Confessions of a band-aid

To get myself into the mood for tonight - my date with James (three chances, how lucky is he? I'm surprising myself with my levels of tolerance here. Belive me, I'm not usually so forgiving) - I'm going to blog about my rock star. Possibly my favorite liaison so far.

I met him on a train. I had no idea who he was and to be honest even if I had it wouldn't have made all that much of a difference; one thing I am not is a groupie. I was idly checking out the other people in the carriage when I see this guy. He was kind of plain but endearingly scruffy and he was reading Jay MacInerney's Story of My Life, one of my favorite books of all time. He must have sensed me staring because he looked up and smiled. It was the smile that got me. I've never seen such a great smile - it totally transformed his face. So I went over and we got talking. He was a bit shy and almost too polite. But that smile... so we swapped numbers, he said he'd call me, and that was that.

One month later, I'm at a festival with this other guy I had something going with at the time, coming up on e, and my mobile goes. I'm trying to balance a beer in one hand, cope with insane shivers going up my spine, my head's about to explode into a rainbow, the other guy is licking my neck, and at the same time I'm on the phone to the rock star, who I'd pretty much forgotten about by this point, attempting to hold it together enough to have a conversation. The reception is really bad, so I'm like, where are you? It sounds like there's a squirrel chewing the line. He's like, oh I'm in New York, it's the last night of our US tour. So of course I go, what do you mean, US tour? And he goes, all casual, oh didn't I tell you? I'm the drummer with (insert famous band name here). By this point my vision is refracting and the other guy is starting to do a silent winge, plus I'm thinking that having to act straight is seriously interfering with my high, so I go, great, that's cool, look I really have to go, when are you back? And he says, next week, let's hook up.

We went out when he got back to London, got on fine, had amazing sex; it must have been because he played drums for like twenty hours a day but whatever the cause, he really knew what to do with his hands. He understood the fine line between soft and hard, he knew when to be wild and when to be gentle, and he understood sensuality. We had a great time.

He kind of turned into my boyfriend for a while. It worked well because he was on tour for most of the time which meant we spent a few days a month together, either where he was playing or he'd come back to London. There was no hassle, no grief, no time to get bored. And he had so many other diversions, if you know what I mean, there was no way he was going to get possessive.

That was the perfect non-relationship. If only the band hadn't split up, leaving him in London full-time...