Wednesday, 3 February 2010

Crisis of confidence

Until last week, I didn't realise that post-Keaton I had a crash of confidence.  I had a self-imposing abstinence fortnight, went back on my word about fucking Mr Married and set up a couple of why-did-I-say-yes-to-him dates. 

When I am feeling low, my cure is sex.  The dirtier the better.


Keaton was lovely.  Is lovely.  When it came down to it, he didn't want to sleep with me.  Not me per se, but needed to be in a long-term loving relationship before so.  I was the opposite.  After waiting until date 19, yes date 19, with Mr Maybe Next Time and us not being that compatible didn't want to wait until all the other boxes were ticked and a date set.

I took this personally.  Hard not to. 

When he explained that was just the way he was, and also never sexually dominant.  He also had the attitude that a leopard (erm him being the leopard) doesn't change his spots.  I accepted that we weren't compatible, yet still it left a nagging insecure doubt in my head.

We're meant to be going to for a drink tonight but I'm not sure why? 
To repeat what has already been said, or to placate his we can be friends and get on as well as we did when we spent half the night snogging? *sigh*

Mr Married

Feeling insecure, when he contacted me, I warmed internally. And of course felt empty the moment he left.

Master Enigma

I was really excited about our date.  Too excited.  I was inevitably disappointed when he couldn't walk the walk, his talk had promised.  By the time he had control of his nervousness (I am not intimidating, I am a pussycat), and more 'would you like another drink' than I could cope with, transpired that I was drunkenly disappointed.

If we went anywhere then, I would have probably thrown up on his cock and/or worse.  I just wanted to go home.  Pronto.
Which then became annoying, I wanted to jump in a black taxi.  Yet, told him I was going to the bus stop?  Why?  Ask my drunken self, I sober, have no clue. 
He said he would walk me to the bus stop.  Aaaarrrrggghhh! 

Canary boy

The next night, I was dressed to kill.  Tooled with a favourite outfit, I went looking for a fuck.  But not just any fuck.  The party had to be right (it was), the bloke has to be right (he was).  A friend and I left the party to go to another more exclusive party. 

Flippantly, the man I was flirting with, pulled a faux-disappointed face when I informed him I had to go to the bathroom, I coyly stated that he could always join me.  And he did.

We swapped saliva and head, for hours.  In a dream-like sequence of bodily fluids being just-Goldilocks-right for one another. And to my delight, he kissed me, full on the mouth afterwards...

As we parted.  I didn't ask for his number, he didn't ask for mine.  A satisfying one night stand.

My inner beacon may have been dimmed over the Christmas period, but I am hoping it's back to full brightness.

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