, my evening had gone on longer than expected. Which was the truth, and I felt at this early stage in our relationship Gabriel probably didn’t need to know about the hallway shenanigans.

We arranged to meet for a cup of tea on Thursday afternoon and he got back to me to say he was really looking forward to it as he felt like ‘there had been a big build up to us meeting’. Umm, I felt nothing of this, as I still had a cold and have had enough failed meetings to know not to get excited, but reasoned that giving up on my mission due to ill-health was just bad form. I simply wanted to get it over and done with. Unfortunately his feeling continued throughout our date.

His profile pictures showed a tall man with wolf-like blue eyes and salt and pepper hair. In reality, once again, he wasn’t particularly tall and the wolf eyes just looked a bit mad. His hair was more salty than peppery and looked like his mum may have cut it for him. When I arrived at our meeting place he was pacing around outside as he ‘hadn’t wanted to go in on his own’. His voice was very nasal and to begin with I thought he was putting it on for a laugh. No such luck.

Maybe he was a nice man but I just couldn’t get past the beige sports jacket, the grey slacks (too short) and the black rucksack he had with him. I sat through an hour of him questioning me as to how seriously I was looking for a boyfriend, making cheesy comments about my eyes (probably hoping I was going to mention his) and talking through his nose. He had studied my profile before coming out and asked me questions about things I’d written such as ‘please message me if you’re funny and not just your Mum says so’, Gabriel took this pretty literally and then tried to prove he was funny. Ouch. Painful. Then he subjected me to a fifteen minute lecture on American Politics. Yeehah.

There was nothing I found attractive about him. I sat there mainly because I hadn’t been out of the house for days and really needed some fresh air. He was actually quite handsome but just so geeky it just didn’t work for me. If he hadn’t been interviewing me the whole time for the position of his girlfriend I may have thought he was quite a nice man. When I described him to my sister she said,’Oh, so sort of John Denver looking?’. Indeed like John Denver but without the mountain- man-with-guitar thing going on.

Our date, at a French cafe which I love to go to for the cakes, was punctuated by a very odd young waiter who decided- I think due to my Britishness- that he was going to serve us as if we were all in the Victorian era. We sat outside as there was no-one else in the cafe and the two waiters were like buzzing flies, hovering around us. Every so often this waiter, and sometimes his friend also, would come outside to bow and scrape and enquire as to whether he could ‘provide us with further refreshment?’ When I asked for some tea they both came holding a box with a selection of teas that Mr Victorian Slave Boy displayed to me like Debbie McGee. If I hadn’t been full of snot and feeling utterly let down by John Denver I would have found it all very funny but my fight or flight reflex had kicked in and I was getting ready to run.

I was telling some harmless little tale about the baby and my week when Gabriel interrupted to ask me (interrogation style) if I wanted to meet up again. A very difficult question to answer to someone’s face. I pride myself on my honesty so I simply replied,”yes, great- let’s hang out, sounds cool, next week?’ All said at high-speed, through gritted teeth whilst looking at the sky.

We went inside to pay- he was ‘a little short of cash’ (Director of Nurses Union) and so I ended up paying. What an arse. We then walked up the road and I prayed that no-one I knew saw me walking with him and his trousers lacking in length, I said goodbye outside mine (small peck on cheek whilst he tried to go for lips) and literally ran inside.

Gabriel may have had a very strange way of talking and an odd style of questioning but I think his she’s-just-not-that-into-you-radar was working perfectly fine, as I haven’t heard from him since. I’m slightly disappointed, bloody John Denver- just wanted me for the free tea….

DateFest- Friday- the full filth laden story….

So as I mentioned in my last post I had lined up three dates for Friday night. For the crack, and also because I’d got all sad and sorry for myself the previous week and just needed to go out and remember there are still some good men out there roaming the streets.

So Terrance, Fernando and Gabriel.

Terrance, as I mentioned 37, works as a graphic designer for a MASSIVE shoe designer. Not mentioning any names. We had a drink, talked about all sorts but a couple of times I felt like he took my comments the wrong way. It was easy to chat but not 100% comfortable. He sent me a message on Saturday saying how he’d enjoyed our date and would be up for hanging out again- it was funny and sweet and if I’d fancied him more I would have really loved that message. He made some jokey mention of slutty behaviour (oh how little he knew) I replied to say that I would love to hang out again but although I’d also really enjoyed our date I wasn’t sure there was the chemistry for me and any slutty behaviour.

