Happy birthday to me

[NSFW-ish, like not that NSFW, just a flavour of NSFW really]

So, my London buzz is back again. You might have noticed that I haven’t been writing as much about boys recently. It wasn’t because I decided it was the appropriate time to keep my love life private. It was because I was too stressed with life to bother with men.

But this weekend I was in a much better mood and this weekend was my birthday, so it was time to give myself a man again. After all, isn’t that what I’m in London for? (Well, that and making my dreams come true and becoming an international superstar.)

I logged onto all the apps. All of them. I was having simultaneous conversations on Grindr, Scruff, Growlr, Chasabl and Grommr all at once. I was determined to reel in a man for the night. I felt like the manager of a football team, trying to calculate which player had the best chance of scoring, and who I needed to take off the pitch. (Does that analogy make sense? Who knows? Sports, amirite!)

And a lot of men were biting, but when you can’t host because you’re sharing your bedroom with 8 people, it makes life a bit more complicated. I made a date for Tuesday, but I didn’t want a Tuesday night man. I wanted a Saturday night man.

Eventually, I found the right one. A man I’d spoken to before and had almost met but we couldn’t quite make it work. I messaged him “Hey. How are you?” He replied that he was good, on his way home from a night out. “Do you fancy a visitor?” And he sent me his postcode.

I’m now a guy who goes from “Hey” to getting a guy’s address and hopping on a bus in FOUR MESSAGES. I’m like one of those slutty gays on television. I love it.

He’s very appropriate. He’s a rugby playing vice principal of a secondary school, or “Deputy Head” (“head” – snigger) as they call them here.

To say he swept me off my feet is an understatement. I could barely talk, he was so masterful. I’m beginning to really learn what it is that I like doing, and, dear readers, this was another level. And that’s all I’ll say.

And while we were hard at it, (“hard” – snigger) he told me that I’d be coming back to see him again on Thursday. Gosh. This was new.

I left his flat at 23:59 and walked to the bus stop. I frantically googled him, but he has the same name as a very big celebrity and he was very hard to find. Eventually I found his Facebook, so I could send some clothed pictures of him to a friend of mine. I messaged her smugly about my adventures.

As it turned midnight and I turned thirty-six, I was skipping down the street. Life smelled of poppers and possibility.

Happy Birthday to me!




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