I wasn’t in a great mood as I left work today. I had to go to Tesco and buy food. Living in hostels for so long I’d allowed myself to forget how bad I am with kitchens. My dysfunctional eating issues are at their worst when I’m sharing a kitchen with people and I was in a genuine panic about what food I should buy.
As I made my way towards the Tube I was messaging a man on GROWLr, as it seems I always am these days. And this very handsome man invited me for a drink. I suggested we go on Thursday and he wanted to know if I was free now.
Was I? I guess I was free. Tesco could wait. I agreed to meet him.
We met at my Tube stop and we walked to a small gay bar in Soho full of elderly homosexuals. I know it’s just scandalous to admit this, but this was my first trip to a gay bar since I got to England four months ago.
The guy: he’s hot. And interesting. And hot. And funny. And hot and hot and hot.
We had three pints and we chatted and laughed. By pint two he had kissed me. We held hands. There was a lot of light stroking and little squeezes and kisses. Lonely old men watched us closely. We were both on bar stools and he positioned himself with one leg on either side of me and I felt so safe and wanted.
There was an electricity between us. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. I wanted to gobble him up. And he couldn’t keep his hands off me. We talked about going back to mine but it was just too far and it wouldn’t work. We agreed on Friday for that.
And I want it to happen. Please let Friday happen.
After all our pints (he’s a great talker) and our laughter (he’s funny) and our touching (he’s hot), we walked back to my Tube station together.
You guys, he held my hand all the way down Oxford Street. A handsome man held my hand all the way down the main shopping street of the biggest city in Europe. He’s not one of those men whose ashamed of being attracted to men who look like me. He wants me and he doesn’t care who sees it. I have never enjoyed a walk so much in my life. Teenage Connor never believed it would be possible to hold hands with a boy in public. And who’d want to hold hands with someone so fat anyway? Well you were wrong teenage Connor, because he held my hand all the way down Oxford Street.
And then we went into Tottenham Court Road Tube Station, where he was getting the Northern Line and I was getting the Central Line and he kissed me goodbye, with tongue, in bloody Tottenham Court Road Tube Station. There literally isn’t anywhere more central or more busy in all of London. I’ve been kissed in train stations before, but this was different.
I floated through the barriers and was too excited to sit down on the train.
Please let this one work out. Please oh please.