The ball was in his court and yesterday I had a reply saying ‘thanks for being honest and let’s meet up soon’ I was really pleased, he lives right around the corner and when you just want a friend to go and drink tea with (he loves tea) it’s great to have a handsome, although short, pal.

So after heading home to remove my teenage nail polish job I went back out to meet date #2.

Fernando, 30 NOT Italian but actually from Brazil. I would like to point out here that I’m not retarded but simply was confusing him with another dark handsome man….

Attractiveness 9

Eligibility 5 (really not sure about this yet… will update y’all later)

GSOH 8 (laughed at all my jokes)

Did I actually fancy him? God, yes!

We had arranged to meet outside the subway station as I’d suggested a couple of places and then we’d rearranged and in the end I was a bit confused (yep, pattern emerging) so the station it was. The station that had 4 different exits.

So there I was shivering my arse off outside one at 9pm and he was clearly at another when some friends came past. The same friends that got me drunk before I went out with Bryan on Wednesday- more about Bryan later. They guessed I was waiting for a date and all decided my date was the man who was hovering behind me. I’d already checked him out and he looked nothing like the pictures online so I was hoping very much he wasn’t my date. His trousers were too short.

The guys carried on up the road to a local very friendly bar and I gave Fernando 10 more minutes before I followed them.

The pictures on his profile showed this very buff guy with big arms and a cute dark-eyed and haired look- exactly the type I like. But I hate to be cold and I hate to wait (yes, I realise that I’m bloody late everywhere, but it’s a disease you know.)

A short dark elf girl turned up to meet the hovering guy with the short trousers, and whilst I sighed a big ol’ sigh of relief, I did think ‘well at least she got a date’……

I luckily was standing outside a Dunkin Donuts so I popped in for a quick cup of tea and a Boston creme  doughnut, which I then ate really quickly in case this buff man turned up and saw me wolfing such unhealthy crap. I’d sent a quick message online to say where I was. I have this rule that I never give out my personal mobile number or my personal email address to anyone before we meet. Sometimes I think it’s a pain to have to log onto the site and leave a message instead of just calling someone, but I’ve had some weirdos in the past and as much as I’d love to think I’m interesting enough to stalk….. I don’t want a real life one…

So in he walks finally (well only 20 mins late) and my God is he hot! Not overly tall but very well-shaped and very smiley, apologising for having been waiting at the wrong stop. Not his fault at all, more like my fault for not specifying. His photos had shown him to be handsome but he was not really smiling in any of them, so he looked sort of hard and like he took himself a bit too seriously.

In reality he was funny, warm, kind and didn’t take anything seriously at all. I thought the language barrier would be a problem but he spoke very good English with a sexy Brazilian accent and as I mentioned, laughed at all my jokes.

We went to a restaurant/bar and shared some food and a bottle of wine. For the foodies it was bla bla bla and whatever whatever whatever. It was simply delicious. I’d whole-heartedly recommend it.

We talked about all sorts but in-depth about visas as I now spend a lot of time when meeting new people grilling them about their right to stay in the USA. I’m utterly offended that so far I haven’t been welcomed with open arms. Who else is going to come and spend every penny they earn on tea, cake and vintage jewellery?

After an hour or so Fernando suggested I marry him for a visa. Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?!

INTERVAL- I’m online on the website whilst I write this, and have just seen a profile where LOL came at the end of every sentence and he also wrote under food he likes ‘making my own love to bbq’. Ah the specialness of a profile minus punctuation….

So yes, back to Fernando and I, deep in conversation across a candlelit table. I can’t really remember how it happened but we ended up snogging passionately for some time. The entire restaurant emptied and there were a few people at the bar but I think we may have out-stayed our welcome. Fernando paid (as do the majority of men here- it’s very nice but also a little disconcerting to a woman who has always had shite boyfriends and paid, if not half then, the whole bill herself. Do I owe them a snog at least for this? It’s a tricky question eh?)

Not that I felt in any way that it would be some sort of chore to show my gratitude to the delicious Fernando. We headed off up to the exact same bar I’d thought of skipping off to with my friends earlier. Luckily they had left as we seriously couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I’m sure if the rest of the people in the bar hadn’t been as hammered they would have found our PDAs quite repulsive.


