[Mild NSFW warnings. Nothing to worry about really. Just a bit of TMI. You’ll get over it.]
I’m hungover. But it’s OK. I spent my morning googling the calorie count for the unidentified double shot bought for us by the Norwegian man who we initially thought was coming on to me, but it later turned out was coming on to my friend. I like London me. It would never have occurred to Dublin Connor that someone was actually coming on to him. Now I’m an overly-sexed egomaniac and I presume everyone wants my booty.
The Norwegian man said he had never seen Skam, so I didn’t care for him anyway.
It was a good night. I haven’t been going out to enough gay pubs and clubs in London as most of my encounters with gentlemen have been ones that started and ended in bedrooms/saunas. It was good to be a Scene Gay for a night, even if a handsome Welsh gay we met decided to christen me “Delta Work”, who is the whiniest of the overweight drag queens that RuPaul has unleashed on the world. Please, if you’re going to give me the name of a famous fat drag queen, call me Latrice Royale, or Jiggly Caliente, or Darienne Lake, or even Mimi Imfurst. Do not call me Delta Work.
My clothes stank of beer when I woke up. STANK. Did any beer actually make it into my mouth? Who knows? I know that the Norwegian man who kept buying us drinks force fed me some of his gin and tonic so I definitely ended up with some of that on my shirt, but apparently I kept spilling beer too.
We met a woman who spent twenty minutes whining that all the gay bars in Soho were boring and full of straight people “these days”. Of course, this woman herself was a straight woman in a gay bar in Soho. Of course.
I’m sure I went way over my calories last night. I’m not that worried though. In the two weeks since I last posted, I’ve lost more weight. In fact, I’ve lost enough that I can now weigh myself on home weighing scales and I no longer need to go to Boots to weigh myself. That gives me the bonus of being able to weigh myself nude, which takes off the weight of my shoes and jeans. My new weight is 23 stone 4, down from 27 stone 7 at the start of April i.e. 4 stone 3 pounds down. Whoop! It’s getting a little harder, but I’m keeping the faith and I’m feeling better for it.
And life is good. I was texting an old friend recently and she said that I seemed “happy?” I guess for a long time I wasn’t and it’s so good to be happy again, even if I am constantly teetering on the brink of a breakdown from overwork.
Anyway, I love my new flat. I’ve built my bookcases like the macho man that I am and I’ve unpacked almost all the boxes of my stuff that my brother brought over from Ireland. Almost. And I finally got my internet working, after a 40-minutes on the phone with TalkTalk technical support, during which the technician tried to make friendly banter with me by asking if I was “by any chance a bachelor”. I confirmed that I am.
And I’m flirting with lots of boys online again. In a weird coincidence, two different very hot guys who both have Aspergers have started chatting to me online. I’m due to meet one of them this week. He’s 24 and lovely. He wants to meet for a date in a pub and not get all sordid and jump straight to the sex. That’s nice. Sometimes I get tired of men who are only after one thing. I googled him. He’s posted ads online seeking women willing to have a baby with him. He’s dying to be a dad. I’m not sure what I think about this. He does have one thing in common with all the other men I’ve been meeting in London. He got a little pissed off with me. He asked if I was really 400 pounds like it said in my profile. I had to tell him that I was more like 330, as I’d lost weight, but I promised him I still looked just like I do in my photos.
The first man I take home to my new flat is likely to be my French train platform boy, for our sixth (!?!?!!) date, who I’m supposed to be meeting this weekend. It’s only fitting. He was also the first boy I took home to my room in Homerton too. I still don’t know if he gave me gonorrhoea as I haven’t got round to getting myself tested, so I continue to have Schrodinger’s Gonorrhoea in the mean time. I will get myself tested this week. I will.
I didn’t need to worry about anything like that with my last erotic adventure as there was no actual body-to-body contact. I answered an ad on Growlr looking for models. An American photographer wanted models for an art project he was doing on the fat gay body. I love London. Things like this never happened in Longford.
I couldn’t shower or wear any deodorant. The photographer was a trans man with severe allergies to all kinds of products and he warned me strenuously not to wear anything perfumed. He had an AirBnB in West Ham. I didn’t think it would take me long to get there. I was wrong. I thought I was going to West Dulwich, 20 minutes away. In fact West Ham is an hour and twenty minutes away. I will get to know London eventually.
I arrived, late and very sweaty, with only my natural perfume, to my first ever modelling gig. The AirBnB was very nice, though the photographer had had to cover all the furniture with black bin bags to protect himself from the cleaning products used on the upholstery. It was a little like somewhere that had been prepped for a very bloody murder.
The photographer was lovely and worked hard to set me at my ease. I signed a waiver allowing him to do whatever he wanted with my pictures. It was very liberating. He says they’ll probably be in a gallery in Portland, Oregon sometime in 2019 and that there’ll be an accompanying website with pics and maybe even a book. I’ve made it, you guys!
He took a few clothed photos of me first “so I’d have something to show my Grandma”. Then he had me strip. In the back garden of an AirBnB in West Ham. I lounged around on the decking area in my altogether while he took about 200 photos. He instructed me to “interact” with a fern, which I did to the best of my ability. He was charmed by how I bit my lip and rubbed my belly. I also did some poses in the kitchen in front of the sink. He’ll send me some of the best pictures in a month or so.
I bloody loved it. I got to be Gigi Hadid for an afternoon. Connor, the model.