Dirty bar the next (very bright) afternoon



Oh, I forgot to mention the tattoo! All down his left arm Fernando is working on the most amazing tattoo which is a sort of dragon with lots of scales- some of which turn into flowers. I bloody love tattoos- especially on muscley brown skin like his. I remember spending a long time tracing the outline of his tattoo and probably drooling at this point. His skin was unbelievably soft but his hands were callused from lifting weights. Now I’d rather his hands were rough from chopping wood or something equally as manly but y’know, beggars can’t be choosers.

I can’t really remember a lot of what was talked about. I remember he had a brother, who had a dog called Miles. They are working on a book together. Fernando and his brother Pedro, not Pedro and Miles the dog.

I do remember saying, probably with eyes and words crossed, that if this just going to be a one night thing then we should just head back to his straight away. Not because I didn’t like him but purely because I like to be honest and expect it from others. He was hot and also young, I am certainly under no illusions that this is the type of man who really wants to settle down. He said that he wanted me to be his girlfriend, at this drunken point I think I agreed that would be a very good idea.

We then talked for a while about what we would do to each other when sober- which culminated in him trying to make me go downstairs to the toilets to show him exactly what I meant. And I probably would have had I not needed to actually use the toilet so much at this point….. It was one of those occasions that once your business has been done, you leave: quick smart.

I was a little put out with the amount of times he tried to put his hand right up my dress and then after I’d stopped him doing that he kept trying to put his hand down my bra, and it went around like that for a while, until he decided that kissing my neck and right shoulder were a better idea, in a True Blood style.

We tumbled out of the bar at 4am. Luckily it is very close to where I live, otherwise I may have slept right there on the street.

We hung around on my doorstep, his beard destroying my chin, my hand down his trousers ( yes girls, more Rock than Pop or Disco) and his hand up my dress. After a little while he motioned for me to follow him somewhere away from ‘the cops’- which made me laugh. All my promises of waiting until we were sober went straight out of the window as I opened the door into my buildings hallway.

Now I don’t know about you British kids but whatever thoughts you may have about New York hallways please put them aside. There is nothing cool, glamorous or shiny about this hallway. It basically looks like a squat. The paint is peeling off the ceiling, the floor hasn’t been cleaned for years and the walls are slimy. Perfect eh? Please see picture below.


WARNING- Brothers do not read further unless you want to feel a little sick.

Yes, so in my very, very, very (yes, I’m making the only excuse I have) drunk state I got on my knees on sucked some Brazilian cock. It’s not like it’s something I’ve never done before but the location was reaching an all time low…. (bollocks- I’ve shagged behind bins before, I need to stop pretending I’ve turned over a new leaf). So after a bit of that he pulled me to my feet and started the drunken man’s attempt at pleasuring a woman. This involves placing one hand between the woman’s legs and then moving your hand around like you are sandpapering a particularly rough piece of wood. I can’t remember a time I have enjoyed this move but it seems it’s within most men’s repertoire, even with honest women like me knocking around telling them with no room for misunderstanding ‘ow! that hurts! and it does fuck all for me’ the message does not seem to be getting through. Anyway, I digress, back to the hallway. So I ended up face planted against the aforementioned slimy wall, knickers round ankles, being taken from behind by a tattooed, muscled Brazilian called Fernando and I’m not going to say I didn’t enjoy it.

I pretty much sent him on his way after this. It’s been a while since I’ve seen 4.30am on a Saturday morning, my curfew is usually no later than 1am and that’s pushing it.

I think the thing that most worried me when I awoke the next day was the four people who could possibly have found me with my knickers round my ankles were

1.The Neighbour (very embarrassing but she may have seen the funny side of it)

2. Mrs Lovebird- my sister-in-law (so NOT what she wants to see of the woman currently entrusted to look after her son)

3. The Owner (probably would have loved it but it may have raised the rent if he thought I was using the hallway for extra-curricular activities) or

4. Mr Lovebird- my brother (I realise all women with brothers will understand this but if you don’t have one- seriously it would be HIDEOUS)

I was also concerned with the red beard rash stretching across my chin and the love bites I had on my neck and shoulder. Yep- I felt classy. I hate love bites- nothing worse, but now I do see how they happen. White wine.

But this does mean that the drought is once again over. If only I could really remember it……….

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